Author's note: Hope you enjoy reading the chapter! Can we please get 140 votes on this chapter?

~Only friend~

I can't help staring at the email again, even though I have practically memorized every word—including the punctuation—by now. The university's logo still made my heart skip a beat. My fingers enlarged the screen to focus on the word 'Congratulations' for probably the hundredth time, and I felt that same ridiculous smile spreading across my face.

It was an interview invitation from one of my dream universities for their master's program. It was finally happening. My life was taking a turn for the better, but I also knew to not get my hopes up. Afterall, life had taught me time and again that it enjoyed toying with me. It would dangle a carrot in front of me while dragging me to a pitfall of despair and disappointment.

A familiar sound made me glance up. Sanjana had her phone aimed at me and was grinning triumphantly. Locking my phone, I put it in the pocket of my jacket. "Delete that," I demanded.

"Why?" she frowned as she looked down at the phone and then held it out for me to see. "It's such a cute picture. The light is hitting you perfectly and I got your better profile."

I reached for her phone, but she was quicker, holding it away from my reach.

"You want it? Don't worry, I'll send you a copy," she teased, with a grin. "But... if you want to post anywhere, I'll need credit."

"I'm not posting my picture anywhere. I hate my photos," I muttered, pushing my glasses.

"Is that why you don't have any social media accounts?" she asked, scooting closer to me. I tried to scoot away, but there was only so much space on a bus seat. If it were the old me, I would have gotten very uncomfortable with the proximity. I never did too well with having people in my vicinity, including my mother. Not that it had ever been a problem. Sometimes I wondered if I was bending too many rules for Sanjana. Perhaps I was or perhaps I had just gotten used to her annoyingly loud and chirpy company.

"Delete that picture," I demanded again, but something in her expressions told me that she wasn't going to do as I asked. "You better not post that picture anywhere," I said, retrieving my textbook from my bag.

"But why?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. "Imagine how much clout I'll get for capturing a historic moment of the great Varun Reddy making heart eyes at his phone."

"I wasn't making heart eyes," I said, rolling my eyes.

"You totally were," she argued. "What were you looking at? A picture of Tabassum? Or did she message you something that made you smile?"

I shook my head. "I have never met someone with such a one-track mind."

She narrowed her eyes at me before returning her attention back to her phone. I tried to focus on my textbook—keyword being 'tried'—because it was nearly impossible when the person beside you kept making these little huffing sounds and mumbling under her breath like she was having a one-sided argument. Not to mention how she kept accidentally brushing her arm against mine, sending little jolts of awareness of her presence.

My curiosity won over my indifference, as I leaned over slightly to see what had her so worked up.

Of course.

She was scrolling through some nail polish collection, as if her dorm room wasn't already a mini store for nail polishes.

When she caught me looking, I jerked back, heat creeping up my neck. But Sanjana, being Sanjana, took this as an invitation to thrust her phone right in front of my face.

"Look at this stupidity," she said, her voice thick with indignation. "Their new 'revolutionary' collection." "Revolutionary my foot! It's the same basic colors they've been recycling since 2020, just poured into these weird angular bottles." She zoomed in aggressively on the image. "Like, who approved this design? You can't even stack them properly. What are people supposed to do, build a pyramid with these?"

"The horror," I mumbled, trying to go back to studying when she grabbed my jacket and forced my attention back to her.

"And look at this—they named their signature red 'Ruby Romance.' Ruby. Romance. Could they be any more basic?" She brought the phone closer to her face, squinting at the fine print. "And—oh my god, they're still testing on animals! It's 2024! We can literally 3D print human skin tissue, but these dinosaurs are still torturing bunnies to see if their polish causes rashes?"

She dropped her phone onto her lap with a dramatic flair and turned to face me, her hair swishing with movement. "When I build my nail polish brand—I'm buying out this whole prehistoric company just to shut it down. They deserve it for testing on animals. "That reminds me.. I need to add them to my 'Companies to never buy from' list."

Once again, my mind was reeling with the nonsensical information she had thrown at me. "Wait... you are going to start a nail polish brand?" I asked, when I had managed to make sense of her rambling.

