Zen spent the evening pretending nothing was wrong.
He stretched.
He blamed caffeine.
He blamed the spicy noodles from lunch.
He even blamed Alex, because Alex was convenient.
None of it worked.
Something warm lingered in his chest—quiet but persistent, like a pulse that refused to settle.
When he stepped out of the rehearsal hall, dusk had painted the campus in soft gold. Students crossed paths, laughter drifting between buildings, life moving easily around him.
Zen walked with his hands in his pockets, humming without realizing it.
He wasn't upset.
He wasn't overwhelmed.
He wasn't spiraling into existential dread like he sometimes did before auditions.
Yet his body felt… alert.
Like it was waiting for something.
Alex bumped his shoulder. "Why do you look like you just won free coffee for life?"
Zen blinked. "Do I?"
"Yes. And I don't trust it."
Zen laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe today didn't hate me."
Alex tilted his head. "Or maybe you're finally falling in love."
Zen recoiled dramatically. "Absolutely not."
"That was too fast a denial."
"I love sleep. I love food. I tolerate you. That's the list."
Alex smirked. "You'd drop all of that if Liya asked."
Zen choked mid-step, coughing so hard a passing student glanced over in concern.
"Where did that even come from?" Zen demanded.
Alex spread his hands. "Observation."
Zen slung an arm around him, mock-serious.
"Liya is my friend. A very kind friend. A very intelligent friend. A very—" He paused. "…Why am I sweating?"
Alex patted his back. "Denial causes side effects."
Zen groaned.
He wasn't in love.
He knew that.
But he liked Liya. He liked how easy she was to be around. How conversations with her didn't feel like performances.
And maybe that ease scared him more than attraction ever could.
By the Fountain
They spotted Liya sitting near the fountain, her sketchbook resting beside her.
She looked up quickly, like she'd been waiting.
"Hey," Zen said, dropping onto the ledge beside her. "Still drawing the world?"
She smiled, softer than usual. "I was trying."
"You always look brighter after practice," she added. "Like something inside you wakes up."
Zen frowned slightly. "Really?"
She nodded. "It's noticeable."
Alex gagged theatrically. "I'm leaving before this turns into poetry."
Zen swatted him with his notebook as Alex retreated.
Liya laughed quietly.
Zen noticed how her gaze lingered—not demanding, not expectant.
Just… attentive.
It made his chest tighten.
Not uncomfortably.
Responsibly.
Like she was handing him something fragile without asking if he could carry it.
She lowered her eyes. "Do you ever feel like you're moving toward something without knowing what it is?"
Zen stilled.
A memory brushed past—salt air, warmth against his palm, a voice wrapped in urgency.
He exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he said. "More often than I'd like."
Liya's shoulders relaxed, relief flickering across her face.
"I thought I was imagining it."
Zen didn't understand why that mattered to him.
But it did.
More than he was ready to admit.
As they sat there, laughter and water sounds blending into the evening, Zen felt the warmth in his chest deepen.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just steady.
And for the first time, the thought crossed his mind—
What if this feeling isn't random at all?
He shook it off, smiling at Liya as she returned to her sketchbook.
Some questions weren't meant to be answered yet.
But his heart, it seemed, had already started asking them.