Chapter 1 – A Boy Who Felt Too Much
Rohan was just a normal boy. The kind of boy you see every day in school — quiet, decent, always lost in his own little world. He wasn’t the most talkative, nor the most popular. But there was something about him — a strange calmness that made him different.
He had a small circle of friends, the usual school routine, and a life that moved at its own simple pace. His days were filled with laughter in corridors, incomplete homework, and the same old canteen jokes. He believed that life was supposed to stay that way — ordinary and peaceful.
But life has its own ways of turning simple into complicated.
It was an ordinary morning when she entered his class — Riya.
A new admission. Bright eyes, soft smile, and a presence that made people turn around. She wasn’t the kind of girl who tried to get attention, but somehow, she already had it.
Rohan still remembers that first glance — she asked him for a pen. Just that one small moment, and something inside him changed. He didn’t know what it was — maybe curiosity, maybe attraction, or maybe just that feeling of wanting someone’s presence a little longer than usual.
Days passed.
They started talking — a little at first, then a lot. Group projects became excuses to meet, and lunch breaks turned into quiet talks under the old neem tree behind the school. Riya had a way of speaking that made even silence feel comfortable.
Rohan started waiting for mornings, for classes, for that one seat beside her. He didn’t call it love — not yet. He was too young to name feelings, but old enough to feel them deeply.
The world around him started to fade a little, and her laughter became the loudest sound he heard every day.
Two years passed just like that.
Their bond grew with time — from jokes to secrets, from assignments to promises. Everyone thought they’d always be together, and maybe Rohan believed that too.
But life doesn’t warn before changing.
It was the last week of school — final exams, farewell preparations, and silent goodbyes hiding behind fake smiles. Riya had been acting distant. She didn’t talk much, didn’t laugh like before. Rohan noticed, but he didn’t ask.
He was scared to lose her answer.
And then one day, she just said it —
“I’m leaving, Rohan. Dad got transferred. We’re shifting next month.”
He froze. He tried to smile, to hide the noise inside him, but it didn’t work.
He wanted to say something — Don’t go, or I’ll miss you, or maybe just Please stay.
But he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.
That day, Riya left the school a little early.
And Rohan stood near the same old neem tree, watching the sun go down — the same sun that had seen their laughter, their talks, and now, his silence.
That night, he didn’t sleep.
He kept replaying every memory — every smile, every word, every moment that now hurt more than it healed.
He wondered if she’d think about him once before sleeping.
He wondered if he ever really meant something.
He wondered — and that’s how it began.
That night was the first time Rohan overthought something he could never change.
He didn’t know it then, but that habit… that loop of thoughts… was about to become his whole life.
Chapter 2 – The Days of Sunshine
The days that followed felt lighter — or maybe that’s what Rohan wanted to believe.
After that first meeting, Riya slowly became a part of his every routine. From morning greetings to last bench laughter, everything seemed brighter when she was around.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who talked too much, but her words always carried a strange warmth. Rohan noticed every little thing about her — the way she tied her hair when she was focused, how she bit her lip when nervous, and how she smiled when someone praised her handwriting.
It started with friendship.
Notes shared, lunch boxes exchanged, and those after-class walks that were “just till the gate” but somehow always took longer.
They talked about everything — their dreams, their families, their fears. Riya wanted to become a designer someday; Rohan, he didn’t really know what he wanted yet. But he liked listening to her talk about her future — it made him feel like he’d be part of it somehow.
Days turned into months.
School became less about books and more about moments.
Those two years were the best kind of routine — predictable, yet precious.
Rohan used to sit by the window, pretending to look outside, when in reality, he was just watching Riya.
He’d smile for no reason when she laughed with her friends.
He’d feel restless when she didn’t come to school.
And sometimes, he’d write her name in the corner of his notebook, just to erase it immediately after — afraid someone might see.
They weren’t a couple. They never confessed.
But their connection didn’t need words — not then.
There was this one day Rohan could never forget.
It was raining heavily, and half the class had already left early. Riya forgot her umbrella, and Rohan, with his heart beating a little too fast, offered to drop her home.
