The next few days were… different.
Siya didn't notice it at first. She was too busy being wrapped up in her human ball of sunshine — Aarav. He had a way of filling space. Big energy. Bigger memories. He came with stories of their childhood, of the time Siya cut her own bangs with kitchen scissors because she thought she was "becoming Elsa." Of how they once hid a stray puppy in her wardrobe for two days until it pooped on her favorite jeans.
She laughed like the world had no weight. And Ren watched like the world was sitting squarely on his chest.
The trio still met at the park, but now it wasn't their space. Not anymore. Now, it was occupied territory.
Ren would show up five to ten minutes late — intentionally. Because the moment he stepped into that green, sun-dappled world and saw her already smiling at someone else, it felt like he'd swallowed a cactus.
He hated the way Aarav could make her giggle in 3 seconds. It used to take him 3 awkward conversations, 2 sarcastic comments, and a near-death joke attempt.
Now she'd just tilt her head and laugh with Aarav like she belonged there.
And maybe she did.
But still…
Ren wasn't the type to sulk.
He was the type to shut down.
He didn't talk as much. Didn't joke. Didn't argue with her weird plant theories or make faces when she compared the moon to a "glowing momo in depression."
He just… listened. From a distance, emotionally and now even physically.
She sat closer to Aarav now.
Ren pretended it didn't sting.
One afternoon, as they were walking toward the exit of the park, Siya turned to him.
"Hey," she said, narrowing her eyes, "You've been quiet lately."
He blinked slowly. "I'm just tired."
"You were born tired."
He almost smiled at that.
Aarav was walking ahead, answering a phone call.
Siya lowered her voice, "Ren, you good?"
"Yeah."
She paused, searching his face. "You don't like him, do you?"
Ren gave a hollow chuckle. "He's fine."
"That's not an answer."
He shrugged. "You seem happy with him. That's all that matters."
Her eyes lingered on him for a second too long. But before she could respond, Aarav turned and waved at them, and the moment was gone — buried under a layer of awkward silence and rustling leaves.
That evening, Ren sat on his study table, laptop open, textbook untouched.
He tried to revise human anatomy, but all he could picture was her hand on Aarav's shoulder.
Her stupid laugh.
The way she leaned into his stories like she used to lean into Ren's silences.
His jaw clenched.
He was being irrational. He knew that. She wasn't his. There were no promises, no claims, no rights to feel anything.
But he still did.
And it was messing him up.
So he did what he always did when life got messy.
Control.
Distance.
He picked up his phone and typed:
"Hey. I won't be able to come to the park for a few days. Extra classes and all. Take care."
He stared at the message for a few seconds before hitting send.
And then…
Seen ✅
No reply.
Perfect.
He threw the phone face-down on his bed, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling fan spinning like his thoughts.
It wasn't like he hated Aarav.
It was just…
Aarav didn't know the Siya who cried when her favorite plant wilted. He didn't know how she'd go silent when the sky turned purple-orange, as if storing the color in her soul.
He did.
But apparently, knowing someone deeply meant nothing when they laughed more with someone else.
That night, he didn't sleep.
He lay in the dark, fists clenched under the blanket, telling himself again and again:
"It's just hormones."
"It's not love."
"She's not yours."
"You don't need anyone."
But the thing about loneliness is—when it starts to taste familiar, even silence feels like betrayal.
🦋🦋🦋
The house was asleep. Curtains danced gently with the wind, and the moonlight pooled on the floor like spilled milk. The only sounds were the ticking clock and the occasional bark of a faraway dog protesting its insomnia.
Siya lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily.
Aarav was on the extra bed beside hers, scrolling through his phone in the dim light.
"Hey, you up?" she whispered.
He snorted. "No, I'm deep in sleep and dreaming about paneer rolls."
She chuckled and tossed a pillow at him. "Shut up."
Aarav caught the pillow and looked over. "What's on your mind, madam chatterbox? You've been weirdly quiet since we came upstairs. Did someone steal your battery?"
She turned her head toward him, lying on her side now, voice barely audible. "Can I tell you something? But promise you won't tease me."
He turned off his phone and sat up slightly, concerned now. "When have I ever—okay no wait, bad example. But yeah, I promise."
Siya hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath. "It's about Ren."
Aarav raised an eyebrow. "Doctor Sir?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Him."
Aarav waited.
She began, softly. "I don't like him… like a classmate. Or a random school guy."
Aarav's eyes narrowed a little, but he didn't speak.
She continued, looking up at the ceiling again, as if reading her feelings written up there.
"When I moved to Tokyo for this school, it was all so… suffocating. New place, new people, everything unfamiliar. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I missed Delhi. I missed you."
Aarav gave a small smile.
"But then," she said, her voice dipping into something softer, "One day I saw this guy. Tall, serious face, walking like he owned gravity. I thought—ugh, typical school-topper type."
Aarav laughed.
"But then…" She paused. "I saw him stop. An old woman dropped her groceries. And he didn't just help her. He carried her bags all the way across the street, bent down to tie her slipper. No one was watching. He didn't do it for attention. Just… did it."
Aarav was listening now without a single joke in his throat.
"Then another day, I saw him again. Two little boys fighting over a toy. He crouched down and asked them questions like some mini-therapist, told them about neurons and how anger messes with it. Like… who even does that?" She smiled, eyes misty now.
