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Shubman had been… off all day, not in any alarming way, just enough to make you notice if you knew him well, which I did; there was this restless energy about him, and every now and then that small, completely incriminating smile that made it very clear he was up to something, would slip out, before he buried himself in his phone again, thumbs moving with a kind of urgency.
I had no idea what was going on in that devilish mind of his. Being his friend, though, I figured I was entitled to at least try.
“Hey,” I nudged, watching his screen light up with notifications after notifications, “what’s up with you today? Why are you running around like this?”
He looked at me like he was holding something in and might burst if he let it slip. There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, barely contained. It was… kind of adorable. Suspicious, but adorable.
Before I could press further, Abhishek walked into the lawn, eyes glued to his phone.
“The order’s a bit late,” he said casually. “I paid extra though, so--”
He stopped, the moment he saw me standing there. What followed could only be described as a silent conversation that lasted far too long for comfort. He glanced at Shubman with what he clearly believed was a subtle question, though the two of them might as well have been speaking in flashing neon signs for how obvious it felt.
I just stood there, completely excluded from whatever secret language they’d apparently mastered overnight.
Then Shubman reached out, tugged Abhishek closer, and leaned in to whisper something quick and urgent into his ear.
And oh, that was interesting.
I watched Abhishek’s expression shift in real time, confusion giving way to understanding, and then pure, unfiltered delight that spread across him like sunlight, his grin widening until it looked almost ridiculous. He nodded eagerly, gave Shubman a firm thumbs-up, and then, without a shred of hesitation, leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. He shot me a small, slightly awkward smile, an afterthought, almost, and then he was gone again. In a hurry that made no sense unless something very specific was happening.
I turned away immediately, very mature of me, I know, giving them the space they hadn’t asked for but clearly needed, and also because something about the ease of it, the quiet certainty, sat strangely heavy in my chest.
I spent the whole day out on the lawn, observing nature more and Shubman less, of course, what else? thank you very much.
The sun was already slipping away by evening, faster than I expected, and sunsets are pretty, I know, they always are but watching one like this, slow and unhurried, has a way of pulling you somewhere else entirely. For me, it goes back to that small room in my parents’ house, back when I was barely a teenager, when the sunlight would cut through the window just right and spill across the walls in this soft, golden sheet, turning even the cracked, peeling paint into something almost beautiful.
It was strange, how light could lie like that.
My brother used to walk through it sometimes, completely unaware, and for a moment he’d look… different. Softer. The harsh edges gone. His skin catching that warm, honeyed glow, his eyes turning this deep amber that didn’t belong to the version of him I knew the rest of the time. I used to want to tell him, just once, how he looked in those moments, how unfairly beautiful it was, but I never did. He wouldn’t have taken it well. He would’ve laughed it off at best, or worse, shoved me hard enough.
I let out a quiet laugh at the memory now, because I can afford to, because I’m not there anymore. Because soon, I’ll have a house of my own, something solid and finished, and I’ll give it to them, to my parents, to him, because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You repay them. You make it worth it. You make yourself worth it.
Even if, once upon a time, they made it very clear you weren’t.
It doesn’t come back all at once, those feelings, it never does. It seeps in, quiet and insistent, until suddenly you remember what it was like to feel like a burden that couldn’t quite be set down, like something misplaced in its own home. Like, at some point, your existence had been weighed and found inconvenient. Disposable, even. After all, children die every day. It’s not exactly rare or inconvenient, and my father's voice is still clear even though I've forgotten some of his face.
My eyes sting before I can stop it, sharp and immediate, and I hate that, hate how easily it still happens, how years haven’t dulled it nearly as much as I pretend they have. I push myself up, brushing off the grass like that might fix something, and head toward the washroom, keeping my pace steady.
The tears come anyway, slipping out faster than I can manage, silent but relentless. I wipe them off quickly, rinse my face, deal with the inevitable mess and then I look at myself in the mirror for a second too long before forcing a smile into place.