They walked under the same umbrella, talking about random things — rain, movies, teachers — but every word felt heavier, every silence felt deeper.
When they reached her lane, Riya turned to him and said softly,
“Thank you, Rohan. You’re different… in a good way.”
That one line stayed with him for weeks.
He replayed it over and over again, like a favorite song.
They made promises — little, innocent ones.
“To stay in touch after school.”
“To never forget each other.”
“To always be friends, no matter what.”
Rohan believed every word. He was young, emotional, and full of hope — a dangerous combination for a heart that feels too much.
But life, as always, had its own plans.
Riya started missing classes near the end of the year. “Family issues,” she’d say. Rohan didn’t ask much — he trusted her words more than he trusted his own thoughts.
And then came the farewell day — the day when everyone laughed too loudly to hide their tears.
Riya looked beautiful that day, dressed in blue, her smile calm but distant.
They clicked pictures, shared gifts, and promised again — “We’ll stay in touch.”
But somewhere deep down, Rohan felt something shifting. A quiet fear he couldn’t explain.
A small voice in his head whispered, “What if this is the last time?”
He ignored it — like we all do when we don’t want to face the truth.
And that’s how the days of sunshine slowly started turning into evenings of silence.
Chapter 3 – The Goodbye That Broke Him
The last few weeks of school were supposed to be about fun, laughter, and memories.
But for Rohan, everything started to feel different.
Riya had begun to drift away — not in a dramatic way, just slowly… like the warmth of sunlight fading during sunset.
She still smiled, still talked, but something in her eyes had changed.
Maybe Rohan was overthinking, or maybe he was just noticing the silence between her words a little too deeply.
One afternoon, as they sat under their usual tree, Riya was quieter than usual.
Rohan tried to start conversations, cracked small jokes, but her laughter felt forced. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but fear stopped him — fear of hearing something he wasn’t ready for.
A few days later, the truth came.
Riya waited till the last period, when most students had already left. Her voice was soft, almost trembling when she said,
“Rohan, I need to tell you something.”
He turned, nervous.
She looked down, fiddling with her bracelet, and said,
“Dad got transferred. We’re shifting next month.”
For a few seconds, he couldn’t process it. His smile froze.
“Oh…” was all he managed to say.
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “I’ll miss everyone here. I’ll miss… this place.”
He wanted her to say I’ll miss you, but she didn’t.
The silence that followed was louder than any words could have been.
That evening, Rohan walked home alone. The streets looked the same, but everything felt heavier. The jokes of his friends, the noise of the road — nothing reached him. Inside, there was just one repeating thought — She’s leaving.
That night, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.
His phone screen stayed on for hours — no new messages, no calls.
He typed “Will you keep in touch?” at least ten times, but never hit send.
The next few days went by in slow motion. Farewell came closer. Riya was busy — pictures, messages, plans — while Rohan just watched from a distance, pretending everything was normal.
On the last day, she walked up to him, holding a small note.
“This is for you,” she said.
He didn’t open it there.
He just took it, smiled faintly, and said, “Take care, Riya.”
She nodded and walked away.
That was the last time he saw her.
When he reached home that day, he finally opened the note.
It was short — just four lines:
> “Some people leave, not because they want to,
but because life takes them away.
You were a good part of my story, Rohan.
Stay kind.”
He read it again and again until the words blurred.
That night, he didn’t cry — not out loud.
But his chest felt heavy, and his mind… restless.
Every memory of her played like an endless film — her laughter, her eyes, her words.
He kept thinking, Did I mean nothing to her?
Was I just another chapter she moved past easily?
That was the night he couldn’t stop his mind.
He thought, rethought, and then thought again — until even silence started hurting.
It was the night overthinking became a part of him.
Not a habit, not a choice — but a quiet curse.
Chapter 4 – A New Start, A Familiar Mind
College.
A fresh start — that’s what everyone called it.
But Rohan knew, sometimes you can change the place, not the mind.
It had been a year since Riya left. Time had moved, but his thoughts hadn’t.
He had learned how to smile again — not because he was happy, but because people stopped asking questions when you smiled.
College was loud, full of new faces, laughter, and chaos.
