The canteen felt strangely hushed for a Friday. The kind of silence that made every sound linger—the soft flap of plastic curtains near the door, the clink of steel plates, an old Lata Mangeshkar song drifting lazily from the kitchen radio.

Vihaan sat across from Ruhani, absently stirring his coffee, though it had long gone cold. She was talking. She always was.

Her words spilled freely, tumbling from one story to the next—her professor's overpowering cologne, how Sia almost caught her bunking class, how the new canteen samosa was "a crime against humanity." She laughed at her own punchlines, eyes bright, hands moving animatedly as if the world itself were listening.

Vihaan barely spoke. He didn't need to.

Listening to her had become second nature. The rise and fall of her voice, the way her nose scrunched when she complained, the way she leaned forward when she was excited—he stored it all quietly, carefully, like fragile things meant only for him.

Then the door swung open...Raj walked in.

Confident. Effortless. Like he belonged in every room he entered. White shirt, sleeves rolled, that easy half-smile that seemed rehearsed just for effect. Heads turned. Whispers followed. Someone giggled softly.

Vihaan didn't look at him.... He looked at Ruhani.

Because the moment Raj entered, something shifted in her. Her breath caught—just slightly, but Vihaan noticed. He always noticed. Her eyes lit up, the way they did when she saw something she wanted but never expected to touch.

And without thinking—without even realizing—she reached across the table and slid her hand into his. A simple, thoughtless gesture...Comfort. Habit. Safety.

Vihaan froze.

Her fingers were warm against his skin. Unpainted nails. A tiny scar near her thumb he had never seen before, though he'd known her for months. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the quiet thud of his heart losing its rhythm.

Not because she held his hand But because of why. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed across the room.

And then she whispered, almost to herself, voice soft with wonder, "There he is... Raj. My forever crush. God, he's unreal, no?"

She smiled.

And something inside Vihaan twisted—sharp and sudden, like a truth he'd been avoiding finally sinking its teeth in. She didn't notice how his fingers slackened. How, after a few seconds that felt far too long, he gently slipped his hand free. She didn't see the way his shoulders stiffened or how he forced himself to breathe evenly.

She was still staring. Still glowing. Still dreaming, and Vihaan sat right in front of her, invisible.

He swallowed the ache. The humiliation. The quiet devastation of realizing that to her, he was only ever this—the friend....The safe place. The one she could lean on while her heart reached for someone else.

He lifted his coffee and took a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him. When she finally turned back, he was already wearing a smile—small, practiced, and convincing.

"Sorry," she said lightly, unaware of everything she'd taken without meaning to. "I just... I can't believe he's real sometimes."

Vihaan nodded.

"Yeah," he said softly, voice steady despite the weight in his chest. "He's real."

And so was the ache he carried—quiet, unseen, and entirely his own.

Some time later,

"Screw overthinking," Sia said, slamming her iced coffee on the table. "This isn't some 90s movie where the heroine keeps staring at the hero from a distance for three hours."

Ruhani blinked. "It kind of is, though."

Sia groaned. "Okay, maybe in your head. But out here? Real world, Ru. You want Raj? Go talk to Raj. You've already had a crush on him for months now. What's the worst that could happen? He laughs in your face?"

"That is the worst that could happen!"

"No," Sia smirked. "The worst is never knowing."

Ruhani looked away, twirling the ends of her long hair nervously. Raj was sitting on the college lawn—lounging like he was born for magazine covers, surrounded by a small group of equally polished boys. He looked relaxed, joking with them, tossing a water bottle up and down.

He was... luminous. Effortlessly magnetic. And completely out of her league. But today, Ruhani felt different.

Maybe it was the way her churidar hugged her just right. Or maybe it was the small boost of confidence from how Vihaan had smiled at her that morning. Or maybe... she was just tired of waiting.

She stood up. "Okay."

Sia blinked. "Wait—you're actually doing it?"

"I'm doing it."

"Oh my god, YES!"

