There are two types of people in this world. People who show up to game night to relax, and people like Meher, who treat it like a national championship with emotion consequences.

"I just need everyone to understand," she said, placing the stack of cards on the table like she was about to conduct a ritual, "I will not tolerate cheating, hesitation or weak vocabulary."

"This is Uno," Arin said.

"It's about integrity," she replied.

"It's about colours."

Saahiba laughed from beside him, already curled into the corner of the couch like she had front-row seats to chaos.

I slipped off my shoes near the door, shaking my head. Nothing about this evening was going to be peaceful. Which is exactly why I said yes. Because if I stayed in my apartment one more night pretending to write and actually staring at a blinking cursor, I might lose whatever remained of my sanity.

"Finally," Meher said, spotting me. "You're late."

"I'm fashionably delayed," I corrected, walking in.

"You're unemployed in time," she shot back.

I dropped my bag onto the chair and turned—and there he was. Nikhil.

Sitting across the room, leaning back slightly, one arm resting along the back of the couch, looking like he hadn't just invaded my apartment two nights ago and rearranged something in my routine.

Our eyes met.

There it was.

That small, almost invisible shift. Not new. Not surprising. Just...familiar now. Like we'd skipped a step somewhere.

He didn't smile.

Not fully.

Just that slight curve at the corner of his mouth that felt more personal than anything obvious.

"Careful," Meher's voice cut in beside me. "You're staring."

"I am not."

"You absolutely are."

"I just walked in."

"You've been standing in the same spot for ten seconds."

I blinked.

Okay, maybe five.

"Shut up," I muttered, pushing past her toward the couch.

Nikhil watched me approach with that same calm expression that was starting to feel very misleading.

"Your wrist?" He asked.

No greeting. No hello. Just that.

I sat down across from him, ignoring the way that question landed softer than it should have.

"Still attached," I said.

"Good."

A pause.

Then quieter—

"Hurts?"

I shrugged. "Only when I make bad decisions."

"That's frequent."

I glared at him and he almost smiled.

And just like that the room faded a little. Not completely. Just enough for me to notice that this conversation felt...easier than it should in a room full of people.

Dangerous.

Game night began with chaos. Predictably. Meher accused Arin of "strategic betrayal" within the first ten minutes.

Saahiba laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cards.

Someone spilled chips. Someone else argued about the rules that didn't exist.

And all through of it—I was very aware of Nikhil. Not in an obvious way just...constantly. The way he leaned forward when listening, the way he spoke less but said things that made everyone else laugh more. The way he kept glancing at my wrist whenever I reached for something. At one point, I tried to open the bottle of soda with one hand before I could struggle for more than two seconds, it was gone from my grip.

I looked up.

Nikhil had taken it without a word. Twisted the cap open, set it back in front of me and didn't even look at me when he did it.

I stared at the bottle.

Then at him, then back at the bottle.

"What?" He said without turning.

"Nothing," I muttered.

But something in my chest had done that stupid, inconvenient thing again.

"Okay," Meher said suddenly, clapping her hands. "Teams."

I froze.

This never ends well.

"No," Arin said immediately. "Last time you rigged it."

"It was not rigged. It was strategically curated."

"It was rigged."

"Silence," she snapped. "I'm choosing."

I leaned back, already resigned.

"Saahiba and Arin," Meher pointed.

"Obviously," Saahiba said, smug.

"Me and—" Meher paused dramatically, scanning the room.

I narrowed my eyes. Don't do it.

Don't you dare—

"Mishka and Nikhil."

Of course.

Of course.

I didn't even react. I just looked at Meher. She looked back.Smiled slowly.

Oh, this was intentional.

"Any objections?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes," I said.

"No," Nikhil said at the same time.

I turned to him.

He met my gaze calmly. "We'll lose otherwise."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "I need a strong partner."

I stared at him. Then narrowed my eyes.

"Bold assumption."

"Confident observation."

I hated that I was smiling. We didn't lose which, honestly, was offensive. Because now Meher looked even more pleased with herself.

"You see?" she said. "Chemistry."

"Luck," I corrected.

"Denial," she replied.

Saahiba, traitor that she is, was watching us with that quiet, knowing look again.

I ignored her.

Focused on the cards.

On the game.

On literally anything that wasn't the fact that every time I leaned forward, Nikhil shifted slightly to make space without thinking.

Every time I reached for something, he noticed.

That at some point, we had stopped talking through the group and started talking to each other.

Small things.

Stupid things.

But they added up. At one point, mid-argument over a completely unnecessary rule, I leaned back with a sigh.

"This is exhausting."

"Take a break," Nikhil said quietly beside me.

"I'm not weak."

"You're injured."

"I am mildly inconvenienced."

He glanced at me.

Then, without a word, slid his glass of water toward me.

I looked at it then at him.

"You didn't even ask."

"You would've said no."

"That's not the point."

"You're still drinking it."

I picked up the glass.

Took a sip.

Hated that he was right.

Again.

Later, when the game dissolved into people talking over each other and Meher dramatically recounting her "almost victory," I stepped away toward the balcony for some air.

It was quieter there.

Cooler.

The city stretched out below, lights flickering against the night.

I leaned against the railing, exhaling slowly.

For a moment, it was just me.

My thoughts.

The steady hum of everything I wasn't thinking about earlier.

Then—

"You always disappear when it gets too loud."

His voice.

Behind me.

Of course.

I didn't turn immediately.

"Observation?" I said.

"Pattern."

I smiled faintly.

Then looked over my shoulder.

Nikhil stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

And suddenly the noise from inside felt very far away.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just needed a minute."

He leaned beside me, not too close.

Not far either.

Perfectly inconvenient distance.

"You've been quiet tonight," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's rich coming from you."

"I'm always quiet."

"Selective," I corrected.

He huffed out a small laugh.

There was a pause.

Then—

"Wrist better?" he asked again.

I rolled my eyes. "You're obsessed."

"You're careless."

"I'm fine."

He didn't argue this time just looked at me for a second longer than necessary.

And there it was again. That feeling. Like he was noticing something beyond what I was saying.

I looked away first.

Because suddenly—

This didn't feel like group night anymore. This felt like something else entirely.

"I tried writing today," I said before I could stop myself.

He didn't react immediately. Just waited. Which, annoyingly, made me continue.

"Didn't go great," I added.

"How bad?"

"I named a document Untitled Manuscript 4."

He almost smiled. "Progress."

I let out a breath. "You're very committed to this optimism thing."

"Someone has to be."

I glanced at him. "Why?"

That question slipped out softer than I intended.

He didn't answer right away. Just looked out at the city.

Then said—

"Because I know what it's like when no one is."

Something in that line settled differently.

He wasn't just talking about me.

I could tell.

But before I could ask—

The balcony door slid open.

"Wow," Meher's voice rang out. "I leave for two minutes and you both vanish together?"

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Nikhil stepped back slightly.

The moment shifted.

Just like that.

"Relax," I said, turning back toward the room. "We were escaping you."

"Rude," she said, grinning. "Also, suspicious."

I walked past her.

"Everything is suspicious to you."

"Because everything is interesting."

I didn't respond.

But as I stepped back into the noise, I could still feel it.

That quiet moment on the balcony.

Lingering.

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