Aanya had always believed people wore their truths like shadows — not always visible, but always there if you looked closely enough.
And Ruhan?
His shadow was growing longer.
He still laughed. Still made ridiculous jokes about crows forming a rebellion, or how he was clearly Velunia's most charming musician. But sometimes, in between those bursts of brightness, she'd catch him staring into the distance. Like he was measuring something she couldn't see.
One evening, she asked him, "You're not from Velunia, right?"
He shook his head. "Just here for a while."
"How long is 'a while'?"
He hesitated, then leaned on his balcony railing. "Three moons."
"Moons?" she asked, amused.
"Sounds more poetic than months."
She didn't laugh. "So, you're leaving?"
He looked down at his hands. "Yeah."
Aanya sipped her coffee slowly. The warmth didn't reach her chest this time.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Back. Somewhere else. I haven't decided."
That was a lie. She could feel it.
She didn't push, though. Maybe because she knew the feeling too well — holding something too heavy to share.
The next day, she didn't go out to the balcony.
Not because she was angry. But because she wasn't sure what she was feeling. Disappointment? Confusion? Something like... the first flicker of loss, for something not even real yet?
Inside her room, the sketchbook stayed open on her desk. A new drawing had started forming — two figures on opposite balconies, their arms outstretched, but never quite touching.
She stared at it for hours.
On the third day, he knocked.
Not at her door, but her wall.
Three gentle taps on the outer railing.
She stepped out slowly.
He was holding something. A small, folded paper airplane.
"You're avoiding me," he said.
"I'm just... busy."
He nodded. "Right. The universal code for 'I need space.'"
She looked away.
"I made you something," he said, holding out the paper airplane.
Aanya hesitated, then reached across the short gap. Their fingers didn't touch — but they came close.
She opened the paper.
Inside was a sketch — her sketch, redrawn in pencil. His version. Two balconies. A girl looking away. A boy watching her. And above them, the words:
"I'm not here for long. But I'm here now. If that counts."
Aanya looked up, blinking.
Ruhan rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured... if you're going to avoid me, you should at least know what you're avoiding."
She didn't reply. She just folded the paper again. Gently.
"Three moons?" she asked.
He nodded. "Two and a half now."
Aanya looked at the sky, already turning orange over Velunia's skyline.
"Then don't waste it," she said. "Keep playing your loud, terrible music."
His face broke into a grin.
"And you'll keep pretending not to listen?"
"I'll try."
And this time, when she smiled, it lasted longer.