Morning poured in through the windows, soft and golden, almost too gentle for the kind of storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Ansh sat at the breakfast table, eyes unfocused, the note still folded in his pocket like a secret he was afraid to touch.
Across from him, Riya was silent. Graceful as ever. Pouring tea, slicing fruit, moving like she hadn't slipped through his dreams like smoke just hours ago. Like she hadn't stood outside his door in the middle of the night.
But Ansh could see it.
The way her hand trembled slightly when she poured his cup.
The way she didn't meet his eyes when she passed it to him.
The way her breath stalled, almost imperceptibly, when their fingers brushed.
She sat next to Yash—close, familiar—but there was a distance now. Invisible to the world. Obvious to Ansh.
Yash yawned and stretched. "Damn, I slept like a rock. Didn't even hear you come to bed," he said, nudging Riya.
She smiled. Too quickly. "I was reading late."
Yash chuckled. "You and your books."
Ansh didn't speak. Couldn't.
His mouth was dry, his heart like a drum behind his ribs.
He kept his head down, pushing toast around his plate, pretending not to watch her from the corner of his eye. But every glance felt like a betrayal. Every breath she took echoed in his chest.
Yash was halfway through talking about their plans for the day when he stopped mid-sentence, narrowed his eyes, and glanced between them.
"You two look like you haven't slept."
Ansh froze.
Riya tensed beside Yash. But she smiled again—this one tighter, thinner. "I had a migraine."
Ansh murmured, "Me too."
Their lies overlapped perfectly.
Yash raised an eyebrow, skeptical but lazy. He sipped his coffee and shrugged. "Must be something in the air."
Riya stood abruptly. "I'll get the eggs."
She moved to the kitchen, the back of her neck flushed.
Yash leaned toward Ansh, lowering his voice with a smirk. "Dude. You're making her nervous."
Ansh blinked. "What?"
Yash laughed. "You stare at her like she's a puzzle you're trying to solve."
Ansh forced a grin. "She's just… interesting."
"Yeah," Yash said, sipping his coffee. "She is."
The way he said it—possessive, proud—made something inside Ansh twist.
Riya returned, holding the pan with practiced ease. But Ansh saw it: the flicker of something fragile in her eyes when Yash touched her waist in passing.
She was breaking.
And he was breaking with her.
When she served Ansh his food, her hand hovered a second too long.
Their eyes met—just briefly.
And in that second, every word unspoken passed between them like a spark. Like lightning under skin.
Yash didn't notice.
But the air was different now.
Thicker.
Heavier.
And Ansh knew this was only the beginning.