Rohan sat on the last bench, just like always. He wasn’t shy; he was just tired of trying to fit in.
The first few weeks passed quietly — lectures, canteen tea, group projects he never joined.
But one afternoon changed everything.
He was sitting under a tree near the campus gate, earphones in, lost in an old song — the kind that hurts but feels comforting.
That’s when a voice broke through his thoughts,
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
He looked up — a girl stood there, smiling politely.
Fair skin, bright eyes, hair tied in a messy bun — her presence had that strange calmness, the kind that makes noise fade.
“Umm, no… you can sit,” Rohan replied softly, removing one earphone.
She sat down and took out a sandwich. “You’re in Computer Science, right?”
Rohan nodded.
“I’ve seen you in class. You never talk to anyone.”
He smiled awkwardly. “I do… just not much.”
She laughed lightly. “That’s the same thing, genius.”
Her laugh had that carefree tone that instantly felt familiar.
“By the way, I’m Shruti,” she said, extending her hand.
“Rohan,” he replied.
That was it — their first conversation. Simple, ordinary, yet something about it felt like sunlight breaking through a window after a long night.
Days turned into weeks.
Shruti and Rohan started talking more — class assignments, random jokes, college drama, and everything in between. She was the opposite of him — expressive, spontaneous, and full of life.
She had this habit of saying things without thinking too much.
And Rohan… well, he overthought everything she said.
When she laughed, he wondered why.
When she texted late, he wondered if it meant something.
When she didn’t reply, he wondered what went wrong.
But still, he liked her presence — because for the first time in a long time, he felt light.
They became best friends — everyone in class noticed it.
They sat together, studied together, and even fought like kids over silly things. Shruti never judged him for being quiet. Instead, she’d often say,
“Rohan, you feel things too deeply. That’s rare.”
And every time she said that, he smiled a little more than usual.
One evening, after class, they went to a nearby café. Shruti was talking non-stop about her favorite series while Rohan just watched her — the way she talked with her hands, her expressions, her energy.
He didn’t realize when friendship turned into something more.
He didn’t plan it — it just happened.
That night, lying on his bed, he smiled at his phone screen, scrolling through their chats.
He typed, “You mean a lot to me.”
Then deleted it.
Then typed again.
Then deleted again.
And finally, he just sent a “Good night :)”
Because sometimes, overthinkers say less — but feel everything.
Chapter 5: The Distance That Spoke Everything
Days passed, but the silence between Rohan and Shruti kept growing louder.
There was no fight, no harsh words — just the quiet kind of distance that hurts more than any argument ever could.
Rohan often sat in the college canteen, waiting for her to walk in like before — that messy ponytail, that half-smile, that familiar “hi idiot” greeting.
But now, she sat at a different table. With different people.
He didn’t blame her — not really.
But he couldn’t stop wondering if he had done something wrong.
Maybe he cared too much. Maybe he expected too much.
Or maybe… this was what life does — gives you someone to heal you, and then takes them away when you start depending on them.
---
That night, Rohan stared at his phone screen.
There were so many “typing…” moments that ended with backspacing everything.
He wanted to text her — to ask if she was okay, to ask if they were still okay.
But fear whispered louder than courage:
“What if she doesn’t reply?”
So he didn’t.
He just put his phone aside and told himself,
“Maybe tomorrow will be different.”
But tomorrow wasn’t.
And neither was the day after.
---
One afternoon, Shruti finally messaged.
“Hey, sorry for not talking much these days. Just been busy.”
Rohan smiled at the screen for a moment, then typed back,
“It’s okay, I understand.”
He didn’t tell her that he missed her laugh, or that he still waited every morning just to say good morning like before.
Because what’s the point of saying things that won’t be felt anymore?
---
Weeks turned into months.
They still met sometimes — in hallways, in class, in shared friend groups —
but it wasn’t the same.
There was a polite smile instead of genuine laughter.
A wave instead of a hug.
And an invisible wall where once there was comfort.
---
One evening, while walking home alone, Rohan whispered to himself,
“Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just meant to care more than I should.”
He looked up at the sky — the same sky they used to watch together from the college terrace.
