Hamza stood frozen in the now-empty auditorium, the silence pressing against his chest like an unbearable weight. The chaos had ended, the people had left, but he remained—rooted to the spot, trapped in the echoes of the words hurled at him. Akansha's disappointment. Siddarth's punch. Rudra's cold disappointed finality.
But out of everything, one thing kept replaying in his mind.
"You're dead to me."
Shumaila's voice had been hollow, stripped of its usual fire, devoid of emotion. That was what unsettled him the most—not her anger, not her slap, but that cold finality.
Why did it feel like something inside him had cracked at those words? Why did it feel like the air in his lungs was suddenly too heavy?
His hands clenched into fists as he tried to make sense of it all. The weight of everything that had happened, everything he had done, settled on his shoulders like a crushing force. For the first time, he truly saw the damage he had caused, and it left him feeling hollow.
Hamza's mind drifted back, unbidden, to moments he had buried.
He remembered the amusement park.
Shumaila had been so full of life, laughing uncontrollably as the ride spun them around, her excitement radiating off her in waves. While he had sat stiffly, uncomfortable and unmoving, she had embraced the chaos, hands in the air, eyes gleaming with unfiltered joy. Her happiness had been so effortless, so contagious.
And then the freshers' party.
She had been drunk, eyes glossy with mischief, out of nowhere, she had reached up and poked his cheek. It had been a small, innocent gesture, completely unguarded, and for a second, he had just stared at her, caught off guard by how unfiltered she was in that moment.
Now, those memories felt like a different lifetime.
How had everything changed so drastically? How had he gone from sharing these moments with her to destroying her in front of everyone?
The contrast was blinding.
Then - Shumaila had been full of life, bold, relentless, unshaken. She had mocked him, but never cruelly. She had challenged him, but never tried to break him.
Now - She had stood in front of him today, eyes hollow, voice cracking, begging him to believe her. And when he had mocked her—when he had humiliated her in front of everyone—she had just stopped fighting.
He had seen it happen in real time. The moment she gave up. The moment her eyes, once always burning with a challenge, had turned to ice.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
How did he let it come to this?
The next morning, Hamza walked into campus expecting the usual.
But the moment he stepped foot in the hallway, he felt it.
The whispers.
The stares.
The judgement.
For the first time, he understood.
This was what Shumaila had been feeling for the past few weeks. This was the weight she had carried alone. Because of him.
He caught fragments of conversations as he walked past groups of students.
"Can't believe Hamza actually fell for it."
"He looked like such an idiot yesterday."
"And after everything, she was innocent. Damn."
He kept his face blank, but the words dug into his skin like needles. He deserved this, didn't he?
Hamza wasn't surprised when Karan blocked his path.
What did surprise him was that, for the first time, he didn't have the energy to fight back.
Karan crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So, how does it feel?"
Hamza remained silent.
Karan let out a humorless chuckle. "No comeback? No sharp insults? You were so full of them when you were ripping her apart in public. What happened?"
Hamza stayed quiet.
Karan scoffed. "Pathetic." He took a step closer, his voice dropping. "You had the nerve to humiliate her like that. You let her get destroyed while you sat there, watching. And now? Now you realize you screwed up? A little late for that, don't you think?"
Hamza clenched his jaw. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew Karan was right.
Without another word, Karan shook his head and walked away, leaving Hamza standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling emptier than before.
Later that day, he was walking past the library when he saw Komal.
She was gathering her things, looking ready to leave, when she spotted him. For a moment, he hesitated—but then he asked before he could stop himself.
"How's Shumaila?"
Komal's hands froze over her books.
Then, slowly, she looked up.
Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes carried nothing but disappointment.
For the first time in his life, Hamza felt genuinely uneasy under someone's stare.
Komal didn't answer his question. Instead, she let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Now you care?"
Hamza's throat felt dry. "I just—"
"No." Komal's voice was sharp. "You don't get to ask about her. You don't get to act like you suddenly care now that you've been left in the dirt." She tilted her head, expression still calm, but her words cut deep. "You broke her, Hamza. And I don't think you even realize just how much."
Hamza opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Komal's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then she grabbed her bag and walked away.
Leaving him standing there, alone, with nothing but the weight of everything he had done.