The sunlight had no warmth that morning. It filtered through the tall windows of the college corridor—pale, withdrawn, like it too didn't want to be seen.
Simran walked in after a full day's absence.
Hood up. Sleeves swallowing her hands. Her jeans hung looser than usual, her oversized black hoodie nearly engulfing her. Hair? Tied in a bun that looked like it had lost the will to hold itself together. No mascara. No cheek tint. No concealer. No armor.
The girl who used to walk in like a spark—head held high, face bright even on off days—looked like a storm cloud that hadn't decided whether to pour or disappear.
And maybe that was exactly how she felt.
The weight of the night before still clung to her ribs. Like a shadow that had seeped into her bones. That dream—no, memory twisted as nightmare—had burrowed deep. Left her sleep-starved and soul-tired.
But still, she showed up.
Because sometimes, surviving looked like walking through a college gate pretending nothing cracked.
The first person who noticed her was Alzan.
He was leaned up against the notice board, phone in hand, one brow slightly raised in that cocky I-run-this-place way… until his eyes caught hers.
His smirk dropped. Instantly.
He took in her hoodie, her sunken eyes, her small—too small—nod of acknowledgment.
"Simran?" he asked, his voice gentler than she expected.
She nodded again. Just that. No witty comeback. No dramatic sigh. Just… existing.
Alzan straightened. Pocketed his phone. "Where were you?" he asked, casual on the surface, but his eyes weren't playing. "You didn't reply to anything."
She shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like her entire world hadn't crumbled inward less than twelve hours ago.
That's when Zain appeared. He'd been walking up behind Alzan and caught the tail end of the tension.
"You disappeared," he said, his tone trying to tease, but the worry was unmistakable. "I thought you got recruited by a cult or something. Texts? Ignored. Calls? Nada."
She tried to laugh. It came out like a cough.
"Wasn't feeling it," she said, voice flat.
Zain studied her. Really looked.
"Are you okay now?"
The lie came out too fast. "Yeah."
She didn't notice the way Zain's gaze lingered on her longer than usual. How his shoulders tightened just a bit. How Alzan leaned forward slightly like he was about to say something else—but didn't.
And then, she felt him.
The weight of his stare.
Junaid.
Across the quad. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't trying to be the life of the room like usual.
He was watching her.
The way a person watches a glass teeter on the edge of a counter.
And just like that, he started walking toward her—shoulders stiff, eyes never leaving her face.
Simran's chest tightened. She hadn't replied to him either. Not after he messaged. Not after he offered that tiny sliver of comfort in the form of sarcasm and ego. She'd gone silent.
He stopped in front of her. Close. Closer than comfort, but not touching. Just being.
"You weren't here yesterday," he said softly.
She looked up. "Yeah. I wasn't well."
He tilted his head slightly. "You don't look okay."
She felt it then—that ache under her ribcage, that stupid lump in her throat.
"I'm here, aren't I?" she whispered.
Junaid's jaw ticked. But he stepped back. Gave her space. "Good you're here."
Then walked away.
But his fists were clenched at his sides.
And she saw it.
---
Class was a blur.
Simran chose the seat in the corner. Far from her usual circle. Far from the noise. She kept her hood on. Her head down.
The professor started. People whispered. But she just sat there. Numb.
Because her brain wasn't in that room.
It was back in that dream.
That memory. The one that started like a warm cup of chai—laughter in the kitchen, arms wrapped around her waist, the smell of burnt paratha and teasing whispers.
"You're different from everyone else," he had said once. Voice soft, mouth brushing her temple.
And then… shift.
Anger flaring. A dish thrown. Her wrist snatched too hard. Words spat with venom, like love had morphed into a weapon.
She'd woken up gasping.
And the echoes hadn't left. They were clinging to her now—tight around her chest.
She didn't hear when the professor called on her.
"Simran?"
She blinked. "Sorry?"
The room stared.
Her ears rang. Her face burned.
"I… I didn't catch the question."
The professor nodded, concern creeping in. "We'll talk after class."
And she just… nodded back. Like a ghost.
---
When the bell rang, she tried to bolt.
But Junaid was already in the hallway. Waiting. Like he knew.
"Hey," he said, stepping in front of her.
She kept her arms crossed, hood still on, fingers clenched in her sleeves.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't ask. Don't look at me like you want to fix me. I'm not… I can't…"
He didn't back down. Just looked at her, softer now.
"I won't fix. I won't push. But don't act like you're not breaking, Simran."
Her lips trembled.
"Whatever you think you're hiding—Alzan sees it. Zain definitely sees it. And me?" He exhaled sharply. "I feel it. Even when you're quiet."
She looked down. "What if I break everything around me too?"
Junaid didn't flinch.
"Then we'll sweep it up. Together."
Her throat felt like it was closing.
He stepped aside, didn't touch her, didn't force comfort. Just gave her back her space.
But his voice followed her as she walked away:
"You don't have to be okay yet. Just don't lie about it."
---
Later, in the restroom, she stood at the sink.
Stared at her own reflection.
Red eyes. Cracked lips. A hoodie too big, hiding a girl who used to shine.
Someone knocked lightly on the door.
Then slid something under the gap.
A candy.
Her favorite.
She didn't have to guess who.
She sank against the wall, candy in hand, and let out a breath that wasn't quite a sob… but wasn't just air either.
---
And somehow, that was enough.
Not healing.
Not closure.
But something like survival.
The kind of day where the world didn't end.
Even when it felt like it should've.