She didn't look up from her furious typing, her perfectly painted nails clicking against the screen. "Yeah. Why else would I have so many nail polishes? It's all for market research," she said, as a matter-of-factly.

"Research?" I repeated, scratching the top of my eyebrow. "You're telling me that your room looks like a nail polish store because you're doing research?"

"It doesn't look like a store," she argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It does so," I argued back. "Why else would you have three shades of purple?"

"First of all," she raised a finger, "They were not identical. One was 'Twilight Mist,' one was ''Lavender Dreams,' and one was 'Purple Rain.' Completely different energies and vibes. You know how empowering a nail polish can be? But yeah...I have a few similar shades from different brands to compare their opacity, brush design, dry time, and how long they last and stuff."

I resisted the urge to point out that she never really tested how long her nail polish lasted because she changed it so often. "That's us," I said, as our bus approached the hospital.

She nodded and followed me to the front of the bus. As we were getting off, she stopped by the driver. "Bye!" she said, waving enthusiastically at the driver. The man ignored her and stared straight ahead like she was invisible. His indifference only seemed to fuel her determination as she began to strike up a conversation with him. "Your turns are too narrow and kind of dangerous, but don't worry, I won't put it on your review because these roads are–"

"Let's go," I mumbled in her ear, giving her the gentlest of nudges off the bus, noticing the annoyance in the driver's body language. Her new friend– the conductor – matched her wave-for-wave until the bus disappeared from our line of sight.

She held up her phone as we walked down the hill toward the hospital. "So, what app do I rate and the trip and tip?"

I opened my mouth and then closed it unsure if she was joking or being serious. "It's not Uber. You can't do that," I finally said.

Her face fell as she looked down at her phone and then the direction that the bus had disappeared in. "But I wanted to tip them. They made my first bus ride pretty memorable."

I scoffed and shook my head. "I'm sure they aren't going to forget about you anytime soon either."

Taking my remark as a compliment, she pushed her hair back. "Well... What can I say? I'm pretty unique that way."

Her face brightened. "You think so?"

"Hard to forget someone who tries to give feedback on their driving skills."

"I was being helpful!" She adjusted her messenger bag with a small, indignant huff, the fabric rustling against her winter jacket.

It was the perfect segue. "Talking about being helpful," I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck. "Can you please do me a favor?"

A mischievous sparkle danced in her eyes. "I knew you would eventually need me," she said, grinning widely. "So tell me... How can I help you? Do you need fashion advice?" She walked in front of me and began walking backwards. "Or do you want me to help you woo Tabassum? Or do you like someone else? Is it that girl you were talking to in class... What's her name? The one–"

"What? No! And why exactly are you so obsessed with pushing Tabassum and me together. We're just friends." I scowled, feeling my cheeks warm. "I was hoping you could say hi to my mother. She has been asking about you."

"Oh..." She trailed, before nodding enthusiastically. "Of course."

"She thinks that you don't like her," I murmured, avoiding direct eye contact. "So just... be aware."

"What? Why?" she asked, gasping dramatically that passersby turned to look. "I like her. I told you I like her. What gave her the impression that I don't like her?"

I cleared my throat, still not meeting her gaze. "Well. Because she has been asking me to have you visit her and stuff, but I keep giving excuses, and she thinks it's because you don't like her."

Her eyes widened, accusation and hurt flickering across her face. "Why would you do that? You never even once mentioned this to me. I come to the hospital all the time. I could have said hi."

"Because I didn't want to trouble you," I mumbled, "and quite honestly, I didn't want my mother to get attached to you in any way." But then I stopped mid-stride, my words catching in my throat. My mother was standing at the hospital entrance chatting with someone. I quickly grabbed Sanjana's hand, the sudden action startling her. When she gave me a puzzled look, I jutted my chin towards my mother.

My mother rushed towards me, but instead of her usual warm embrace, she stood directly in front of Sanjana. "Sanjana, you're here!" she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and something deeper—relief, perhaps? She looked so happy that I felt guilty about lying to her. She took Sanjana's hands in hers, a gesture that spoke volumes. "Varun said that you are.. Never mind. You're here, I am so happy to see you."

