Chapter 3: Different Dreams, Same Goodbye

The results came out on a humid morning, pasted on the notice board like destiny written in numbers.

Students crowded around, names shouted, ranks compared, celebrations erupting in uneven waves. Parents waited outside the gate, anxiety stitched tightly into their faces.

Veeresh Raishinghania’s name stood exactly where everyone expected it to be—near the top.

So did Poornima Rai’s.

No surprise. No shock. Just quiet acknowledgment from the two people who had always competed like it was second nature.

Friends congratulated them, teachers smiled knowingly, and everyone spoke at once—about colleges, streams, futures. About what comes next.

That was the thing about results.

They didn’t just end exams.

They ended childhood.

Soon after, paths began to separate.

Veeresh chose science without hesitation. Physics, chemistry, mathematics—subjects that fed his restless mind. He spoke of engineering with a certainty that surprised even his friends.

“I don’t just want a degree,” he said once, eyes bright with ambition. “I want to build something. My own company. Something that lasts.”

He wanted independence. Power. Creation.

A future where his name meant something beyond marks.

Poornima listened from a distance.

She, too, chose science—but for different reasons.

Her dream was quieter. Stronger in its own way.

She wanted stability. Respect. Purpose.

The Reserve Bank of India.

An employee who understood systems, numbers, responsibility. Someone who mattered silently. Someone who made decisions without noise.

While Veeresh spoke of risks and ventures, Poornima spoke of discipline, exams, long hours, and patience. She was willing to wait for her dream.

They were still in the same city. Still close enough to run into each other.

But closeness isn’t measured in distance alone.

Calls became rare.

Messages shorter.

Conversations shifted from us to I.

They congratulated each other once—formally, politely.

“Good luck with engineering,” Poornima said, her smile careful.

“You’ll crack RBI,” Veeresh replied easily. “You always do.”

Neither said I’ll miss you.

Neither asked will we stay in touch?

Life was already pulling them forward, impatient and unforgiving.

That photograph from the farewell lay forgotten in albums and phones.

Or so they thought.

Because even as they walked toward different dreams, something remained unfinished—quietly settling into memory.

Some separations don’t feel painful when they happen.

They only ache years later.