The alarm clock on my nightstand was unnecessary. In our neighborhood, the day didn't start with a beep; it started with the muffled sound "Maya! Uttho!" from my mother in the kitchen.

I rolled over, my eyes bleary, and looked at the window. It was already open. Across the four-foot gap, Aarav was already sitting at his desk. He was wearing his school uniform shirt, but I knew for a fact he was still wearing pajama bottoms underneath. He was leaning his head on his hand, staring at a thick textbook with a look of pure betrayal.

I grabbed a tennis ball from my floor—the "messenger" ball—and tossed it. It bounced off his window screen with a sharp thwack.

Aarav jumped, nearly falling off his chair. He looked toward my window, saw me, and a slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn't say anything; he just held up a sign he had scribbled in thick black marker: "5 MINUTES. TEA. THE WALL."

I laughed, shook my head, and got ready.

The "Wall" was a low, brick boundary covered in moss and memories. It sat between our two gardens, shaded by a massive Mango tree that had dropped its fruit on our heads for over a decade. This was our neutral territory. Our boardroom. Our sanctuary.

I arrived first, balancing two steaming mugs of ginger tea. A moment later, Aarav hopped the fence with a packet of Marie biscuits.

"Class 11 is going to be the death of me, Maya," he groaned, sliding onto the wall next to me. Our shoulders brushed, a familiar warmth that I had felt since I was small enough to crawl. "Why did I take Science? I should have been an artist. Or a professional sleeper."

"You took Science because you wanted to go to the National Institute of Technology," I reminded him, blowing on my tea. "And because I took Science. Admit it, you can't survive a lab period without me."

"True," he sighed, dunking a biscuit into his tea until it was dangerously soggy. "I’d probably set the titration equipment on fire. But seriously... everyone is so stressed. My dad is already talking about coaching classes for next year. It feels like we’re running a race that hasn't even started yet."

I looked at him. In the morning light, he didn't look like a stressed student. He looked like the boy who used to hide his vegetables in my napkin when our parents weren't looking.

"Do you remember when the only 'race' we had was who could get to the gate first?" I asked softly.

Aarav chuckled, a deep sound that resonated in my chest. "I remember. You used to cheat. You’d start running while I was still tying my laces."

"I did not cheat! I was just... strategically early."

"Right," he said, his eyes turning nostalgic. "You were always 'strategically' something. Remember when we were five? You tried to convince me that the moon followed us because it wanted to be our friend?"

[Flashback: Age 5]

The sun was setting over the colony park. We were sitting in the sandpit, our clothes covered in dust and our faces sticky from orange ice-candies.

I was trying to explain something very important to Aarav, but my tongue still tripped over the hard sounds.

"Aalu! Dekho!" I pointed a chubby finger at the pale moon appearing in the sky. "Chanda mama humale piche-piche aa lale hain!" (Aarav! Look! The moon is following us!)

Aarav, who was busy trying to dig a hole to the center of the earth, looked up with wide, serious eyes. He had a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"Nahi Maya," he said, shaking his head firmly. "Wo toh mele ghal aa lale hain. Kyunki maine unko kal dhoodh diya tha." (No Maya. He is coming to my house. Because I gave him milk yesterday.)

I puffed out my cheeks, crossing my arms. "Nahi! Mere saath! Wo toh mujhse baat kalte hain jab tum so jaate ho!" (No! With me! He talks to me when you go to sleep!)

Aarav paused, his little brow furrowed in thought. He didn't want the moon to leave me out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-broken, dusty crayon. He handed it to me like it was a peace treaty.

"Theek hai," he whispered. "Hum dono ke ghal aayenge. Hum 'teammates' hain na?" (Okay. He will come to both our houses. We are teammates, right?)

I took the crayon, my anger vanishing instantly. "Haan! Teammates!"

Present Day

"You still say 'Teammates' exactly the same way," I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

Aarav looked down at his tea, his expression softening. "Because it’s the only thing that hasn't changed, Maya. Everything else is getting complicated. The exams, the expectations... even the way people look at us."

I felt a flutter in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"You know what they say in the hallways," he muttered, finally looking at me. "The 'Gold Duo.' Everyone assumes we’re just... a package deal. That wherever you go, I go. And honestly? I don't want them to be wrong."

The air between us suddenly felt charged. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a heavy, sweet tension that made my breath hitch. Aarav reached out, his hand hovering over mine on the cool stone of the wall. He didn't grab it—not yet—but I could feel the heat from his skin.

"Maya," he started, his voice lower now. "Next year... Class 12... it’s going to be hard. My dad’s transfer list is coming up, and the pressure is going to double. Promise me that no matter how crazy it gets, we don't stop being 'us.' No matter what anyone says, or what happens at school... you trust me, right?"

I looked into his eyes—the same eyes that had watched the moon with me in the sandpit. "I trust you more than anyone, Aarav."

He finally let his hand slide over mine, his fingers lacing through mine. It wasn't a "childhood" hold anymore. It was firm, protective, and full of a promise I wasn't sure we were ready to keep.

"Good," he whispered. "Because I don't know who I am without the girl next door."

We sat there for a long time, watching the neighborhood wake up. For now, the wall was steady. The tea was warm. And we were still just two kids who believed the moon followed them home.