Sanjana engulfed my mother in a hug. "Aunty, how are you?"

"I'm fine I didn't know you were coming... I... Varun, mentioned that," my mother rambled as she looked between us and tried to find the correct words without imposing.

Sanjana caught my eye and threw me a quick glare that could have melted steel. "I know, I'm sorry, Aunty. We had exams and there's an upcoming talent show that I'm participating in so I have to practice. I have been really busy." The smooth lie rolled off her tongue, and I gave her a small nod of appreciation, feeling simultaneously grateful and guilty. "Actually," Sanjana said, pulling out her phone with that characteristic flourish of hers, "Let's exchange numbers. That way we won't have to rely on him anymore and we can meet again when both of us are free." She threw me another veiled pointed look.

"I..." My mother's hesitation was painful to watch. She looked at me, seeking permission like she was asking for something too much. Like she didn't deserve to know anything about my life or interact with anyone in my life. The uncertainty in her eyes, the way her fingers twisted together—it made my throat tight. Before I could respond—before my guilt could manifest into more excuses—Sanjana thrust the phone into my mother's hands.

Sanjana leaned close to my mother, whispered something that made my mother's entire face light up. My mother smiled widely and nodded enthusiastically, looking years younger in that moment. I tried to scowl but couldn't quite manage it—there was something disarming about seeing them together like this.

"That reminds me," Sanjana muttered as she checked the time, her expression shifting to concern. "I was supposed to be at the ward half an hour ago. They're probably waiting for me. I'll see you guys later." She turned to face me, adjusting her bag strap nervously and leaned in closer to whisper, "I need to take the bus while returning as well... could you... you know? Wait for me."

I nodded. That was the least I could do after what she had done for me. "Sure."

Once Sanjana left, I turned to my mother. "What was she saying?"

"Nothing," she said, pressing her lips together to stop herself from smiling, but joy leaked from every crinkle around her eyes."Shall we go?"

I nodded. "What did you want to buy?"

"A shirt," she said as she walked ahead, her steps lighter than I'd seen in weeks.

"A shirt? For who?"

She turned back, and the pride in her eyes shone. "For my son who has a big interview coming up," she said, touching my face with a smile. Her palm was soft against my cheek, warm with maternal love. "I'm so proud of you, beta."

"Maa, what's the need for that," I chided, shaking my head, but the words caught slightly in my throat. She was having none of it, though—her hand moved to straighten my collar.

"It's a very big interview and I want you to look and feel your best," she said, using the tactic that I could never say no to. Her eyes welled up as she looked at me. "I know I haven't been a good mother–"

"Maa, please. Okay... What color shirt should I buy? White? Or do you think I can pull off a bright color shirt?" I deliberately pitched my voice lighter to make sure I didn't upset her any more. "My son looks handsome in anything he wears."

I chuckled and shook my head as we walked toward the store, her arm linked through mine.

We spent nearly two hours going from one store to the other, my mother examining every shirt carefully. She checked the color, size and fabric of each shirt while I tried not to wince at the price tags.

"This shirt brings out your eyes," she'd say, or "This one makes you look so professional."

Despite my protests about the cost— "Maa, it's too expensive" and "I have other shirts"—she bought an overpriced shirt. The way she handed over her card, though, her chin lifted with dignity and satisfaction, made any further objections die in my throat. This wasn't just about a shirt; it was about a mother's right to do something special for her son.

We stopped at her favorite chaat corner afterward, sharing a plate of sev puri. She once again told me stories about her hospital colleagues while I listened.

"You look happy," she commented softly, reaching up to wipe the corner of my mouth with her dupatta. "May God always keep you smiling."

I smiled, wrapping my arm around her shoulder, drawing her close.

As we made our way back to the hospital, I pulled out my phone to text Sanjana.

Sanjana: Okay. I'll wait for you at the entrance.

Just like she said she would, she was waiting at the front of the hospital. Her face brightened at the sight of us, and she waved with both arms, bouncing on her toes like an excited child.

