Despite everything—the chaos, the police raids, the institutional overhaul—Adyanth's life had settled into something dangerously close to peaceful.
He kept to himself. No more hall brawls. No enemies throwing food or fists. Just books, exercise, and silence. Exactly the way he liked it.
Well… almost.
There was one exception.
Her name was Luna.
---
She was the younger sister of one of the volunteers—June, the no-nonsense one with the teacher voice and functional handwriting. Luna, however, was the opposite of functional. She was bubbly, persistent, overly curious, and somehow always two steps closer to Adyanth than he wanted her to be.
She reminded him of his father. Warm. Overbearing. Hilariously persistent in the way only people who mean no harm could be.
She stuck to him like old sap.
At first, he thought she was just bored. Then he figured maybe she just hadn't met enough broken people yet.
But she kept showing up.
Every day.
Every library hour.
Every time he tried to sneak off for some alone time, she appeared like an emotionally invested ghost with bangles.
And she was… cute.
Undeniably cute.
With those cheeks that formed soft dimples when she laughed, and a voice that practically had its own set of wind chimes. She was just one year older than him, but around the other boys, she may as well have descended on a glowing platform with theme music.
And because she spent so much time around Adyanth, the other boys looked at him like he'd won the lottery and then decided to casually use the ticket as a bookmark.
Too bad he didn't care for prizes.
"I am not a romantic lead," he told himself. "I'm the cautionary tale disguised as a protagonist."
But the acting worked.
Smiles, light jokes, casual kindness. Enough to make everyone believe he was the quiet sweetheart with a tragic past and a heart of gold. They didn't know his heart was made of paperwork and contingency plans.
---
The problem was—Luna didn't go away.
The more he tried to avoid her, the more she took it as a side quest.
He'd change tables—she'd change chairs.
He'd say he needed space—she'd scoot two inches back and say, "Better?"
Eventually, he gave up.
Part of him wondered if she liked him. Some of the boys said so.
"I mean, look at you," they whispered. "You're like a live-action fantasy character. It's not fair."
And fine—he had changed over the years.
His training had sculpted him. Lean muscle. Tall frame. Shoulders you could probably hang laundry from. His face had that unnerving mix of soft innocence and simmering maturity—the kind of face that made teachers pause before scolding him and made nurses ask twice if he had a fever.
But Adyanth didn't entertain those thoughts. Relationships came with emotions. Emotions came with volatility. He had no room for either.
So he played the part.
Smiled when expected.
Responded when needed.
And faked warmth because people like Luna deserved something better than silence.
---
Two years passed this way.
He turned sixteen.
The exit from the orphanage loomed two months away.
And on that day, like most days, he was in the library—hunched over a science journal, deciphering something unnecessarily complicated about quark decay.
Peaceful. Focused. Entirely uninterrupted.
Until—"Aduu! There you are!"
Luna. Of course.
He didn't even look up.
"Still trying to trademark that nickname, are we?"
"Come on, it's endearing! Besides, everyone needs a cute short name."
"I'm sixteen, not a stuffed animal."
"You could call me 'Lun' if you want. All my friends do," she said with that cheeky smile that could power solar grids.
Adyanth sighed theatrically and looked up at her.
"Lun? Really? That's not a name, Luna. That's the sound a puppy makes when it's choking on a slipper."
She squinted, ready to volley back, but he didn't stop.
"Besides, 'Luna' is a beautiful name. It suits you. I wouldn't dare shorten it."
The teasing twist in her face froze for half a second. Then her cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red.
"Oh shut up, you sentimental dork," she muttered, punching his shoulder hard enough to register. "You say it like you mean it."
"I say everything like I mean it. Makes the lying more believable."
---
She settled into the chair beside him, still flustered. It took a full minute before she spoke again.
"You're sixteen now, right?"
He nodded. "At least according to the government. I still feel like I'm seventy-three most mornings."
"Means you'll be leaving the orphanage soon."
"Couldn't avoid it forever."
She hesitated—voice lighter than usual, almost playful, but too careful.
"...Have you decided what you're going to do after?"
He closed the book, thumb marking the page.
"I was thinking maybe sports. I'm fit. Decent at coordination. Thought I'd try my hand at cricket or football."
Luna blinked. "Oh no."
"What?"
"You haven't heard."
"Luna," he deadpanned. "Please don't tell me they've banned moving."
"No! I mean—kinda? The government shut down all sports leagues last month. Broadcasting privileges were revoked. Satellites rerouted for 'national defense' surveillance. That includes all public and private sports media."
He stared.
Blank. Still.
She continued carefully. "There's nothing left to apply for. No teams. No broadcasts. No competitions."
He didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Inside, something quietly snapped. The idea—the hope—of maybe using sports to build a future, make money, pay for treatment… gone.
