Over the next couple of weeks, the three of them—Arush, Anaya, and Rhea—slid into a strange, quiet friendship.
sharing notes when someone missed a point.
Rhea complaining to both of them about professors
Arush offering solutions while Anaya offered cookies.
Sometimes, they landed at the same bench during breaks. Not always. But often enough that it felt like a pattern, not an accident.
People talked.
“The mystery guy is friends with those two now?”
“Maybe he’s dating one of them.”
“Which one? The topper or the quiet one?”
“I bet it’s the quiet one, they always fall for that type.”
They heard it.
They didn’t feed it.
Rhea treated Arush like a person she respected—a calm, reliable classmate who didn’t treat her like she was too loud or too much.
Arush treated Rhea, almost like a sister, like someone whose brain he trusted and whose boundaries he understood instinctively.
Anaya…
She stayed herself.
Soft but not weak. Shy with strangers, unfiltered with Rhea. Quiet around crowds, but every now and then, in smaller spaces, she let her real self peek out—a sarcastic comment, an eye roll, a tiny rant.
Arush noticed, slowly.
The way her eyes lit up when she talked about baking.
The way she calmed when someone she trusted touched her hand—not a man, never a man, but Rhea looping their arms together.
The way her gaze sometimes flicked to him and then away, flustered, like she’d caught herself staring.
He ignored Ritik’s “chemistry” comments.
He ignored the class gossip.
He told himself they were just people who understood each other’s limits and pain a little better than most.
But on days when Ruhi asked, “Anya aunty coming?” with too much hope, or when a meme from the group chat made him exhale harder than usual, he knew something was shifting.
Not a big, dramatic shift.
A slow one.
Quiet.
Real.
One small conversation at a time.
By Saturday, the whole Mehra apartment looked like a tiny cyclone of balloons and tape.
“Ritik, that balloon is not round, it’s depressed,” Arush said, standing on a chair, trying to tie string to a hook.
“It’s called aesthetic,” Ritik replied from the floor, where he was surrounded by half‑blown balloons and an alarming amount of confetti. “Life is sad, balloons are sad. Match.”
Adwait walked in from the kitchen carrying plates, trying very hard to look calm and failing because a small glittery “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” sticker was stuck to his arm.
“Rian is going to eat that if he sees it,” Arush pointed out.
Adwait peeled it off, flustered. “I was just—Maa made me carry this. Where do we put the cake table?”
“Near the wall,” Arush said, jumping down from the chair. “Rian will try to steal the knife if it’s in the middle.”
Ritik clapped. “My nephew has ambition. We support.”
The twins were with their grandmother in the bedroom for now, being kept away from the preparations. Ruhi had already tried to pop three balloons earlier. Rian had tried to sit inside a gift bag.
The living room was full of streamers half hanging, half fighting gravity, colourful “2” shaped balloons, gifts hidden behind the sofa, Ritik’s questionable decoration choices, and Adwait’s attempt at straightening everything
In the middle of taping a streamer, Adwait cleared his throat.
“Arush?” he said, too casually.
“Hm?” Arush replied, focusing on making the tape stick.
“Did you…invite anyone from college?” Adwait asked, eyes firmly on the streamer, not on his friend.
Ritik immediately smirked. “He means: did you invite Anaya and RHEA,” he translated.
Adwait glared. “I meant…classmates,” he said. Then, almost under his breath, “Specifically also Rhea.”
Arush paused.
He hadn’t thought about inviting them.
Birthdays, for the twins, had always been family- parents and the guys. Tight circle. Safe.
The idea of mixing worlds—home and college—felt…big.
“I didn’t invite anyone yet,” he said honestly. “Wasn’t sure if it would be…I mean..I think it would be weird.”
“Weird how?” Ritik asked. “Kids’ birthday party, cake, chaos. It’s cute. Unless you’re planning to do tequila shots with the clown.”
“There is no clown,” Arush deadpanned.
“Wrong,” Ritik said, pointing at himself. “I am the clown.”
