"I swear, if Professor Van Dijk says, 'If it can't be seen or heard, it doesn't belong on the page' one more time, I'm scripting every emotion in emojis just to see what she does." Maya adjusted her bag strap as they crossed the street.

Aria's soft laugh escaped.

They'd exited campus minutes earlier, still lingering on the discussion of their semester-end internship report. Reyhaan, having been promised they would meet him at the bookstore café where Aria worked, had left ahead with a casual thumbs-up. Just a few blocks from their destination, the noise of the city folded back into view.

"She does believe in clarity, to be fair," Aria replied.

"And terror. Absolute academic terror," Maya huffed. "One question, Aria. We just wanted to ask about the format, not get a TED Talk on visual tension."

"She's thorough," Aria smiled, brushing her hair back. "Poor Reyhaan. We told him we'd be five minutes."

Maya waved it off. "He's fine. It's the bookstore café; he'll survive."

Aria nodded, but her thoughts had already drifted. The present thinned into a reel of yesterday's fragments: Reyhaan, walking up after class, casually asking to join their group. And now they had exchanged numbers, a shared chat, and he was meeting them at her workplace.

The quickness of the change was what surprised her.

This Reyhaan seemed to actively step away from the spotlight. A calm had settled around him, a quiet contentment. He listened more than he spoke, smiled without seeking attention, and observed group discussions, content to lean back. This was the starkest contrast to the Reyhaan she knew from livestreams and videos—all extroverted energy, filling rooms with warmth.

Here, he was slower, softer, letting the world choose him first.

Though heads still turned when he passed, he didn't bask in the attention; he merely let it happen. She'd observed this quiet shift for over a week. He wasn't looking to be the center of anything. He was on a break, exploring, breathing a little easier. That was the part that stuck with her—the ease he seemed to find in not being 'on.'

A tram hummed past, breaking through her thoughts, leaving the tracks momentarily empty. Aria blinked back into the present.

Across the road, a row of shops carried on as usual. A florist window glowed with late-summer yellows; soft jazz drifted from a record store entrance. At the far end, painted in olive-green, stood Inkwell Books.

Not a typical student hangout, it felt warm and lived-in, more like a sprawling old townhouse. The interior suggested a personal collection had spilled across three rooms, with wooden, slightly crooked shelves stacked high. Persian rugs muffled footsteps; warm lamps and cozy armchairs filled the spaces between. It wasn't 'cool,' but it was deeply, intentionally warm.

They halted at the crosswalk. Aria's fingers worried the strap of her bag. "We're here already."

"Fifteen minutes goes quick when you're thinking about... whatever you're thinking about." Maya gave her a curious look. "You've been quiet."

"I was just..." Aria trailed off, then voiced the anxiety tightening her chest. "What if this was a bad choice? This place isn't exactly low-profile. What if he regrets coming?"

Maya hooked her arm through Aria's and pulled her toward the bookstore. "Hey. Stop. You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Over-reading everyone's comfort level except your own. He's fine. If he's uncomfortable, he'll say so."

Aria bit her lip and nodded, but her hand stayed fixed on her bag.

Inside, the familiar scent of roasted beans and old paper wrapped around them. The café was a haven of warm light and mismatched cups.

And there he stood.

Reyhaan was near the counter, hood down, a pastel-blue mug in hand, speaking softly to a regular.

He looked composed, even as a small ripple of attention stirred around him. Whispers rose among nearby students; a few customers glanced his way. A brave student approached for a shy photo; Literature undergrads offered notebooks for autographs.

And Reyhaan? He obliged each one with a quiet charm that left no awkwardness in its wake.

Still, Aria's fingers curled tighter around her strap. Maybe this wasn't the right place after all. He'd asked for quiet. This wasn't quiet.

What if he truly regretted this?

But then, his gaze found hers, and his expression shifted—not a public performance, but a soft, amused flicker of recognition meant only for their small circle. It felt as if her presence had, momentarily, anchored him.

He walked over.

"This place is incredible," he said. "It feels like someone turned their attic into a library-slash-record-store and decided to serve pie on the side. I love it. And the menu—" he held up the mug, "—solid choice. I'm trying the cinnamon blend. Highly recommend."

Aria blinked, caught off guard. "You already ordered?"

"You told me to," he shrugged. "Your chai and Maya's espresso are waiting for pickup. I followed instructions."

"Overachiever," Maya said, grinning as she headed to the counter.

Aria felt the tension slip from her shoulders.

They moved to a corner reading booth. As Maya juggled two trays, Reyhaan instantly reached out to steady one, while Aria quickly took the other and cleared a spot for them. Once seated, Reyhaan across from Aria and Maya, he raised an eyebrow at the stack of paper napkins centered on the trays.

"They don't trust us at all, do they?"

"Not with their classics," Aria teased, feeling lighter.

Maya snorted. "Valid concern. I've ruined two textbooks with chocolate already."

Laughter settled the last of the awkwardness. Project ideas and suggestions immediately filled the space, the soft momentum of something new taking shape.

"What about something simple?" Reyhaan suggested, leaning back. "It doesn't need to be dramatic. Even a quiet moment works if the framing does the heavy lifting."

Aria paused mid-sip of her chai. She met his gaze.

"Like... the train station scene from Before Sunrise? The silence before the goodbye?"

Reyhaan pointed his spoon at her, eyebrows lifted. "Exactly that. Nothing loud, but everything felt."

Aria caught the undertone, what he meant. The idea was a familiar, resonant chord: storytelling didn't need to shout to be unforgettable. The power was in what was withheld. He didn't explain it further; he didn't need to.

