ALMOST US – the silences between us

Chapter 6: The Choice

For days, they didn’t meet.

They texted, briefly. A few “you okay?” and “yeah.” Nothing deeper.

Then, one night, Kabir sent a message that wasn’t deleted this time:

> “Meet me. Same place.”

The old park bench near the temple.

Arjun showed up, hoodie pulled low, sketchbook clutched to his chest.

Kabir was already sitting there, kicking a stone beneath his feet.

“I’m tired,” Kabir said.

Arjun sat. “Me too.”

They sat like that for a while.

Then Kabir whispered, “Maybe we should stop.”

Arjun blinked. “Stop?”

“Being like this. I don’t want you getting hurt. Because of me.”

Arjun was silent. Then he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped to a drawing. Two boys under an umbrella. One of them had tears in his eyes.

“I get hurt more when you’re not there,” he said.

Kabir looked up, his voice shaking. “You still want to be with me?”

“I never stopped.”

And that night, under starlight and streetlamps, they held each other for the first time. No more pretending.

Rumors still spread. People still whispered.

But something had changed.

One afternoon, their favorite teacher — Ms. Iyer — asked them both to stay after class.

She looked at them gently. “I know what’s going on. And I want you to know you’re not alone.”

Kabir blinked. “You’re… okay with it?”

She smiled. “Love is not the thing to be ashamed of. Hate is.”

It was Ms. Iyer who encouraged Arjun to read one of his poems at the school’s annual assembly.

“You want to tell your story?” she said. “Use your voice. You never know who might need to hear it.”

And so, two weeks later, in front of 300 students, Arjun stood on stage with shaking hands.

He read:

> “They said love makes you weak.

But I’ve never been braver than when I loved him.”

“This isn’t a phase. It’s a truth I wear in silence.”

“But I’m done being silent.”

There were some snickers. A few students rolled their eyes.

But when he stepped down, someone clapped.

Then another.

And then the whole room did.

Things didn’t magically become perfect.

There were still teachers who looked away. Parents who hoped it would “pass.” Strangers who stared too long.

But Arjun and Kabir stopped hiding.

They walked together in public. Sometimes holding hands. Sometimes just walking side by side — but always proud.

They applied to colleges. Arjun got into art school in Mumbai. Kabir into a sports program in Delhi.

The day they got their acceptance letters, they celebrated by sitting on the school terrace, legs swinging over the edge.

“We’ll be in different cities,” Arjun said, trying not to sound scared.

“I know,” Kabir said, trying not to sound sad.

“But this… us,” Arjun whispered. “We’re real, right?”

Kabir leaned in and touched his forehead to Arjun’s.

“As real as it gets.”