Rhea's Pov
The corridor behind the library was the quietest place in school.
Not peaceful quiet. More like the kind that listens back.
Yuhan stood near the window, fingers curled around the rusted grill, staring outside like the sky owed him answers. I didn't rush him. Somehow, I knew—if I did, he'd shut down again.
"I never planned to transfer," he said finally. His voice was calm, too calm. "I fought it. A lot."
I stayed silent. Silence was my superpower lately.
"They called it jokes," he continued, a small, bitter smile appearing. "Laughing when I walked in. Moving my bag. Whispering things just loud enough so I'd hear."
He shrugged. "You know. Normal stuff."
Normal.
I hated that word.
"At first I thought—fine. I'll ignore it. I always do." His jaw tightened. "But then it became… daily. Relentless. And teachers only see what they want to see."
I looked at his reflection in the glass. He wasn't crying. That somehow hurt more.
"One day," he said quietly, "someone locked me in the lab store room. Lights off. From outside they were laughing."
My fingers curled into my sleeves.
"I didn't panic," he added quickly, like he had to prove something. "I just stood there. Counting my breaths. Wondering why being quiet makes people think you're weak."
That did it.
"I'm listening," I said softly. "You don't have to be strong here."
He looked at me then. Really looked. And for a second, his shoulders dropped—like he'd been carrying a bag too heavy for too long.
"My parents found out. Transfer was their solution."
A pause.
"Running away, basically."
"No," I said, firmer than I expected. "Choosing peace isn't running."
Something in his eyes flickered. Relief. Gratitude. Maybe both.
"Thank you," he said. Not dramatic. Just honest.
We stood there a moment longer before footsteps approached.
Kabir.
He didn't interrupt. Didn't ask questions. Just stopped beside me, close—but not crowding. His presence was steady, grounding, like a wall you don't notice until you lean against it.
"You okay?" he asked me, quietly. Not Yuhan. Me.
I nodded. But Kabir knew when my nods lied.
He handed me his water bottle without a word.
I took it. Our fingers brushed—brief, accidental—but it felt like a promise. A silent I'm here. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just… care.
Yuhan noticed. Of course he did.
"You two," he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips, "are weirdly comforting."
Kabir scoffed under his breath. "That's the nicest insult I've received all week."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Yuhan stepped back, adjusting his bag. "I should go. Before Neel and Samar decide silence is illegal."
"Take your time," I said. "You don't have to disappear to be safe anymore."
He hesitated, then nodded.
And for the first time since I met him, his smile reached his eyes.
When he left, Kabir stayed.
The quiet returned—but this time, it wasn't heavy.
"You didn't say much," I murmured.
"I didn't need to," he replied. "You handled it."
I looked at him then. Really looked.
"And if you ever feel like that?" I asked.
He met my gaze. Serious. Unguarded.
"Then I'll sit where you just did," he said. "And let you listen."
My chest tightened—in the good way.
Sometimes, healing doesn't come with noise.
Sometimes, it comes with someone staying.
And that day, three of us stayed.
In different ways.
The universe clearly decided we'd had enough emotions for one day.
Because the moment we stepped out of the school gate, chaos clocked in for duty.
Neel slung his bag on his shoulder like a warrior returning from battle.
"So," he announced, "who wants to talk about how Yuhan traumatised us with feelings?"
"I did NOT traumatis—" Yuhan started.
"You emotionally attacked us," Samar cut in. "I almost developed depth."
"Tragic," Kabir muttered. "You wouldn't survive it."
I snorted. Accidentally. Loud.
Kabir glanced at me. Eyebrow raised.
"Wow. Rhea laughing. Mark the calendar."
"Shut up," I said. "I laugh all the time."
Neel grinned. "Yes. Internally. Like a haunted doll."
Yuhan shook his head. "Is this… normal?"
"No," Samar said proudly. "This is us."
We walked in a loose, messy line—bags bumping, shoulders colliding, insults flying like free samples.
Neel pointed at Samar. "By the way, why do you walk like you're permanently late to nowhere?"
Samar gasped. "At least I walk. You drag your feet like life disappointed you personally."
Kabir smirked. "Life did."
I laughed again. This time on purpose.
Kabir slowed a little, matching my pace. Our shoulders brushed—barely—but he didn't move away.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, for the second time today.
"I am," I said. "Weirdly."
"Good."
That was it. No dramatic follow-up. Just… good.
Up ahead, Yuhan was trying—trying—to roast.
"At least I don't yell my thoughts out loud," he said, gesturing to Neel.
Neel clutched his chest. "He's learning. Guys, he's evolving."
Samar wiped imaginary tears. "So proud. Soon he'll insult us properly."
Yuhan sighed. "I hate all of you."
"Aww," I said. "He's home."
Kabir suddenly stopped walking.
Everyone else took three steps ahead before realising.
"What?" Neel turned. "Why are you standing like a dramatic lead?"
Kabir looked at me. "You dropped this."
He bent, picked up my notebook, and handed it back. Our fingers touched again.
This time, neither of us pretended it was accidental.
"Thanks," I murmured.
"For the record," he said low, "you handled today well."
I swallowed. "For the record, you noticed."
He smiled. Small. Private.
Neel leaned back between us. "Okay wow, am I interrupting a moment or—"
"Yes," Kabir and I said together.
Neel recoiled. "Rude. I was born to interrupt moments."
We resumed walking.
The sun dipped lower, the road louder, the insults dumber.
Samar tripped on nothing. Literally nothing.
Neel clapped. "Gravity said not today."
Yuhan laughed. Actually laughed. Out loud.
I noticed.
Kabir noticed I noticed.
And somehow, between the ridiculous jokes, the sarcastic roasts, the shoulder bumps and stolen glances—
I realised something.
We weren't just walking home.
We were becoming normal.
Messy. Loud. Annoying.
And safe.
And for the first time in a long time—
that felt like everything.