It was silent.
But somehow, that silence spoke everything he wanted to say.
Chapter 6: The Overthinker’s Night
Rohan had stopped keeping track of time.
Days were just passing — morning to night, night to morning — everything looked the same. College, assignments, friends, and yet, inside him, something had gone quiet.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even sad anymore.
He was just… tired.
Tired of pretending that everything was fine.
Tired of holding conversations that didn’t mean anything.
Tired of overthinking every small thing Shruti did — every status, every laugh, every new friend.
---
That night, lying on his bed, he stared at the ceiling fan turning slowly above him.
His mind was full of “what ifs.”
What if I had told her how I really felt?
What if I had not cared so much?
What if I never meet someone like her again?
He scrolled through his old chats.
Messages filled with inside jokes, random memes, and late-night “are you okay?” texts.
Each word felt heavier now, like memories soaked in nostalgia and silence.
He smiled faintly and whispered,
“Funny, how someone can still feel close when they’re so far away.”
---
Sleep didn’t come easy that night.
He kept replaying moments in his head — Shruti laughing, Shruti listening, Shruti saying “you’re my favorite person.”
It all felt unreal now, like a dream that had ended too early.
At 2:37 a.m., he sat by the window, watching the city lights flicker.
He thought about Riya too — the girl who left him back in school.
He realized something.
Maybe it wasn’t just Riya or Shruti.
Maybe it was him — the way he gave his heart to people who were never meant to stay.
---
He opened his notebook — the same one where he used to scribble random thoughts —
and wrote quietly:
> “I don’t hate people for leaving.
I just wish I didn’t love them so deeply before they did.”
He stared at the line for a long time.
It was simple, but it carried everything he had been feeling all along.
---
That night wasn’t just another night of overthinking.
It was the beginning of realization —
that maybe he needed to stop trying to fix everyone around him,
and start understanding the one person who really needed healing — himself.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
For the first time, his thoughts didn’t scare him.
They just… existed.
And he let them.
Chapter 7: The Art of Being Alone
It had been months since Rohan last talked to Shruti properly.
Their conversations had faded into polite smiles and distant nods — the kind you give to people who once knew your entire story.
And yet, Rohan was no longer breaking from it.
Somewhere between all the sleepless nights, the overthinking, and the quiet evenings alone, he had begun to understand something deeper —
that peace doesn’t come from people staying; it comes from learning to stay with yourself.
---
He started spending more time doing things that once didn’t matter — reading, sketching, walking alone to the café near his hostel.
He had stopped checking his phone every few minutes.
Stopped waiting for a text that would never come.
Stopped replaying conversations that ended months ago.
There was still loneliness, yes.
But it didn’t hurt the same way anymore.
It had become softer, calmer — like a familiar friend who sits beside you silently but doesn’t demand answers.
---
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the college building, painting the sky in orange and gold, Rohan sat on the terrace — the same spot where he and Shruti once shared stories.
He looked at the sky and smiled faintly.
“Maybe I was never meant to lose anyone,” he whispered to himself.
“Maybe I was meant to find myself through them.”
The wind brushed against his face, carrying that soft evening silence he had once feared.
Now, it felt peaceful.
He realized he no longer needed someone to understand him completely — he had finally started understanding himself.
---
A few days later, he met Shruti by chance in the library.
She smiled gently, “It’s been a while, huh?”
Rohan nodded, returning the smile, “Yeah… but I’m glad it happened.”
They talked for a few minutes — nothing deep, nothing heavy — just light, easy conversation.
And when she left, he didn’t feel emptiness anymore.
He just felt grateful — for the memories, the lessons, and the silence that taught him how to grow.
---
That night, he opened his diary again and wrote:
> “Being alone isn’t sad.
It’s the purest form of peace —
when you stop chasing closure
and start living with acceptance.”
He closed the diary, turned off the lights, and looked at the stars from his window.
For the first time in years, he didn’t overthink.
He just was.
---
The End. 🌙
Rohan didn’t win anyone back.
He didn’t end up with love or closure.
But he found something far more precious —
the strength to be alone without feeling lonely.
