Amara knew the argument was coming.
She just didn't expect it to happen over something so small.
It started with music.
She had just settled at her desk, notes spread out, highlighter in hand, when a low beat filled the room. Not loud. Not exactly disturbing.
But it was there.
She looked up.
Kian sat on his bed, earphones hanging loosely around his neck, phone in his hand.
"You're playing music," she said.
He glanced up. "Yeah. Low volume."
"I'm studying."
"So am I," he replied calmly. "Just… differently."
She exhaled sharply. "We agreed. No loud music."
"It's not loud."
"That's not the point."
He set his phone down slowly. "Then what is?"
The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.
Amara closed her notebook. "I can't concentrate when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you don't care."
His jaw tightened. "That's unfair."
She stood up. "You act like this whole situation is a joke."
"I never said that."
"You don't take anything seriously!"
He rose to his feet too. "And you take everything too seriously."
Silence slammed between them.
Her chest burned. "I didn't ask for you, Kian."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
His expression changed.
"Neither did I," he said quietly.
Regret hit her immediately, but pride kept her rooted.
"I just want peace," she said. "I want my space back."
His laugh was humorless. "Then why do you care so much?"
She stared at him. "Care about what?"
"About who I talk to. About what I do. About everything."
Her mouth opened, then closed.
Because she didn't have an answer.
"See?" he said softly. "That's the problem."
Her eyes stung. "Don't analyze me like I'm one of your projects."
"Then stop pretending this is nothing."
The room felt too small again.
Amara grabbed her bag. "I'm going out."
"At this hour?"
She paused at the door. "That's none of your business."
The door closed behind her harder than she intended.
She walked until the cool night air calmed her breathing.
Why was he acting like this meant something?
Why did it feel like it did?
By the time she returned, the lights were off.
Kian lay on his bed, back turned.
She moved quietly, changing into her nightwear, climbing into bed without a word.
Minutes passed.
Then, softly, "I didn't mean to push you."
Her throat tightened.
"I just don't want to fight," he continued. "Not with you."
She stared at the ceiling.
Neither did she.
But the truth sat heavy between them, unspoken and undeniable:
Some cracks don't mean things are breaking.
Sometimes, they mean something deeper is forming.