# Chapter 15 — Exit Wounds
The corridor outside Room 69 was quieter than usual, like the whole floor had decided to hold its breath for them.
Naina stood with her hand on the half-open door, one shoulder braced against the frame, pretending she was only checking whether she’d forgotten her charger. Arjun was behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth without turning around. The air between them had that strange, electric stillness it always got when neither of them wanted to say the obvious thing first.
“Flight kab hai?” he asked, voice low.
“Early morning,” Naina said, and smiled without looking at him. “Tumhe yaad tha?”
“Main kaafi cheezein yaad rakhta hoon.”
That made her turn. His expression was casual in the way dangerous things often were—soft eyes, easy mouth, and that lazy confidence that somehow made every goodbye feel like a dare. She tried to keep it light, to keep it campus-normal, but her fingers were already curling into the sleeve of his shirt.
“Don’t start acting dramatic,” she said. “I’m coming back in two weeks.”
“Two weeks is a long time in this building.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile betrayed her. “You’ll survive.”
Arjun leaned one hand against the door beside her, caging her in just enough to make her inhale sharply. “That’s not the point.”
The silence that followed was full of everything they hadn’t said all evening. The half-packed bag on the bed. The crumpled notes on the desk. The cheap fairy lights blinking over the mirror like they were in on the joke. Naina looked at him, really looked at him, and for once the usual teasing felt too small for what was sitting between them.
“Arjun,” she said softly.
He answered by brushing his knuckles along her jaw, slow and almost careful, as if he was memorizing her face before she left. Naina’s breath caught. She hated how quickly he could undo her with the smallest touch, how her body always seemed to know the truth before her mouth did.
“Bol,” he murmured.
She shook her head once, then stepped closer. “Bas... don’t make this weird.”
His laugh was quiet. “Too late.”
Then he kissed her, and the room changed.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t loud. It was the kind of kiss that started with restraint and ended in surrender, the kind that made the world outside the door feel fictional. Naina gripped his shirt harder, standing on her toes as he kissed her like he had all the time in the world and none at all. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her, and the familiar campus noise beyond the walls disappeared into a hum.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little too fast.
Naina rested her forehead against his chest for a second, eyes closed. “This is unfair.”
Arjun’s fingers moved through her hair, gentle and absent-minded. “What is?”
“You always know how to leave me useless.”
He smiled against her temple, then tipped her chin up and kissed her once more, slower this time, softer, like a promise he wasn’t going to put into words. Naina let herself melt into it, let the bag on the bed wait, let the morning wait, let the whole damn world wait..
Placement week ka corridor aaj kuch zyada hi lamba lag raha tha, jaise har step ke saath campus ka ek aur version peeche chhoot raha ho. Walls par chipke hue posters hawa se dheele pad chuke the—“Dream Big,” “Get Placed,” “Last Chance Drive”—aur unke corners se safed plaster jhaank raha tha. Neeche internship board ke paas ek fresh security notice tape kiya gaya tha: recent campus threat ke baare mein warning, extra vigilance, unknown visitors report karo, aur kisi ko bhi “normal” samajh ke ignore mat karo. Notice ke just upar same board par companies ke logos chamak rahe the, jaise campus apni khud ki do alag kahaniyan ek saath likh raha ho—ek future ki, ek fear ki.
Arjun corridor ke beech se guzra, ek haath mein borrowed notes ka bundle, doosre mein attendance sheet ki signed copies. Har dusre minute koi na koi rok leta—“Bhai, yeh signature de de,” “Arjun, last group photo,” “Yaar, woh aptitude wali sheet bhej dena.” Usne apni usual half-smile ke saath sab handle kiya, lekin andar se feel ho raha tha ki final year ka yeh drama bas marks ka nahi, memory ka bhi hai. Log ek dusre ke saath has rahe the, pose kar rahe the, aur simultaneously us cheez ko avoid kar rahe the jo sabko pata thi: kal se yeh corridor same nahi rahega.
“Arjun, ek second.” Rohan ne piche se awaz di, glasses ko finger se adjust karte hue. “Mere notes ka photo le le. Kal deadline hai, aur tu kal shayad hero mode mein busy hoga.” Kabir ne side se entry maari, backpack ek shoulder pe latka ke. “Hero mode? Isko toh sirf photo mode aata hai.” “Tu chup reh,” Arjun ne hans ke kaha, “tere jokes placement se pehle reject ho jayenge.” Imran, jo thoda door khada tha, bas ek chhota sa smile dekar packet of stapled sheets Arjun ki taraf badha diya. Uski quiet presence corridor mein ek alag hi steadiness la rahi thi, jaise chaos ke beech bhi koi anchor ho.
Un sab ke beech se guzarte hue Arjun ko ek pal ke liye Room 69 yaad aaya—wo cramped room, wo late-night arguments, wo random cold coffee, aur wo stupid number jo ab unki identity ka part ban chuka tha. Kabir ne ek baar kaha tha, “69 ka scene bas itna hai ki room bhi humare jaise confused hai.” Tab sab hans pade the. Aaj us joke mein bhi ek strange nostalgia thi.
Stairwell ke paas Naina khadi thi, ek file chest ke against hold kiye, expression calm aur eyes alert. Uski senior-year composure alag hi thi—na unnecessary drama, na overreaction. Bas ek aisa silence jo sab kuch notice karta ho. Arjun uske paas aate hi thoda slow ho gaya.
“Tumhara last round done?” Naina ne poocha, voice low but clear. “Almost,” Arjun ne kaha. “Bas signatures aur ye fake farewell ka endless loop.” Naina ne notice board ki taraf ek nazar dali, phir wapas uski aankhon mein dekha. “Fake nahi hai. Bas sab log bol nahi pa rahe ki miss karenge.”
Arjun ne kuch bolna chaha, par corridor mein ek aur shout aa gaya—“Arjun, photo idhar!”—aur moment phir se campus ke noise mein ghul gaya..
Library terrace par shaam ka wind itna tez tha ki table ke corners tak hil rahe the. Neeche hostel blocks ki khidkiyon mein pehle pehle lights jalne lagi thi, aur campus ka familiar noise—distant laughter, cycle bell, mess wali metal clang—sab ek thaka hua sa background ban gaya tha. Arjun railing ke paas khada tha, haath mein half-cold coffee, aur Naina uske side mein, dupatta ko baar-baar shoulder par settle karti hui.
“Tum ab bhi coffee ko aise dekh rahe ho jaise usne personal insult kiya ho,” Naina ne kaha.
Arjun hansa, par bas thoda sa. “Isne kiya bhi hai. Taste ka naam sunke expectation aur cup mein reality alag hoti hai.”