Chapter 33

I should’ve known this was coming.

Some endings don’t arrive with a crash.
They don’t split apart with sound, don’t shatter like glass under weight.
Some endings happen quietly—
A thread pulled loose, a rope fraying at the edges, a ship drifting too far from shore.

And I’m done trying to reel it back in.

Last night made it clear—Amit has already made his choice.
And if this is what he wants—
If he wants distance, if he wants Vikram, if he wants to act like we’re still the same while making sure we never will be—
Fine.

I won’t hold on where I’m not wanted.

So when I reach the bus stop and see Amit standing there, leaning against the pole, Vikram beside him—

I already know how this ends.

Amit will smile, easy.
He’ll crack a joke, toss an effortless laugh into the air.
He’ll keep things light, untouchable, harmless.

And then he’ll hand me off like it’s nothing.

Like I won’t notice.
Like I haven’t already memorized the way his voice sounds when he’s choosing an escape route.

But this time? This time, I do it first.

“Oh, look who actually made it on time,” Amit greets, pushing off the pole with a grin. “I was worried you died in class.”

I don’t react.

Just adjust my bag over my shoulder, stare past him like he’s part of the crowd.

Amit hesitates. Just for a second. But then—he covers it with a smirk, jabbing a thumb toward Vikram.

“Vikram here is trying to convince me that those ‘science is cool’ Instagram reels are actually educational. I need backup.”

I say nothing.

Vikram laughs, unaware of the shift in the air.
“It’s true, though! You can learn a lot in under a minute!”

“Yeah, like how to give yourself a concussion using a frozen watermelon,” Amit replies, rolling his eyes.

They go back and forth, easy, natural. Amit doesn’t look at me again.

And I should be used to this by now.
The way he turns conversations into shields.
The way he fills the space with noise so there’s no room for anything real.
The way he makes sure there’s always a buffer, a distraction, an exit.

But today, I beat him to it. I reach out. Grab Vikram’s wrist.

Amit’s voice cuts off.
Vikram startles. “Uh. What?”

My grip stays light, but firm. My voice comes out steady. “Let’s grab something to eat first. We’ll take the next one.”

Silence.

Amit’s grin doesn’t slip. Not immediately.

But I see it—the flicker of something behind his eyes.
The split-second pause.
The way his shoulders shift, like he’s only just now realizing what’s happening.

Then he exhales. Shakes his head. Laughs under his breath.

“Wow,” he mutters. “Okay.”

No anger. No teasing. Just—something else. Something too quiet, too unreadable.

He swings his backpack over his shoulder and takes a step back.

The bus pulls up behind him, brakes hissing, doors rattling open.

Amit doesn’t look at me when he says, “See ya later, then.”

And then he’s gone. For a second, just a second—I think this should feel like a victory.

But it doesn’t. It’s not satisfying.

It’s like pressing a knife to my own palm just to prove I can hold the blade.
Like trying to unspool something that’s already unraveling—
Knowing I was the one who pulled the thread in the first place.

It’s watching something slip between my fingers, knowing—

I was the one who created the crack for it to escape through.