The festival lights had barely dimmed before Aarav was scribbling again. His notebook lay open across two cafeteria trays, pages filled with crossings-out and coffee stains.
Rhea dropped into the seat opposite him. "You realize normal people celebrate their win by sleeping?"
Aarav looked up, grin half-formed. "Can't. The next story's already yelling at me." He turned the notebook toward her. "It's about a girl who sees beauty where everyone else sees ordinary."
Rhea skimmed the messy lines. "Sounds familiar."
"Maybe," he said, teasing. "You inspire efficient plagiarism."
She rolled her eyes, but a blush rose beneath the sarcasm. He notices things I never say.
Brainstorm Nights
They started meeting in the editing lab after classes. Empty rooms, humming computers, and a single desk lamp became their world. Aarav talked in bursts of ideas; Rhea countered with quiet logic and sharper instincts.
"What if the girl doesn't fall in love with the artist," Rhea suggested, "but with the art he leaves behind?"
Aarav leaned back, studying her. "You always choose heartbreak."
"Because it lasts," she murmured.
He smiled faintly. "Then we'll write something that stays."
Hours passed unnoticed. Sometimes their fingers brushed when reaching for the same pen. Sometimes words trailed off, replaced by laughter that felt too warm for friendship yet too fragile for confession.
Outside, the night guards switched off corridor lights one by one, as if dimming the world so their little universe could glow brighter.
Kabir's Distance
From a corner of the campus courtyard, Kabir watched them leave the lab together one night, both smiling, sharing earphones. Their laughter reached him like a song half-heard.
He had an audition early next morning, but the script in his hands blurred.
She looks happy, he told himself. That's what matters.
Still, when he finally walked back to his dorm, he couldn't stop replaying the image of Aarav gently adjusting Rhea's scarf as they stepped into the cold.
A Scene Comes Alive
Two weeks later, they filmed a test scene from Aarav's script. Rhea operated the camera; Aarav directed.
"Action!" he called.
The actors stumbled through the lines until Rhea interrupted, voice low but firm. "Don't say the emotion. Feel it. Look like you're losing something you didn't know you needed."
Aarav froze, watching her with new admiration. She wasn't behind the lens anymore—she was the lens, shaping everything.
When the take ended, he whispered, "You just saved that scene."
She shrugged. "You wrote it."
He shook his head. "You understood it."
Their eyes met. The air changed—heavy, electric, unscripted.
Moments Between Words
That evening, Rhea found herself walking beside Aarav along the deserted campus path. He was still buzzing with creative energy, describing the next act. She wasn't really listening—just watching the way his hands moved when he spoke, the spark that made people follow him.
"Why do you chase stories so hard?" she asked suddenly.
He slowed, thoughtful. "Because they're the only place where I can be honest."
She smiled faintly. "That's sad."
"Maybe. But it's also freedom."
A gust of wind scattered his loose pages across the ground. They both knelt, laughing as they tried to catch them. When their hands met over the last page, the laughter died. For a heartbeat, the world was silent.
Then Rhea stood quickly, brushing her hair from her face. "You'll lose those again if you don't keep them safe."
Aarav watched her go, holding the crumpled page—her fingerprints smudged across the margin.
A Call from Tomorrow
Later that night, Kabir called Rhea. His voice sounded cheerful, rehearsed. "Audition went okay. They want me back next week."
"That's amazing!" she said, genuine excitement breaking through. "You'll nail it."
"Maybe." A pause. "So… you and Aarav are working late again tomorrow?"
She hesitated. "Just finishing the draft."
"Good," he said softly. "You two make a great team."
The silence that followed said what neither could.
The New Script
When Rhea arrived at the lab the next evening, she found a single page waiting on the desk.
INT. CLASSROOM – NIGHTA boy writes a story he can't finish because the girl who inspired it doesn't belong to him.
She looked up. Aarav stood in the doorway. "It's the ending," he said quietly. "But I'm not sure it's right."
Rhea traced the words with her finger. "Maybe the ending isn't supposed to be right. Maybe it's just supposed to be real."
He stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. "You make everything feel real."
Before she could answer, a knock broke the moment—Kabir at the door, smiling, holding coffee for all three.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," he said.
Rhea blinked, stepping back. "Perfect timing."
Aarav cleared his throat. "Yeah, we needed caffeine."
Kabir handed them the cups, his smile easy but his eyes distant. Some scripts, he thought, are already written—you just have to play your part.
After Hours
They worked until midnight, rewriting scenes and laughing over typos. When they finally packed up, Aarav stretched. "You know, Rhea, this story's half yours now."
She looked at him, smiling. "Then promise me one thing—no matter how big we get, we keep creating for the love of it."
He nodded, sincere. "Deal."
Kabir added quietly, "And for each other."
They all laughed, but the words stayed hanging in the air, truer than any of them wanted to admit.
Outside, the campus slept under a sky scattered with thin clouds. Rhea looked up, thinking of the camera, the scripts, and the strange, growing warmth she felt every time Aarav's eyes met hers.
For now, it was enough. The sparks were still small—gentle, glowing, almost safe.
But like every story written under sleepless skies, theirs was already catching fire.