"What the fuck."
That's all my brain could think. I couldn't comprehend the stupidity—or the honesty—this guy was throwing around like it was nothing. Who talks like that?
Somewhere behind us, a group of kids was laughing—one of those carefree, high-pitched laughs that cuts through everything. A basketball bounced hard against the court nearby, followed by the sharp squeal of sneakers pivoting. A crow cawed from the terrace railing above.
"Nice joke," I said sharply. "Then I'm here for the same reason."
I wanted to mock him. See if he'd back off. Or at least shut up.
I still didn't know his name. He smiled—not the kind that comforts, but the kind that stings, like lemon in a cut.
"Why, though? You're… pretty. You look smart. Those glasses make you look like you top every subject."
He was still playing along, like this was a tea-time conversation.I could feel it—annoyance, maybe even anger—rising in me like a slow boil.
"The same reason you want to jump off," I shot back. "Tell me yours first. Then I'll tell you if they match."
He looked away from me, eyes scanning the sky, the school building, then nowhere in particular. A pigeon flapped past, scattering dust from the old stair railing.
"It feels pointless, doesn't it?" he finally said. "Like… would anything even change if I wasn't here?"
Was he really being honest?
Or was this just some twisted game?
It didn't add up. If I reported him—if I took him seriously—wouldn't that ruin his whole 'plan'?
He wasn't acting like someone who wanted to be saved.
"You're still joking, right?" I asked, my tone sharper than intended. "Because I will tell the teachers if you're thinking of doing something... foolish."
Foolish? Coming from me?
Not even minutes ago, I was ready to do the exact same thing. And now here I was, suddenly threatening someone else?
He didn't even blink.
"You don't have to worry about that," he said casually. "I wasn't planning to do it today anyway."
It was like he was talking about missing a movie, not dying.
"I'm giving myself another year," he went on. "If things don't get better by then—by the day I graduate 11th—I'll go through with it."
Same lighthearted voice. But the wind shifted slightly, brushing his hair, and in that quiet pause, I saw something in his eyes.
He wasn't lying.
A plane hummed faintly overhead. Somewhere down the slope, birds were chirping like nothing in the world had gone wrong. The sun was still high, casting long shadows from the terrace grills.
"Why delay it for a year?" I asked. "If you have that much hope left... doesn't that mean you have a reason to stay?"
He shrugged.
"Enough about me! Let me have some privacy," he said, half-mocking. "Now tell me—why are you here?"
Privacy?
Now he wants privacy?
After throwing a potential death pact at me like school gossip?
"You're really messed up, you know that?" I said, trying to sound stern. "I'm leaving. I'll tell the teachers."
I didn't want to believe him.
I really didn't.
But what if he actually meant it? What if he jumped after this?I could never rest easy again.But then again—who was I to decide what he should do with his life?If he told me to stop, would I have listened?Was I secretly hoping someone would stop me too?
"Kriti," he said quietly. "I can see the marks on your wrists."
The wind stilled, just for a moment. He stood up, brushing biscuit crumbs off his trousers, and took a slow step toward me.The wrapper fluttered down, catching on a breeze and drifting near the edge.
He was taller than me. I had to look up. My heart skipped.
He saw them.The blade marks.Maybe they peeked through my sleeves. Maybe the heat had made the cloth cling to my skin too much.I should've worn something else—but full sleeves were the only thing that let me hide them.
I tugged at the fabric, too late as I was caught. And then—his voice again, smooth as ever:
"Let's stay a year," he said. "I'll show you it's worth it.
If we both don't find hope… we'll commit a double suicide."
He said it like a movie villain, announcing his grand finale.
I froze.
What did he just say? Was this real? Did he actually figure out why I was here? And now he was offering me... a probation period?
The sheer absurdity of it. If he had this much will to bargain with life—did he really want to die?He was a contradiction wrapped in sunlight and bad ideas.But I couldn't speak.
I stood still. Silent. Like my body forgot how to move. It was insane. But something deep inside me—something buried—paused. Listened.
"How would you even do that?" I asked—not rejecting. Not walking away. Just... reaching for something.
His eyes lit up.
"We'll live like we're dying tomorrow! No rules. No reasons. Just madness," he said, almost dancing with joy. "We'll try everything—go anywhere we can, do whatever we want!"
He sounded so… alive. Like he wanted to feel everything before fading out. Like he'd learned how to shine by walking into the dark.
And in that moment, the weight of everything I'd been carrying crushed me again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
And I turned and walked away. I still didn't ask his name.