They say childhood friendships are purest — untouched by ego, distance, or conditions. Maybe that’s why the bond I had with Khushi always felt so unshakable.
We didn’t need big moments to feel connected. We had our world — full of weird games, inside jokes, and unspoken rules that no one else would understand.
Like our favorite game: Truth or Dare... but with no “Dares”.
We called it “Truth-Only” because we both sucked at doing dares. The rule was simple: no lying, even if the question was awkward. And man, some questions were very awkward.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?” she asked once.
I grinned. “I once peed in my pants during a school assembly in Class 2.”
She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed. “That’s disgusting! But adorable.”
I blushed. “Your turn.”
She paused. “I used to practice smiling in the mirror when I was 9... because I thought my smile looked weird.”
“Your smile is literally the best thing about your face,” I said instantly — then realized what I’d just said.
There was a silence. A soft one.
She didn’t respond. Just looked down and smiled to herself.
We also made a secret folder on her dad’s old laptop. It had our made-up “Movie Reviews” for random stuff like:
“Pani Puri: The Explosion Saga”“Kuch Kuch Hota Hai Rewatched: SRK is still king.”“Homework Diaries: A Horror Film”
We never showed them to anyone. They were just ours — like buried treasure.
One day, when we were 14, we played a game where we had to draw each other’s “future life” without showing until the end.
Her drawing?
Stick-figure Khushi in a lab coat, standing outside a hospital with “Dr. Khushi” above it.
My drawing?
Stick-figure Ayan and Khushi sitting on a couch, watching anime with a child sitting between them.
She blinked at it.
“You put us... together?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Just felt right.”
She didn’t say anything, but her smile stayed longer that day.
We’d also sneak out to her terrace during power cuts. Sit under the stars. Eat chips. Talk about aliens, ghosts, and life after death.
“Kya tu mujhe bhool jaayega jab teri girlfriend banegi?” she once asked, stuffing a biscuit in her mouth.
I laughed. “Pehle banegi toh sahi.”
“You’re not that bad, Ayan.”
“Oh? Toh tu banegi kya meri girlfriend?” I asked, teasingly.
She stared at me. “Pagal.”
But her cheeks turned a little pink.
We also had our first hug during those years.
I was crying.
A stupid teacher humiliated me in front of the class for a wrong answer, and I couldn’t handle it. I walked out and sat near the staircase, trying to hide my face.
She found me there.
Didn’t say a word.
She just knelt beside me and hugged me.
Tight. Warm. Real.
And it felt like my broken ego slowly stitched itself back together in her arms.
Those weren’t just childhood memories. They were layers. Layers of something deeper forming beneath the surface.
We had played so many games.
But now, I was starting to wonder...
Was love playing its game with me?
[End of Chapter 3]