The farewell party ended in noise.
Not the loud kind that comes from speakers and flashing lights—but the emotional kind. Laughter that was slightly too loud. Jokes that lasted a second longer than they should have. Hugs that tightened at the last moment.
Promises floated in the air.
"We'll stay in touch.""Bro, we'll meet every month.""Nothing's changing."
Everyone knew everything was changing.
And then, like all storms, it passed.
One week later, the campus felt different.
Not empty—just detached.
Four years had compressed into memories. The tall academic buildings stood in the morning sunlight as they always had. The basketball court still carried faded chalk marks. The cracked cement path near the dorms hadn't been repaired, just like always.
But something invisible had shifted.
It no longer belonged to them.
Arav stood outside the main college gate with one hand resting on the handle of his suitcase. Students moved around him in waves. Some were excited, already talking about corporate packages and joining dates. Some had red eyes from crying. Some were pretending not to care.
Four years.
Late-night assignments. Proxy attendance strategies. Group study sessions that turned into gossip marathons. Cheap tea at 2 a.m. during exam weeks. First crushes. Failed crushes. Friendships that felt eternal.
And now?
Real life.
He exhaled slowly.
"Too early for adulthood," he muttered under his breath.
"Bro!"
Arav turned.
His friend jogged toward him, slightly out of breath, backpack hanging from one shoulder and another suitcase dragging behind him like it was protesting the idea of leaving.
"Finally," Arav said flatly.
"Okay, tell me fast," his friend said, stopping in front of him. "Where are we going? What's the plan? Your house is next to mine. We'll just go home together."
Arav stared at him as if he had just suggested something offensive.
"You are painfully boring."
"What?" His friend blinked.
"We took leave from home."
"So?"
"So we didn't tell them the exact return date."
His friend narrowed his eyes slowly. "You're planning something stupid."
A slow smile appeared on Arav's face.
"How about we disappear for a week?"
"…Disappear?"
"Vacation. One week. No responsibilities. No relatives asking about salary packages. No 'beta what's your five-year plan?' lectures."
His friend folded his arms. "You're saying this while we're standing outside the college gate. With luggage."
"Yes."
"And you think we can just magically go somewhere?"
Without answering, Arav slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out two flight tickets.
He held them up between his fingers.
"Goa."
There was silence.
His friend stared at the tickets. Then at Arav. Then back at the tickets.
"You already booked these?"
"Yes."
"You didn't even tell me."
"That would ruin the dramatic reveal."
His friend shook his head, but a laugh escaped him anyway. "You're insane."
"Prepared," Arav corrected.
A moment passed.
"What about my brother?" his friend asked.
"Tell him," Arav replied calmly. "He's chill. He won't care."
His friend hesitated but eventually pulled out his phone.
The call connected after a few rings.
"Hello, bro! Ready to come home?" his older brother's voice came through.
"Small change of plan."
"Already?"
"Listen first."
"Okay…"
"I need one week."
"Why?"
There was hesitation.
"…Going on vacation."
"With?"
"…My girlfriend."
A long pause followed.
Then a low whistle.
"So before long-distance starts, huh?"
"Exactly."
"Fine. I'll manage at home."
"Wait, really?"
"Yeah. I'll say your college paperwork got delayed."
Relief visibly washed over his friend.
"Thanks, bro."
"And don't do anything stupid."
"No promises."
"And what about Arav?" his brother added.
Arav raised an eyebrow.
"He's coming with his own plan," his friend replied. "Goa."
"Ah. So everyone's escaping."
"Basically."
"Fine. One week. Then straight home."
"Deal."
The call ended.
His friend exhaled deeply. "Done."
Arav smirked. "See? Easy."
"You're lucky he didn't start a lecture."
"Life rewards bold decisions."
"Since when are you philosophical?"
"Since I booked Goa."
They both laughed.
A cab was booked.
As the car drove away, the college gate shrank in the rearview mirror.
Neither of them looked back.
Because looking back would make it real.
Goa Airport
The airport was controlled chaos.
Announcements echoed overhead. Rolling suitcases created a constant mechanical hum. Children cried. Phones rang. Security announcements repeated endlessly.
Arav and his friend checked in their luggage and moved toward the waiting area.
"You said we'd have time," his friend muttered.
"This is normal," Arav replied. "Three-hour flight. Three-hour wait."
"You've flown before?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"Logic."
His friend stared at him. "You scare me sometimes."
"You'll survive."
They found seats near the departure gate.
"Watch the bags," Arav said, standing.
"Where are you going?"
"Exploring."
"You've never been to an airport."
"Exactly."
His friend sighed. "Don't get lost."
Arav gave a lazy salute and walked off.
He moved slowly through the terminal, observing people.
Travelers always looked different.
There was anticipation in the air. Uncertainty. Hope. Anxiety. Airports were transitional spaces—no one belonged there permanently.
He stopped near a large digital board displaying departures.
Goa – On Time.
Good.
As he turned slightly—
Someone brushed past him.
Not roughly. Just fast.
He turned instinctively.
And that's when he saw her.
She stood out immediately.
Not because she was flashy. Not because she was loud.
But because she didn't seem like she fit into the noise.
Her posture was straight. Her movements precise. Her clothes simple but expensive in a way that didn't scream—it whispered.
Her expression carried irritation.
"This is insane," she muttered under her breath.
Her accent wasn't fully local.
Crowds moved around her, but she didn't adjust herself to the chaos. The chaos adjusted around her.
Arav found himself watching her without meaning to.
She looked like someone who had never waited in line before.
She moved forward, checking something on her phone.
"Why is it so crowded?" she murmured.
He almost smiled.
Welcome to India.
She looked up briefly—
Their eyes didn't meet.
Not yet.
But something about her presence felt… different.
Not just rich.
Distant.
Like someone used to controlled environments.
She walked past him, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Arav watched for a moment longer than necessary.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"BRO!"
His friend's voice echoed from across the seating area.
"Don't disappear!"
Arav glanced back, raising a hand in acknowledgment.
When he looked forward again—
She was gone.
Blended into the crowd.
For a second, he wondered if he had imagined her.
He walked back toward his seat.
"Where were you?" his friend asked.
"Observing."
"You sound suspicious."
"Relax."
His friend leaned back in his chair. "I can't believe we're actually doing this."
Arav looked toward the runway visible through the glass panels.
"I can."
There was a small pause.
"Hey," his friend said quietly, "you're not nervous?"
"About what?"
"After this week… everything changes."
Arav didn't answer immediately.
Corporate offices. Interviews. Expectations. Family pressure. Responsibility.
He felt it too.
But fear never solved anything.
"We'll deal with it," he said simply.
His friend nodded slowly.
An announcement echoed overhead.
"Flight to Goa will begin boarding shortly."
They both looked at each other.
A grin slowly formed on Arav's face.
"Last week of freedom," he said.
His friend laughed. "You make it sound dramatic."
"It is."
Because once this week ended, life would become structured.
Predictable.
Measured.
But right now—
There was still room for spontaneity.
Still room for risk.
Still room for something unexpected.
Arav glanced once more toward the terminal corridor where he had seen her.
A strange thought crossed his mind.
Some encounters don't need introductions.
They just need timing.
Boarding gates opened.
Passengers lined up.
Arav picked up his cabin bag.
As he stepped forward—
He had no idea that this random decision, this one-week escape, would shift the direction of his life.
But for now—
It was just a trip to Goa.
And maybe—
A beginning neither of them saw coming.