The misunderstanding did not arrive with drama.
No shouting. No confrontation. No villain twirling a metaphorical mustache.
It arrived the way most disasters do—through someone else's mouth, at the wrong time, in the wrong tone, carrying just enough truth to feel believable.
Liyana heard it from Farah.
Farah was not malicious. Farah was efficient. She delivered information the way newspapers delivered headlines—brief, confident, and without emotional cushioning.
"So," Farah said, stirring her coffee, "congratulations to Arman, I guess."
Liyana frowned. "For what?"
"For getting engaged," Farah replied casually. "I didn't even know he was seeing someone seriously. You must have, though."
The café noise seemed to dim, like someone had turned down the volume of the world.
"Engaged?" Liyana repeated, hating how calm her voice sounded.
Farah nodded. "Apparently his family's been arranging it for a while. A sensible girl. Works in finance. You know how these things go."
Liyana did know how these things went. She knew how assumptions became facts by repetition alone. She knew how silence turned into proof.
She smiled thinly. "Good for him."
Farah squinted. "You didn't know?"
"No," Liyana said. "Why would I?"
She didn't ask for details. She didn't ask for confirmation. She didn't ask Arman.
Because if she asked, she would have to hear the answer.
That evening, when Arman messaged her—River tonight?—she stared at the screen for a long time before replying.
Busy, she typed.
He responded almost immediately. Everything okay?
Fine.
The lie felt heavier than truth.
Arman, on the other hand, learned his half of the misunderstanding through a mutual acquaintance who spoke too freely and listened too little.
"Oh," the man said, clapping Arman on the shoulder, "so you're saying goodbye soon?"
"Goodbye?" Arman asked.
"Liyana," the man continued. "Leaving the country, right? Big research thing. Two years at least."
Arman's chest tightened.
She hadn't told him.
He laughed it off in the moment—laughed at many things he didn't understand—but that night, alone, he replayed every recent conversation, every distracted answer, every avoided glance.
That's why she's pulling away, he told himself.
That's why she doesn't need me.
Pride filled in the gaps where honesty should have been.
The next time they met by the river, something was different. The air felt tense, over-polished. Like a room prepared for guests who never arrived.
"You've been distant," Arman said, skipping greetings.
"So have you," Liyana replied.
He crossed his arms. "I don't like not knowing where I stand."
She laughed softly. "That's funny. You've always seemed comfortable there."
His jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just… reality."
There it was again. That word. Reality. As if it excused everything.
"Are you leaving?" he asked suddenly.
The question startled her. "What?"
"Are you going somewhere?" he pressed. "Because it would explain a lot."
She hesitated.
That hesitation destroyed them.
"Does it matter?" she asked instead.
His expression hardened. "I guess not."
"So," she said, heart pounding, "is it true?"
He frowned. "Is what true?"
She almost said it. Almost asked about the engagement. Almost gave him the chance to deny it.
Instead, fear spoke first.
"Nothing," she said. "Forget it."
They stared at each other like strangers who remembered too much.
"You know," Arman said finally, his voice sharp with something like disappointment, "not everything needs to be discussed to death."
Liyana flinched. "That's convenient."
"For whom?"
"For someone who never wants to explain himself."
Silence fell.
It wasn't loud. It didn't scream. It simply stayed.
That night, both of them walked home separately, replaying the conversation in opposite directions, convinced the other had already made a decision without them.
Arman thought: She's leaving. I won't beg.
Liyana thought: He's chosen someone else. I won't compete.
Neither realized that the truth was standing right between them, waiting—patiently, tragically—to be spoken.
And like most great misunderstandings, it survived not because of lies, but because of pride, fear, and love that didn't yet know how to be brave.