I didn't know why, but Arin was creeping into my thoughts—slowly, steadily, like ink bleeding through paper.
That evening, I sat alone in my room, the faint hum of music curling around me like a warm breeze. The melody was soft, almost haunting, threading through the stillness.
"Dil ki daali mein kaliyan khilne lagi… jab nigaahein nigaaon se milne lagi…"
The lyrics sank into me, delicate yet heavy, tugging at something I couldn't name. Eyes shut, I swayed to the rhythm, letting it pull me under. But beneath the notes, beneath the flicker of my bedside lamp, one thought pulsed louder than the rest.
Arin.
His name slipped into the cracks of my mind, unbidden but stubborn. The way he'd cut through Suhina's noise with a single line, the weight behind his silences, the pull of his gaze when it lingered just a beat too long. I couldn't shake it.
My eyes snapped open. I huffed, dragging a hand through my hair.
"Aira, get a grip," I muttered. "Arin? Really? You're losing it."
But my cheeks burned anyway, a traitor's blush I couldn't will away.
I turned to the window. The moon glowed high, a pale pearl against the endless black, spilling silver into my room. It felt like a spotlight on a question I wasn't ready to face.
"Am I falling for him?" The words slipped out, barely a whisper, fragile as glass.
My heart thudded, loud and unsteady.
"Would he ever see me like that? Would he even care?"
The ache in my chest tightened, a longing I didn't know how to hold.
I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them as the music looped on. Outside, the night stretched vast and quiet, hoarding answers I couldn't reach.
---
Days slid by, smooth and uneventful. Suhina had gone silent—no jabs, no schemes. Maybe she'd finally let it go. Or maybe she was too wrapped up in Tenzin—those stolen glances and hushed moments they shared hinted at something brewing. I didn't care enough to dig.
Because my focus had shifted. My thoughts, my pulse, my everything—they kept drifting to Arin.
Back when Rei had pressed me, I'd tossed out "I like Arin" like a shield, a half-truth to dodge her teasing. Now, those words felt heavier, sinking into me like roots.
---
The next evening, restless and tangled in my own head, I grabbed my jacket and slipped out. A quick errand run—milk, bread, whatever—anything to shake off the static buzzing in my skull.
The market hummed with life, streetlights casting gold across the dusk-blue sky. Vendors called out, their voices mingling with the clatter of footsteps. I was halfway to the store when I saw him.
Arin.
He leaned against a shop wall, black hoodie up, cap shadowing his dark hair. Cool, effortless, but there was something softer too—almost boyish in the way he stood, hands buried in his pockets.
Then his eyes caught mine.
"You here?" His voice was calm, steady, like always.
I swallowed, forcing my tone even. "Yeah, just… grabbing stuff for home."
My heart kicked against my ribs. Why did it always do that around him?
"Oh." He nodded, shifting his weight. "I live around here."
"Hmm. Cool." I flicked my gaze to the stalls, pretending to scan them—anything to dodge those eyes that saw too much.
But he wasn't done.
"Why do you always look so lost?" A thread of amusement wove through his words, followed by a low chuckle.
My breath hitched. "I'm not lost," I said, quieter than I meant, eyes dropping to the ground. "You just… never try to figure me out."
His fingers twitched in his pockets. For a split second, something flashed in his gaze—surprise, maybe regret—before it smoothed over.
"Figure what out?" he asked, head tilting, curiosity sharpening his tone.
I faltered, words catching in my throat. "I mean… why are you so quiet? Why do you keep everyone at arm's length?"
The questions spilled out, soft but heavy, carrying all the nights I'd wondered about him.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes held mine, searching, unreadable. Then, barely above a whisper, he said,
"Sometimes being alone is easier."
He lingered a moment longer, gaze steady, before turning and melting into the crowd.
I stood rooted, watching his back fade into the dusk, a quiet ache settling in my chest. His words echoed, simple but loaded, and the space between us felt wider—and closer—than ever.