Ruhani took a deep breath, smoothed her dupatta, and walked toward the lawn. Each step felt heavy and electric. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, louder than the college chatter. She reached his circle just as he caught the water bottle mid-air, laughing at something his friend said.

She paused, then softly said, "Hi... Raj, right?"

He looked up, and for a second, his eyes met hers—cool, unreadable. Then he smiled.

"Yeah. That's me."

Ruhani cleared her throat. "Ruhani... My name is Ruhani Thakral. We're in the same business communication course. I'm your junior."

"Ah, yeah. I've seen you around."

Her breath caught. He's seen me?

"I just thought I'd say hi," she managed to say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You seemed... cool."

Raj grinned, leaning back on his elbows. "Well, thank you. That's a solid first impression."

His friends chuckled but didn't interrupt.

Ruhani smiled, her cheeks burning. "So... friends?"

He extended a hand casually.

"Sure. Friends."

Their hands touched, and Ruhani felt the butterflies she'd been nurturing for weeks take flight.

From a shaded bench behind the trees, Vihaan sat with his book open but unread. He watched the scene unfold—her smile, Raj's grin, the way she stood a little taller after shaking his hand.

He closed his eyes. Not because he was jealous. But because he felt something slipping. Quietly. Irrevocably. The girl with stars in her eyes had placed them all on someone else. And he? He was the shadow she came back to when the light got too bright.

Later in the canteen, Ruhani dropped her books onto the table with dramatic force, the sound making the spoon inside Vihaan's cup rattle. She didn't notice. She was glowing—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, like something had lit her from the inside.

"And then he smiled—Vihaan, that smile—and I swear my brain just shut down," she said, pressing her palms to her face, peeking through her fingers as she laughed. "I probably sounded like an absolute idiot."

Vihaan said nothing.

His thumb circled the rim of his coffee cup, slow and controlled. He watched the steam rise... thin... disappear. Just like the calm he was trying to hold onto.

"And then—oh God—he goes, 'Have a good day,'" she continued, acting it out with exaggerated drama. "And I just blurted 'you too' like some glitching NPC." She burst into laughter, carefree and bright.

Her happiness filled the space.

But it scraped against him instead of warming him.

"You've been talking about him a lot lately."

The words came out flat. Stripped of softness.

Ruhani blinked. "What?"

Vihaan finally looked up. The easy distance she was used to wasn't there. His jaw was tight, muscle jumping once. His eyes were sharp—dark with something restless and unkind.

"Raj," he said quietly. "That's all you talk about. Like he's... everything."

She frowned. "Vihaan, I just like him. Why are you—"

"You don't even know him."

The words landed heavier than he meant them to. Silence spread between them, thick and uncomfortable. Her smile faded, confusion replacing the glow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, letting out a small, awkward laugh. "It's just a crush. Haven't you ever—"

"Not like this," he snapped.

Too fast. Too raw.

Her breath stilled. The space between them shifted, suddenly unfamiliar. Defensive.

"...Vihaan?" she said softly, cautious now.

His fingers curled around the edge of the table. He hated how easily her voice could pull at him. He hated how jealousy sat in his chest—hot and bitter—watching her light up for someone else, someone who hadn't earned it.

He shoved his chair back. The scrape was harsh, drawing glances from nearby tables. He grabbed his books, movements sharp and impatient—as if staying meant admitting something he couldn't afford to name.

"Forget it," he muttered.

"Wait—what's wrong? I didn't mean—"

"I have work," he cut in, already turning away.

She stood halfway, instinctively reaching for him, then stopping herself. Her fingers curled into her palm.

"Vihaan, don't do this," she called, a tremor edging into her voice.

He heard it. That was the cruelest part. But he didn't turn around.

Because the truth was sitting heavy in his chest—ugly and undeniable: he was jealous. Of the way she smiled for Raj. Of the way her world tilted toward him without effort. Of the fact that Vihaan had been standing beside her all along... and still lost.

He had fallen—quietly, helplessly—for the one person who looked at him every day and still didn't see him.

That ache? He wasn't ready to face it.... Not yet.