The air had shifted.
After leaving the little street-side taco joint, the three of them strolled down the path in easy silence—shoes crunching against gravel, the breeze humming low, and the sky soaked in golden dusk light. There was no small talk, no teasing—just that charged, heavy stillness. The kind of quiet that didn't beg to be filled. It just was.
Simran walked a step ahead, the soft flutter of her black dress catching the wind. Junaid walked on her right, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers every now and then. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw tight, like he was holding back a million words. Alzan, on her left, carried himself with the usual swagger, but there was something deeper behind his lightness tonight. He kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking, the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked smirk that almost felt... wistful.
"You always walk like that?" Alzan asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Simran looked at him sideways. "Like what?"
"Like the world owes you attention," he said, tone teasing, but his eyes holding something else. Something real.
She raised a brow, a half-smile forming. "You flirt with everyone like this?"
"Only the ones who wear black dresses and ruin my appetite."
Junaid's head snapped toward him. "Wow," he muttered. "Can you not talk like that?"
Simran chuckled under her breath, amused and—if she was being honest—a little flustered. The tension between the boys was no longer subtle. It was blooming in the open now. Every word, every glance—it was a battle. Quiet. Measured. But unmistakably a battle.
The road curved, narrowing into a winding trail flanked by wildflowers and moon-kissed grass. They stepped off the main road, their pace slowing as the world dimmed around them. Above, the moon hung low and wide, its silver light brushing over everything like soft paint. Lanterns from a nearby festival cast golden pools of light along the path. Somewhere far away, an Arijit song floated through the air.
Simran walked in the center. Junaid and Alzan flanked her again, like twin shadows. They didn't speak, but their presence said everything.
"So," Junaid finally said, voice clipped, "you enjoy the fest?"
Simran gave a slow nod. "It felt like a fever dream."
"That part where you danced in the middle of the crowd?" Alzan said, smirking. "You broke necks, sunshine. Pretty sure one guy fainted."
She laughed, looking down. "You're both ridiculous."
"Not even close," Junaid said, quiet and sure. "You looked like you belonged up there. Like the rest of us were just background noise."
Simran's breath caught.
She didn't answer, didn't need to. The silence that returned wasn't awkward. It was electric. Full of things that wanted to be said but weren't ready to be spoken aloud.
The trail narrowed again. At one point, her hand brushed Junaid's. Then again. Until his pinky looped with hers.
So subtle. So gentle. But unmistakable.
And Alzan noticed.
"Damn," he said with a fake sigh. "I'm the third wheel now, huh?"
Simran turned, lips twitching. "Oh please. You love the drama."
He placed a hand on his chest, mock offended. "Guilty. But I also like peace. So how about I steal her for five minutes, Junaid? Just five."
Junaid looked at Simran. Said nothing. Waiting for her choice.
She raised a brow. "Five minutes?"
"Promise I won't get us lost." Alzan held out his hand, palm up like an invitation.
Simran hesitated.
Then, with a soft exhale, she placed her fingers in his.
Junaid didn't stop her. But the twitch in his jaw? Said everything.
Alzan led her a few steps away, down toward a small wooden bridge framed by vines and whispers of wind. It creaked under their weight as they leaned against the railing, gazing out at the water, black and still.
"You know," Alzan said after a while, "I didn't expect to like you this much."
Simran glanced at him, startled. "That's… random."
"But true," he said, eyes fixed on the lake. "You walk into a room, and everything else just fades. It's annoying, honestly."
She smiled, touched despite herself. "You flirt like it's your second language."
"And you dodge like you're made of smoke," he said, grinning. "But tonight—tonight I saw it. The way you looked at him."
Her smile faltered.
"I know that look," he added. "Because I've given you the same one. When I thought you weren't looking."
She stayed quiet, throat tight.
"Don't say sorry," he said quickly. "I'm not broken. I'm just… real. You glow around him. But I had to try, you know?"
She met his eyes. "I'm glad you did. You're honest. And hilarious. And honestly, I've always liked that about you."
He gave her that crooked, boyish smile. "Careful, sunshine. Say things like that and I might not let you go back to him."
She laughed, and the air between them softened.
As they turned back toward the path, he paused.
"Don't let him waste time," Alzan said, his tone gentler now. "You're magic. Any guy would be lucky to have you."
Then he walked ahead, hands in his pockets, his figure disappearing into the shadows where the trail widened again.
Simran stood there, alone for a moment, trying to slow her heartbeat. To process. But before she could take a deep breath—
"Done with your five minutes?"
She spun around.
Junaid stood there. Still. Quiet. But his eyes—those dark, stormy eyes—held too much.
"How long were you standing there?" she asked.
"Long enough to hear 'you glow when he's around.'"
She flinched. "Junaid—"
"Is it true?"
Her voice came out in a whisper. "Is what true?"
"That I make you glow."
He took a step closer.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
"Because you make me feel like I'm on fire, Simran," he murmured. "Every time you laugh, it's like I forget how to breathe. And last night—when you walked in wearing that dress? I forgot my own damn name."
He was inches away now.
"I hate the way Alzan looks at you," he confessed, voice low and shaking. "But I hate even more that I waited this long to say anything."
She didn't speak.
Couldn't.
His hand hovered near her cheek—fingers trembling, aching to close the distance.
"Tell me I'm not imagining this," he whispered. "Tell me you feel it too."
Silence.
Then—
"I do," she whispered. Eyes locked. Honest. Vulnerable.
Junaid exhaled like he'd been underwater for months. But before he could lean in, before the tension could tip into something more—
From down the path came Rahil's yell:
"GUYS! Group pic near the bonfire! Move it before I photoshop you out!"
Simran let out a breathy laugh, the spell broken.
Junaid smiled, lips curving slow. "Guess we'll have to save this talk."
"Yeah," she whispered. "Let's go."
As they walked back, side by side now, his pinky brushed hers again.
This time, she intertwined hers with his without hesitation.
And somewhere behind them, Alzan watched. Quiet. Smiling, even as it broke his heart a little.
But he didn't regret a thing.
Because some hearts aren't meant to win. They're just meant to be honest.
And under that moon, on that quiet, glowing path—three hearts tangled and untangled all at once.
And none of them would be the same again.