Just like that.
After a moment, he exhaled.
"Wow. That's… crushing. Is it weird that I don't even have the energy to feel crushed?"
She just looked at him, eyes quietly apologetic.
---
He leaned back in the chair, brows furrowed as new thoughts emerged.
"The war's been going on for sixteen years. Varasthan's economy is in ruins. Infrastructure's crumbling. Education stalled. Power grids flickering in capital cities."
"Yeah," Luna said quietly.
"But Rahavahan? They're still pressing. Still pushing forward like they've got limitless fuel and zero debt. They launched a preemptive invasion and never explained why."
She blinked. "You're right…"
"It doesn't make sense. Why now? Why that way? Why are we being fed scraps while they keep pushing stronger fronts? It's not just about about territory. Something deeper's driving this."
Luna watched him closely. "You sound like you're starting to believe in conspiracy theories."
"I'm starting to believe incompetence can't explain everything."
There was no anger in his voice. No theatrical bitterness. Just a low, even certainty—like someone adding up a math problem and realizing the numbers don't work out.
'Something's wrong with this war. I can feel it in my bones. In how little they tell us. In how neatly everything continues burning with no real explanation.'
Even Luna had no counter for that.
He drifted into silence, thoughts heavy, stitched together by two decades of half-truths and government slogans.
Then—
"Oi, don't zone out in the middle of your existential crisis. That's rude."
Luna's voice broke through, light and annoyed, and it pulled a small smirk from his lips.
"Sorry. It's the looming doom. Gets clingy."
"So. No sports. What now?"
He shrugged. "I still want to earn money. Real money. Fast."
"Don't say that like you're auditioning for a crime syndicate."
He turned to her with mock solemnity. "Know any cartels taking interns?"
She crossed her arms. "Be serious."
"I am. One of my goals in life is to not die poor."
She sighed, but she was smiling. "Well… I heard the government's paying a lot to new army recruits."
"Free medical?"
"Yeah. But—" Her smile faded. "Don't be stupid and join the army just for that."
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
His mind was already running the simulations.
His body could handle the physical stress. His healing was faster than it should be. If bullets didn't tear his organs apart, he might actually survive it.
Even if he didn't…
Well. That was fine, too.
It was something to do. Something to aim at. Something loud enough to drown out everything he still couldn't feel.
---
Luna, completely unaware of the internal enlistment processing behind his eyes, cleared her throat.
"Anyway. You're not making any grand plans on your own."
He raised a brow. "And why is that?"
"Because you're coming to work at our restaurant in Purathal. I already asked June. She said yes."
"You... what?"
"It's settled."
"You pre-registered me for sibling labor?"
"You'd wander into a war zone without a scarf. You need supervision."
He exhaled. "You're alarmingly prepared for someone who carries glitter pens."
"I'm multi-dimensional. You'll love the restaurant."
"Sigh"
Adyanth let out an exhausted sigh. From last two years he learned a thing or two about Luna, which is if she decided on something, the more you refuse the more forceful she would get.
'Well, it's better to accept her offer. Even if I'm going to join the army, it won't happen until I turned 18. Might as well accept her offer. Atleast this way I don't have to worry about place to stay'.
Still he wanted to ask something to her for a long time. So, he decided to ask her now
But then he hesitated—really hesitated—and looked at her.
"Why are you being this nice to me?"
Her brow scrunched.
"I mean it," he continued. "I'm grateful. I just don't get it. I'm an orphan. A quiet kid with resting knife-face. You didn't have to be... this kind."
She stared at him for a second.
Then calmly—without warning—reached out and pressed her finger gently to his lips.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she said, smiling. "Is there a reason to be nice to a friend?"
"...You're saying I'm a friend?"
She looked at him like he was a particularly slow houseplant.
"I've been following you around for two years, Adu. If you thought this was just outreach work, I might punch you."
He chuckled, rubbing his head sheepishly. "Fair enough."
But inside?
Inside, he felt it again.
That ugly twist in his stomach. That low churn of guilt, of disgust—not at her, but at himself.
Because Luna was real. Warm. Sincere.
And all he could do was lie to her with the precision of a practiced survivor.
She reminded him of his father. The too-loud laugh. The way they just… existed around you, rather than trying to fix you.
He didn't want to fake things with her.
But the universe didn't offer choices. Only rehearsed responses.
So he burned the feeling again. Folded the disgust. Filed it deep.
'I already resolved myself that I won't feel anything bad since I can't feel anything good. But still I will add this as one more thing I need to do after I get cured. I will stop faking my smile instead I would smile genuinely at her.'
She smiled, bright as ever.
He smiled back.
And the space between them stayed steady, delicate, and devastating.