Nandini didn't return to the hostel immediately after rehearsal.
Her body was tired, but her mind refused to rest. Manik's words echoed in her ears like the last note of an unfinished song.
"You earned a place."
"Thrones come with knives."
What did that even mean?Why did it feel like a warning… and an invitation?
That Night – Music Room B (Empty)
She needed space.
So she found the small practice room tucked behind the auditorium — old, dusty, half-forgotten.
She lit the single lamp, placed her violin on her shoulder, and played.
But this time, the notes weren't defiant.They were soft. Personal. Painful.
She wasn't playing for Manik.
She was playing for Rishabh.
Flashback – Two years ago.
The house was on fire.
Not literally.But emotionally.When the court order came and her parents were gone… when the house echoed with shouts, sirens, and silence… Rishabh stopped speaking.
That day, her violin became more than just an instrument.
It became his language.The only sound that didn't scare him.
And she never stopped playing since.
The memory faded as the last note trembled off the strings.
And then—A soft knock.
Her fingers froze mid-air.
"It's me," came a voice from outside.
Her chest tightened.
Manik.
She didn't respond. The door opened anyway.
He stepped inside slowly. No guitar. No attitude. Just… him.
"This room suits you," he said. "Quiet. Hidden. Intense."
She stayed seated, eyes on the violin.
"Did you follow me?"
"I heard you playing."
"That doesn't answer the question."
He smirked lightly, but there was no teasing in his voice this time.
"You play differently here. Like you're hurting."
She looked at him. Really looked. For once, he wasn't being a show. He was listening.
"Why does that matter to you?"
Manik exhaled slowly. Walked to the side and leaned against the piano.
"It doesn't," he said. "But for some reason… I can't forget the sound."
"Maybe because it's the first time you heard something that didn't revolve around you."
That should've made him angry.
Instead, he looked... intrigued.
"Who taught you to talk like that?"
"Pain."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she asked, quietly:
"What about you? Why do you play like you're trying to drown something?"
He didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to — but because he couldn't.
Instead, he stared at her for a second longer than necessary… then turned and walked out.
Leaving behind a girl with a violin.
And a boy with too many questions echoing in his head.