“I swear, if I hear Professor Van Dijk say ‘If it can’t be seen or heard, it doesn’t belong on the page’ one more time, I’m going to start scripting every emotion in emojis just to see what she does,” Maya said, adjusting the strap of her bag as they crossed the street.

Aria gave a soft laugh.

They had made their exit from the campus a couple of minutes ago, still holding onto the last bits of their conversation about the semester-end internship report. Maya had promised Reyhaan they’d meet him directly at the bookstore café where Aria worked, and he’d left ahead with a casual thumbs-up. Now, just a few blocks away from the place, the noise of the city folded back into view.

“Well, to be fair, she does believe in clarity,” Aria replied.

“Yeah, and terror. Absolute academic terror,” Maya huffed. “We just wanted to ask one question about the format. One question, Aria. Not get a TED Talk on visual tension.”

“She’s thorough,” Aria smiled, brushing her hair back as they reached the edge of the pavement. “Poor Reyhaan. We told him we’d just be five minutes.”

Maya waved it off. “He’s fine. We told him to go ahead, remember? Besides, it’s just the bookstore café. He’ll survive.”

Aria nodded, but didn’t answer. As they walked, she felt herself drifting—words softening into thought, the present thinning into a reel of yesterday’s fragments. Reyhaan had walked up to them after class, casually asking if they were accepting group members. And now they had exchanged numbers, a shared assignment group chat, and Reyhaan was meeting them for a brainstorming session at the bookstore café where Aria worked. She’d even messaged that morning, asking what coffee they wanted her to pre-order from the staff menu.

It still surprised her how quickly things had changed.

He didn’t seem to want the spotlight these days. There was a calm in his demeanor, a quiet he seemed to prefer. He listened more than he spoke, smiled in a way that didn’t seek attention, and leaned back in group discussions as though content to observe. It was a stark contrast from the Reyhaan she’d glimpsed in videos or seen on livestreams, full of laughter and presence.

She knew he used to be more extroverted, approaching people first, filling up rooms with warmth like he couldn’t help it. And yet here he was now—slower, softer, letting others choose him before he chose them. People still noticed him, of course. Heads turned. But he didn’t bask in it. He just let it happen.

From the way he’d carried on the conversation yesterday, Aria could tell he wasn’t looking to be the center of anything right now. He was on a break—why, he hadn’t mentioned, and she wasn’t about to pry. And he seemed content. Observing. Exploring. Breathing a little easier.

She’d been noticing this for over a week now. Probably more than she should. Definitely more than she’d admit to Maya.

A horn broke through her thoughts. Across the road, a tram hummed past, leaving the tracks empty for a few quiet seconds. Aria blinked back into the present.

On the other side of the street, a row of shops carried on with their usual pace. The florist window glowed with late-summer yellows, an elderly man choosing stems while a young girl waited patiently beside him. Next door, soft jazz drifted from a record store, its entrance left open as two teens flipped through vinyls. And at the far end, painted in olive-green, stood Inkwell Books.

It wasn’t a usual student hangout. It was warm and lived-in. More like an old townhouse. Slanted roof, ivy curling near the doorway. From inside, it felt like someone’s personal collection had spilled across three rooms. The shelves were wooden and slightly crooked, some stacked to the ceiling. Persian rugs muffled footsteps. There was even a corner dedicated entirely to global music albums, tucked beside a small reading and café section. Wooden floors, warm lamps, cozy armchairs tucked between shelves. Mismatched cups. Handwritten menus.

It wasn’t cool. But it was deeply, intentionally warm.

They halted at the crosswalk.

“We’re already here,” Aria murmured, fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“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 offered, unsure. “What if this was a bad choice? I mean, this place isn’t exactly low-profile. What if it’s not quite enough? What if he regrets coming?”

Maya hooked her arm through Aria’s and pulled her along towards the bookstore. “Hey. Stop. You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Over-reading everyone’s comfort level except your own. He’s going to be fine. If he’s uncomfortable, he’ll say so.”

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

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

And there he was.

Reyhaan stood near the café counter, hood down, hand holding a pastel-blue mug, speaking softly to one of the regulars. He looked composed, even as a small ripple of attention stirred around him. A few customers glanced his way, some students nearby whispered. A few hovered with nervous excitement. One student brave enough approached shyly and asked for a photo. A couple of Literature undergrads held out their notebooks for a quick autograph.

And Reyhaan? He obliged with the kind of 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 said he wanted quiet. This wasn’t quiet.

What if he really had regretted this?

But then, a second later, his gaze met hers, and his expression shifted—not a public smile, but one meant just for this small circle. A soft, amused flicker of recognition. Like her presence grounded something.