Adwait tried again, quieter this time. “You trust them,” he said. “And the twins like them. Ruhi hasn’t stopped saying ‘Anya aunty’ since she met her.”
Arush thought about that.
About Ruhi asking if “Anya coming” whenever he left for college.
About Anaya’s soft voice saying “They’re lucky to have you.”
About her no‑nonsense promise: We won’t tell anyone. We’re not like that.
Ritik, of course, couldn’t leave it alone. “Also,” he sing‑songed, “birthday parties are perfect for chemistry experiments.”
Arush gave him a look. “It’s my kids’ birthday, not a science lab.”
“And yet,” Ritik said, “we have one emotionally repressed dad, one cinnamon roll girl, and one savage topper who already lives rent‑free in Adwait’s brain. History will remember this moment.”
Adwait threw a streamer at him. “Shut up and inflate balloons.”
“Fine,” Ritik said, grabbing a balloon. “But invite them, yaar. If they can’t come, fine. But at least ask.”
Arush hesitated, then pulled his phone out of his pocket.
He opened Instagram.
Their tiny three‑person meme group:
“Trauma Trio 📚🧠🍪”
He stared at the chat for a second.
“What do I even write?” he muttered.
“‘Hey, it’s the twins’ birthday, want to come?’” Ritik suggested. “You don’t need to send them your aadhaar card.”
“Just…be normal,” Adwait added.
He typed:
“It's Ruhi and Rian’s birthday. Small thing at home. If you’re free, you can come. No pressure.”
Read. Re‑read. Sent.
Rhea replied first.
“OMG BABIES’ BIRTHDAY????
I’m dying with fever but Anaya will come. I’ll force her. She loves kids and cake. Tell me the time and dress code.”
He stared at the reply, thumb hovering.
“Why is he staring like that?” Ritik whispered to Adwait. “He’s waiting for Anaya to reply herself.”
He was.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Rhea.
He just…wanted Anaya to say yes herself.
He checked the chat again.
No reply from her yet.
Last seen: 15 minutes ago.
He put his phone down, pretending not to care.
“Rhea’s sick,” he said, neutral. “She says Anaya will come.”
“Of course I’m sick on the one day I could’ve met your kids again,” Ritik mimicked dramatically, doing a bad Rhea impression.
Adwait tried not to smile. “Dress code?” he repeated. “What are we, a theme party?”
“It’s kids,” Ritik said. “The theme is ‘don’t let them kill themselves.’”
They went back to decorations.
Every few minutes, Arush’s eyes flicked to his phone.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
“You know she might be in class or something,” Adwait said quietly, catching him.
“It’s Saturday,” Arush replied.
“Or bathroom,” Ritik added. “Or asleep. Or baking your kids a five‑layer cake. Relax.”
Arush clicked his tongue, shoved the phone into his pocket. “I am relaxed.”
Neither of them believed that.
At Anaya & Rhea’s apartment
Anaya was very much not aware of any birthday invitations.
She was in the bathroom, halfway through washing her hair, music playing softly from a speaker, completely cut off from the world.
Outside, her phone lit up on the bed.
Instagram notification:
“Trauma Trio 📚🧠🍪”
Arush: “Tomorrow is Ruhi and Rian’s birthday…”
Rhea: “I’m dying with fever but Anaya will come…”
Rhea, wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito, sniffed and blinked at the screen. She was genuinely sick— fever, headache, throat rough. Nothing extreme, but enough that she’d promised her body she wouldn’t step out.
She saw Arush’s message.
Her brain: Aww, babies’ birthday.
Her fingers: Type fast.
She replied what she did, smiling despite feeling like a boiled potato.
“Anaya will come.”
Then she put the phone back down and closed her eyes, waiting for her meds to kick in.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened with a rush of steam.
Anaya stepped out, hair wet, wrapped in an oversized T‑shirt and shorts, rubbing her hair with a towel.
She grabbed her phone, unlocked it—and froze.
She read the chat once.
Twice.
Then rounded on Rhea.
“YOU SAID WHAT?” she yelped.
Rhea opened one eye. “Ow. Decibels.”
