By Thursday, the campus air had sharpened. Aria arrived early to the small media side room, curling into the corner seat with the script draft Maya had sent the night before. Minutes later, she arrived and slid into the opposite chair with a dramatic sigh.

"We need to cast by this weekend, or I'm pulling random people off the quad," Maya announced.

Aria smiled behind her notebook. "You already have someone in mind."

"Daan," Maya admitted instantly. "You've seen his face. Like someone hiding a thousand secrets."

"Okay, but only if we find someone who matches that energy," Aria said. "Maybe that girl from the media lab group? She did student theatre."

"Fair." Maya leaned back, studying Aria. "Also—you know you were kind of a force in that last session, right?"

Aria blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Maya gestured with her pencil, "you didn't flinch. You co-wrote. You knew what you wanted."

Aria hesitated. "I've just started trusting what I see. What I feel."

She hadn't planned to say it aloud, but the words came out easier than they would've a few months ago. Maybe because she believed them now, in a way she hadn't before.

"There's a shift in you," Maya said softly. "I don't know what it is yet. But it's good."

The door creaked open, cutting the moment short. Reyhaan stepped in, balancing coffee cups and an extra hoodie.

"Peace offerings," he announced. "In case I missed anything brilliant."

"You did," Maya said, grabbing a cup. "But we're merciful."

Reyhaan took the seat beside Aria. Their shoulders brushed as he settled—a casual contact that sparked a familiar, quiet warmth.

"So. Script updates?"

"Fine-tuning dialogue," Aria said, passing him the marked draft. "Maya wants Daan. I suggested the lab girl."

"And props?" he asked. "We'll need them—coats, layers. It's half the visual."

"I can bring some from home," Maya offered. "I hoard fabric like a costume designer in denial."

"And I'll ask my cousin," Reyhaan added. "He's a coat fiend."

They moved through the checklist, building on each other's thoughts. Aria on lighting cues. Reyhaan on sound shadows. Maya sketching tram signs. It wasn't just planning; it was imagining a world together.

"Don't forget Kian's match on Saturday," Maya reminded, tapping her pen against the table. "We are cheering. Loudly. With pride."

"I'll bring the banner," Aria replied, unsmiling.

"I'll bring glitter," Maya countered.

"I'm scared," Reyhaan muttered, but he was smiling.

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Later that night, Reyhaan offered Aria a ride back to her hostel.

The drive was quiet in the best way. The city slid past in soft glows—storefronts closing, reflections bending in puddles. Inside, the heater fogged the windows. Aria leaned into the warmth, her fingers brushing the zipper of her jacket, though it wasn't just the cold that made her feel a little more awake than usual.

"Feels like snow," Aria said, watching the sky.

"Too early," Reyhaan replied. "Though I wouldn't mind."

"I like snow," she mused. "Just not the cold that comes with it."

He glanced sideways. "That's a contradiction."

"It's a preference," she corrected. "Snow looks peaceful. Like the world gets quieter when it falls. But the cold... that part isn't romantic."

"True," he nodded. "I used to love it. Now... less so."

"Why?"

"Studios," he said after a beat. "Too many winters indoors. Hours blurring into silence. After a while, even the music didn't fill it."

Aria glanced at him, sensing there was more beneath the understatement. Something lived-in. She didn't press. But she filed the moment away, like a detail that might matter later.

"Have you ever missed something on purpose?" he asked, voice gentler.

Her gaze stayed on the road. "Yes. But only when I wasn't ready for what came next."

He nodded. Didn't ask for more.

When they reached her hostel gate, she turned, hand on the door. "Thanks for the ride."

"Always," Reyhaan said.

She stepped out. Before the door closed, their eyes met—a quiet understanding passing between them like a shared note. Something unspoken, but unmistakably there.

The warmth of their connection still lingered around her as she walked through the gate without looking back.

Behind her, she heard the gentle rumble of the car pulling away—a soft sound that stayed with her long after the night swallowed it.

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Saturday morning was crisp, the winter sun casting long, ambitious shadows across the university court. The trio arrived bundled in mismatched scarves, coffees steaming in the cold air.

From the moment the match began, they were unmistakably those supporters.

Maya cheered with the flair of a stadium announcer. Aria clapped with steady determination. Reyhaan let out sharp, practiced whistles that turned heads. Kian was a blur on the court—sprinting, blocking, focused.

Aria found herself swept up in it. A year ago, she would have been present but separate—watching Maya cheer, slipping into the background. This time, her voice folded into the collective noise. She belonged.

Halfway through, the crowd surged to its feet. The gym pulsed with cheer, and from the back row, the view vanished behind a sea of waving arms.

"Great," Maya muttered. "Now I know what ants feel like."

Reyhaan glanced back. "Try standing on the chairs."

Aria raised a brow. "What if we fall?"

He stepped in front of her, casual but steady. "Then I'm here."

It wasn't a dramatic declaration. Just a fact. A gentle anchoring.

She stepped up after Maya. The chair wobbled slightly. Reyhaan's hand placed lightly at her waist to steady her—barely there, but holding her firm. Warm. Present. Enough.

From above, the view opened like a curtain. The court stretched before them in vibrant motion. They watched Kian dart between defenders, saw the determined set of his jaw. And they cheered—loudly, shamelessly.

"Let's go, rebound king!" Aria called, surprised by the force of her own voice.

"Dominate, babe!" Maya hollered, nearly tipping forward in her excitement.

The final buzzer rang.

Kian's team won—barely, but clean. The gym erupted. A few minutes later, he emerged from the locker room, drenched in sweat and victory, grinning like the light was coming from inside him.

"You three are a menace," he said, still catching his breath.

"You love it," Maya shot back.

"We require pizza," Reyhaan said solemnly. "For moral support rendered."

"My place," Kian agreed, leading the way as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

They piled into his apartment, shedding coats as the warmth hit them. Fairy lights blinked along the bookshelves; the air smelled of garlic and oregano.

Then—a soft, indignant meow echoed from the hallway.

Tuffy trotted in like a queen returning to her court, tail high and gaze imperious. She paused in the doorway, gave each of them a long, silent once-over, before leaping onto the coffee table.

"Told you she'd be waiting," Maya said, scooping the cat up.

Tuffy allowed the intrusion, but not before flicking her tail directly into Reyhaan's face on the way up.

Aria stifled a laugh. "I think she missed us," she said, amused.

"Or she smelled the food," Kian replied, opening a box of pizza with a flourish.

They settled on the floor—plates in hand, legs stretched out or tucked beneath them. Tuffy claimed Maya's lap. Conversation flowed effortlessly—jabs at Kian's footwork, groans about editing deadlines, Reyhaan mocking Maya's glitter-smeared phone case.

Aria sipped her soda, watching them through half-lidded eyes. Her leg was tucked beneath her, the edge of Reyhaan's knee just brushing hers. No one commented. It felt natural.

She didn't say it aloud, but the feeling rooted itself quietly.

Back in design school, she had sat through critiques in half-empty rooms, presenting to professors who looked past her. Classmates took her advice and left when it was time to stand beside her.

That memory used to haunt her. But here—in this apartment filled with mismatched socks and the smell of oregano—she wasn't asked to prove her place.

She was in it.

They weren't just teammates. They were a rhythm. A shared beat.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like a guest in someone else's life.

She felt home.