The terrace was alive that night — strings of fairy lights swaying in the wind, laughter echoing against the quiet hum of the city below. Someone had dragged up speakers from the media room; soft music floated between the chatter. Empty pizza boxes and half-finished soda bottles lined the railings, but none of it mattered.
They had done it.
Their short film wasn't just a college win anymore — it was the buzz on campus. Professors were talking. Invitations were trickling in. For once, the three dreamers didn't have to imagine success; it was right there, glimmering in the night air.
Rhea sat on the ledge, knees tucked close, camera in hand. Even now, she couldn't stop filming — Aarav dancing around with a slice of pizza, Kabir quietly watching from near the railing. She wanted to remember this. Every frame of it.
"Put that down, you workaholic," Aarav teased, grabbing the camera from her hands. "No more filming tonight. We're celebrating, remember?"
Rhea pouted. "This is how I celebrate. By capturing everything."
Kabir smiled, his voice gentle. "Let her. She sees things the rest of us miss."
Aarav mock-groaned. "You're both impossible."
He handed the camera back anyway. Rhea's grin softened into something real, warm.
The View from Above
They leaned against the terrace railing, looking at the city lights spreading endlessly into the horizon. The air smelled of wet grass and rain-soaked stone.
"You ever think about it?" Aarav said suddenly. "How one day, we'll be out there — real sets, real cameras, our names in the credits?"
Rhea laughed softly. "And real deadlines, real exhaustion."
"Worth it," Aarav said without hesitation. His confidence glowed, the same way it always did. "We'll make it big. I can feel it."
Rhea glanced sideways. "We?"
He smiled, and for a moment, the world around them stilled. "Always we."
Kabir turned away before she could see his expression. He had learned to hide that ache behind an easy smile. "Then I guess someone should write the soundtrack for your movies," he said, trying to sound light. "I'll call it Dreamers at Dusk."
Rhea's eyes lit up. "That's beautiful."
"Yeah," Aarav said with a playful nudge. "It's almost poetic. You sure you're not switching to literature, Kabir?"
Kabir laughed, but his eyes stayed on the skyline. "No. I think I'll just keep writing stories no one reads."
Rhea frowned slightly, sensing the quiet undercurrent in his words. She opened her mouth to say something, but Aarav spoke first.
"Hey, no sad talk tonight. We're celebrating the start of something big!"
Between Dreams and Reality
Hours passed in laughter and music. Someone started a truth-or-dare round, someone else tried to dance on a chair. But eventually, the crowd thinned until only the three of them were left — the stars above and the campus asleep below.
Rhea lay back on the terrace floor, her hair spilling like a halo. "You know what I want?" she said softly.
Aarav flopped beside her. "An Oscar?"
She giggled. "A story that outlives me."
Kabir joined them, lying down on her other side. "Then you already have it," he murmured. "You live in every frame you shoot."
The breeze shifted. Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence.
Aarav pointed at the sky. "That one," he said, tracing a cluster of stars with his finger. "That's going to be our star. The one we look at when we win our first award."
Rhea followed his gaze, smiling. "Deal. And when we get there, we'll name it."
Kabir chuckled. "Dreamers at Dusk."
Rhea turned to him, the starlight caught in her eyes. "Then it's settled."
What They Didn't Say
As the night deepened, Aarav drifted off into a quiet hum — a song from their film's ending credits. Rhea filmed a few seconds of it, whispering to her camera, "One day, we'll look back and laugh at how small we started."
Kabir watched her through the lens reflection. You'll outshine us all, he thought. But out loud, he only said, "Promise me you'll never stop filming, Rhea."
She smiled, eyes soft. "Only if you never stop believing in us."
Aarav raised his soda can lazily. "To us — the dreamers who'll make it."
Their cans clinked, their laughter rose again, and the stars above seemed to wink back — as if the universe itself was listening.
The First Fracture
When the night ended, Rhea packed up her camera. Aarav offered to walk her back, his hand brushing hers — a spark she couldn't quite name.
Kabir stayed behind, watching them go.
The terrace, now silent, held the echoes of their laughter. He whispered to the fading stars, "Keep them safe. Even if I fall behind."
And as dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold, their silhouettes disappeared down the stairs — three dreamers still untouched by the weight of tomorrow.