Shumaila hadn't expected to run into him.
She was just leaving the library, adjusting the strap of her bag when she saw Hamza standing near the vending machine, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. He looked… distracted, lost in thought.
For a second, she considered walking past him. But before she could decide, Hamza looked up, locking eyes with her.
A brief pause. Neither of them looked away.
"Are you following me now?" Shumaila finally said, raising an eyebrow.
Hamza let out a tired chuckle. "Trust me, if I was, you'd never know."
"Creepy much?" she shot back.
Hamza smirked, but there was no real weight behind it. He looked tired.
"So," he started, shifting his weight. "I assume you've noticed what our lovely friends are trying to do."
Shumaila sighed. "Yeah. They're not exactly subtle."
"It's almost like they want us to—"
"Be friends again?" she finished.
Hamza shrugged. "Guess so."
A strange silence settled between them. It was almost comfortable, almost familiar—but not quite.
Shumaila cleared her throat. "So, what? You wanna talk about that whole… confession thing?"
Hamza exhaled sharply. "I mean, yeah. Do you…?"
She looked away, pretending to focus on something else. "Do I what?"
"Do you—" he hesitated, then met her gaze again. "Do you forgive me?"
Shumaila had expected that question. But hearing it out loud? It still caught her off guard.
She had already forgiven him—somewhere deep down. But old habits kicked in.
Her usual response would be something sarcastic, something light.
But when she opened her mouth, the words came out wrong.
"Forgive you? Please. Like I'd ever do that."
She hadn't meant it. Not like that.
But the damage was done. Hamza's face changed instantly.
His smirk disappeared, replaced by something quieter—something tired.
"Right," he murmured, nodding slowly. "Got it."
Shumaila felt something tighten in her chest. She had never wanted to hurt him.
Hamza took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I just… wanted to know where we stood. But if that's my answer, then fine. I won't bother you anymore."
Her stomach twisted. No, that's not what she wanted. That's not what she meant.
"Hamza, I—"
"Nah, it's fine," he cut her off, shaking his head. "If that's what makes you happy, then… okay."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
She stood there, staring at his retreating figure, her mind racing.
What the hell did I just do?
She wanted to call him back. To tell him that she didn't mean it.
To tell him that she forgave him a long time ago.
But she didn't. She couldn't.
Instead, she exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "Idiot."
She wasn't sure if she was talking about him or herself.
The next day, the group noticed something strange.
Hamza had started excluding himself—without them even needing to push him away.
At first, they thought it was a coincidence. But then…He skipped lunch with them. He left conversations early. He stopped glancing at Shumaila, stopped acknowledging her completely.
"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Sneha muttered, watching Hamza walk off from a distance.
"Did someone tell him to do that?" Rudra asked.
Aarav frowned. "No. But… this actually works for us."
Komal sighed. "You're saying that like it's a good thing."
"It is," Siddarth pointed out. "We were planning to make him disappear from her world anyway. Now he's doing it on his own."
Akansha nodded. "Which means Phase Three is officially in motion."
Shumaila felt the shift.
The first time in weeks, Hamza wasn't there.
And for some reason…
It didn't feel right.
She clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the unfamiliar weight settling in her chest.
But no matter how much she tried to brush it off, one thought kept repeating in her head:
Why does this feel worse than fighting with him?