The hallway outside Maya’s apartment smelled faintly of garlic and something buttery. Aria adjusted the tote on her shoulder, knocked once, and pushed the door open.

Warmth curled in every corner. Low music filtered from a speaker behind a row of windowsill plants. A muffled thud, then scrambling claws echoed near the bathroom.

“Told you she’d be early,” Maya called. “Gelato’s mine, Kian.”

Aria smiled and stepped in, kicking off her shoes – her heart inexplicably unsteady.

Kian had only been in Rotterdam a day, but it already felt like he’d always been here. His laughter came first – unmistakable and familiar – then Reyhaan’s voice, lower, edged with dry amusement.

She paused. Her fingers tightened on her bag strap. Something caught in her throat.

She hadn’t seen him since Thursday. Not in this kind of setting. And since then… something had shifted inside her.

Not dramatically. Not like lightning. But enough that she was aware now – of her pulse when he looked at her, of the shape his name made in her chest.

Her steps slowed, then resumed. One breath in.

Aria turned a corner towards the kitchen –

And paused.

Kian stood at the counter, arguing with Maya over how much vinegar was “too much” for a salad dressing. One hand waved theatrically; the other clutched a peeled orange slice. His hair was a little longer than the last time she saw him – messier, too. Maya was elbow-deep in a bowl of something too green to trust.

Then she saw him – seated at the round dining table, one knee pulled up, notebook balanced on his thigh. Reyhaan's hair was still damp at the ends, like he’d forgotten to towel it off completely.

He looked up the moment she entered.

Their eyes met.

And something in his expression softened – unmistakable.

Familiar. Grounded.

He smiled.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting his hand in a small wave.

The simplicity of it sent a rush of warmth into her chest.

“Hey,” Aria replied.

His look wasn’t intense, just warm – but even that made her throat catch. Her fingers brushed the strap of her tote like she needed something to hold on to. She nodded and crossed to Kian, using motion as a shield.

Kian turned just as she reached him, a grin spreading across his face.

“Aria!” He wiped his hand quickly on a kitchen towel and pulled her into a quick hug – warm, familiar, tight like a brother who hadn’t seen her in too long. “Finally. Two months is illegal.”

“I know,” she said, stepping back. “You’ve been ghosting us.”

Kian gave a mock-wounded gasp. “I’ve been building a civilization,” he said, gesturing dramatically to the slightly charred focaccia on the counter. “And cleaning up Tuffy’s existential crises.”

Tuffy meowed pointedly and wrapped herself around Aria’s leg like a fuzzy scarf.

Aria bent down and scratched behind her ears. “Hello, trouble.”

“She bit my slipper yesterday,” Maya added helpfully.

“She bit me last week,” Kian muttered.

Aria stroked Tuffy’s soft fur. “You’re not sorry, are you?”

Tuffy meowed loudly, victorious.

Reyhaan laughed quietly from behind her – low and genuine. Aria straightened but didn’t look at him right away. Her pulse felt a little too loud in her ears.

“You just got here and already she’s picked you,” he said, voice mild with amusement.

“She has excellent taste,” Maya chimed in, tossing a pinch of something into a pan. “Also, she’s been mad that Kian trimmed her claws.”

“Only because she tried to claw my hoodie. Again.”

“You sat on her tail.”

“I apologized!”

Aria watched them with quiet fondness, feeling a little outside it – not excluded, just tentative. Like if she laughed too much or held Reyhaan’s gaze too long, someone might notice the shift inside her. The one she hadn’t fully admitted. Even to herself.

She set down her bag and took a seat at the table as Maya announced a break in prep and called for a “social hydration timeout.”

Kian passed out sparkling water with lemon slices, narrating a story about a game prototype gone wrong and how Ayaan had coded a bug that turned all the characters into floating potatoes, like it was a sitcom recap. Reyhaan passed her the olives wordlessly, and her fingers brushed his for a moment too long when she took the bowl.

Aria listened, smiled, joined in – but something in her words felt a beat too slow. She could feel it – that subtle distance between how she usually was and how she was tonight.

Reyhaan noticed.

She was sure of it.

His glance lingered a little longer when she responded with short answers. Not worried, just watchful.

“You doing alright?” he asked, handing her the almond bowl.

His voice was soft – not loaded. Just a question.

Aria nodded. “Just a long day.”

She could feel him watching her for a second longer. Did he notice? The pause in her voice, the quiet tension in her shoulders? Did it show?

“You sound tired,” he said. Then, after a beat, “I mean – not in a bad way.”