“Rhea!” Anaya marched over, grabbing the nearest pillow and whacking her with it. “Why would you tell him I’m coming without asking me?”
“Violence,” Rhea groaned, still under the pillow. “See how sick friends are treated in this house.”
“How can I go alone?” Anaya almost wailed, hitting her once more for emphasis. “Alone! His house! For a birthday party! With kids! And…him!”
Rhea pushed the pillow off her face, eyes watery but amused. “First of all, ow,” she said. “Second, you love kids. Third, you love cake. Fourth, you love..no, you like him.”
Anaya’s mouth fell open. “I do not,” she spluttered, instantly flustered. “I just…respect him. And feel safe around him. And think he’s…nice.”
“Uh‑huh,” Rhea said. “You blush when he says you’re doing fine. Your heartbeat jumps when you see ‘Arush is typing…’ and you’ve started baking more since you found out his kids like sweets. Totally neutral.”
Anaya flopped back on the bed, covering her face with her hands. “You’re evil.”
Rhea laughed softly, then coughed. “Listen,” she said, voice softer. “Nothing is weird about this, okay? It’s his kids’ birthday. You’re going because Ruhi likes you, not because we’re arranging some dramatic confession.”
“How can you be so sure?” Anaya mumbled through her fingers.
“Because Arush is more emotionally constipated than you,” Rhea said. “If he thinks it’s weird, he wouldn’t have invited us at all. He’s careful.”
Anaya peeked out. “He invited us,” she said. “Not…me alone.”
“I am sick,” Rhea pointed out, pulling the blanket up. “Very tragically sick. I would go if I could, trust me. There’s no reason you shouldn’t go alone. You already know his family, his house. You’re not going to a stranger’s den.”
Anaya chewed on her lip. “Still…”
Rhea reached out and poked her forehead. “You are hitting your sick best friend instead of getting ready to make a child’s birthday? cute,” she said. “Where is your conscience?”
Anaya sighed dramatically. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Rhea countered, smug. “And you will also love seeing Ruhi in birthday clothes. You’re already thinking about what gift to take, aren’t you?”
Anaya’s silence answered for her.
“And,” Rhea added, smirk returning, “if you coincidentally stand next to Arush while he cuts the cake with them, that’s between you and fate. I’m just a bedridden spectator.”
“Rhea,” Anaya warned, face on fire.
“Relax,” Rhea laughed. “I’m not going to third‑wheel you two with a fever over call, I promise. Just go. Be normal. It’s just a birthday party, not an engagement.”
Anaya groaned into the pillow.
But later, when she opened Insta and saw his message again, her fingers hovered only a second before she typed:
"I’ll come. What time should I reach? And…should I bring something?”
She stared at it, then hit send before she could chicken out.
Somewhere else, Arush’s phone buzzed.
Ritik, half inside a giant cardboard box trying to wrap it, yelled, “Did she reply?”
Arush checked the screen.
Yes.
She did.
He didn’t smile.
He just exhaled a little softer and replied:
“5 pm. And just bring yourself. They have enough toys. Maybe…cookies if you want. They like sweet things.”
Ritik grinned. “Chemistry,” he whispered to Adwait.
Adwait, pretending not to look too eager, asked, “She’s coming?”
“Yeah,” Arush said simply.
Inside a small apartment across town, Rhea lay under a blanket, smiling to herself despite the fever.
“Step one,” she thought. “Birthday party.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
By 5 pm, the Mehra living room had fully transformed into “toddler birthday battlefield.”
Balloons everywhere, streamers slightly crooked, a “2” foil balloon floating near the ceiling. Soft kids’ songs played from a speaker. The cake—simple, chocolate, with “Ruhi & Rian” written on it—waited on a decorated table.
Ruhi was in a pastel dress with tiny stars on it, hair half tied with a bow. Rian wore a small shirt with cartoon cars. Both had already tried to attack the balloons twice.
The doorbell rang.
Ruhi’s head snapped up. “Anya?” she gasped.
“She doesn’t even wait for confirmation,” Ritik chuckled.
*****
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