(Sasha's POV)
The restaurant was eerily quiet and slightly suffocating after Ayra left.
I twirled the straw in my iced tea absentmindedly, pretending not to notice the way Kyle had been scowling at his barely touched plate of pasta for the past ten minutes.
He had barely spoken, and the energy between us had grown heavier with each passing second.
Finally, with a sigh of frustration, he set his fork down with an audible clink against the ceramic plate.
"She's become different," he muttered, his fingers tapping against the table in an erratic rhythm. "Ayra. She's been acting strange lately."
I lifted my gaze to meet his, keeping my expression neutral. I had noticed it too, of course.
The distance in Ayra's eyes, the way she deflected certain topics, how she had suddenly started keeping both of us at arm's length.
But I wasn't about to feed into Kyle's paranoia.
