The buzz of the classroom lights mingled with the quiet scratch of a marker as Professor Meijer stepped back from the whiteboard, capping the pen with a firm click. His words trailed off in bold, purposeful strokes—arrows, underlines, symbols—now framing the day’s final point. 

Reyhaan leaned back slightly in his seat, arms loosely crossed as he watched a few of his classmates around him sigh with the sort of disappointment only students understood. Some of them exchanged subtle glances. The resigned kind that said: This was supposed to be an early wrap.

It was the last class of Thursday, originally meant for Film Club—a casual slot under Professor Cleo, who was out for the day. Reyhaan had overheard a few students in the hallway earlier about how this session was usually more of a wind-down. A collective sigh had passed through the room earlier when each of their phone pinged with a group message from Professor Meijer, informing them that he was filling in. Film Club meant fun discussions, screenings, and maybe even skipping out a little early. Meijer meant theory, structure, and the firm sound of marker caps clicking into place.

None of them had packed up yet, but water bottles were already half-zipped into bags, notebooks creased shut with hopeful finality.

“For next week,” Meijer began, his voice steady and unbothered by the undercurrent of student disappointment, “I want you all to form groups of three. Pick a short scene—fiction or documentary, doesn’t matter.”

Reyhaan tapped his pen softly against the edge of his desk, gaze trailing over the diagrams on board. Clean lines. Angles. Emotion measured like geometry—all form, no mess.

“Break it down visually,” Meijer continued, turning toward the board in a brief gesture. “Not just what’s happening on screen, but how and why it’s happening. Shot choices, tone, timing. What does the camera feel? What does it withhold?”

A low murmur began to rise—some intrigued, others whispering potential partners, a few quietly mourning the free hour that could’ve been.

“Think of it,” Meijer said, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile, “as storyboarding feelings. You’re directing the heartbeat beneath it.”

A few students straightened as the professor closed the marker box and gave a final nod. “You’ve got a week,” he said, slinging his crossbody bag on one shoulder. “Choose wisely. And remember—clarity doesn’t mean simplicity.”

Then, just like that, he stepped out, leaving behind the faint scent of whiteboard ink and quiet shuffle of delayed relief. Chairs scraped softly against the floor, zippers tugged open, phones lit up. The room exhaled like it had been holding its breath for too long.

Reyhaan remained seated for a moment, letting the bustle pass around him. People were already pairing off. A few glanced his way. Not long stares. Just that subtle, charged curiosity. A couple of them looked almost expectantly, but no one walked over.

Some of them, he noticed, were whispering things like "soundscape genius" or "he probably hears film like music." He didn’t fault them—he might’ve said the same if he were them. But it tugged at something in him. A reminder of all those collabs, guest sessions, days packed with energy, reaching, performance. The version of him who would’ve walked over to every table, cracking jokes, networking without meaning to.

Now, he didn’t want that. Not yet.

They weren’t swarming him. No sudden requests to “collab.” They let him be. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was caution. Or maybe—hopefully—people were just starting to treat him like a regular student.

Still, he didn’t feel like choosing randomly. He needed something grounded. Someone familiar.

He scanned the room, fiddling with the bracelet Lucian had made for him during one of his Instagram lives, as his eyes landed on two familiar faces near the far end of the row to his right.

Aria, the quiet one with chestnut hair and near-transparent rim glasses, and Maya, the one who had dark twist of curls pinned above each ear, and silver hoops shifting as she talked.

They sat near windows, a little apart from the chatter, like they’d carved out a quiet corner for themselves. He’d noticed them over the past week—always present, but in a way that didn’t ask for attention. Like they were more attuned to the undercurrent than the volume.

He could go solo. It wouldn’t be a disaster. But he didn’t want solo. Not today.

So, he stood, took the notes in hand, and made his way towards them.

“Hey,” he knocked lightly on their table as he said, keeping his tone deliberately casual. “So… are you two accepting applications for your group, or is it strictly invite-only?”

