(Seerat's POV)
I tried not to think about it.
Tried not to notice how the library felt different without him there. How the roof, once my place of solitude, now felt empty. How I kept expecting to see him leaning against a bookshelf, his gaze flicking toward me, or catching the last bit of sunlight on that secluded roof edge.
But he wasn't there.
At first, I told myself it didn't matter. Maybe he was busy, or he never came to these places regularly anyway. Whatever had happened between us had been brief and insignificant—a fleeting interaction between two strangers.
Except it hadn't felt that way.
I caught a glimpse of him once. It happened in an instant.
I turned the corner near the library, still lost in my own thoughts, when I saw him.
Irshad.
A few steps ahead, his tall frame moved through the hallway with that effortless, unbothered ease he carried everywhere. My fingers curled around the book in my hand, gripping it too tightly, the rough edges pressing into my palm. For a second—just one second—I thought he might look up. That he might meet my eyes, that there might be some acknowledgment, some indication that I hadn't imagined whatever had been there before.
But there was nothing.
No glance. No hesitation. Just the sharp pivot of his body as he turned away, disappearing into the crowd without a second look.
My breath, caught somewhere in my throat, finally released. But the weight in my chest stayed.
I had no reason to feel anything. And yet, my fingers clenched tighter around the book, as if bracing for something.
Maybe I'd made it all up. Maybe I'd just been looking for something that had never been there to begin with.
But if that was true… why did it feel like something had just been taken away?
The moment replayed in my head more times than I cared to admit. It was humiliating, the way my stomach had dropped. As if I had expected something. As if I had any right to.
We weren't friends.
We weren't anything.
I hated that it bothered me. Hated that my mind whispered the same cruel thought it always had—people leave. They lose interest. You're not enough to make them stay.
So I distracted myself. Buried myself in assignments, forced laughter into conversations, filled the silence with anything but my own thoughts. And when Maya nudged me toward the music club auditions, I said yes.
"You're seriously not coming with me?"
Maya grinned, crossing her arms. "Nope. You don't need me holding your hand."
I sighed, shifting my weight between my feet. "I wasn't asking you to hold my hand."
"You were definitely thinking about it."
I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my lips twitched. I should have expected this. Maya had been the one pushing me to audition for days, yet now that I was actually doing it, she was staying behind. Not because she didn't care—she just had this frustrating belief that I needed to do things on my own.
"You'll be fine, Seerat," she said, bumping her shoulder against mine. "It's just an audition, not a death sentence."
"I know that," I muttered.
"Good." Maya gave me one last push toward the music room. "Now go. Blow them away."
I took a steadying breath before stepping inside.
The room was warm, filled with the scent of old wood and faint traces of cologne. A few students were scattered around, tuning guitars and adjusting microphones. At the center, tipped his chair back on two legs, arms folded behind his head, completely at ease, sat a guy I didn't recognize.
He was tall, with an easy posture and sharp features. His dark hair was tousled in a way that looked either effortless or very intentional. He glanced up as I entered, eyebrows raising slightly.
"New face," he observed.
One of the seniors next to him—a girl with short hair and a piercing above her eyebrow—elbowed him. "That's kind of the point, Ali. It's an audition."
Ali.
So that was his name.
He grinned, unfazed. "Fair enough."
The other seniors introduced themselves quickly. The girl with the piercing was Priya, the drummer. Next to her were Aarav, who played bass, and Rohan, who handled sound setup. Ali, apparently, played guitar and drums.
And, judging by how the others let him take the lead, he was the one in charge.
"You here to audition?" he asked, tilting his head at me.
I nodded.
"Cool. What do you play?"
"Keyboard," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And I sing."
Ali's eyes lit up with interest. "Nice. You prepared something?"
I hesitated before walking toward the keyboard.
I wiped my hands against my jeans before resting them on the keys, but they still felt unsteady. The weight of too many eyes on me made the space feel tighter, my breath too shallow.
I exhaled slowly.
Then, I played.
The first few notes wavered slightly, my fingers stiff against the keys. But as the melody filled the air, my body remembered what my nerves had almost made me forget—this was mine. Music had always been mine. It didn't demand explanations, didn't ask me to be anything more than what I was in the moment.
So, I let go.
A tense silence stretched in the room as I let the final note linger longer than necessary, my fingers still resting on the keys. I didn't dare look up right away. The air felt heavier now, charged with something I couldn't quite name.
Then—footsteps.
I lifted my gaze just in time to see Ali push himself off the table he had been leaning against, arms still crossed, head tilted slightly. He didn't speak immediately, just studied me with a look that was impossible to read. The longer he waited, the more my stomach twisted.
Then, finally— "You're in."
It was said so simply, so matter-of-fact, as if there had never been a question about it. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips, like he had already known the answer before I even started playing.
The breath I'd been holding slipped out, my shoulders loosening slightly.
"That's it?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
Ali raised a brow. "Did you want a drumroll? A dramatic pause?" He smirked. "I can do it over if you want."
I let out something between a scoff and a laugh, shaking my head. The tension in my chest eased—not completely, but enough.
