She woke up late the next morning.
Aditi didn't wake her. No one did. It was past 10 when her eyes finally opened, still heavy with exhaustion—and something else she couldn't name. That strange calm from the night before hadn't faded, but it had morphed into something quieter. A softer kind of noise.
She didn't remember changing clothes. Didn't remember falling into bed.
She didn't show up for the morning class from 9 to 10 AM.
He did.
She arrived directly for the practicals, right at 11. Walked in without a word, took her usual place beside him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, face pale with weariness. It wasn't the kind of tired sleep could fix. And she had slept—just not well. She never did. It ran in her blood, through her father's veins before hers.
He watched her as she sat down, gathering her now dry hair into a loose, neat bun. No comb, no mirror—just practiced hands and quiet instinct. A few strands escaped, curling softly along her cheekbones. They weren't imperfections. They were hers. And she wore them like second skin.
He wasn't in awe.
He was just… intrigued.
He saw her existing. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Want one?" he asked, holding out a Kopiko.
She looked at it, then at him. Shook her head.
She already had her fix—coffee sachet emptied straight into her mouth, flushed down with warm water. A ritual that kept her from dozing off, but never restored the energy she needed.
And maybe that was what struck him.
Now that they were paired for practicals, he could see it more clearly. How she moved through her days tired. How she spent her hours in constant motion, as if she were chasing something only she could see.
He almost pitied her.
Almost.
But he didn't have the right to, they weren't close like that.