Started With a Lie, Ended With Us
“That night, I lied to everyone—except my heart.”
I told my parents I was going on an educational trip to IIT Roorkee.
Fourteen of us. Classmates. Safe. Planned.
That’s the only reason they said yes.
The truth? It wasn’t Roorkee. It was a trip I chose—for myself, for my freedom… and maybe, a little for him.
I lied to my warden too. Said I was going home. Made my parents rehearse the same story, just in case. It felt like running a small, anxious operation where one wrong word could blow everything apart.
And it almost did.
The warden got wind of the trip and started asking girls to have their parents call and confirm—going home, or going on the trip? My heart dropped. I was absolutely certain it was over.
But then, without me even knowing, my friends went to the warden themselves. Told her they were going on a trip. And when she asked about me, they simply said, “She’s not with us. She’s going home.”
Just like that, I was off the list. I didn’t know whether to cry or thank them for the rest of my life.
Still, that fear didn’t leave. Because I knew—if my parents ever found out, it wouldn’t just be anger… it would be disappointment. That particular silence that cuts deeper than any argument.
And that scared me more than anything.
But somewhere deep down, I also knew—
I needed this.
✶ ✶ ✶
That night, anxiety didn’t let me sleep.
I packed till 1:30 a.m., overthinking everything, and somehow managed to rest for a few hours. At 5 a.m., I woke up late, rushed, heart still racing.
We had to leave by six.
Eight hostel girls, six guys—fourteen people, one chaotic plan.
✶ ✶ ✶
We piled into the auto outside the hostel, bags and noise and half-asleep faces everywhere. I settled in, still catching my breath from the rush.
About two minutes down the road, the auto slowed.
He lives just outside the hostel, so we’d planned to pick him up on the way. And there he was—waiting on the side of the road with a tiny suitcase and two small bags. Wearing shorts, a loose Hawaiian shirt, slippers—like he’d planned a beach vacation and ended up at the wrong address.
He looked like a lost child.
Or maybe… a slightly broke traveller.
He climbed in, glancing around at everyone—and then his eyes landed on me.
He hadn’t expected me to be there. When he saw me, we both paused.
A shy smile.
A quiet blush.
His name is Kiran. It means sunshine. And there in the early morning light, slightly rumpled and completely unbothered, that’s exactly what he looked like—someone who carries warmth without even trying.
He has this side smile. The kind that tugs at one corner of his mouth like he knows something the rest of the world doesn’t. Every time I catch it, I want to pinch his face, shower him with kisses, and throw something at him—all at once, with great enthusiasm.
He’s from the south, and he has this habit of calling me “Sir.” Not formally—in his own particular, chaotic way. When he’s upset, it’s a quiet, betrayed “Sarrr.” When something excites him, it becomes a full “SARRRR!” And whenever I say something mean just to tease him, he turns to me with the most devastated expression and goes, “SARR. Wtf. You’re so mean.”
But this trip, he mostly called me babbyyy. So casually, so naturally, like it was just the obvious thing. And I—who had always rolled my eyes at pet names—found myself going completely soft every single time. I called him baby too.
I used to find it all so cringe before. I really did.
I think that was the moment I stopped pretending I was here just for the trip.
✶ ✶ ✶
By the time we reached the station, it was already buzzing. He casually ate two dhoklas while we clicked group pictures, pretending everything was normal.
From Gwalior to Nizamuddin, we travelled in general class—without tickets. Just for the thrill.
It was crowded. Suffocating. Loud. At first, we sat separately, scattered wherever we could find space.
But after a while, he came and sat beside me.
In that tiny, stuffy space, we watched a movie, shared earphones, listened to music. Not saying much—just being there.
And somehow… that felt enough.
✶ ✶ ✶
After hours, we reached Nizamuddin. Tired, hungry, slightly lost.
We had sandwiches together—not that great, but it still felt like a small, unofficial little date. He had biscuits and juice. We shared food a friend’s family had sent along.
Later, we stepped outside the station. Got drinks—soda and lemonade. And in that moment, after all the chaos and dehydration, it tasted like heaven.
We grabbed snacks for later—cakes, Little Hearts—because we weren’t done with our movie, and snacks had become non-negotiable.
✶ ✶ ✶
Back in the train, our seats were a little separate from the others. Middle and upper berths. Sleeper class.
At some point, we stopped caring about any of that.
We went to the upper berth together—watching movies, sitting close, stealing quiet moments in our own small corner of the compartment.
Later, we came back down and joined the others. Some played UNO, some played cards. We played music, laughed, sang. A drunk man argued with us about the noise, but one of our friends handled it calmly, and just like that, chaos turned back into laughter.
And yet… somewhere in all of this—
we didn’t really belong.
Even in a group of fourteen, something felt off. They were people we knew… not people we were close to. There were moments we felt ignored. A little out of place. Like we were there—but not really a part of it.
But maybe that’s when it became clear—
We didn’t need fourteen people to feel included.
We just needed each other.
Because the truth was simple…
I came on this trip for him,
and he came for me.
✶ ✶ ✶
At around 10 p.m., the train stopped at Haridwar. Some went to get food.
We… explored.
Ran around, laughed, raced each other down the platform. At one point, I was just standing there catching my breath, and he suddenly jumped clean over me—like a show-off, like it was some grand athletic achievement that deserved applause.
We laughed, made random videos, lived in that moment.
Later, even after dinner, we weren’t full.
So of course… we had a cream roll too.
✶ ✶ ✶
Around midnight, we reached Rishikesh.
Cold breeze. Quiet roads. A different kind of peace.
After a full day of crowds and noise and motion, the city at this hour was something else. Not empty—just still. People were still around, a few lights still glowing warm, the world quietly insisting on being alive. Kiran stopped for a moment, genuinely fascinated by the architecture just outside the station—the old stonework, the shapes of things built for a different century.
And then he looked up.
The moon that night was something else entirely—low and luminous, spilling soft silver light over the quiet streets and the river somewhere beyond. He just… stood there, tilting his head back slightly, looking at it the way you only do when something catches you completely off guard with how beautiful it is.
“Sirrrr look,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “The moon looks really different here.”
Something about the way he said it—so unhurried, so genuinely awed—made me stop looking at the moon and start looking at him instead.
He was wearing shorts. It was cold.
I unwrapped my scarf without really thinking and held it out to him. He looked at it, then at me, in that soft, helpless way of his.
For the first time in a long time—I felt free.
✶ ✶ ✶
We reached our dorm—bunk beds, five in one room. Messy, crowded… perfect.
His bed was below, mine above.
We freshened up.
And then… I pulled him up with me.
Made him wash his face properly—he tried to argue, predictably. Then I sat cross-legged in front of him and applied moisturiser while he pulled the most long-suffering expression I’ve ever seen, complaining like a kid who already knows he’s lost the argument.
And somehow… that felt special too.
✶ ✶ ✶
That night, we lay there together.
Tired. Quiet. Happy.
Soft goodnight kisses…
and a lot of unspoken feelings.
And just like that—
our first chaotic, reckless, beautiful day came to an end.
“Maybe it wasn’t perfect… but it was ours.” ✨
