DIYA'S POV
The cafeteria noise faded to a dull roar as Maddy's words hit me like a physical blow.
"I lost the bottle you gave me."
The black one with his name printed neatly near the cap—the one I'd spent an absurd amount of time picking out because he was always nagging me to drink more water. The one that had become our private joke.
Gone.
And he'd waited a week to tell me.
I forced my fingers to unclench around my spoon. "On the flight?"
He nodded, eyes fixed on his untouched food. "It was in my carry-on. When I got to baggage claim, it was just... gone."
The apology in his voice was real. But so was the hesitation—the week-long silence that stung more than the loss itself.
"I'm not mad about the bottle," I said carefully. "I'm upset you didn't tell me."
His shoulders tensed. "I know. I kept meaning to, but..."
"But what?"
His gaze finally met mine—raw and vulnerable. "I didn't want to see that look on your face. The one you're wearing right now."
The honesty disarmed me. My anger flickered, but the hurt remained—a dull ache beneath my ribs.
That night, I lay in bed staring at my phone, thumb hovering over the shopping app. A replacement would be easy. Same bottle. Same font.
But would it fix what was really broken?
I ordered it anyway.
MADDY'S POV
The guilt tasted like bile.
I'd torn my bag apart three times at the airport, checked with lost and found twice, even called the airline—nothing.
Diya's gift was gone.
And instead of telling her, I'd done what I always did when I screwed up: I panicked. Made excuses. Convinced myself it wasn't that big a deal.
But seeing her face today—that quiet disappointment—it wrecked me.
She'd said she wasn't mad. That was worse. Anger I could handle. This careful control, this measured hurt? It left me floundering.
I picked up my phone three times to text her that night. Three times I put it down.
What could I say?
Sorry didn't feel big enough.
A promise to do better rang hollow when I'd already failed.
So I stared at the ceiling instead, remembering how her face had lit up when she'd first given me that stupid bottle. How she'd rolled her eyes when I immediately filled it and made her take the first sip.
That was what I'd really lost.
Not an object.
A moment.
A piece of us.