I don't argue when Romil says that he is staying as long as he wanted to. I also don't tell him to stop looking at me when it's getting too strenuous of a task to keep my eyes open. Instead, I sink deeper into the cushion, let the soft, cozy duvet pull me under, and drift away from the embarrassing blur of today.

When I wake up, it's to the sound of voices—sharp and quiet at the same time. I stir, but don't open my eyes. There's a pause, the kind where you know someone's checking if you're still out. Then a low voice with a slightly guttural lilt breaks through, rough but hushed, like someone trying to whisper and failing, '—part of the plan. You are supposed to be in the class, studying your ass off, dude!' Shlok. Of course. I'd recognize that tone anywhere.

Romil's voice comes next, so soft and soothing it almost makes me miss it, 'I don't want you to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.' His tone steady, calm, the kind that makes you want to lean closer to hear more.

Another pause. Then I hear something—the steady thud-thud of footsteps retreating—Shlok, I guess—and then nothing but Romil and the faint hum of the air conditioning. I should say something, let him know I'm awake, but instead, I lie there, hoping he'll leave before I have to deal with... well, everything.

But he doesn't. And I'm not surprised.

I crack my eyes open, just enough to see Romil sitting beside me, balancing a yogurt cup and a small plate of Tres leches on his lap, and glancing over at me like he knows I'm awake. The moment I meet his gaze, he smiles. Not his usual smirk or the teasing grin that gets under my skin, but something softer, warmer, like he's been waiting for me to admit I'm awake. I realize—too late—that I'm smiling back without even meaning to.

'Good morning, or... afternoon,' he says quietly, glancing at the clock on the wall. 'Figured you might want something sweet when you woke up. You're not allergic to yogurt, right?'

I blink fully awake now, my lips twitching into a smile despite myself. 'I'm not. But... how did you know I'd be up now?'

He shrugs, casual, though his eyes are watching me carefully, reading every little twitch of my expression. 'I didn't. I just brought this stuff because I'm thoughtful like that.' There's that smirk again, but it melts quickly into something more serious. 'Plus, it's lunch break, so I figured... if you weren't awake by now, you were going to miss it.' He extends the yogurt toward me. 'You need to eat something.'

I sit up slowly, feeling a little more human now, and reach for the yogurt. His fingers brush mine as I take it, and the touch sends a soft shiver spreading like a spark through me. I open the container, spooning some into my mouth. The cool, fruity sweetness feels grounding after the haziness of the past few hours.

'You're okay, right?' His smile fades just a little, concern slipping back into his eyes.

I shrug, sitting up slowly. 'I'm fine. It's just...' I trail off, unsure how to explain it. The panic, the exhaustion, the weight of juggling day and night between school, finances, and home, and keeping secrets that feel heavier by the day.

Romil watches me carefully, like he's waiting for me to finish the sentence, but when I don't, he doesn't push. Instead, he sets the plate of cake in my hand and sits back. 'Eat. You'll feel better.'

I take a spoonful, more to please him than anything else, and when I look back up, he's still watching me, a soft look of concern nestling between his forehead.

'I'm fine,' I say, a little too quickly. 'Really.'

He doesn't look convinced, but the small creases on his forehead half-hidden by his curls smoothen. 'Sure you are,' he says, his voice light but his eyes still searching my face for something I don't want to give him. 'So, now when you're finally eating, we need to talk.'

'Oh God, Romil, don't start,' I groan, dipping my spoon into the yogurt, if only to avoid his eyes. The last thing I need is another round of 'Are you okay?' or 'Do you need anything?' But Romil just leans back in his chair, watching me like he has all the time in the world. I take a bite of yogurt, shooting him a look. 'What? Spit it out.'

His lips twitch, and he's clearly holding back a smirk. 'I brought my bike today.'

I blink. 'Your bike?'

'Yup,' he says, the smirk breaking free. 'Figured you'd pull the whole "I get motion sickness" excuse, so now you don't have to worry. Two wheels, wind in your hair, no nausea.'

I stare at him, spoon frozen in mid-air. 'Wait... what?'

'You heard me. I'm taking you home. No excuses. You're not getting out of it this time.'

There's a weight in the air now, heavier than the comforter I'm buried under. I look down at the yogurt, not sure how to respond. I don't want him to know about my secret yet but there is something freeing about laying bare everything I've been hiding inside for all this time.

'Romil, seriously—' I start feebly, but he cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head.

'Nope. You can fight me all you want, but it's happening.' He gestures to the tres leches. 'Eat your cake and accept your fate.'

I huff out a laugh, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to melt. 'You're impossible, you know that?'

He grins, looking pleased with himself. 'I've been called worse.'

When I feel good enough to take a class, the bell has already rung for the last period of computer science. Romil and I go straight to the lab and are later joined by the rest of the class. We slide into our seats, and a few minutes later, Rupal from science struts in, making her way to the seat on Romil's right like it's hers by birthright. We're supposed to be working on a C++ program for library management, but I can feel the tension the moment Rupal is in the room with us.

Her eyes flick to me for a second—just long enough to plant a seed of doubt before she turns to Romil with a casual, 'Why aren't you sitting with Vatsal?' Her voice is laced with something sugary but with a bitter edge.

Romil stiffens beside me, his fingers flying over the keyboard with just a little too much force.

'So, you guys fought again!' Rupal comments, booting up her PC, and crossing her arms across her chest.

I focus on my own screen, flipping through notes, highlighting functions like my life depends on it. After a few minutes of this unbearable silence, Rupal speaks again, her tone dripping honey. She ups her tone just at the end in an over-the-top impression of Bollywood Wives. I cringe at the sweetness; it could give me a cavity.

'Romil, could you take a look at my code?' She leans toward him, tilting her head in that way that makes it seem like a request, but we all know it's not.

Romil glances at her screen, ever helpful. 'Sure. What's the issue?'

I can't tell if he's too polite to notice how close she's sitting or if he genuinely doesn't care. But she's practically in his lap. The unease in my stomach tightens, a weird twist I can't quite explain. Rupal doesn't even glance my way. It's like I'm not even here.

She leans in, pointing at her screen. 'I can't figure out this loop. I'm sure you've already cracked it by now.'

Romil gives a small nod, typing a few things into her laptop. 'It's just a missing semicolon.'

Rupal lets out a giggle, one that rings like she just shared a private joke with him. 'Ugh, I hate this stuff. I don't know how you manage to breeze through it, Romil. It's like second nature to you.'

I keep my eyes on my own screen, fingers hovering uselessly over the keys, but I can't stop hearing her voice, sugary sweet and full of something I don't want to name.

'So,' she says, all casual, 'I saw your Road King in the parking. Can I get a ride?'

My stomach does a full flip. I don't even know why it matters, but suddenly I'm gripping the mouse a little too hard.

Romil doesn't miss a beat. 'Actually, I'm dropping Maithili home today,' he says, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

At that, Rupal's head whips toward me. I glance back to my screen but feel her stare searing a hole in my face. I turn and look at her blinking, her smile faltering for just a second before she recovers. 'Oh, I didn't realize.' Her voice is sharp beneath the sweetness. 'Well, maybe next time then.'

The teacher arrives just in time to break the tension, but I barely register him looking over my code, running a command I don't catch in time. The program loops endlessly, just like the thoughts in my head.

Maybe I, too, need a semicolon—something to stop my life from spiralling out of control.