When I informed Krishanu I would be leaving school next year, something in his expression shifted.
For a moment, his smile wavered — and then returned, forced but sincere.
He leaned back in his chair, trying to seem casual.
"Well," he said, "six months is a long time, isn't it? We'll do years in those six months."
I laughed. "Yeah, yeah. And we'll still be best friends even after I leave, okay?"
He nodded, a look of mischief in his eyes. "Always."
---
After that, we spent almost every available moment together.
We sat together in class, walked home together, cracked each other up over teachers, and made stupid plans for the future.
The teachers were already aware that I was transferring, so they didn't scold us when we got too raucous or scattered.
It was as if we were packing a lifetime into one season.
But as our connection deepened, something else crept out of the background and began to recede.
---
Krishanu spent less time with Jaanvi.
At first, it wasn't even intentional — just a natural progression.
Between classes, test preparation, and the knowledge that I was leaving soon, he didn't realize how frequently he would say,
"Mayank and I have to get this done first,"or
"I told Mayank I'd work with him on math."
It was nothing out of the ordinary to him.
To Jaanvi… it wasn't.
When he eventually informed her about my forthcoming transfer, she merely smiled and said,
"Oh… okay."
But under the smile, something tiny and pointed started to take shape — irritation, perhaps. Or fear.
---
Krishanu didn't catch it initially.
He'd discuss me with them when they met — our plans, our classes, our off-the-cuff jokes.
And Jaanvi, sitting opposite him, would simply listen in silence, as if she didn't care.
But the thinner her smile got whenever he mentioned my name.
I can't fault either of them.
We were children — uncoordinated, lost, figuring out what love and friendship even existed.
The world was straightforward, but our feelings weren't.
---
He never informed me of it.
He never informed anyone.
He believed it would go away by itself, that it didn't matter.
But time, like it always does, has a way of putting people to the test.
The space between them began to increase — not in loud arguments or confrontations, but in the silent distance that gradually developed between words.
Calls became shorter.
Responses became slower.
And when they did meet, the easy laughter began to wither away.
---
Krishanu's parents knew nothing about all of this.
He'd never spoken of Jaanvi to them.
To them, he was still the ideal student — diligent, courteous, consistent.
And maybe that was part of the problem.
He had nowhere to put his worries. No one to tell what was really going on.
So he just bottled everything up and smiled through it.
---
Then came winter again.
The air turned cold, the mornings foggy, and the days shorter.
But for the first time, it didn't feel like the calm winter we'd enjoyed last year.
Something about this one felt different — heavy, silent, uncertain.
I didn't know that then, but that winter was going to turn everything upside down.
Not due to my departure, but due to what Krishanu was going to lose.
---
To be continued…