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. “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 her tension slip away.

They made their way to a corner reading booth, passing the section where a few benches circled a wide oak table. As Maya juggled the two trays she was carrying, Reyhaan reached out to steady one while Aria quickly lifted the other and cleared space for them to set everything down. Once the trays were safely on the table, Reyhaan took a seat across from Aria, and Maya scooted beside her with a dramatic sigh, stretching one leg out beneath the bench.

Reyhaan raised an eyebrow toward a stack of paper napkins that sat right at the center of each tray. “They don’t trust us at all, do they?”

“Not with their classics,” Aria teased.

Maya snorted. “Valid concern. I’ve ruined two textbooks with chocolate already.”

With a laugh, they settled into their seats. Talks of project ideas and suggestions quickly filled the space around them. And the soft momentum of something new taking shape.

“What about something simple?” Reyhaan suggested, leaning back. “Doesn’t have to be dramatic, you know. Even a quiet moment works if the framing does the heavy lifting.”

Aria paused mid-sip from 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.”

She caught it. Not just the reference—but the tone underneath. What he meant. That storytelling didn’t need to shout to be unforgettable. That sometimes the ache was in the stillness.

He didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to.

And Aria… understood. Without trying.

Maya sipped her espresso, tapping her foot as she thought. “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 examples from films and shows, flipping through visual references on their phones. Reyhaan tossed in a few quips that had Maya laughing. Aria found herself joining in more freely, speaking without having first to 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's know when you're free.

Her alarm chimed softly a second later.

6 PM.

“I’ve got to head to the back,” Aria said, standing and finishing the last of her tea. “Shift time.”

She paused, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and glanced 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.”

Maya smirked. “No promises. Depends on how good his pitch is when you’re not around.”

Aria rolled her eyes, smiling. “Text me when you guys head out, okay?”

“Will do,” Reyhaan said with a small salute.

Aria gave them a mock warning look before heading toward the staff hallway, disappearing into the back of the bookstore.

Not long after she settled into the front desk, her attention was drawn to movement on the other side of the room—Maya tugging Reyhaan by the sleeve, leading him toward the manga section with the animated determination of someone about to rant regarding their favorite obsession. Aria shook her head, stifling a quiet laugh.

She turned her focus back to the counter, helping a customer looking for books on postcolonial literature, then rang up another browsing the travel section on Scandinavian hikes. By the time she glanced back toward her friends again, Maya and Reyhaan were returning with a stack of comic volumes in hand. Maya was talking enthusiastically, but it was Reyhaan gesturing toward a book he held in his other hand, like he was making a passionate case for something.

Aria bit back another laugh. From afar, it looked like the two of them were locked in some dramatic literature debate over illustrated panels and caped characters. There was something heartwarming about watching them; his usually reserved posture stirred in response to Maya’s flair.

Then her phone buzzed.

She glanced down at the screen and saw the name flash across: Ma.

Video call.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, stepped to the side where the light was softer near a shelf of poetry books, and answered the call with a smile. 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 said, smiling. “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 said. “It’s… going well.”

A small pause. 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, but with a glance that made her heart twist. “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 satisfied them for a moment.

“We got your rent transfer confirmation,” her mother said, clearly trying to keep her tone casual. “And your tuition payment reminder also came in this week. Are you sure that scholarship covers everything for this semester?”

Aria nodded, even though a part of her didn’t want to talk about this here, under soft lights and poetry shelves, while her friends laughed quietly in the background. “It covers most of it. I’m careful with the rest.”

There was again a pause. Her mother’s brows furrowed slightly, like she wanted to say something else but didn’t want to push too hard.

“And your new course?” her father asked instead. “You haven’t regretted switching, have you?”

Aria looked away from the screen for a moment, 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, then smiled 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 now. “I have people. It’s... better now.”

Another pause, but this time a peaceful one.

“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 as she leaned slightly against the shelf. Her reflection caught in the glass frame of a display near her—soft, thoughtful, a little tired, but okay.

Not alone.

She gave herself a moment, then pushed off and returned to the counter, where two customers were already flipping through staff picks. Behind them, Maya waved a comic dramatically in the air, and Reyhaan nodded in mock solemnity like it was a literary manifesto.

The ache in her chest didn’t vanish, but it quieted. Beneath it, something steadier had begun to grow.

She had Maya. A friend who never left her side, who always saw through her silences and bumped shoulders at the right time. She had laughter that didn’t demand anything back. And, perhaps, she was slowly finding her way into something more certain than a passing connection.

The friendship she wanted needed roots. Something that stayed.

And this—this felt like a beginning.

One day at a time. That was enough for now.