It sits there, stiff but convincing enough.
Good enough.
I take a breath, straighten up, and step out, already slipping back into a smile.
I just didn’t realize, not yet, that I wouldn’t need the mask for very long.
I unlock the washroom door and step into the corridor, still half-busy holding my face together, when the noise hits me, voices, low but urgent, and Abhishek laughing at Shubman, except it doesn’t sound like laughter so much as thinly disguised instructions. There’s a word in Punjabi tossed in there, sharp and teasing, and then, silence.
Not the natural kind. The we’ve just been caught kind.
My footsteps echo a little too loudly in the hallway, and I barely have time to process the shift before Abhishek appears right in front of me, like he’s been launched there on purpose, arms stretching out to block the entire passage.
And he is very close.
Close enough that my brain, traitor that it is, registers details it has no business noticing right now, the way he’s trying and failing to look casual. Two inches, maybe less.
“Uh...” I start, leaning slightly to the side, trying to look past him, because obviously something is happening behind him and I would like to be included in my own life....
I rise onto my toes, just a little, just enough to catch a glimpse....
“Close his eyes!” Shubman’s voice cuts in, louder than necessary, edged with panic.
And Abhishek, being the absolute menace that he is, does not take that as a suggestion.
He moves before I can react, one hand coming up to shove me shove me lightly but decisively back against the wall, the other slapping over my eyes in a way that is very much not gentle and very much unnecessary.
“Hey!” I protest, more out of surprise than anything, my hands instinctively coming up to grab at his wrist, but he’s already got me pinned there, too close again, all solid presence and terrible decision-making.
“Stay,” he mutters, like I’m the one causing trouble here.
Which, frankly, is insulting.
“I was just looking...”
“No looking,” he cuts in, and I can hear the grin in his voice, can almost feel it, even without seeing it, and it surprises me how i know so much about him.
Behind him, there’s movement, hurried, slightly chaotic, and Shubman’s voice again, lower now, focused, like he’s putting the final pieces of something together.
I sigh, mostly for show, though I don’t really try to move anymore. Abhishek’s hand is still warm against my eyes, his other arm braced near my shoulder, keeping me in place with an ease that suggests he’s far too comfortable doing this.
“This is extremely suspicious,” I inform him.
“You haven't even seen all of it,” he says promptly.
And I can’t see it, but I know, I know, he’s smiling.
Abhishek keeps his hand over my eyes as he walks me forward, and I’m half-annoyed, half-curious, because he’s being way too serious about it, like I’m going to somehow ruin everything if I peek.
“Careful,” he murmurs, though I’m not the one who shoved someone into a wall five minutes ago.
“I am careful,” I mutter back, but I let him lead anyway.
and the moment he lets go, I blink, and—
I’m staring at a cake.
And there’s a cake.
I just… stand there for a second, staring at it. It’s not even about how pretty it is—though it is, it really is—it’s more the fact that it’s there at all. That it’s… mine.
It takes a moment for that to land properly.
My first.
I’ve never—
I’ve never had one before.
I never thought I would.
I look up without thinking, like I’m expecting something else to follow, some correction, some “actually....” that’ll take it away again, for those familiar, tired, apologetic eyes, but it’s not my parents I see.
It’s Shubman.
And he looks… delighted, like this means something to him, like I mean something in this moment.
And instead of my mother’s soft, practiced consolation we’ll celebrate next year, beta, right now we don’t have money, birthdays aren’t that important it’s Abhishek’s completely off-tune singing filling the space, loud and cheery, his laughter slipping between the words like he can’t even take the song seriously.
It’s… a lot.
In a good way. I think.
I look back at the cake but it’s gone blurry, and it takes me a second to realize why. I wipe my eyes quickly, a little embarrassed, but it doesn’t really help. The tears just keep coming, quiet but stubborn.
God.
How did I get here?
How did I get this lucky?
This… rich? In friends, and in friends who feel like family, who feel like love and warmth and sun on a rainy day.