She didn’t know how to answer that. “Maybe I am.”

He nodded slowly, as if he sensed something was off but wouldn’t press. Not yet.

The comfort of it made her chest ache a little more.

It made her want to explain herself – to say that her quiet wasn’t disinterest, that she was just a little afraid of being seen too clearly right now.

Instead, she popped an almond into her mouth and spent the next while alternating between trying to participate in the banter and trying not to make it obvious that she was noticing Reyhaan in every frame of the room. The way he leaned into the table when he laughed. How quickly he and Kian had fallen back into rhythm, trading quips about Ayaan’s new project.

“It’s called Lucent Rift, apparently,” Kian was saying, half-chewing a breadstick. “Which sounds like a space opera, but it’s some mystical multi-realm thing. Lots of glowy doors and grief metaphors.”

Reyhaan nodded, amused. “He sent me the ambient sketch for one of the levels. I’ve been looping it into some demo files – honestly? Not bad. I might even steal one or two of the tones.”

Aria let herself smile at that.

“And what are you working on now?” Kian turned to Reyhaan.

Reyhaan tilted his head slightly. “Bits and pieces. More texture than melody right now.”

“That’s not a song. That’s soup.”

“Then it’s simmering,” Reyhaan deadpanned.

Maya snorted. “You sound like my director.”

Tuffy trotted and curled up near her chair, purring, tail flicking in calm arcs.

They drifted into lighter conversation again – about a short film Maya had seen, and how Kian was helping Ayaan with a new test build for the game. Aria leaned in a bit more by the time dessert showed up – chocolate that had bloomed slightly from the fridge but still tasted rich.

“You’ve changed a little,” Kian said softly, a few minutes later, as they refilled water jugs in the kitchen.

Aria turned, brow raised. “What kind of ‘little’?”

“The kind that makes sense,” he said. “You just seem… surer of yourself. Quieter, but like it’s a choice now.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the accuracy. She offered a small, thoughtful smile. “I think I am.”

He nodded, didn’t press. That was what she liked about Kian.

They returned with water to find Maya setting candles on the patio table and motioning Aria to follow. “C’mere, I need help.”

She didn’t resist and joined her outside. The breeze was cooler out there, sharp with the scent of nearby rain. The noise of the kitchen dimmed behind them.

“Help me light these fairy lights,” she said, handing her a small tangled string.

A tram bell rang in the distance. They stood side by side, stringing up soft yellow lights.

Aria wrapped the cord gently around the railing. Her fingers felt colder than the metal.

Maya gave her a sideways glance. “So.”

“So.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.” Aria wound the wire around a hook.

Maya gave her a look.

“I mean… I’m fine.”

Maya tilted her head. “You keep looking at him.”

Aria stilled. “What?”

“Reyhaan,” Maya smirked. “Don’t play. I saw it back when you two started reading each other without words. But now? You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Acting normal. Because if you act normal, you think no one will notice you’re falling for him?”

Aria exhaled slowly, the admission hovering but unspoken.

Maya didn’t push. Just leaned back on a railing and waited.

Aria rubbed her sleeve with her thumb. Her heart felt suddenly loud.

“I don’t know when it started,” she said finally. Her voice was low. “But sometimes it feels like it’s always been there. Just… quiet.”

There was a pause. Maya didn’t say anything, just gave her space.

Aria glanced back through the glass, saw Reyhaan still on the couch, Tuffy now curled at his feet.

Maya bumped her shoulder gently. “You haven’t told him?”

“No.” She traced the railing with her finger. “I’m not sure he’d want me to.”

“Aria.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “It’s not that I think I’m not enough or anything, I just... I don’t want to ruin what’s already steady. What if I say something and it shifts everything sideways?”

“What if saying nothing is what ruins it?” Maya asked softly.

Aria didn’t answer right away.

Inside, the room glowed with golden light. Reyhaan sat with his elbow on the table, head tilted slightly as he listened to Kian talk – half-listening, half-waiting.

He looked... calm. Not unreadable. Just there in a way that settled something in her even now.

She wasn’t ready to say it out loud. But the truth was growing under her skin like something warm and slow.

Maybe she would tell him. Just not yet.

“I think I just... need a little more time,” Aria said at last.

Maya nodded. “That’s okay. Take the time. Just don’t pretend it’s not real.”

Aria didn’t reply, but the quiet between them felt gentler than it had all day.

She glanced inside again.

And this time, she let herself look.

Not just at him – but at what had always been quietly waiting between them.