The train hummed beneath them, a steady rhythm of metal on tracks, almost like a heartbeat. Diya sat by the window, her gaze flitting between the blurred scenery outside and the quiet dynamic inside the coach.
Maddy sat beside her, but Sandy had somehow managed to insert herself between them—figuratively, and quite literally. What was supposed to be a sweet journey back to college as a couple was slowly being turned into something else entirely.
Sandy chatted endlessly, her voice light and teasing, mostly directed at Maddy. She fed him spoonfuls of the snacks she brought—offering him bites before he even asked, laughing at memories they shared, comfortably tucking her legs onto the seat, completely unaware—or perhaps too aware—of the shift she was creating.
At one point, she rested her head on Maddy's shoulder. Diya froze. Maddy looked at Diya, unsure for a second, but then smiled awkwardly, letting it happen.
It felt like a slap dipped in sugar.
Diya didn't say anything. She didn't want to seem insecure. Or dramatic. Or "the jealous type." She simply pulled out her phone and stared at the screen, hoping it would distract her from the lump forming in her throat.
Every now and then, Sandy would ask Diya something—where she bought her bag, what book she was reading—but it never felt like a real conversation. Diya felt like a guest in her own story. Like the third wheel on her own journey.
Maddy, ever the peacekeeper, didn't see it. Or chose not to. He thought Sandy was just "being Sandy"—innocent, naive, unaware of social cues. "She doesn't know how things work," he'd say. "Don't overthink it."
But Diya wasn't overthinking. She was observing. Feeling. And somewhere deep inside, shrinking.
That night, as the train rocked gently and the coach settled into sleep, Diya lay awake. Maddy dozed next to her, Sandy now asleep on her own berth above. But the space between Diya and Maddy felt wider than ever.
She wasn't mad. She was hurt. She was confused. And more than anything, she wondered—how long could love survive in a space where she had to fight just to feel seen?
In the silence of the journey, Diya realized: sometimes, the loudest heartbreak comes not from betrayal, but from slowly being made invisible.