They didn’t crack the code that day.

Instead, the afternoon settled around them—lazy, sunlit, and increasingly cluttered with opened notebooks, emptied mugs, and cookie crumbs. Kian, who had walked into the living room in his gym sweats and a hoodie slung halfway around his shoulders an hour ago, now dozed briefly with a pillow wedged behind his head, snoring just loud enough to be mocked later. Reyhaan took a photo of him mid-snore and sent it to their group chat with the caption: Our first audience, already asleep. We must be doing great.

Laughter bubbled between them. But after that, they mostly sank into a comfortable hush. Background music buzzed faintly through Kian’s Bluetooth speaker, soft instrumentals and lo-fi jazz, the kind that didn’t interrupt thought but filled the space gently.

Aria, sitting on the rug, was sketching something now—not storyboard frames, just idly drawing in the margin of her notes. Her glasses had been pushed up like a hairband, forgotten there while she drew little shapes. A figure leaning against a window. A cat curled up in someone’s lap. Reyhaan’s gaze lingered on the latter.

She dipped her head thoughtfully, and Reyhaan found himself wondering—not for the first time—what kind of stories lived in her silences.

He liked this about her—the quietness that didn’t demand space but shaped it all the same. The kind of presence you only noticed when it had already settled deep. Like the way her eyebrows furrowed slightly when she was lost in thought, or how she flipped her pencil in quick twitches between her fingers when she was unsure.

“So…” Maya said after a while, her voice stretched out with the laziness of someone who’d been still too long. “Are we circling anything even remotely useful, or are we just vibing with snacks and calling it research?”

Aria hummed, still not looking up. “It’s pre-chaos. With snacks.”

“Which is different from yesterday’s chaotic structure,” Reyhaan added with a smirk.

“I’ll allow it,” Maya said, reaching for another cookie and sighing dramatically when she found only crumbs.

“You know,” Kian murmured from the armchair, eyes still closed, “I can’t tell if this is how masterpieces are born or group projects die.”

“Bit of both,” Reyhaan offered.

A pause followed. The mood was unhurried, like they were waiting for a clock that wasn’t ticking.

Eventually, Maya rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s call it. We’re not picking a scene today.”

“No,” Aria agreed. “We’re not forcing it.”

Kian blinked one eye open. “You guys are way too poetic about not doing your homework.”

“But with style,” Reyhaan said, standing to stretch. “Always with style.”

Tuffy gave a huff of protest as he moved, leaping off his lap in a blur of dignified offense. Reyhaan bent and gave her a quick scratch behind the ears by way of apology, then plucked another strand of her fur from his jeans. “She’s gonna be the scene-stealer if we ever shoot here.”

“She’s union,” Kian yawned. “Demands top billing and chicken-flavored treats.”

Maya was already gathering her things in slow, deliberate movements. “Okay. I’m going to go home and pretend I’ll work tonight. Aria, walk with me?”

“Sure,” Aria said, folding her sketchpad and tucking her pencil behind her ear. She glanced once toward Reyhaan, soft-eyed but unreadable. “You staying a while?”

“Yeah. I’ll help Kian clean up a bit.”

“Nice,” she said with a faint smile, pushing her glasses back into place. “See you Monday?”

He nodded. “See you.”

As the girls left, the door clicking softly behind them, the apartment shifted. A little quieter. A little dimmer.

Kian stood, stretching, then wandered into the kitchen to rinse a few mugs. “You good?”

Reyhaan leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. “Yeah. Just... good day.”

“They like you, by the way.”

He walked toward the island counter. “Yeah,” he said, softer now. “Feels like they don’t expect me to be someone else.”

Kian chuckled and tossed him a dish towel. “Come on, superstar. Help me restore my apartment before I forget I ever offered it to Maya on purpose.”

They moved easily through the quiet clean-up, the kind done without needing many words. And as Reyhaan wiped down the table and tucked away stray wrappers, a small part of him lingered—not on the mess or the music, but on the image of Aria sketching a quiet, still moment. A window. A lap. A cat.

Maybe they hadn’t picked a scene yet.

But something was beginning to form.

Not loud. Not perfect. But maybe the start of something that could last.