Chapter: Things Left on the Tip of the Tongue
Same day; Ahad's POV
The corridors had begun to spill again.
Lunch wrappers, half-finished math formulas, the smell of boiled eggs, ink-stained fingers, and a thousand different voices rising like waves crashing into the same tired, tiled floor.
But me?
I stood leaning against the cracked pillar near the old sports board. Elbows bent. Head slightly tilted. Pretending to scroll through my phone.
I wasn't scrolling.
I was watching her.
Iman. Sitting on the edge of the library's back steps, next to Sarah. Laughing again.
Not that careful, strained laugh she gave Zafar when he cracked one of his terrible jokes. But hers. The kind that slipped out naturally, like it belonged in the air.
And for the first time in four whole days, I wasn't on the outside of it.
She had talked to me today. Actually talked. No short replies, no cold glances, no zipped-lip distance.
And when she looked at me earlier, just before we left class, she said:
> "Don't ever think I'll ignore you like that again."
Just like that.
Like it hadn't gnawed at me for four days straight.
I breathed deeper than I'd allowed myself to in a while.
But even with that peace… I was still shaken.
Because I knew the fight with Hafiz hadn't changed everything in me — it had exposed what had already been shifting.
I'd started changing long before that.
Started noticing how she bites her lip when she's solving chemistry questions. How she crinkles her nose when someone mispronounces "photosynthesis." How she adjusts her sleeves nervously before giving presentations. How she looks... when she isn't even looking.
I didn't know what to name this.
It wasn't "love." I wasn't a character in those Wattpad romances Iman read in secret.
It wasn't "jealousy" either. That was too shallow.
But when Suhail leaned a bit too close while whispering something stupidly mundane to her…
My knuckles tightened involuntarily.
I used to think she was my best friend.
But now?
Now, I didn't know if best friends had sleepless nights about each other's silence.
Or if they felt the world narrowing when someone else made her smile.
"Ahad!" Zafar's voice broke into my storm.
He jogged up, chomping on a samosa like it owed him money. "You good, bro?"
I nodded, a one-shoulder shrug.
"You've been weird, man. Like, more than usual."
"Just tired," I muttered.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Tired from doing what? Sulking over Suhail?"
I shot him a glare.
He laughed.
"Don't worry, man. She's talking to you again. That's your green flag."
I didn't answer.
Because yeah, she was talking to me again.
But now... I wasn't sure if that was enough.
Because this time, I wasn't the same.
Absolutely! Let's move into Iman's POV, right after Ahad's quiet reflections. The tension is gone, but Ahad's inner conflict is still simmering silently — while their outer world is back to normal. The gang is together again, Shanzay's skipped the library, Suhail is his usual extra self, and Ahad... well, he's still trying to act like Ahad before all this.
---
Chapter: Back Like Nothing Changed
Iman's POV
There he goes again.
Eyes fixed.
Like Suhail was about to launch a rocket out of his geometry box.
I pressed my tongue against my cheek to hold back a laugh. Not because Ahad's face wasn't hilarious — it was — but because Suhail had no clue he was being watched like a hawk guarding national secrets.
"Ye bata, Iman — exam ke liye tu notes degi ya fir se woh cursive wala excuse?" Suhail leaned a bit toward me, grinning.
"Main kal de dungi," I replied with a smirk. "Aur haan — cursive bhi readable bana liya hai. You can thank me later."
He gave a dramatic sigh of relief.
Shanzay, plopped beside me, was already munching on her Lay's like the world was ending tomorrow. "Tu library jaane waali thi, na?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, your drama is more entertaining than 18th-century poetry."
I snorted. "We're not a drama."
"Yet," she muttered under her breath, eyeing Ahad.
I turned — and yep. He was still staring. Still pretending not to.
And then finally, as if someone kicked him from inside his own head, he stood up and casually walked toward our corner of the courtyard.
Just like that.
Slid right in, in his usual half-leaning, half-bored stance.
"Talking about me?" he said, looking at Shanzay.
She raised an eyebrow. "Paranoid much?"
He grinned, then looked at Suhail and said, way too calmly:
> "You and your question bank again, huh?"
Suhail, oblivious as ever, nodded. "Of course, man. Without Iman's notes I'd be weeping in front of the principal."
"Hmm," Ahad said, lips twitching.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You okay?" I asked, my tone casual but pointed.
He looked at me then, for the first time properly today, and the mischief in his light brown eyes — yes, light brown (how had I never noticed that before?) — was back.
"Just trying to be normal," he said.
It was quiet for a beat.
Then Shanzay, savior of awkward silences, went: "So are we finally hanging out on Saturday or what?"
We all began chatting — about the upcoming match, the test, someone's lost ID card. But something in the air had softened. Whatever had cracked between Ahad and me — had been taped back together.
Still visible. But whole.
For now.