novelraw Chapter 202: Haiku Boy
Chapter 202: Haiku Boy
Marisol looped her arm through Bharath’s and tugged him toward the building.
“Alright, Romeo,” she said, glancing at the time. “Let’s actually make it to class before we have to reenact Titanic on the steps.”
Bharath was still flushed. “She kissed me so hard my jaw cracked.”
“Good,” she said. “Next time we’ll get you on the news.”
Jorge and Ravi fell beside them, shaking their heads.
Ravi was already wiping tears from his eyes. “You have no idea how unreal that looked from where we were standing. I saw professor Chen fan herself with a spiral notebook.”
“She dropped her beeper,” Jorge added. “She didn’t even notice.”
Bharath groaned. “Can we please act like this is a normal day now?”
“No,” said all three in unison.
They reached the walkway into the CoC building when it happened.
A lone figure stepped out of the shade. A sophomore, maybe. Wearing a tucked-in Tech polo. Cargo khakis. A worn JanSport backpack on one shoulder. Wide, anxious eyes.
And a heart full of feelings.
He approached cautiously. His steps were tentative, like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he blinked.
And then-
He stopped directly in front of Bharath.
Marisol arched an eyebrow.
Bharath tilted his head. “Hi?”
The guy’s eyes welled up - welled up - and he took a breath so shaky it could’ve powered a harmonica.
And then he hugged Bharath.
Full arms. Head-on-shoulder. Trembling emotion.
Bharath froze.
“…bro?” Jorge whispered, already turning red.
The guy pulled back and nodded solemnly.
“I just-” he said, voice cracking. “I knew the rumors weren’t true. I believed in you. I never stopped.”
Bharath blinked. “Thanks…?”
“I was in line at Chick-fil-A last night and someone said you were ‘emotionally unravelling.’ And I said, ‘No. He’s just emotionally multidimensional.’” His hands shook. “And then they called me delusional. But now- now look at you.”
Ravi turned away, biting his fist.
Jorge sank to the floor, whispering, “I can’t. I can’t.”
Marisol’s eyes were wide, somewhere between stunned and flattered. “That was… poetic.”
The guy sniffed and offered Bharath a folded note.
“It’s a haiku I wrote last night. For you. And your path.”
Then he turned and walked away without another word, disappearing back into the flow of students like a wandering prophet who had delivered his truth.
The silence was deafening.
Then-
Ravi howled.
He dropped his notebook. He stumbled. He choked.
Jorge was wheezing. “Bro wrote him a haiku. A haiku!”
Bharath turned to Marisol, who looked like she was trying very hard not to smile. “What just happened?”
“You got your first fanboy breakup vigil,” she said. “Cherish it.”
Bharath looked down at the folded paper.
He didn’t open it.
He couldn’t.
Ravi peered over his shoulder. “I need to know what the last line is. Please tell me it ends with something like, ‘Her hips cracked the earth.’”
Jorge pulled the piece of paper from Bharath as Ravi and Marisol leaned over to read it with him.
Jorge gasped, wiping tears. “‘Chest bare, but heart full / Alone he walks, but not lost / Love returns with sway.’”
“STOP,” Bharath said, laughing despite himself as everyone rolled on the floor laughing.
They headed into the CS building as the morning returned to its usual buzz of students talking, payphones ringing in the hallway, and old soda cans being kicked under bulletin boards.
But for those who saw it…
The Show always delivered!
It had started with whispers in the library. By mid-morning, it was everywhere.
Bharath was seen walking alone.
Twice.
Yesterday evening near Smith Hall, and again this morning - crossing Skiles without Marisol on his arm or Sarah draped over him like she was born to lean.
No hands in his hair. No shared soda. No soft touches or smug little looks.
He’d just… walked. With the boys. Like a regular guy.
The kind of thing that should’ve been forgettable.
But at Georgia Tech?
This was headline news.
In the Humanities Lounge, girls were already speculating with hushed excitement:
“Maybe they finally broke up.”
“He probably cheated. The quiet ones always do.”
“Or maybe they both dumped him and now he’s going through a humble phase.”
“God, if he’s single again… I’m getting my eyebrows done.”
Ayesha listened, silent at first.
She told herself it was dumb.
Told herself she didn’t care.
Told herself it wasn’t real - the feeling in her stomach, the tightness in her throat, the part of her that suddenly thought:
What if I get a second chance?
She looked down at her reflection in the lounge mirror.
Not bad. But not… her best.
She reached into her tote for her compact and dabbed gently under her eyes. A little more gloss. A touch of liner.
Then she let her fingers rest against her cheekbone.
He looked at me like I was the sun, she thought.
That taxi ride - early August - when they’d both landed in Atlanta on the same student group flight. She’d barely looked at him at first. He was quiet. Polite. Awkward. Just another freshman from somewhere hot and far away.
But when he did look at her…
It wasn’t like the frat boys. It wasn’t greedy or strategic.
It was reverent.
She hadn’t known how badly she needed that until she lost it.
He had listened - really listened - while she chattered about orientation schedules, clothes that melted in the humidity, and how Americans never used spices correctly. He didn’t talk much, just nodded along, laughing shyly when she joked.
She remembered thinking: This one’s sweet. A little dumb, maybe. But sweet.
Then she’d let herself drift toward other boys - louder, cooler, hungrier for attention. It had felt like a better fit for her image. For her crowd.
And by the time Bharath became campus famous, she’d already thrown him away.
The rise had been quiet but impossible to ignore.
The stolen glances. The rumors. The day Marisol kissed him in front of the Tech Green and people actually cheered.
Ayesha hadn’t clapped. But her stomach had twisted.
And now…
He’d been seen alone. Twice.
Maybe the spell is broken.
She dared to let hope flicker.
Just enough to start fixing her hair.