"Not every story begins with fireworks. Some start with a quiet gesture no one else notices."
The film club's editing room was alive with chaos — cables tangled like vines, laptops humming, and the faint sound of clinking coffee cups. It smelled of exhaustion and ambition.
Rhea sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by wires and camera batteries, her hair tied in a messy knot. The final day of editing for First Frame was here, and the deadline loomed like a ticking clock.
She tugged at a stubborn HDMI cable that refused to budge. Her brows knitted in frustration as she muttered under her breath, "Come on… please work."
A voice came from behind her.
"Try turning the connector clockwise. Not the other way."
She turned, startled.
A tall boy stood near the door — quiet eyes, steady posture, calm in a room buzzing with noise.
"Here," he said, kneeling beside her. His hands were confident, practiced. Within seconds, the cable clicked into place. The monitor blinked alive.
Rhea blinked, surprised. "That actually worked."
He smiled faintly. "Technology listens when you're patient with it."
It was such a simple line, but something about the way he said it made her pause.
"I'm Kabir," he added, offering a hand. "Sound department… for now."
"Rhea," she replied. "Camera."
Their handshake was brief, but something quiet passed between them — respect, maybe, or the recognition of another quiet soul.
While others celebrated small victories around them, Kabir quietly helped her organize the chaos of wires and gear.
He wasn't loud like Aarav. He didn't need to be. His calm filled the gaps others left behind.
Rhea found herself watching the way he worked — methodical, focused, with the kind of care that made even simple tasks feel significant.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she said as he coiled a mic cable.
He glanced up, half-smiling. "Neither do you."
"Touché," she said, amused.
They shared a brief laugh — not the big kind, but the kind that makes silence afterward feel comfortable.
When Aarav entered the room minutes later, the atmosphere changed instantly. His energy charged the air. He gave a quick grin. "How's my dream team doing?"
Rhea smiled. "Almost done. Just syncing the sound."
Kabir nodded without looking up. "I'll check the levels once it's rendered."
Aarav clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a lifesaver, man."
Kabir nodded, a polite smile playing on his lips.
As Aarav leaned over to watch the footage with Rhea, Kabir quietly stepped back — unnoticed, but content to stay on the periphery. He had always preferred being the third angle, the one that completed the frame without drawing focus.
Later that evening, after everyone left, Rhea stayed behind to finish color grading. She didn't notice Kabir was still there, sitting at the far end, adjusting sound files through his headphones.
"Still here?" she asked softly.
He looked up. "You too."
"Deadline panic," she said, smiling.
"Perfectionist panic," he corrected gently. "There's a difference."
She laughed quietly. "You sound like you've done this before."
"I have," he admitted. "I used to edit short plays in school. Never on camera though."
She tilted her head. "Why not?"
He shrugged. "Didn't think my face belonged in stories. My voice, maybe. My hands, definitely. But not me."
Something in his honesty made her chest tighten.
She looked down at her laptop screen, the playback frozen on Aarav's smiling face.
"Funny," she murmured, "I hide behind the camera too. Guess we both like being invisible."
Kabir smiled — a soft, knowing smile. "Invisibility's underrated. People show their truest selves when they think no one's watching."
She met his gaze and nodded. "That's… actually beautiful."
He chuckled, embarrassed. "You sound surprised."
"I didn't expect a sound guy to talk like a poet."
"I didn't expect a cinematographer to notice," he said quietly.
The room fell into a hush — just the faint hum of computers and their shared heartbeat echoing in it.
When she finally packed her things, he offered to walk her to the dorms. The campus was dim, streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement.
"You and Aarav," Kabir said after a pause. "You make a good team."
Rhea blinked. "You think so?"
He nodded. "He's got fire. You've got focus. Together, you balance."
His tone was sincere, not jealous — just observant. It disarmed her.
She looked up at him. "And what about you? Where do you fit in that equation?"
Kabir smiled faintly, looking ahead. "Maybe I'm just the quiet angle that keeps the shot steady."
They walked the rest of the way in silence — not awkward, but weighted with something unspoken.
At the dorm gates, she turned to him. "Thanks… for today."
He nodded. "Anytime, Rhea."
As he walked away, she watched his silhouette fade into the golden streetlight.
Aarav burned like a flame — bright, consuming.
Kabir moved like a shadow — calm, grounding.
And somewhere between them, she found her heart unsure which warmth it wanted more.
That night, Rhea replayed the day in her mind — Aarav's spark, Kabir's steadiness.
Two different energies, both pulling her in quiet ways.
She fell asleep at her desk, her camera still on, the last frame frozen — three of them in a single shot.
Aarav laughing, Rhea watching, Kabir adjusting the light behind them.
The beginning of a triangle neither of them yet saw forming.
The beginning of everything that would one day break.