The day of the inter-college literature fest arrived with the kind of buzz that only Xavier's could generate. Banners danced in the early breeze, music floated through the courtyards, and dozens of students rushed around in ethnic wear, lanyards flapping as they carried files, mics, and plates of snacks.
The main stage was set in the central amphitheater, backed by flower-covered arches and fairy lights. Rows of chairs stretched to the back lawn. Local sponsors, professors, and guests from across Delhi's universities were already trickling in.
Ruhi stood backstage, her hands slightly trembling — not from fear of the crowd, but something deeper. The kind of restlessness that only came when you were about to be seen. Really seen.
Her pale blue lehenga shimmered softly under the floodlights, her braid adorned with tiny jasmine flowers — simple, elegant, hers. She adjusted the dupatta draped over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and whispered to herself, "You've got this."
Rudra arrived a moment later.
He stopped a step away from her, eyes lingering for a heartbeat longer than he probably intended.
"You look..." he paused, then smiled, "... like poetry in motion."
Ruhi blinked. Her lips curved, despite herself. "That's cheesy."
"But true."
He was wearing a navy blue kurta, sleeves rolled, collar undone — effortlessly handsome, annoyingly composed.
"You nervous?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No. Just... trying not to overthink."
"Good," he said, stepping closer. "Because I've got your back."
She looked up, their eyes locking in that still space between spotlight and silence.
And then the coordinator called, "Rudra, Ruhi — you're on in 30 seconds!"
The spotlight found them like it always had — gently and without warning.
They walked to the center of the stage, scripts in hand, smiles practiced and warm.
"Good evening, everyone," Ruhi began, her voice steady, strong. "Welcome to Xavier's Annual Inter-College Literature Fest 2025 — where words come alive, and stories never sleep."
Rudra took over. "We're honored to have you join us tonight as we celebrate poetry, performance, and the power of voices — both loud and quiet."
Their words flowed like water. Ruhi's grace matched Rudra's charm, and the chemistry between them — effortless, electric — didn't go unnoticed. Even the judges whispered among themselves.
When the crowd applauded after the opening speech, Ruhi's heart soared. Not just because she hadn't fumbled. But because somewhere, in front of hundreds, she had stood next to someone who didn't overshadow her — but balanced her.
Backstage, as the performances rolled on, Ruhi sat near the curtain, sipping water. Simran came bouncing over in a red suit, eyes shining.
"YOU WERE AMAZING!" she whisper-screamed, hugging her.
Ruhi laughed. "I didn't trip. That's enough."
"You didn't just not trip — you sparkled! Like… you and Rudra were floating. People couldn't take their eyes off you two."
Ruhi blushed, but before she could respond, Aarav arrived with a goofy grin and two cups of iced coffee.
"Star presenters need sugar," he declared, handing one to Ruhi.
Simran raised an eyebrow. "Where's mine?"
He offered her his own cup. "Share? Like real co-stars?"
She took it, their fingers brushing.
Neither spoke for a second too long.
Ruhi caught it. The unspoken flicker between them. A mirror of her own.
Later that evening, the sky turned inky blue, and fairy lights bathed the campus in a soft golden glow. The fest was wrapping up with a music performance under the stars — slow, unplugged, emotional.
Ruhi stepped out to the side garden, where only a few couples lingered quietly under trees. She needed air.
Behind her, footsteps.
She didn't need to turn.
"You followed me?" she asked, softly.
"I'd rather call it... walking in the same direction."
She turned. Rudra stood there, hands in his kurta pockets, eyes quieter than usual.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Just... a little overwhelmed. In a good way."
They stood side by side under a gulmohar tree, silence blooming between them.
"You were amazing up there," Rudra said after a moment.
"So were you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was a pause. Then...
"Ruhi?"
"Hmm?"
"I meant what I said. Backstage. That I've got your back."
She looked up at him. "I know."
"And not just for tonight."
Her breath hitched.
He took a step closer.
"I don't know when it started," he said. "Maybe the day you rolled your eyes at me in Lit class. Or the day you told Aarav off without flinching. Or maybe every time you didn't try to impress me."
Ruhi's heart pounded.
"I think I..." he paused, searched her eyes. "I think I'm falling for you."
The world slowed.
The music drifted from the stage. A soft guitar. A breeze. Her heartbeat.
She opened her mouth. Then hesitated.
Before she could say anything, someone called from behind — "Rudra! Prize announcement!"
He blinked. Looked toward the voice, then back at her.
"I'll be back," he said softly.
She nodded.
And just like that — he was gone.
Ruhi stood frozen for a long moment. Then slowly turned and walked back to her room, heart still echoing his words.
That night, her diary Beyond the Buzzer opened to its newest page.
Beyond the Buzzer – Page 30"He said it. Not with fireworks. Not with drama.Just with honesty. Quiet. Gentle._And I wanted to say it back.But my voice... it stayed still._I'll write it here, where it's safe:Rudra Sharma, I think I'm falling too."
She closed the diary, pressed it to her heart, and whispered into the night:
"It's real now, isn't it?"
To be continued...