The streetlights outside flickered faintly, casting golden pools of light over the quiet neighborhood. Aradhya stood at her bedroom window, watching Zayn's silhouette as he leaned casually against his car, scrolling through his phone. He looked so effortlessly perfect, his tousled hair catching the faint glow, his jawline sharp against the dim light.
She sighed, her forehead resting against the cool glass. This was her routine now—watching him from a distance, her heart aching with feelings she could never bring herself to voice.
"Just friends," she whispered to herself, the words as hollow as they were repetitive. "That's all we've ever been."
She'd spent years telling herself that Zayn saw her the same way she saw him. But the truth, the brutal, aching truth, was that he didn't. Not once in their countless years of friendship had he given her a single reason to believe he felt anything more.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. A message from Zayn: "Coming up."
Her heart leapt in that familiar, annoying way it always did when he was near. She barely had time to compose herself before she heard the soft knock on her bedroom door.
"Come in," she called, hoping her voice sounded steady.
The door creaked open, and there he was, all six feet of him, dressed in his usual jeans and a black hoodie. He grinned, that lopsided, teasing grin that never failed to unravel her.
"Caught you staring again?" he teased, flopping onto her bed like he owned the place.
Her cheeks burned. "I wasn't staring."
"Sure you weren't." He stretched out, making himself comfortable. "Anyway, what's with the gloomy look? You're usually chirpier than this."
She rolled her eyes, sitting down at her desk to put some distance between them. "I'm fine, Zayn."
"You're a terrible liar."
She didn't respond, busying herself with the stack of books on her desk. She felt his gaze on her, warm and steady, and it made her pulse race.
"Hey," he said softly, his tone suddenly serious.
She turned, surprised to see him sitting up, his expression unreadable.
"You know you can talk to me, right?"
Her chest tightened. Yes, she could talk to him—about school, about life, about anything except the one thing that mattered most.
"Of course," she said, forcing a smile.
He nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Then, as if flipping a switch, he was back to his usual self. "So, guess what? Nadia asked me out."
The words hit her like a punch to the stomach.
Nadia. The tall, confident girl from their class who always seemed to know exactly what to say to catch Zayn's attention. Aradhya had seen the way he looked at her, the way he smiled a little wider whenever Nadia was around.
"That's great," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.
"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I wasn't sure at first, but... she's cool, you know? Fun to be around."
Fun to be around. The phrase echoed in her mind, and she wondered if Zayn had ever described her that way to someone else.
"Sounds like you're into her," she said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears.
"Maybe," he admitted with a shrug. "We'll see how it goes."
Her heart sank, but she kept her smile plastered on. "Well, I hope it works out."
He looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "You sure you're okay? You're acting weird."
"I'm fine," she said quickly, standing up. "Do you want something to drink? I'll get us some soda."
Without waiting for his reply, she left the room, her breath coming faster as she descended the stairs. In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, gripping its edge as if it could hold her together.
The tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back. She couldn't let herself cry over this—over him. Not when he didn't even know, didn't even care.
She grabbed two cans of soda and took a deep breath before heading back upstairs. When she entered, Zayn was scrolling through his phone again, his face lit by the glow of the screen.
"Thanks," he said, taking the soda without looking up.
She sat back at her desk, sipping her drink quietly. He didn't notice the way her hands trembled or the way her gaze kept darting to him, as if memorizing the way he looked.
He didn't notice because he never did.
And as much as it hurt, Aradhya knew she would keep this secret buried deep. Because losing him completely would hurt far more than loving him in silence ever could.
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