Rai wasn't thrilled about group projects, but the professor insisted. For their architecture midterm, they were assigned randomly into groups of six.
His teammates were a mix of personalities, and the chaos was immediate.
Cyrus was loud, wild, and impossible to ignore. He had a temper, sure, but his passion made up for it. Always the first to speak, always challenging ideas.
Owen, in contrast, was the silent type. Calm and calculating, he never raised his voice, but when he spoke, people listened. He and Cyrus clashed at first, but there was a strange respect forming between them.
Ronald had a silver tongue and a relaxed smile. Always the diplomat, always cracking jokes. He had a way of defusing tension that made everyone ease up. But Rai didn't trust charm. Not easily.
Marin was focused, intelligent, and quiet. She approached everything methodically, almost coldly at times, but with a sense of calm that grounded the group.
And then there was Emma.
She was warmth incarnate. Curious, kind, but also perceptive in a way that made Rai uncomfortable. She didn't pry—but she noticed. The way her eyes lingered when he spoke, or the way she'd smile at his offhand remarks as if she understood something unspoken.
Their first few meetings were chaotic. Clashing ideas, incomplete sketches, miscommunication. But slowly, things fell into place. Rai found himself stepping up—not because he wanted to, but because he saw the gaps. He had a knack for structure, for seeing how all the pieces fit together. And the group noticed.
Emma began lingering after meetings. Not obviously. She'd ask him about his sketches, about design theory, about why he'd chosen a particular line or curve. One evening, while the others packed up, she pointed at his sketchbook.
"You think differently," she said. "Like… you don't draw buildings. You draw emotions."
Rai blinked. "They're just sketches."
Emma smiled. "No, they're not."
It wasn't love, not yet. But it was something. A pull. A quiet gravity.
One afternoon, during a study session, she noticed the scar again.
"That one," she said, pointing. "What's the story?"
"No story," he replied. "It's just always been there."
"Everything has a story. Even silence."
And just like that, Rai found himself thinking about her more. Wondering what she saw when she looked at him. Wondering if she, too, carried silence inside her.
The group dynamic shifted. Late-night study sessions turned into casual hangouts. Arguments turned into banter. And for the first time in years, Rai found himself... connected.
It was subtle. It was slow.
But it was real.