"You remember NK Uncle," she said, patting the man in the wheelchair on the back with that easy familiarity she seemed to share with everyone. The elderly man smiled up at us.

"Good evening," I said with a curt nod, recognizing him as the patient who had called me tutor from hell the last time we had met.

Sanjana and my mother fell into conversation instantly, like old friends reuniting even though they had just spoken a few hours ago.

"Sorry about the other day," NK Uncle said to me sheepishly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Before I could respond, he glanced at Sanjana, who was now showing my mother something on her phone, both of them laughing softly.

"She's something special, isn't she?" he said, his eyes crinkling with grandfatherly affection. "Always rushing around and chatting like a whirlwind, that girl." He shook his head fondly.

I watched as Sanjana gestured animatedly, explaining something to my mother who was chuckling and nodding.

"A bit dramatic sometimes," he chuckled, studying my expression with careful eyes. "But her heart—pure gold. The way she cares for people... you don't find that often these days."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to respond, so I nodded. "She is nice."

Before either of us could say anything else, Sanjana bounced back to us. "NK Uncle, what are you telling Varun? Not embarrassing stories about me, I hope?"

He winked at me playfully. "Just telling him what a nuisance you are, always stirring up mischief and getting me into trouble."

Sanjana's face scrunched up in that familiar way of hers as she whined and crossed her arms over her chest petulantly."I never do that. You are the one who always gets me in trouble."

NK Uncle and Maa laughed while I shook my head at her antics, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

I checked the time on my watch. "We should go. The bus will be here soon."

"Don't worry, I'll drop Sir off to his room," Maa offered much to Sanjana's relief.

"You better go back to your room and sleep," Sanjana warned NK Uncle, with her hands on her hips. "Or else you know."

"Okay. Okay." he laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

As we were walking to the bus stop, she kept trying to peek into my bag. "You should have told me you were going shopping. I could have come with you."

I remained quiet. The bus ride was pretty quiet and uneventful because Sanjana fell asleep as soon as we got on the bus. She slept, so I could study without someone constantly buzzing in my ear.

When we arrived at the campus, it was still buzzing with students preparing for the talent show. The whole thing seemed excessive to me—just another excuse to avoid studying. I wondered how Kabir Sir was tolerating this chaos, though the permanent furrow in his brow whenever he passed by said plenty about his feelings on the matter.

"Varun!" a familiar voice called out and I noticed Tabassum jogging towards us. She punched me lightly on my shoulder. "Congratulations!" she said, grinning. "I called you twice."

"I know. Sorry," I said, smiling. "I was at the hospital with mom. I was just going to call you back."

Something flickered across her face as she glanced at Sanjana—one of those indecipherable looks that passed between girls. "Well... we have to go celebrate. I just have to give this to Medha Ma'am and then we can go," She was already backing away before I could protest. "Meet me by the main gates in half an hour."

"What was she congratulating you for?" Sanjana asked, wiggling her eyebrows. "Any big news?"

I hesitated, weighing my options. With a defeated sigh, I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Don't tell anyone yet. I got shortlisted for Columbia's masters program."

"Seriously?"she squealed, her voice echoing across the courtyard, drawing several heads our way. "That's such a big deal! Congratulations."

"Not really. At least not yet." I gave her a stern look. "I still have to get through the interview."

"Still! You. Got. Shortlisted!" She was practically bouncing now, her hands moving animatedly. "And don't worry about the interview. You're like one of the smartest people I know. You're going to get in like that," she said, snapping her fingers. "But why didn't you tell me earlier? Does Aunty know? You should have told her."

"Of course she knows," I said, shrugging, not thinking about how the words might land.

The change was subtle but immediate. "Oh," Sanjana's smile dwindled. "Then how come you didn't tell me? Tabassum knows."

"Because she is my friend. I am not publicizing it to everyone and anyone." The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake. Sanjana went still. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, turned glassy.

"Sanjana?"

She swallowed harshly, her throat working visibly, before offering me a smile that didn't really reach her eyes. "Well then I'll leave you alone so celebrate with your friend."

She turned and walked away, her usually bouncy steps were slow. I stood there, replaying my words in my head. Had I done something wrong?