They were there,
But their presence wasn't felt.
I spoke,
but my words drowned in silence.
I smiled,
but my heart didn't.
My feelings were broken,
but my emotions hurt more.
And still,
they all wondered why I stopped trying 😥

One Brutal Friend
Closer than my own spleen,
he calls me buddy.
“Hey, buddy!”

As if struck by a fever,
a silent malady,
he changed—
morphed into a beast,
a movie beast.
An ogre.

Where did the grandiose come from?
What street did you drag that arrogance down?
A lack of empathy,
a thirst for admiration so cruel
it drowns reason.

But he wasn’t born like this.
I knew him long ago—
when “the floor is lava” was gospel,
his bike had no spokes,
and breaking curfew was unthinkable.

Now he calls me.
Then hangs up.
Then calls again—different number.
Games.

I don’t like it.
Don’t call my second phone.
I stole it.

I cannot tell
Whether my thoughts
Of you,
Are compulsive,
Or something
That I cannot help

Are they sweet signs
Of care and devotion,
Or something
That I’ve taught myself?

I still think about
those two ten year olds
in the kitchen
baking scones, in the
flour-clouded haze of that early
spring. Tucking in matching lanyards
for our secret club.

I still think about
sitting in your boyish room
and brushing blue chalk
through wavy blond, while
you showed me your favourite
football cards. You'd exhale as a laugh,
a defiant filly's huff.
Lavender oil rubbed onto our
narrow wrists beneath the
orange bands.

I still think about our
sweet innocence. The laughter
we made to deny our
growing up.

I still think about you
when we pass by each other.
Sometimes I smile. Often
I don't. An indifferent glance.
People don't believe me now
when I say we were ever
close as we were. A phantom
lavender scent lingers
at our confluence.

We’ve clicked zero photos, Motu
Not a single frame to freeze us in pixels,
No smiling selfie, no captured chai cup,
No picture to prove we were ever “us.”

But what is proof, when da soul remembers?
When da eyes hold stories no lens can capture,
When silences between us have said more
Than any caption ever could.

We are a friendship without filters,
A story written in whispers,
And not crafted for timelines
We are da invisible thread, Krishna tied
Without needing flash or filters.

We fought…yes!!!
More than we should’ve.
I don’t know whose nazar passed over our bond
But I know it’s not stronger than what we’ve built.

You say this equation is difficult…
I agree.
But I also know da rarest bonds…
Are never easy to explain,
They are only meant to be felt!!!

Motu, I might be flawed,
But my intentions, they’re sacred.
Like temple bells at dawn,
Like verses whispered in Vrindavan’s breeze.

I didn’t come to this course to find anyone…
But I found you!!!
And that’s the twist in da story
My biggest gift wrapped in an unwanted journey.

So yes, we’ve clicked zero photos.
But we’ve lived a thousand moments.
Moments that breathe in my notebooks,
Moments tucked between lectures and lingering glances,
Moments scribbled in blue ink on your kurta,
Moments that feel more real than any frozen frame.

Ours is not a story for Instagram.
It’s a sacred secret shared between
A boy who fumbled with words
And a girl who saw right through da silence.

And someday, when life scatters us like paper boats,
When people ask me… Do you have a photo of her?
I’ll smile softly and say,
No… but I have everything else.
                                                                               By:- Kanishk Baghel