DIYA'S POV
The cramps had been vicious since dawn—a relentless, twisting pain that left me breathless. But I'd pushed through.
Because the bottle had arrived.
His bottle. The replacement for the one he'd lost. The one with his name printed near the cap, the one that had become our private joke. "Drink water, Diya."
I'd dragged myself across campus, each step sending fresh spikes of pain through my abdomen, the parcel clutched tight in my sweaty palms.
When I spotted him—leaning against the wall with Harsh and the others, sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face—my heart leapt.
"Hey," I said, stepping forward with the gift outstretched. "I got you something."
Then—
His smile died.
"What are you doing?" His voice was too loud, too harsh. "Why are you bringing this here?"
The world tilted.
"It's the bottle," I stammered. "The one you lost—"
"I told you not to do these unnecessary things." His words were ice. "Not in front of everyone. I don't want them thinking… anything."
A beat of stunned silence.
Harsh stepped forward, his voice a low warning. "Maddy. If you don't want anything with her, give her clarity. Stop letting her do this."
"I already told her," Maddy snapped. "She's the stubborn one. She won't stop hoping."
The words hit like a slap.
My fingers went slack. The bottle slipped—but he caught it, his grip tight, his eyes avoiding mine.
I didn't speak. Didn't cry.
Just turned and walked away, the cramps in my body nothing compared to the fracture in my chest.
Sometimes, silence is the loudest goodbye.
MADDY'S POV
The second I saw the parcel in her hands, I knew.
And I panicked.
The bottle. The goddamn bottle I'd lost, the one she'd replaced without telling me—now here, in front of everyone, in front of Harsh, who was already watching me with that knowing, disapproving stare.
"What are you doing?" The words tore out of me, too sharp, too cruel.
Her face fell.
Harsh stepped in—of course he did—voice dripping with judgment. "If you don't want anything with her, give her clarity."
"I already told her," I shot back. "She won't stop hoping."
The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Diya's expression shattered.
She didn't yell. Didn't cry. Just let the bottle drop—I caught it, because I always catch what she lets fall—and walked away.
And I let her.
Because the truth was, I had told her.
I'd said "don't wait for me."
But I'd never said "I don't love you."
And that was the cruelest part of all.