Nysa's POV

It was supposed to be a simple conversation.

Just another chat between friends.

But somehow, that day, everything cracked.

Kritika and I met at our usual spot after college.

Her eyes were sharp, restless — like she’d been holding back a storm.

I had been cautious, trying to keep things calm.

Trying to explain how I saw Apurv differently — not the way she painted him.

“You don’t get it, Naysa,” Kritika said, voice low but fierce.

“He’s not the guy you think he is. He’s a flirt, a player. He has a girlfriend, but he still flirts. I’ve seen it myself. You’re just making excuses for him.”

I felt a familiar ache twist in my chest.

Not anger, exactly. More like confusion. Hurt. A bitter sting.

“Kritika, you don’t know everything. You see pieces, not the whole. I’ve talked to him. I know who he really is,” I said firmly, trying to keep my voice steady.

She scoffed. “You think you know him? You barely even talk. You’re making yourself believe things because your heart wants to.”

I clenched my fists, the words burning inside me.

“No. I’m not blinded. And I’m not making this up.”

“Then why doesn’t he reach out? Why doesn’t he show you he cares? You’re wasting your time.”

Her words hit harder than I expected.

“Maybe because I don’t want him to show me. Maybe because I don’t need him to,” I snapped, voice trembling now.

She laughed, sharp and bitter.

“You don’t even know what you want, Naysa. You’re stuck in some fantasy.”

That was it.

I felt something inside me snap.

Years of bottled-up frustration, and quiet hope boiled over.

“How dare you?” I whispered, eyes burning.

“How dare you judge what I feel when you don’t even try to understand?”

Kritika’s face hardened. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” I shook my head, tears threatening.

“No, you’re trying to control me. To tell me who I should love and who I shouldn’t. But I’m done listening.”

I turned away, the pain sharp and raw.

We haven’t spoken since.

I don’t know if it was anger or heartbreak — or both — but something inside me shattered that day.

I realized trust isn’t just about believing others.

It’s about believing yourself too.

And maybe, for now, I need to trust me more than anyone else.

I didn’t plan to see her.

Not Kritika. Not Aayub. Not anyone who made me question my own feelings.

But fate, as always, had its own twisted sense of humor.

It was supposed to be a casual meet-up — just old friends from both colleges catching up after exams. A Cafe. A few inside jokes. I didn’t even know Kritika would be there.

I didn’t even know Aayub would show up.

But when I reached, I saw them both.

And that same old restlessness crept up my spine.

Kritika looked at me like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t fought. Like she hadn’t doubted me, invalidated me, cornered me.

She smiled and waved. “Naysa, finally. We were waiting for you.”

I didn’t smile back.

She knew what that meant.

But she still tried.

“You remember Aayub, right?” she said casually. “We were just talking about how you two should’ve at least given things a chance. He’s smart, stable, doesn’t play games. Unlike… someone else.”

My stomach twisted.

She wasn’t even subtle anymore.

I glanced at Aayub. His eyes dropped immediately, like he knew what was coming.

He didn’t say anything. But the smirk on his face — like he expected me to bend — made my skin burn.

“Kritika,” I said sharply, “can I talk to you alone?”

She hesitated, but followed me a few steps away.

“You’re still stuck on him, aren’t you?” she said before I could even begin.

My jaw clenched.

“I’m not here to explain anything to you anymore,” I said. “But you? You’re crossing a line.”

“I’m your friend,” she snapped. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t waste your time on someone who’s never going to choose you. You think Apurv cares? He doesn’t. Aayub does.”

“And what if I don’t care about Aayub?” I shot back. “What if I don’t want someone just because he’s available and 'stable' like you say? What if I’m tired of everyone deciding what I deserve?”

Kritika looked stunned. Like I wasn’t the girl she used to know.

But maybe I wasn’t anymore.

“I thought you’d get over your stupid phase,” she whispered.

That was it.

“No, Kritika,” I said coldly. “This isn’t a phase. It’s my life. And you don’t get to script it.”

She looked away, her pride deflating in front of me. But I wasn’t done.

“You tried to fix me like I was broken. But you never tried to listen. Not once.”

I turned to walk away.

“Aayub’s just trying to—”

“If he ever texts or calls me again,” I said without turning around, “I’ll remind him I was never interested — and I don’t care if he’s your batchmate, your friend, or the president of your fan club.”

My voice didn’t shake.

Not this time.

That was the day I cut her off completely.

No goodbye. No closure. Just a full stop.

Because friendships that try to rewrite your feelings for their comfort —

they don’t deserve chapters in your life.