DIYA'S POV
The café's golden hour glow had faded, replaced by the neon buzz of the city. Our group spilled onto the sidewalk, laughter echoing, but my gaze kept snagging on him.
Maddy.
His usual effortless charm had dulled. Shoulders tense, fingers absently kneading the back of his neck. Even his smile—when someone nudged him—looked strained at the edges.
"You okay?" I edged closer, voice low.
"Yeah. Just a headache."
A lie. His eyes—usually so alive with quiet mischief—were distant. Haunted.
Before I could press, the group surged toward a new restaurant, all bright lights and chatter. I let myself be swept along, but my pulse thrummed unevenly.
Where was he?
I turned.
There. Leaning against the window, half in shadow. His posture screamed exhaustion, but when our eyes met, he straightened like he'd been caught doing something forbidden.
"I'll just sit here a sec," he muttered.
My chest tightened. Without thinking, I crossed to him. "You need to sit. Properly." My hand hovered near his arm—too bold?—but he didn't pull away. "You don't look okay."
A beat. Then, a barely-there nod. "Alright. Thanks, Diya."
We wove through the tables. The second he slumped into the chair beside me, I knew he was barely holding it together.
Then—
Weight. Warmth. Him.
Maddy's head dropped onto my lap, his breath fanning over my thighs.
Oh.
I froze. The world narrowed to the feel of him—his hair soft under my trembling fingers, his body heavy with trust. This wasn't normal. This wasn't casual. Friends didn't do this.
Did they?
"Maddy?" Someone called across the table.
"He's fine," I heard myself say. "Just a headache." My voice sounded alien. Calm. Meanwhile, my heart threatened to crack my ribs.
I dared to brush his hair back. His exhale shuddered, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. God, he was beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Mine to protect.
Then—his eyes opened. Sleepy. Unfiltered. Seeing me.
"Sorry," he whispered.
For what? For leaning on me? For letting me see him? For the way my fingertips now traced his cheekbone like I had any right to?
"No need to apologize," I murmured. "Just rest."
His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but he just sighed and closed his eyes again.
This. This was the moment I knew.
The jokes, the teasing—they were just the surface. This—the quiet, the rawness—was the truth.
When the food arrived, he stirred reluctantly. As he sat up, his knee bumped mine under the table. Neither of us moved away.
"Thank you," he said, voice rough. Not just for the lap. For seeing him.
I smirked, desperate to lighten the weight in my chest. "Next time, let's not turn me into your personal pillow in public."
A weak chuckle. "No promises."
But his gaze held mine, dark with something new. Something achingly real.
As he reached for his fork, his pinky grazed my wrist. A whisper of a touch.
Intentional.
My breath caught.
This wasn't friendship.
This was freefall.
MADDY'S POV
The headache was an excuse.
The truth? I was drowning.
One text. That's all it took to drag me back into the past. "She's asking about you again."
I'd shoved my phone away, but the damage was done. The walls I'd built trembled.
Then—Diya.
Her voice, soft but insistent. "You don't look okay."
I should've shrugged her off. Instead, I followed her like a moth to flame.
Big mistake.
The second my head hit her lap, I was ruined. Her fingers in my hair, her scent—sweet, like vanilla and impatience—wrapped around me. Safe.
Too safe.
I shouldn't have looked up at her. Shouldn't have seen the worry in her eyes, the way her lips parted just for me.
"Sorry," I choked out.
For using you. For wanting you. For knowing I'll wreck this.
But she just smiled and told me to rest.
Idiot. Beautiful, reckless idiot.
When I sat up, her knee stayed pressed to mine. A silent "I'm here."
So I brushed her wrist. A silent "I know."
Her breath hitched.
Game over.