It was getting late. The train rumbled softly beneath them, a soothing background to the hushed voices and shifting bodies in the dim sleeper coach. Most of the compartment had dozed off—curtains drawn, blankets pulled up, conversations dissolved into the quiet hum of steel and distance.
Diya lay curled up on the lower berth, exhaustion catching up to her bones. Maddy lay beside her, their bodies lightly touching. He wasn't saying much, just watching the ceiling or maybe the shadows dancing along it. The silence wasn't heavy; it was safe. Comforting.
And then, gently—like muscle memory—he shifted closer in his sleep and pulled her toward him. His arm wrapped around her waist, his breath brushing her hair as he settled into the curve of her. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. For the first time since the long journey began, she felt still.
It was warm, quiet. Real.
Maybe, just maybe, they were okay again.
But just as her eyes began to flutter shut, a voice broke through.
"Maddy…"
It was Sandy.
Still awake, standing by the berth, her voice soft but pointed. "You can come sleep in my berth. I'm not sleepy—I'll just sit there for a while. If anyone sees you and Diya like this, it won't look good."
Diya froze.
The words sank into her like needles.
"If anyone sees…"
Her mind spiraled.
She hadn't forgotten. She couldn't. That night on campus, when Maddy had shouted at her for gifting him the bottle in front of his friends, telling her not to do such things publicly, not wanting them to "know there's anything." That moment had carved itself into her. That moment when she realized he still wasn't ready—not for the world, and maybe not even fully for her.
And now this.
Those words from Sandy—unintentional or not—echoed the same rejection, the same shame, wrapped in a smile. And Maddy…
He stirred awake, blinking, confused. Diya watched him, waiting—just one second, just one glance to ask her what she wanted, to stay. To choose her.
But he didn't.
He hesitated, looked away, and sat up. Slowly. Silently. Awkwardly.
Then he left.
And Sandy took the empty space.
She climbed up lightly, seating herself like she belonged, and leaned toward Diya with a cheerful tone. "Yaar, this journey feels so long, na? Thank God we're all together."
Diya nodded, forcing a smile, her throat tight. The warmth that had surrounded her a minute ago had vanished. She wasn't angry.
Just… displaced.
As though someone had quietly edited her out of a picture.
Maddy hadn't said a word. Hadn't reassured her. Hadn't noticed the way her fingers had clenched around the blanket when Sandy spoke. He'd just gone.
Because maybe, in some part of him, he still wasn't ready. Still didn't want to be seen as hers.
And that—more than Sandy's smile, more than the cold air filling the space—was what kept Diya awake that night.
Alone again, in a space that had felt like home just a heartbeat before.