Priya smirked, Aarav gave me a thumbs-up, and Rohan muttered something about "finally getting a decent keyboardist."
They welcomed me with casual ease, talking about practice schedules and upcoming performances, but my mind wandered.
I should have been focused—on the music, on the new faces, on the unfamiliar excitement of being part of something. But a part of me still lingered elsewhere, caught in unanswered questions I wasn't even sure I had the right to ask.
Maybe because I thought we had started something. Maybe because, for the first time in a long time, someone had noticed me in a way no one else had. But maybe I had been wrong. Maybe Irshad was just the kind of person who got bored easily. Maybe he had played along for a moment, entertained by whatever he had seen in me, and now that the moment was over, he had moved on. And if that was true, then fine. Maybe I needed a distraction, too.
I hated that my mind went there.
I hated that it made sense.
I forced myself to refocus as Ali walked up beside me. "You coming to practice tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I said automatically, then hesitated. "Do… do you think I'll be able to keep up?"
Ali smirked. "You'll be fine, trust me."
For some reason, I did.
Just as I was about to leave, Ali called out, "Hey, newbie, hold up."
I turned to see him slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder, a lopsided grin in place. "We're heading to the café across the street. You should come."
I hesitated. "Oh, I—"
"You do eat, right?" one of the other seniors—Priya—cut in with a smirk.
"She just got in; give her a break," Arnav, the bassist, added, nudging Priya with his elbow.
Ali raised an eyebrow at me. "C'mon, it's just a quick hangout. Nothing scary. Unless you're scared of making friends."
I wasn't. Not really. But I wasn't the kind of person who walked into friendships easily either. Still, their ease with each other, the way they bantered so effortlessly, made something in me itch—like I was standing at the edge of something unfamiliar.
And maybe, for once, I didn't want to turn away.
"Okay," I said, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "Just for a little while."
Ali shot me a knowing grin. "That's what they all say."
As I followed them out, the conversation already moving ahead without me, I realized something—I had spent days chasing a presence that wasn't there. But for the first time in a while, I wasn't leaving a space feeling emptier than when I arrived.
***
The café was one of those cozy, dimly lit places that always smelled like fresh coffee and cinnamon. It was quieter than the usual student haunts, filled mostly with people hunched over laptops or lost in conversations.
Ali led the way to a corner booth, sliding in with the kind of confidence that made it look like he belonged anywhere. Priya and Aarav took the seats beside him, while Rohan and I ended up across from them.
"Alright, newbie," Priya said, resting her chin on her palm. "Important question—coffee or tea?"
I hesitated, glancing at the menu. "Tea, I guess."
Priya groaned. "Ugh, disappointing."
"Finally, someone with sense," Aarav smirked. "Tea's superior."
Ali scoffed. "You're both wrong. Coffee is the lifeblood of musicians."
"That's just your caffeine addiction talking," Rohan muttered, flipping through the menu.
They laughed loudly—unbothered, unfiltered.
Their conversation bounced from one ridiculous topic to another, full of inside jokes and half-finished stories that everyone somehow still understood. I didn't know all the references, but I found myself smiling anyway. There was something so easy about the way they existed together. No one seemed afraid of saying the wrong thing, of taking up too much space. I sat there quietly, my fingers wrapped around the warm cup of chai, and realized I was used to holding myself back like that—always waiting for permission to belong. Maybe that's what pulled me in. Not the laughter itself, but how certain they all seemed that they had the right to be there.
"So, Seerat," Ali said, leaning back. "What made you join the club?"
I hesitated. The real answer felt too personal—too much like peeling back a layer I wasn't ready to expose. Instead, I shrugged. "Maya convinced me."
"Maya?" Priya asked.
"My friend," I clarified. "She thought I needed to stop 'wasting my talent,' or whatever."
Aarav nodded knowingly. "Ah, the classic 'friend who pushes you into things you didn't sign up for.'"
"Sounds like you, Ali," Rohan added, smirking.
Ali feigned offense. "Excuse you, I only encourage greatness."
I rolled my eyes, but I felt my shoulders relax slightly.
I watched them talk, their words overlapping effortlessly, their laughter filling the space like it belonged there. It was the kind of ease I had never quite known how to step into.
At some point, Ali nudged my elbow. "You good, newbie?"
For a second, I hesitated. This wasn't a space I had carved for myself—it was theirs. And yet, they had made room for me anyway.
I blinked at him. "Yeah. Why?"
He shrugged. "You're quiet."
I hesitated, staring at the rim of my cup before murmuring, "I'm just… not used to this, I guess."
Ali stilled for half a second, his usual easy grin faltering just slightly—so briefly that if I had blinked, I might have missed it. A quiet understanding flickered in his gaze, like he saw something unspoken in my words.
But instead of prying, he only shrugged, picking up a fry and twirling it between his fingers. "Well, you better get used to it, rookie. You're one of us now."
Something about the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it wasn't even up for debate—made something in my chest unclench.
I wasn't sure what this was yet, or if I'd ever feel like I truly belonged.
But for now, I let myself enjoy it.