Chapter 29

It’s been like this for a while now.

Amit is always busy. Always somewhere else. Filling his time with people who aren’t me.

Not that we don’t talk. We do. But it’s different now.

No more laughing in the cafeteria like idiots, Amit buying more food than necessary, shoving a plate toward me with a casual “You eat like a Victorian orphan, Sharma, let me fix that.”

No more aimless wandering during breaks, ending up at the vending machine where he’d smack a few buttons without looking and shove whatever came out into my hands with a “Congrats, you win. No refunds.”

No more Amit climbing through my balcony at 2 AM because he “couldn’t sleep,” which obviously meant I wasn’t allowed to sleep either.
No more arguments over movies.
No more nights where his presence made the silence less unbearable.

Now? Now, I watch alone.

The room is dark except for the glow of my laptop screen.
Soft music swells through my headphones.

Moulin Rouge! plays for the hundredth time. Amit hates this movie.

“Too dramatic,” he’d scoffed once, sprawled across my bed, suffering through it with me. “If they’re gonna be sad and sing about it, at least give me a fight scene.”

I’d rolled my eyes. That was before. Before everything started changing.

Now, I barely see him outside of practice.
And when I do, it’s not really him.

It’s the version of him that belongs to his team, his new people, his new life.
A world he’s carving for himself.
A world that doesn’t have space for me anymore.

I sigh, sinking deeper under my covers. Trying not to think.

Then—
A thud.

From the balcony.

My heart jumps straight to my throat. I sit up too fast, headphones slipping from my ears.

Then—the slow creak of the balcony door opening.

And before I can react, Amit swings a leg over the sill, completely unbothered, and drops into my room like breaking and entering is just part of his daily routine.

I stare at him. Unmoving. Unamused. Unimpressed.

“Are you serious?”

Amit grins, shaking out his damp hair. “Miss me?”

I don’t answer. I don’t even look at him.

Just put my headphones back on and hit play.

Amit sighs dramatically. “Wow. The cold shoulder. You wound me.”

I ignore him.

Because I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know how to pretend like I’m fine with him being gone all the time, only showing up when it’s convenient.

Amit flops onto my bed like nothing’s wrong, like nothing ever changed, like he still belongs here.

I keep my eyes on the screen.
He watches me instead.

“Still watching Moulin Rouge!?” He tilts his head toward my laptop. “Dev. It’s been months. You have to let them go.”

I click the volume up. “You don’t have to be here.”

Amit exhales, long and slow. “Ouch.”

Silence.

The movie plays between us, but I’m not really watching anymore.

Amit shifts slightly. The mattress dips under his weight.

Then—too light, too casual, too forced—

“I was gonna come earlier,” he says. “But practice ran late.”

I say nothing.

“And then the guys wanted to grab food. And obviously, I couldn’t just ditch them—”

“Obviously,” I say flatly.

Amit pauses. Catches the edge in my voice.
Doesn’t know what to do with it.

He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “And then Vikram wouldn’t shut up about—” He stops. Coughs. “Uh, anyway. By the time I got free, it was too late to call, so I figured…”

He gestures vaguely.

Like breaking into my room at midnight is the logical solution.
I lower the volume, waiting.

And then—casual. Forced casual.

“So, uh. You’re still riding with Vikram?”

My fingers tighten slightly around my headphone cord.

There it is.

I turn to look at him, finally. Amit, pretending he’s not waiting for my answer.

“That was once,” I say, voice even. “I take the car home with Mom now.”

Amit hums. Neutral. Too neutral. Too fake.

“Right,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. “Cool. Makes sense.”

And something about the way he says it makes me want to hit something.

Because he’s been avoiding me for weeks.
Because he’s spending all his time with his team, pushing me toward Vikram like I wouldn’t notice.
Like I wouldn’t remember the first time he did it—offhand, casual.

“Vikram’s heading that way too. You could go with him instead.”

I had brushed it off then. Thought he was just distracted, caught up in practice, that it was just a one-time thing.

But then—

The cafeteria. Him throwing a lazy arm around Vikram’s shoulders, grinning like this was some great idea.
“You two should sit together. Y’know, get to know each other.”

Or the bus ride. Him, already standing, already leaving, throwing back a quick—
“Coach called me, I’ll have to go but Vikram’s taking the same route—just go with him.”

Again. And again.

Each time, like it didn’t mean anything.
Like he wasn’t handing me off, piece by piece, to someone else.
Like I wasn’t supposed to notice the space he was leaving behind.

Like I wouldn’t see right through it.

Like I don’t know him better than anyone else.

I click my laptop shut, pressing my fingers against my temple.

“Amit.”

“Hm?”

“You’re allowed to just say what you mean.”

Amit stills.
For just a second.

Then, he lets out a sharp breath, sitting up too fast.

“What do you want me to say, Sharma?” His laugh is forced, hands raking through his hair. “That I’ve been busy? That I know I suck for not showing up more? That I—”

He exhales, hard. His throat bobs.

“That I—”

Stops himself.
Shakes his head. Forces a grin. Walls back up.

“Never mind,” he says, lighter now. Like it’s all just a joke.

And just like that, the moment disappears.

At some point, the movie ends.
At some point, Amit sits up, stretches, rakes a hand through his hair.
At some point, he stands.

“Alright,” he says, voice too light, like he’s already halfway out the door. “I should head back before my mom calls a search party.”

I don’t respond. Just watch as he crosses the room, sits on the balcony—the same way he always does.

He swings a leg over, pauses.

Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t leave.

For a second—just a second—his fingers tighten around the frame.
His head tilts slightly, like he’s about to say something else.

Something real.

But then—he exhales. Shakes his head. And climbs out.

The door slides back into place.

I stare at the empty space he left behind.
And beyond it—

The moon hangs low, silver-washed and distant.
Close enough to touch. Too far to hold.

Fading in and out between slow-moving clouds,
beautiful in the way only untouchable things can be.
Cold in the way only distant things ever are.

And maybe, I think, watching him disappear down the street—

He was just like the moon—
always there, always just out of reach.
Too close to ignore, too distant to hold.
Never really mine to keep.

I get up. And without thinking, I lock the door.