The sun was slipping behind the college rooftops, leaving streaks of gold and violet across the courtyard. The last shoot of their student film had wrapped, the camera batteries were dying, and the three of them — Aarav, Rhea, and Kabir — lingered long after everyone else had gone.
The air smelled of dust and rain-soaked reels. A quiet peace settled in, the kind that only comes after chaos.
Rhea sat cross-legged on the cracked pavement, her camera balanced on a tripod. Aarav crouched beside her, still in his director's cap, hair ruffled from hours of work. Kabir leaned against the railing, eyes soft, watching the two of them laugh over a crooked shot.
"Okay," Aarav said, straightening. "Before we call it a wrap… one last take."
Rhea looked up, teasing. "Another scene? I thought we finished."
"Not a scene," he said, adjusting the camera to face them. "A memory."
Kabir smiled faintly. "You're still directing even off set, huh?"
Aarav grinned. "Always."
He hit record.
"Say it with me."
Rhea giggled. "Say what?"
Aarav looked straight into the lens. "Our promise. The one we've been dancing around since the start."
He motioned for them to come closer. Kabir reluctantly moved in, sitting beside Rhea. The three of them filled the frame — wind tousling hair, exhaustion glowing into something like joy.
Aarav raised a hand dramatically. "Ready?"
Rhea laughed, eyes sparkling. "This feels cheesy."
"Cheesy is cinematic," Aarav said. "Now — all together."
Kabir exhaled softly. "Fine. But only if you promise not to post this anywhere."
Aarav winked. "No promises."
He counted down. "Three… two… one."
And then, in perfect harmony, their voices rose — shaky, loud, full of everything they didn't yet know about life:
"We'll make it big together."
The words hung in the air, captured forever in the quiet hum of the camera.
They broke into laughter. Aarav threw an arm around Kabir's shoulder, Rhea leaned into both of them, and for a second, they looked like everything they had ever dreamed of becoming — unstoppable, untouchable, infinite.
The World Pauses
The camera blinked its red light, still recording as silence crept in between their laughter.
Rhea reached over and stopped the timer, her fingers brushing Aarav's. "There. Immortalized."
Aarav looked at her. "One day, when we're famous, we'll play this and remember how it all began."
Rhea smiled. "You think we'll still be the same then?"
Kabir's voice came quietly. "We'll be different. But this… this part will never change."
A breeze swept through, lifting Rhea's hair across Aarav's shoulder. Kabir looked away. The golden light hit their faces, and for a heartbeat, everything slowed — three souls caught in the amber of a perfect evening.
No jealousy. No fame. No future. Just now.
The Camera Keeps Rolling
Rhea replayed the clip on her camera screen. Their laughter echoed faintly, a little distorted, a little too loud — real.
She whispered, "We actually said it."
Aarav chuckled. "And now we have proof."
Kabir crouched down beside her, watching the playback. "Promise looks good on film," he said softly.
Rhea looked up. "And off film?"
Kabir met her eyes. "That depends on how strong we are when the lights go out."
Aarav, oblivious to the weight of those words, grabbed the tripod and swung it over his shoulder. "Come on, sentimental crew! We've got editing to do, fame to chase, festivals to win!"
Rhea and Kabir laughed, falling into step behind him — one chasing light, the other carrying shadows.
Under the Fading Sky
By the time they reached the college gates, the sky had deepened to indigo. Streetlights flickered on, casting halos over the path.
Rhea looked at the camera in her hands — their faces frozen mid-laughter on the small screen. She whispered almost to herself, "We'll make it big together."
Kabir heard her, his chest tightening. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Together."
Aarav turned around, walking backward, grinning like a boy who believed the world already belonged to him. "Don't forget — one day, when we win our first award, that line goes in the documentary."
Rhea smiled. "You're already planning our future?"
"Of course," Aarav said. "Someone has to."
Kabir's voice was gentle. "Just make sure there's room in it for all three of us."
Aarav's grin softened. "Always."
They didn't know that promises made in innocence often carry the heaviest weight — that the camera, faithful as ever, had captured more than a vow. It had captured the last time their hearts would beat in perfect rhythm.