"That's when something clicked. Like, maybe the world isn't all that bad if people like him exist."
Aarav's voice was gentle. "So you liked him from the beginning?"
She nodded. "Not like head-over-heels. It was… quiet. It started with curiosity. Then respect. Then this stupid ache of wanting him to notice me."
Her voice cracked just a little. "He never did. Always in his own world, books, sports, debate clubs, first position this, medal that. And I—I started doing things too. Participating in everything. Working hard. Not because I wanted to beat anyone."
"But because I wanted him to look at me like I wasn't invisible."
Aarav was quiet. Then: "You mean to say you tried so hard… for his attention?"
Siya nodded, smiling at her own foolishness. "Stupid, right? I'm not that girl who goes and flirts or confesses like it's a K-drama. I know he doesn't want drama in his life. He runs from emotions like they're diseases. So I tried being in the background. Becoming someone worth noticing."
Aarav sighed, falling back onto his pillow. "You're such a dumbo."
"Excuse me?" she turned.
"You know what you just described?" he said. "Painfully poetic one-sided affection. The kind that stays in the chest and builds castles of 'what ifs.'"
She blinked. "That was… surprisingly deep."
"I'm friends with you. It's contagious."
They both chuckled, but it was bittersweet.
He turned to her, expression softer now. "Siya. You're not invisible. You never were. Not to me. And if he can't see you for who you are, then he's either blind or scared."
Siya looked at him, something unreadable passing between them.
"He's not blind," she whispered. "He's just… scared."
"Scared of what?"
She exhaled. "Scared of needing someone."
Aarav watched her for a moment, then said, "So what now?"
She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm not going to force anything. I'm not that girl. I just… wanted someone to know. That I see him. Not the topper. Not the future-doctor. But the boy who picks up grocery bags and breaks up fights with science."
Aarav smiled, warm and a little sad. "You've always been a bit of a romantic idiot, haven't you?"
"Guilty as charged," she grinned.
He reached out and gently flicked her forehead. "Sleep, you dramatic moonchild."
"Goodnight, Aarav."
"Night, Siya."
As the moonlight shifted and the room fell into silence again, Aarav stared at the ceiling, heart heavier than before. Because sometimes, even when you're the one she laughs with, you're not the one she dreams about.
🦋🦋🦋
The room was quiet again, except for the soft hum of the fan and the distant cry of some owl philosophizing into the night.
Aarav turned on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching Siya trace invisible constellations on the ceiling with her eyes.
He waited for a minute, then asked gently, "Siya?"
She hummed in reply, still lost in her own world.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Does Ren like you back?"
She blinked.
That question. That one question that had set up a permanent residency in the back of her mind, tapping on her thoughts every now and then like a polite little devil.
She took her time before answering, chewing her lower lip a bit. "I don't think so."
Aarav's brows furrowed. "Why not?"
Siya turned to him slowly, her voice soft, almost as if she was afraid that saying it out loud might make it more real. "Because... he's just kind."
She sat up slightly, hugging her knees. "He helped me when I fainted. Just like he helped that old lady. Just like he helped those kids in that fight. Just like he probably helps anyone who needs him. He's that kind of person."
Aarav watched her closely. "But he carried you. Stayed with you. That's not regular help, Siya."
She let out a breathy laugh, dry and sharp. "Aarav, we live in a world where people get confused between kindness and feelings. He's just being who he is. I'm not special in that equation. I was just the next person who needed help."
"But he—" Aarav started, then stopped. His hand clenched the bedsheet slightly.
She shook her head with a small smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "He doesn't look at me the way someone looks at a person they… care for, you know? Not in that way. It's like I'm air. Pleasant, harmless. Background noise."
Her voice broke just a little, but she kept her expression controlled. "He's polite. Too polite. It's like… he puts up a glass wall between himself and everyone. No matter how close you stand, you're still outside."
Aarav was quiet for a beat, then said, "And still, you care."
She nodded. "Because it's not about whether he likes me or not. It's about the way he makes me want to be better. Like suddenly, I want to be someone who matters. Who's not just passing through life but actually doing something."
Aarav leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms. "You don't think he feels anything?"
"I think he fears feeling something," Siya said after a pause. "It's like he's terrified of needing anyone. Of letting someone in. And me? I'm the type of chaos he'd never sign up for. Loud, annoying, always talking, always laughing… I probably exhaust him."
Aarav looked at her like she was completely insane. "Siya. You're you. That's your magic. And if he can't see that—"
"Maybe he does," she cut in, voice almost a whisper now. "But even if he does… he won't allow it. I think he's built his life like this fortress where emotions are enemies. Where caring too much is weakness."
She turned toward Aarav again, eyes a little red but determined. "So I've made peace with it. I don't expect anything. I'm not waiting for some dramatic confession or a cheesy moment. I just… want to be true to what I feel."
He didn't say anything for a while.
Then finally, he murmured, "That's the thing about you. You love even when you know it's going to hurt."
She smiled, tears glistening but not falling. "Yeah. Because what's the point of living half-heartedly?"
Aarav looked away, toward the moonlight spilling on the wall, hiding the way his chest felt like it was slowly cracking open.
"Goodnight, Siya," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Aarav," she replied, curling into her blanket.
But neither of them slept. One was mourning a maybe. The other, a never.