Chapter: 1 Week Later
Iman's Point of View
It had been a week.
And just like that, things were normal again. Or at least, that's what we both decided to believe.
We were talking like we used to — half-teasing, half-serious, the way best friends do. The awkward silences had been carefully swept under the carpet of casual laughter and inside jokes. I had finally shoved whatever strange feelings had crept in over the past few weeks into a sealed box and pasted the word friendship over it. Neatly. Decidedly. Firmly.
But Ahad?
Well.
Let's just say if looks could kill, Suhail wouldn't have made it past homeroom.
It wasn't dramatic or loud — Ahad wasn't that type. But it was in the way his shoulders stiffened each time Suhail leaned in to show me something on the notebook. The way his jaw tightened whenever I laughed — the light, careless kind — at one of Suhail's lame jokes. Suhail, who was just my benchmate. Nothing more. A guy who talked too much, drew anime characters in his margins, and borrowed my ruler so often I'd mentally started charging him for it.
We sat on the last bench, Suhail and I — an accidental arrangement that now felt oddly strategic. Ahad was on the bench right ahead. Close enough to hear me laugh. Too close to pretend he didn't care.
I'd catch the side of his face sometimes — frozen, unreadable. As if he was staring at the blackboard but not reading a word. And every time Suhail said something dumb (which, to be fair, was every other sentence), I swear Ahad would blink a second slower. Like he was trying not to react.
"Yaar," Suhail was saying now, flipping through his history notes, "who even remembers all these dates? They should just teach this stuff through films."
I smirked, not looking up from my own book. "Yeah, sure. Let's just ask the Mughal emperors to act in a Netflix documentary."
He chuckled, tapping his pen. "You could play Noor Jahan very well, I swear. You always correct people, like her."
Before I could reply, I felt a distinct shift — not in Suhail's words, but in the air around us.
I didn't need to look up.
Ahad had gone still.
Again.
And for some reason, that stillness did more damage than words.
I sighed internally. Not this again.
It wasn't like Ahad said anything. He didn't. Not once had he mentioned anything about Suhail. But his silence had started to carry a language of its own. Like a quiet war I hadn't asked to fight.
And yet — I couldn't deny it.
He was… different.
Different from the Ahad who'd once stolen my chips and called me "General Nakhra." Different from the Ahad who stood up for me like it was instinct. Different from the boy who now sat one bench ahead and still felt too close to ignore.
Maybe he didn't say anything because he didn't know what to say.
Maybe I avoided asking because I wasn't ready to know.
Either way — this, whatever this was, wasn't simple anymore.
And I hated that I was starting to notice it.