Over the following days, something in the air had changed. Diya and Harsh had slipped into a rhythm of friendship that was easy, unforced. They understood each other's silences, made each other laugh in the middle of boring lectures, and always seemed to find time for coffee breaks between classes.
People started to notice.
They looked more like best friends than Maddy and Harsh ever had.
Harsh had started rescheduling plans, even skipping group hangouts, just to walk with Diya or sit with her during long study sessions. It wasn't romantic—not yet. But it was intimate. The kind of intimacy built on emotional presence. The kind Maddy once shared with Diya.
And that made it harder for Maddy to pretend he was okay.
He watched from the sidelines as Diya leaned into a connection that looked too close for comfort. Her smile, the way she nudged Harsh's shoulder when she laughed, the familiarity in their shared looks—it all dug deeper into the jealousy Maddy thought he had buried.
One night, the weight of it became too much.
Maddy was drunk—just enough for his emotions to spill, not enough to pass out. He called Diya.
She picked up after the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Diya," he said, his voice rough around the edges.
"Are you okay?" she asked, immediately alert.
"I need to talk to you."
She paused. "Alright… I'm listening."
"I don't like it," he said, without preamble. "You and Harsh… being that close."
Diya was stunned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he exhaled, "he cancels on our plans for you. He talks to you more than me. You're… everywhere with him. And it's getting to me."
There was silence on her end. She was trying to understand where this was coming from.
"Maddy… we're just friends. You know that, right?"
He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, maybe. But it doesn't feel like it. You look happier with him. More… okay."
"Why does that bother you?" she asked, gently but firmly. "You told me to move on. To stop hoping."
He didn't answer for a while. Then, softly, almost brokenly, he said, "Because I'm not ready for that."
Her heart skipped.
"What are you saying?" she asked, barely whispering.
"Wait for me," he said, voice trembling. "Please. I don't know when I'll be okay, but… I don't want to lose you. Not to someone else."
Diya was frozen in place, phone pressed against her ear, heart pounding.
This was what she had once longed to hear. What she had cried for silently in her room. But now, hearing it like this—spilled over a shaky, drunken call—it didn't feel like peace. It felt like confusion.
"Maddy…" she finally said, her voice breaking, "you can't ask me to stay frozen while you figure yourself out. That's not fair."
"I know," he said quietly. "But I'm asking anyway."
She didn't respond.
She couldn't.
Because now, the choice was hers—and suddenly, it didn't feel so simple anymore.