(Seerat's POV)
The campus was unrecognizable.
Strings of fairy lights stretched across the open grounds, casting a golden glow over the chaos below. The air buzzed with excitement—laughter, music, the sharp sizzle of food from makeshift stalls lining the pathways. It was the kind of night that felt alive, where everything seemed brighter, louder, larger than life.
I adjusted my hair for the hundredth time, feeling the strands slip off my shoulder again. My black kurta swayed against my jeans as I walked, the embroidery catching the light every now and then.
"Seerat! Finally!"
Ali's voice cut through the crowd before I even spotted him.
I found him near the stage, leaning against a speaker like he owned the place, his white kurta crumpled at the sleeves. His dark curls were their usual chaotic mess, and he was grinning at something—probably everything.
Next to him, Irshad stood with his hands in his pockets, effortlessly pulling focus without even trying. He was in black, as always, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing the ink curling over his forearms. Tattoos. I'd seen them before—ink curling over his forearms during rehearsals—but under these lights, they looked different.
Like secrets that weren't meant to be hidden. Quiet. Permanent. And somehow, they made him feel even further away.
Maybe it was just the lights. Or maybe it was me—finally seeing things I hadn't let myself see before.
He wasn't smiling, not like Ali, but there was something in the way he was watching the crowd—half-amused, half indifferent. As if he was there but not really part of it.
I walked up, crossing my arms. "Yes?"
Ali clutched his chest dramatically. "Oh, she speaks. And here I thought you got lost in the sea of adoring fans."
I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."
"You look nice," Irshad said offhandedly.
My breath hitched.
It wasn't a grand compliment—just two simple words—but the way he said it, low and easy, like a fact rather than a passing remark, made warmth creep up my neck. I glanced at him, but he wasn't looking at me anymore, already shifting his focus toward the stage.
Ali nudged me with his elbow. "He doesn't say that to just anyone, you know."
"I heard that," Irshad muttered.
Ali only grinned.
Before I could respond, Priya's voice rang out, calling us backstage.
And just like that, we were on.
I don't remember much of the performance itself—just the feeling of it.
The second I stepped onto the stage, the noise faded, replaced by the hum of the microphone in my hands, the warmth of the spotlight, and the steady pulse of the music. My nerves dissolved somewhere between the first note and Irshad's voice—deep, smooth, effortless—cutting through the air beside mine. His tone didn't overpower; it wrapped around mine, grounding me even as the adrenaline surged.
Ali's guitar anchored the rhythm, familiar and sure, like the steady beat of a heart you didn't realize you'd been listening for. We weren't just performing. We were... syncing. Breathing in time. Something unspoken clicked into place mid-song, and for a moment, I forgot the crowd, forgot the lights, forgot everything.
It was just music. Just us.
When we finished, the crowd roared, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat—loud, stunned, alive.
Ali whooped, grabbing my wrist and spinning me in a ridiculous twirl before throwing an arm over Irshad's shoulder, shaking him roughly. "That," he declared, "was legendary."
Irshad huffed out a small laugh, and just like that, the night was ours.
The adrenaline from the performance still thrummed beneath my skin as we stepped off the stage. The crowd was still humming with energy, the air thick with excitement, but everything around me felt slightly blurred—like the aftermath of a dream you didn't want to wake up from.
Ali stretched his arms behind his head, grinning like we'd just pulled off the greatest heist of the century. "I don't know about you two, but I say we disappear before they rope us into post-fest cleanup."
Irshad smirked. "For once, you have a good idea."
Ali clutched his chest dramatically. "For once?"
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't argue. The night was still alive around us, but the idea of sneaking off to somewhere quieter—somewhere that felt like ours—was far more tempting.
Without another word, we slipped away, weaving through the remnants of the fest like shadows until the roof was in sight.
It was just as we had left it—quiet, untouched, waiting.
The roof was as peaceful as ever, bathed in the soft glow of distant city lights. It was familiar now—more than just an escape, more than just an empty space. It was ours.
