The notification popped up on her phone while she was mid-conversation with her mom.
"Students can return to campus starting next week."
Diya stared at the message, her heart skipping. The wait was finally over. The distance, the late-night calls, the screen-framed smiles—soon, all of it would melt into something real again. She squealed and ran to her mom, her words tumbling over each other with excitement. Her mother, just as delighted, helped her pack and even slipped in a few sweets for Maddy.
After months in Dubai, Diya boarded the flight home feeling a new sense of beginning.
Back in India, the plan was simple: Diya and Maddy would take the train together to college. It would be a full-day journey, a mini adventure. Diya was buzzing with anticipation—she'd spent the past few nights picturing it. A window seat, Maddy's head on her shoulder as he slept, music shared between their ears. Quiet laughter. Inside jokes. The kind of simple togetherness they'd been craving for months.
When they met at the station, Diya's smile was bright, her eyes sparkling. Maddy looked happy too, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he pulled her into a quick hug. Everything felt just right.
And then he said, casually, "Oh—by the way. Sandy's joining us. She's in the next coach."
Diya blinked. "Sandy?"
"Yeah," he nodded, nonchalant. "She's traveling back too, figured we could go together."
Her chest tightened slightly. She tried to hide it.
Sandy.
Maddy's girl best friend. The one who had confessed feelings for him once upon a time—the one he had turned down. But she never really left his side. Diya always felt the shift in the air when Sandy entered a room: the way she talked to Maddy, the inside jokes, the way she lingered a little too long with her glances. And then there was Sandy's not-so-subtle habit of reminding Diya—ever so innocently—that Maddy and she were not technically together.
Sandy never crossed a line.
But she hovered dangerously close.
And Maddy, in all his protectiveness, always brushed it off. "She's just like that," he would say. "She doesn't mean harm. She's a little naïve—she doesn't understand how things sound."
He always saw her as someone who needed protecting.
Diya saw something else entirely.
Still, she smiled. "Cool," she said, voice even.
But the glow of the journey dimmed a little.
As the train rolled forward and hours passed, Sandy joined them briefly. She clung to Maddy's attention in that unassuming way Diya had grown to recognize. "Oh Maddy, remember that time…" and "Maddy, you still haven't changed!" And then the worst—"So you two aren't official, right?"
It wasn't malicious. But it wasn't accidental either.
Diya excused herself, saying she was tired, and returned to her seat by the window. She put on her earphones and stared out at the blur of fields and sky. Maddy came by after some time, sitting beside her with an energy that said he hadn't noticed anything unusual.
She didn't say a word.
She didn't want to ruin the moment.
But in her heart, a small quiet distance was forming again—one she hadn't expected on this trip.
It wasn't jealousy. It was the ache of being made to feel unsure—again—about something she had finally begun to feel secure in.
And somewhere deep inside, she wondered if Maddy would ever really see it the way she did.