I actually pinch myself, just to check and yeah, it still hurts.
So it’s real.
I lean forward and blow out the candles before I can overthink it.
Then I grab the knife.
My hands aren’t as steady as I’d like, but I manage.
I cut the first slice and, obviously, Abhishek is already right there, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment, grinning like an overexcited puppy, and I can’t help the small laugh that slips out as I feed him.
“Worth it,” he says immediately.
The second slice is for Shubman.
He’s closer than I expected. Or maybe I just didn’t notice him stepping in.
He just steps even closer.
And closer.
Until I can feel him before I fully register the distance disappearing, his presence settling around me, his hand finding my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s always been there.
“You’re going to ruin your shirt,” I say, glancing at my fingers, still messy with frosting.
He doesn’t move away.
Instead, he just takes my wrist, casually, like it’s no big deal and before I can react, he brings my fingers to his mouth and cleans the frosting off with his tongue like it’s nothing.
My breath stutters.
It shouldn’t affect me this much. It really shouldn’t.
I tell myself he just likes the cake.
That’s all.
That has to be it.
“Okay,” I say, a little breathless despite myself, trying to recover, “you could’ve just used a tissue.”
He smiles, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He tilts my chin up slightly, not rough, just enough to make sure I’m looking at him.
“Don’t I deserve a kiss,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “from the birthday boy?”
He’s too close.
Close enough that thinking feels like a bad idea.
“But… Abhishek?” I manage, because someone in this situation should have sense, and it might as well be me.
“Stop thinking,” he says, softer now, thumb brushing lightly along my jaw.
That’s my mistake. I listen.
I lean in, just a little and he meets me halfway, and it’s not rushed or dramatic or anything like that. It’s just… warm. Easy. Like it’s not a big deal, even though it kind of is.
And for a second, I forget everything else.
“Wow,” Abhishek's voice cuts in, loud and deeply offended “I leave you two alone for two seconds ---”
I pull back immediately, suddenly very aware of everything again, my face probably giving me away.
Shubman just laughs under his breath, like none of this fazes him.
Abhishek doesn’t even hesitate, he just grabs me and pulls me away from Shubman. “Okay, enough,” he mutters, half to himself, half to Shubman, and before I can even ask what that means, I’m being dragged into the bedroom and pushed onto the bed.
I land sitting, the mattress bouncing slightly under me, my head still spinning, my body still catching up to everything that’s already happened.
Abhishek stands in front of me, arms crossed, like
Abhishek stands in front of me, arms crossed, like he’s about to deliver a very serious announcement. Which is already concerning.
“You know,” he starts, “we’re kind of a package deal.”
I stare at him.
He nods, completely serious. “You get one, you get both.”
That… does not help.
“I hope that’s not too much for you to handle,” he adds, like he’s being considerate, which somehow makes it worse.
I continue to stare blankly.
Because… what?
Because this day has already been too much, my first cake, my first actual birthday, my first kiss and now this? A whole relationship? Two people? At once? Just for me?
I open my mouth, close it again. Nothing useful comes out. I just sit there, hands resting awkwardly on my lap, feeling like I’ve missed several crucial steps in whatever conversation this is.
And then Shubman walks in.
He takes one look at the situation, at me sitting there like I’ve short-circuited and Abhishek standing, and he exhales sharply.
“Move,” he says.
Abhishek doesn’t. So Shubman just grabs him and throws him onto the bed beside me.
“That was going fine -- ” Abhishek protests.
“You were making it worse,” Shubman cuts him off, not even looking at him.
Then his attention is back on me. “That idiot is terrible at explaining things,” he says, completely unimpressed, brushing his hands off like he’s just fixed a problem.
“Okay,” he says, exhaling softly, like he’s choosing his words carefully now. “Let me try.”
Abhishek, from the bed, mutters something deeply offended. Shubman ignores him.