Ali, of course, had come prepared.
"Ta-da!" He pulled a bottle of vodka from his bag with a mischievous grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "We deserve this."
I raised an eyebrow. "You do realize we're still on campus, right?"
"That's why we're here instead of out there," Ali countered, waving toward the world below. "Besides, we're celebrating."
Irshad smirked. "We're celebrating, but only if you actually pour the damn thing."
Ali shot him an exasperated look before pulling out three glasses—well, two glasses and a paper cup he had somehow acquired.
I shook my head. "I don't drink."
Ali didn't even blink. "Knew you'd say that. Got you juice."
I blinked, surprised. "You brought juice?"
"Of course." He looked almost offended. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?"
I stared at him, caught off guard. It was such a small thing, but it meant something. People didn't usually remember things like that.
Irshad leaned back against the ledge, lighting a cigarette with an easy flick of his wrist. The ember glowed orange against the night, casting fleeting shadows over his face as he took a slow drag. I'd seen him smoke before—right here, on this very roof. But somehow, tonight, with the roof lights flickering in his dark eyes, it felt different. More familiar. More... inevitable.
He wordlessly offered one to Ali, who took it without hesitation. A curl of smoke drifted toward me, sharp and unmistakable, and I waved a hand in front of my face.
Ali smirked. "Relax, newbie. Secondhand smoke builds character."
I shot him a flat look. "So does basic lung function."
Irshad huffed out a quiet laugh, exhaling smoke into the night air. "You worry too much, Seerat."
I crossed my arms. "And you don't worry enough."
Ali clapped a hand on Irshad's shoulder. "She's got you there, bro."
Ali clinked his glass against Irshad's before tilting his head toward her. "Don't worry, newbie. We'll make sure your innocent lungs remain unaffected."
I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself.
The night stretched on, laughter spilling easily between them. The roof echoed with ridiculous stories, exaggerated impressions of Priya, and an ongoing debate about whether or not Irshad could pull off a Bollywood dance routine.
Ali, as expected, was the loudest, but Irshad wasn't far behind. And I… I found myself laughing until my ribs hurt.
Amongst the chaos, something Ali said made me laugh so hard I had to wipe my eyes. When I looked up, Irshad was already looking at me—not with a smile, not even with amusement. Just quietly, like he was trying to memorize something.
And then, like it was nothing, he looked away and passed Ali the cigarette again.
I didn't say it out loud, but I'd remember this night. Not for the performance, not for the crowd… but for the way laughter echoed off the roof like it had always belonged to us.
At some point, Ali stretched out on the ground, arms folded behind his head, squinting like he was waiting for a UFO. Ali waved a lazy hand. "We need a name."
"For what?" I asked.
"For us. Our trio. The infamous three."
Irshad exhaled smoke, his voice laced with amusement. "Infamous for what?"
Ali grinned. "For sneaking onto roofs and loitering like we own the place."
"Congratulations, we're delinquents." I deadpanned.
Ali ignored me. "We need something cool. Mysterious. Fear-inducing."
I thought for a second, then grinned. "Roofstalkers."
Ali gasped dramatically, pointing at me. "See, this is why she's here. Genius."
Irshad shook his head. "That sounds like we lurk on roofs, spying on people."
Ali clapped his hands. "Exactly!"
"You're both idiots." Irshad huffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, we're not calling ourselves that."
Ali grinned. "Sorry, Irshad, but the majority wins."
And just like that, it was settled.
For once, I didn't feel like the odd one out. I felt like part of something.
The night blurred into something hazy and golden—buzzed voices, shared cigarettes, the occasional nudge of a shoulder against another. And somewhere between it all, between the laughter and the comfortable silence, the roof became more than just a hiding place.
It became home.
It became a memory I'd return to.
A moment that felt like it belonged to us.
And maybe, for the first time in a long while, I wasn't just passing through someone else's story.
Maybe I was part of something.
Something real.
Something mine.