I'm just about to step into the common room when I hear someone call, 'Maithili?'

I turn, clutching the books tighter to my chest, and see Arjun jogging toward me.

Without meaning to, I take a step back. My head is still spinning from a sleepless night.

'Hey,' he says, his voice soft, his gaze hovering somewhere around my shoulder like he can't quite look me in the eye.

I don't return his smile. I don't say a word.

'I... Can we talk?' He nods toward the door to the common room.

'We are talking,' I say flatly, my jaw tight. My teeth ache from how hard I'm clenching them. Today is not the day to make amends with Arjun. Today, of all days, I don't have it in me.

He finally looks at me, his small gold earring catching a flicker of sunlight streaming through the atrium.

'I'm sorry,' he says, lowering his voice as a group of girls passes us, chatting on their way into the common room. 'I want to explain. If you'd just—'

I'm already shaking my head. 'Not today,' I say, seemingly incapable of making a logical conversation.

Because yesterday, after Romil rushed out and left me standing there, dazed and exposed, I went straight home. Numb. He didn't text, didn't call. When I tried calling him, it went straight to voicemail. It's still going straight to voicemail.

He's not here today. None of his friends are, except for Arjun, who's clearly splintered off from the rest of them.

'Please, Maithili.' His voice softens, and his face falls, like hearing a yes from me is the only thing keeping him upright.

I sigh, letting my shoulders drop. 'Okay.'

I lead us to the bay window seat, the spot I always retreat to during free sports periods—a place I can sit alone, lost in my thoughts. He grabs a beanbag and drags it closer to the window, settling in across from me, careful to keep his distance but close enough to make his point.

'First of all,' he begins, his voice low but steady, 'I'm really sorry. I know what I did was... loser behaviour.' His eyes flick to mine, gauging my reaction.

I nod, offering no reassurance, just letting him know I'm still listening. Because, yeah, he's absolutely right.

He presses on. 'Secondly, I just... I need to explain why I did it. Not because I think it's an excuse, or that it'll make it okay—because I know it won't.'

I nod again, keeping my expression neutral, hoping it'll keep him talking and spare me from having to say much.

'I...' He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled like he's about to deliver a confession at church. 'I like you.'

He stops, the weight of those three words hanging heavy between us. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares into my eyes like he's searching for a sign, something to guide him through this uncharted territory.

And then it hits me: I wasn't supposed to know this.

'I know,' I say, simply. 'Romil told me.'

His nostrils flare, and in one quick motion, he's on his feet, raking a trembling hand through his hair.

He exhales audibly, licking his lips before speaking. 'It wasn't his place to tell you.'

'I know.' I nod, my voice even, though I don't know what else to say.

He lowers himself back into the beanbag, his movements less sharp now, like the energy's drained out of him. 'I like you,' he says finally. 'And when I found out that you...' He falters, grasping for the right word.

I don't let him linger. '...aren't from the same privilege as y'all?' I finish for him, my tone cutting. I let the y'all drip with sarcasm, emphasizing the divide he's trying so hard not to name.

His shoulders sag, and he lets out a quiet sigh. 'I'm sorry,' he says, his voice softer now. 'I realized later you never hid it from me. I just... assumed.' His gaze drops to his shoes, his apology spilling out in pieces.

'First of all,' I begin, my tone sharper now, slicing through whatever apology he's trying to build, 'Who do you think you are? What makes you think it's your prerogative to know every single thing about me?' He looks up, like he's about to argue, but I cut him off.

'Are we friends?' I ask, the question pointed, rhetorical. Before he can answer, I barrel on. 'No, we're not. Because talking to someone, making them feel close to you when it's convenient, when the sun is shining and everything feels easy—and then bolting the second you see something real, something hard about them—that's not friendship. Forget liking someone. That's not anything.'

'You didn't like me. You liked the idea of me—the curated, polished version that made sense in your world. But guess what? That girl doesn't exist.'

He flinches, but I don't stop.

'The real me clawed her way in here on a scholarship. She went to a government school, paid her own way by upcycling rejects and selling them to thrift shops. She's not here for your half-hearted I-like-you-but-I-can't-handle-it games.'

'Calm down, okay?' he says, and I close my eyes, drawing in a slow, measured breath.

'Romil and I are dating,' I say, my voice steady, leaving no room for interpretation.

He stays quiet, and I wait, letting the truth settle. 'I love him,' I add, driving the point home.

His lips twitch, like he's trying to force a laugh, but it falls flat. 'You might as well just say I don't stand a chance.'

'I really wanted to be your friend,' I tell him.

His face shifts, caught between confusion and regret. 'Why are you saying it like I blew it?' His eyes search mine, desperate, asking, Did I?

'Because I want to say that you blew it up,' I say, blunt and unflinching.

Even as the words leave my mouth, the disappointment blooms fresh in my chest, no matter how much I told myself that I don't care.

'So, we can't even be friends?'

'Not now,' I say, the words slipping out before I can soften them, before I realize they'll be the last ones we ever share.

The next morning, Friday, the air feels heavy, like it knows something I don't. I've been awake since four, too restless to do anything but reread the same chapter of a book over and over without processing a word. My phone buzzes on the nightstand—it's Romil. Finally.

I swipe it open.

Romil: Whatever happens, don't go to school.