Dav had never been the kind of guy to overthink relationships. Life, in his view, was meant to be lived with energy, laughter, and a clear head. Complications were for other people those who lost themselves in endless emotions and tangled situations. He prided himself on being straightforward, someone who didn't let feelings cloud his judgment.
At least, that was what he told himself.
But somewhere along the line, Ruth had begun to slip past that armor of simplicity.
He didn't notice it at first. To him, Ruth was his closest friend, the one person who seemed to understand him without explanations. She didn't look at him with the starry-eyed fascination others sometimes did, didn't place him on a pedestal. She called him out when he was wrong, teased him without fear, and laughed at his quirks instead of being charmed by them. With her, he didn't feel the pressure to be anyone but himself.
And that, in its own quiet way, was rare.
Still, Dav had always clung to the idea that she was like a sister. He repeated it often to his friends, to Ruth herself, even in the privacy of his thoughts. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. He did feel a kind of familial affection for her, protective and warm. But lately, that explanation was starting to feel too small, like shoes he had outgrown but was still trying to squeeze into.
The shift became noticeable during one of their usual weekend routines.
They had gone to the cinema to see an action movie everyone on campus had been talking about. Ruth, as always, had brought her running commentary along. She gasped dramatically during fight scenes, whispered sarcastic remarks when the villains made clichéd speeches, and laughed so loudly during the comedic breaks that Dav found himself laughing more at her than at the movie.
Halfway through, he glanced at her, intending only a quick look. But his eyes lingered longer than he expected. She was leaning back in her seat, the glow of the screen painting soft shadows across her face. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her smile wide, unrestrained seemed to light up the entire theater.
Dav felt something shift in his chest. A tightening. A spark. Something he couldn't name.
He looked away quickly, blaming the thought on the dim lighting or the exhaustion of the week. She's like a sister, he reminded himself firmly. Nothing more.
But for the rest of the movie, he couldn't stop noticing little things how her hand brushed against his when she reached for the popcorn, how her laugh vibrated through him like a melody he didn't want to forget.
By the time the credits rolled, he was unsettled in a way he hadn't been before.
It didn't end there.
The following week, they played football on the campus field, just as they always did. Ruth was never the strongest player, but she made up for it with determination and mischief. She darted toward him, trying to steal the ball with playful stubbornness, her laughter echoing across the grass.
Dav, grinning, tried to block her. But when she stumbled slightly, catching herself on his arm, he froze. Her hand lingered on him just a moment longer than necessary. His heart stuttered, and for a split second, the entire game the field, the laughter, the shouts of other students faded into the background.
He quickly shook it off, passing the ball to distract himself. But the moment replayed in his mind long after they left the field.
Why did that feel… different?
The questions multiplied in quiet moments.
When Ruth texted him late at night, her words lit up his phone like something more important than any other notification. When she teased him, he found himself memorizing the curve of her smile. When she was upset, he felt an ache in his chest that went beyond the usual concern of friendship.
He tried to reason it out. Maybe he was just overthinking. Maybe he valued her so much as a friend that he was confusing it with something else. After all, he couldn't imagine his life without her. Wasn't that what family was for?
Yet, no matter how many times he repeated the word sister, it rang hollow in his mind.
The whispers around campus didn't help either.
It seemed like everywhere he went, people were nudging him about Ruth. In the cafeteria, someone smirked and asked, "When are you proposing?" On the sports field, a friend teased, "You and Ruth are inseparable, man. Admit it already."
Dav always laughed it off. "She's just my friend," he would say. "Like my sister."
But the more he said it, the more forced it began to sound.
One evening, as they sat together in the library, working on an assignment, Ruth leaned her head against her palm, tired eyes scanning her notebook. A strand of hair fell into her face, and without thinking, Dav reached over and tucked it behind her ear.
It was such a small gesture, so natural, yet the silence that followed felt charged. Ruth blinked, surprised, and for a heartbeat their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them something fragile, something terrifying.
Dav quickly looked back at his notes, clearing his throat. "Uh, you missed a calculation there," he muttered, pointing to her work.
Ruth said nothing, only nodded, but her cheeks held the faintest flush.
And Dav… Dav's heart wouldn't settle.
That night, lying in bed, he couldn't shake the memory of the look in her eyes. He told himself it meant nothing. He told himself he was imagining it. But deep down, he knew the truth he had been avoiding for months:
Ruth wasn't just a friend. She wasn't just "like a sister."
She was something more.
Something he wasn't ready to admit, not even to himself.
But the cracks were there now, widening with every shared laugh, every touch, every stolen glance. And no matter how hard he tried to patch them with excuses, the truth was seeping through.
Dav had fallen, though he didn't dare call it by its name.
Not yet.