And Aria understood, effortlessly.

Maya sipped her espresso, tapping her foot thoughtfully. "I still say we pick something that gives us a reason to play around with shadows and lighting. I want to film something moody and visually unfair."

"You want drama," Reyhaan smirked.

"I want validation," Maya countered. "And aesthetic mood boards."

They spiraled quickly into a layered discussion—talking over each other at times, interrupting with new film examples, flipping through visual references. Reyhaan tossed in quips that had Maya laughing. Aria found herself joining in more freely, speaking without having to first test her words in her head.

"I can't believe we're only two weeks into the semester," Maya said at one point, leaning forward. "Feels like I've aged a year."

"It's the editing module," Reyhaan replied. "It's aged all of us. I've seen footage of myself from Week One—I was glowing."

Aria snorted. "We have officially entered the montage part of the academic arc."

They all paused, then grinned at the shared absurdity.

Mid-laugh, Aria's phone buzzed.

Text from Papa: Video call in 15 mins? Let us know when free.

Her alarm chimed softly a second later: 6 PM.

"I've got to head to the back," Aria announced, standing and finishing the last of her tea. "Shift time."

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she paused to glance at the two still seated. "Are you guys staying or heading out?"

Reyhaan leaned back in his chair slightly. "I'll stick around for a bit. Want to look around."

"Same here," Maya added, already eyeing the bookshelves nearby.

Aria narrowed her eyes playfully. "No discussing the project without me."

"No promises," Maya smirked. "Depends on how good his pitch is when you're not around."

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Aria said, "Text me when you guys head out, okay?"

"Will do," Reyhaan offered a small salute.

Giving them a mock warning once again, she headed toward the staff hallway and disappeared into the back of the bookstore.

Settling into the front desk didn't take long. Her attention was soon drawn to movement across the room: Maya tugging Reyhaan by the sleeve, leading him toward the manga section with the animated determination of someone about to rant about their favorite obsession. Aria shook her head, stifling a quiet laugh.

Turning back to the counter, she helped a customer searching for postcolonial literature, then rang up another browsing Scandinavian hikes. When she glanced back toward her friends, Maya and Reyhaan were returning, a stack of comic volumes in hand. Maya talked enthusiastically, but it was Reyhaan gesturing toward a book in his hand, as if making a passionate case.

Aria bit back another laugh. From afar, it looked like a dramatic debate over illustrated panels and caped characters. Watching them felt heartwarming; his usually reserved posture stirred in response to Maya's flair.

Her phone buzzed.

Glancing down, she saw the name flash: Ma.

Video call.

She excused herself quietly and answered the video call: her mother's face filled the screen, framed in the soft lamplight of their living room in India. Her father leaned in from the side, holding a cup of tea.

"There's our girl," her mom smiled. "How was the day?"

Aria kept her voice light. "Long. But good. We're working on a group assignment for film analysis."

Her dad raised an eyebrow. "Group work already? Hope you found people who take deadlines seriously."

"I did," Aria assured. "It's... going well."

A small pause followed. Her mother leaned forward slightly. "You look tired. Are you sleeping enough?"

"I'm fine," she said, smiling faintly. "Classes are just heavier this semester."

"And your job?" her mother asked quickly, eyes narrowing a tad. "Is the manager still giving you late shifts?"

Aria hesitated. "Not too late. It's manageable."

"You're not just saying that so we won't worry, right?" her father added gently, a glance that made her heart twist accompanying the words. "You know, we can—if it gets too much—"

"I like the bookstore," Aria interrupted, softly but firmly. "It's quiet. Familiar. And I get to read when it's slow." That answer seemed to satisfy them for the moment.

"We got your rent transfer confirmation," her mother said, tone casual but deliberate. "And your tuition payment reminder also came in this week. Are you sure that scholarship covers everything for this semester?"

Aria nodded, though discussing finances here, under soft lights and poetry shelves, while her friends laughed in the background, felt jarring. "It covers most of it. I'm careful with the rest."

Her mother's brows furrowed slightly, holding back words she didn't want to push. "And your new course?" her father asked instead. "You haven't regretted switching, have you?"

Aria looked away from the screen, her gaze landing on the distant corner where Reyhaan and Maya were still talking. Her heart softened. "No regrets," she said. "It feels... right. It's hard work, but it doesn't feel wrong."

Her mother nodded slowly, smiling again. "We just want you to feel settled. And not worry so much about managing everything on your own."

"I'm not on my own," Aria said, voice lighter. "I have people. It's... better now."

Another pause followed, but this time, it was peaceful.

"All right," her father said finally. "Go, finish your shift. Call us properly on Sunday?"

"I will," Aria promised. "Love you."

"Love you too, Aru," her mother echoed, and the screen went dark.

Aria let out a quiet breath, pocketing her phone and leaning slightly against the shelf. Her reflection caught in a glass display frame nearby—soft, thoughtful, a little tired, but okay. Not alone.

Giving herself a moment, she pushed off and returned to the counter, where two customers flipped through staff picks.

Behind them, Maya waved a comic dramatically in the air, while Reyhaan nodded in mock solemnity as if it were a literary manifesto. The ache in her chest didn't vanish, but it quieted, and beneath it, something steadier began to grow.

She had people. She had laughter that didn't demand anything in return.

Perhaps she was slowly finding her way into something more certain than a passing connection. The friendship she wanted needed roots—something that stayed. This felt like a beginning.

One day at a time.

That was enough for now.