The group project had started on a quiet Thursday.
Ayra didn't volunteer. Neither did Zayn. But fate—or maybe cruelty—put them in the same group, same table, same silent orbit.
They hadn't spoken properly in days. Not since she stopped waiting for him at the balcony. Not since Cairo started showing up in her pages, her thoughts, her… breath.
Now, here they were.
Four people, two topics, one tension.
Zayn sat beside her. Close. Familiar.
But Ayra's heart?
It didn't stutter like it used to.
He tapped his pen. Stole glances. Said nothing.
Until—
"You've changed," he finally muttered, low enough that only she could hear.
Ayra didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the handout.
"So have you," she replied.
"That's not what I meant."
She turned then. Slowly.
"What do you mean?"
Zayn's jaw tensed. His fingers curled around his pen like it held more than ink.
"You don't wait for me anymore."
The words hit like truth. Quiet. Sharp. Bare.
Ayra blinked.
"You weren't coming."
Silence again.
Their groupmates were whispering about sources and citations, completely oblivious to the war of eyes happening across the table.
"I thought we were… friends," Zayn said.
Ayra gave the faintest smile—sad and honest.
"I think we were… something close to it."
After class, she walked out alone
Zayn didn't follow this time.
But someone else did.
From across the courtyard, just beyond the shade of the old neem tree, Cairo leaned lazily against the fence.
He was wearing black again. As usual.
He wasn't watching her. Not directly
But she felt it.
And for some reason, as the wind brushed her skin…
She didn't feel cold anymore