For seven days, Shia's seat in class stayed empty - no laughter trailing into the corridor, no glances across the lecture hall, no perfume lingering by the chai stand. Her phone buzzed unanswered. Her Instagram story, always alive with filters and flair, went dark. Rohan's calls went straight to voicemail. Messages - blue-ticked, never replied. And then came Kabir, casually informing him, "She's on a family trip. Something sudden."
But even he didn't sound convinced.
The void she left wasn't quiet.
It was symphonic.
It pulsed through Rohan's lectures.
Hummed beneath his fingers on the throttle.
Clung to his collar like leftover rain.
He still showed up to class.
Still flashed his quick wit.
Still answered professors with flair.
But anyone watching closely could see it - the pause in his step when he passed the canteen.
The jokes that no longer landed with warmth. His humor had lost its music.
And even the usually indifferent professors began to linger half a heartbeat after roll call - as if they, too, were waiting for something no one would say.