Maya zipped her bag with a grin. “Depends. Are you good with deadlines, or just mysterious and talented with questionable sleep schedules?”

“Bit of both, I hope,” he replied, matching her tenor. Then he turned to Aria. “I figured I owed you both an actual hello after accidentally hijacking that discussion last week.”

Aria looked up from where she was tucking her pen into a fabric pouch. “You didn’t hijack anything,” she assured, smiling – quiet, but genuine. “It was… nice. What you said.”

“You mean the headphone scene?”

She nodded as she stood, the strap of her bag sliding gently off her shoulder. “It stayed with me. I hadn’t thought about it like that before.”

She hesitated before saying it—just a second too long. Like she was checking her thoughts before they left her mouth. Like she was editing something inside herself before letting it out loud. Not unsure. Just cautious.

He knew that feeling. Too well.

Reyhaan’s expression softened. “And you made me rethink how I look at silence. So… fair trade.”

A quiet understanding stayed between them, unspoken but present. Aria gave a small, understanding nod—discreet, but certain.

Then, with a shared glance and the soft cadence of shifting footsteps, they began the walk down the hallway together, Aria and Maya beside him, the low chatter of students’ voices trailing behind.

Maya gave a mock sigh as they turned a corner. “Look at you two. Exchanging emotional damage like Pokémon cards. Can we please have a chill group dynamic?”

Reyhaan let out a small laugh. “Absolutely. I promise not to quote sad indie lyrics during brainstorming.”

“Great,” Maya said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. She unscrewed her water canteen mid-step, gave it a hopeful shake, then frowned. “Cool. Betrayed by hydration again.”

She held it up like a defeated warrior with an empty flask. “Cafeteria run?”

“Only if the coffee’s strong enough to power our collective delusions,” Reyhaan offered.

Aria chuckled. “Or at least cold enough water to revive Maya’s trust in the universe.”

They veered towards the stairs, pace unhurried, falling into a quiet rhythm without trying.

“So,” Reyhaan asked, “what’s the next class we all share?”

Maya groaned. “Podcast Narration. Tomorrow morning. Which you skipped last week, by the way.”

“Had a prior appointment,” he replied, hands lifted in mock defense. “Did I miss something important?”

 

“You missed Thomas reading his horror script in a whispery Dracula voice for ten whole minutes,” Maya said. “We all sat there like hostages.”

 

Aria wavered again, before adding, “It was… memorable.” Then she shuddered slightly at the recollection, her face twisting into a soft cringe. “I can still hear the voice in my head. It haunts my dreams.”

Reyhaan caught the pause once more. A pattern, not an accident. Aria wasn’t nervous—she was thoughtful. Choosing her words with care, as though language was something precious, not to be wasted.

He winced, amused. “I regret everything.”

Maya shot him a dramatic look. “You should. We needed emotional support.” Then a moment later, mumbled something incoherent, which earned her a pinch from Aria.

“Don’t worry,” Aria said, glancing at him with a smile. “You’ll get your chance to redeem yourself tomorrow.”

Reyhaan smiled back, the kind that reached his eyes. “Looking forward to it. Whispery Dracula voice and all.”

Aria gave him a look—amused, a little sly—like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Fair trade.”

His smile lingered as they turned the stairwell. She remembered his word. And said them back with ease. Not as a fan. Not as a moment. Just… as someone who’d been listening. He laughed under his breath, the words bouncing back to him in a way that felt easy. Familiar, even.

“You know,” Maya said, glancing sideways at him as they descended the steps. “I think people are finally starting to get used to you being here.”

Reyhaan arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

She waved a hand vaguely behind them. “No one jumped over desks to ask you to be in their group. No one tried to make it a moment. You just walked over, and we said yes. That’s how it should be.”

Aria nodded; her voice soft but certain. “You chose who you wanted to work with. Not the other way around.”

He looked ahead, letting that sit with him. It hadn’t fully clicked until they said it, but they were right. For once, his name hadn’t chosen for him.

That subtle shift—of being seen, not claimed—felt oddly significant.