"Prakirti, have you seen Nimesh?"
That's the first thing I heard that morning.
His mom's voice floated into the small hallway,
gentle but curious.
Honestly, I liked hearing her voice.
I liked going to their house.
Maybe because it felt calmer than mine...
Maybe because they were new and I felt responsible for making them feel welcome.
Or maybe, maybe... because of him.
Nimesh had moved into our neighborhood only a few weeks ago.
Our parents weren't close yet. Just polite hellos and small smiles.
But we were teenagers, and teenagers don't need long stories to connect.
Still... we were very different.
I was the type of girl who talked to anyone, laughed easily, tried to stay positive even when life felt heavy.
Nimesh was the opposite, quiet, closed off, only opening up to people he trusted.
Almost like he kept his real heart locked behind a small door.
Maybe that's why I felt drawn to him.
Maybe I liked being the one he slowly handed his key to.
At first, he barely came out of his house.
I would see him from the window. Sitting, thinking, staring.
But after we started talking... something changed.
He began coming outside more.
We walked together.
Talked about school, music, stupid jokes.
And without noticing, we became close.
Too close.
The kind of close that makes people ask,
"Are you two... something?"
One afternoon, we went on a dry picnic with two of our other friends.
Just teenagers doing teenager things. Laughing, eating snacks, taking photos, talking about everything and nothing.
But for me and Nimesh...
It felt like a secret date hidden inside a group hangout.
He opened up that day.
Not to everyone, just to me.
And the way he looked at me. Soft and quiet, told me more than words ever could.
I knew.
He liked me.
And maybe... I liked him too.
Everything was perfect until my phone rang.
One call.
One voice.
And suddenly, my chest felt tight, my eyes burned, my heart dropped.
"I need to leave," I whispered, and before anyone could ask why, I ran.
I didn't want to cry in front of everyone.
But the tears came anyway.
What I didn't expect was for Nimesh to leave everything behind .
Our friends, the picnic, the laughter
and run after me.
"Prakirti, wait!"
His voice was breathless, worried.
He had never comforted anyone before.
He didn't know how.
But he tried, clumsy, soft, honest.
And somehow, his effort felt like the warmest thing anyone had ever done for me.
I calmed down beside him.
For a moment, it felt like he was my safe place.
We went home after that, quietly.
The next morning, I went to his house again.
I didn't know where else to go.
The moment I saw his mom, I started crying all over again.
She looked surprised but kind, kinder than I was used to.
"What happened, babu?" she asked softly.
And in a shaking voice, I told her the truth.
"My mom beat me... and threw me out."
Her face changed.
She didn't get angry, she didn't shout. she just placed her hand on my head like she wished she could protect me.
In that moment, standing in their small living room with tears running down my face...
I realized something.
Sometimes a safe home isn't made of walls.
Sometimes it's made of people.....