The university cafe buzzed with its usual energy, but at Dakshin's usual table, the atmosphere was charged with a new, unspoken tension. He sat with his core group: Mark and Leo. But lately, the circle had expanded to include Sarah, Warda, and Chloe. And the dynamic had shifted.
It was a silent competition Dakshin hadn't asked for and didn't want. Sarah, sharp and observant, expressed her interest through quiet understanding and strategic alliances, often positioning herself beside him. Warda, more introverted and intellectual, tried to connect through shared interests, asking him thoughtful questions about his projects. Chloe, bold and outgoing, used playful teasing and light, frequent touches on his arm.
The drama, when it came, was over a project. The professor announced a major group assignment.
"I think we should form a group," Sarah said quickly, looking directly at Dakshin. "Our strengths would complement each other."
Warda adjusted her glasses. "Actually, I was hoping to work with Dakshin on the data modeling section. Our approaches align well."
Chloe laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. "Oh, come on, you guys are making it sound like a business merger! Dakshin, our group would be way more fun. You need to lighten up!"
Three pairs of eyes were on him, waiting. Mark and Leo exchanged a knowing, slightly amused glance.
Dakshin felt a familiar weight settle in his chest. He looked at Sarah's calculated hopefulness, Warda's earnest intensity, and Chloe's vibrant expectation. They were all offering a version of a future, a distraction, a cure for the silence that haunted him.
But in the quiet, dusty corner of his heart, a single, eternal memory played on a loop. The look in Anaya's eyes in the library—first hopeful, then shattered. That was the only look that held any meaning for him. Every other glance from these girls was just a flicker against that constant, painful light.
"I... I need to work on this alone," he said, his voice low but firm. "I'm sorry."
He gathered his books, the movement final. The disappointment from the three girls was palpable, a tangible force in the air. But he didn't see it. He only saw the ghost of a past he couldn't change.
As he walked away, Sarah's gaze was analytical, already recalibrating her strategy. Warda's was sad, a quiet acceptance of a connection that couldn't be made. Chloe's was frustrated, confused by his rejection of her easy affection.
None of them understood. They were fighting for a prize that lived in a house whose key he had thrown away long ago. The love triangle they were so invested in was, to him, just noise outside the window of a room he would never leave—a room forever occupied by the memory of Anaya and the echo of his own regret.