“You know we’re together,” he continues, eyes fixed on mine, no teasing this time. “That part isn’t new. But… somewhere along the way, we both....” he pauses, just for a second, like even he’s figuring out how to say it, “.....we both fell for you.”
“Don’t ask how,” he adds quickly, a faint, self-aware smile flickering in. “We didn’t exactly plan it. But it happened. And we’ve been pretending it didn’t for a while, which clearly isn’t working. And we think...” his gaze sharpens just slightly, searching, “....we think you might feel something too.”
Behind him, Abhishek goes quiet for once.
“Still,” he says, softer now, “we don’t want to assume. So we’re asking.”
For a second, I don’t say anything.
My heart is racing now and I hate how obvious it probably is.
Because he’s right.
I do feel it. I’ve been feeling it, in looks I didn’t hold long enough, in moments I pretended didn’t mean anything, in the way being around them never felt simple.
Because this...this is new territory entirely. Too many firsts packed into one day, like life suddenly decided to make up for lost time all at once.
But underneath the confusion, underneath the nerves—
there’s warmth.
And, excitement.
And somehow, the answer feels… simple.
“I do,” I say.
That’s all it takes.
Abhishek lets out a dramatic breath like he’s been holding it for hours, flopping back onto the bed in relief. Shubman just huffs out a quiet laugh, something easing in his shoulders.
And then he’s closer.
He pushes me back onto the bed, not rough but he's surely heavy, and all my thoughts scatter as he leans over me, his eyes so dark I wonder how he even sees.
When his lips meet mine again, it’s different. Softer, but deeper somehow, like he’s no longer second-guessing it. Like neither of us are.
My fingers bunch into his shirt. I don’t think about it. I just need something solid. Something to hold.
My heart feels too fast. Or maybe everything else is just slower.
Somewhere beside us, Abhishek shifts closer, his warm fingers a contrast against my cold and clammy ones. I could feel Shubman undoing his buttons but I'm too lost in his kisses to give it much thought.
It’s overwhelming.
But not in a way that makes me stop. I'm a fool for both of them.
Shubman pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead almost touching mine.
“You okay?” he asks, quieter now.
I nod.
I don’t trust my voice.
And that’s enough for him.
I wonder what my parents would say if they ever found out....found out that this is what I want now, what I choose.
That I could spend entire afternoons like this, stretched out between them, my head in Abhishek’s lap while Shubman’s rests in mine, his hair soft under my fingers as I absentmindedly play with it. That they’d be arguing about something completely pointless but with full passion, voices overlapping, each trying to pull me to their side.
“Tell him he’s wrong,” Abhishek would insist.
“Don’t listen to him, he has no idea what he’s talking about,” Shubman would cut in immediately.
And they’d both look at me, waiting.
Like my answer actually matters.
Like I matter.
And instead of choosing, instead of doing what I’ve always done, measuring or calculating or trying to get it right I’d just laugh, because for once it doesn’t feel like something I have to survive or get through carefully.
It just feels… easy.
Which, apparently, they would take very personally.
Because the next thing I know, they’re both on me hands everywhere, tickling, not letting me breathe, their laughter louder than mine, like they’ve decided this is the punishment for not taking sides.
“Say it,” Abhishek would demand, half-laughing.
“Admit I’m right,” Shubman would add, equally relentless.
“I’m not saying anything...” I’d try, already losing, already laughing too hard, tears escaping my eyes and I'm so happy I'm crying because I'm happy.
And they wouldn’t stop, not until I give in or collapse or both, the whole thing dissolving into something that is so us-coded and loud and completely ridiculous.
And maybe that’s the strangest part.
how… safe it feels.
How I don’t have to shrink or be careful or earn my place in it.
I just get to be there and I'm suddenly no longer a burden, no longer a child who should have died at birth, no longer tolerated, no longer a player constantly judged, no longer a news headline painting images wrong, no longer feeling like a piece of him is dead inside, no longer pretending it's no big deal.
And somehow, that feels like the most impossible thing of all.
Being loved, that is.