DIYA'S POV
The door clicked shut.
And just like that—she broke.
Diya collapsed onto her bed, silent sobs wracking her body. All day, she'd held it together—smiled through lectures, laughed at jokes, even met Maddy's gaze without flinching. But now? Now the mask was gone.
He'd apologized.
For shouting.
Not for the words that cut deeper than any yell ever could. Not for making her love feel like a burden. Not for looking at her like she was a stranger.
Just the volume.
As if that was what had truly hurt.
She curled into herself, face pressed into her pillow, muffling the sounds of her breaking heart. Her roommate stirred but didn't comment—bless her for that small mercy.
Somewhere between ragged breaths, a terrible thought took root:
Maybe this was always how it would end.
Not with fireworks or dramatic goodbyes.
But with silence.
And a girl who learned to love someone in halves.
MADDY'S POV
The common room buzzed around him—laughter, a movie's tinny dialogue, the rustle of snack bags. None of it registered.
His phone sat heavy in his palm, open to their last messages. Read. No reply.
Harsh dropped onto the couch beside him, crunching loudly on chips.
"You good?"
Maddy's laugh was hollow. "Define good."
"You look like your brain's trying to run quantum physics on two hours of sleep."
A pause. Then—
"I messed up."
The words spilled out—how Diya had replaced the lost bottle, walked across campus despite feeling unwell, only for him to snap at her in front of everyone.
"I told her not to hope," he admitted, voice raw. "That I'm not ready. But then I—"
"Act like you own her anyway?" Harsh cut in, uncharacteristically sharp.
Maddy flinched.
"You can't have it both ways, man. Either you're in or you're out. This limbo?" Harsh shook his head. "That's what's killing her."
The truth landed like a punch.
Because Harsh was right.
Maddy wanted her close—but not too close. Wanted her to move on—but not away. Wanted her love—without the courage to return it.
And now?
Now she was learning to live without him.
And the realization was a knife to the gut.
HARSH'S POV
He found her curled on her bed, eyes red-rimmed but dry.
"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "Brought you maggi."
Diya managed a weak smile. "My hero."
They ate in comfortable silence, Harsh filling the space with ridiculous campus gossip—the professor who accidentally set his notes on fire, the first-year who got stuck in a laundry machine.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
Later, as he walked back to his dorm, his phone buzzed.
Maddy: Is she okay?
Harsh sighed.
Harsh: No.
Harsh: But she will be.
The unspoken words hung heavy between them:
With or without you.