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Akarsha left her home earlier than usual, the sky still caught in that uncertain shade between night and morning where everything felt suspended and unfinished. The streetlights hadn’t yet flickered off, and the air held onto a lingering chill that slipped easily beneath the thin fabric of her windbreaker. She zipped it up halfway, more out of habit than necessity, and pulled her phone from her pocket as she walked down the driveway. She was about to message Diya.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she typed.
sorry. cant walk with u to school today ><;
She stared at the message box for a second longer than necessary.
She reread it once. Twice.
It looked harmless enough. Casual. Normal.
She considered adding something else—need to think, maybe. Or just tired. Something explanatory.
Instead, she locked her phone and slid it back into her pocket before she could overcomplicate it.
The material of her windbreaker brushed against itself with every step she took, a soft scratching sound that usually blended into the background of her thoughts. Today it seemed louder, persistent, almost grating in its rhythm. The steady noise should’ve been grounding but it wasn’t enough to drown out what kept replaying in her mind.
Yesterday, in the hallway, Min had appeared out of nowhere as usual, grinning like they had just discovered state secrets.
“Look at you two,” they’d teased, nudging them both. “Getting bold now, huh?”
It wasn’t the comment that stayed with Akarsha.
It was the way Noelle reacted.
The laugh had come too quickly—sharp, immediate, defensive. “Relax,” she had said, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve. “It’s not like that.”
Not like what?
Not like we’re something?
Akarsha had laughed along, because that was what she always did. Deflect. Make it lighter. Keep things easy.
But later, when the hallway emptied and the noise thinned into something manageable, she had let her fingers brush against Noelle’s, expecting the usual subtle intertwining that followed.
Noelle’s hand had lingered for half a second. And then retreated.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Just long enough for Akarsha to notice.
What hurts more for Akarsha was that it didn’t happen all at once, no. That would’ve been easier. But it was as if time itself was playing a cruel trick on her. Instead, everything crept slowly. Like the world wanted her to feel every single string that once connected them be severed one by one.
On Tuesday, she walked a little faster than usual, forcing Noelle to match her pace rather than naturally falling into step beside her. On Wednesday, when their shoulders bumped in the crowded corridor, she didn’t lean back in. On Thursday night, she typed goodnight and stared at it for a full minute before deleting it and setting her phone face down on her desk.
Noelle still texted first.
But it was mostly for academic related things—asking if she’d remembered their teacher’s reminder correctly or if they had homework she forgot to note down. But nothing more than that.
Akarsha still replied.
She just… stopped lingering. She stopped adding the extra heart. She stopped asking, did you get home safe?
She told herself she was imagining it—that she was reading too deeply into minor changes, that stress was making her dramatic. But every time someone glanced at them for a second too long, Noelle’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. Every time someone joked, Noelle’s laugh came too fast. Every time they stood too close in public, Noelle adjusted the space between them with careful subtlety.
It wasn’t rejection nor embarrassment.
It was fear.
Akarsha understood exactly what that fear meant.
Noelle wasn’t out. Nit to her family. Not to most people. The safety of her world depended on delicate balances—on staying within lines that weren’t drawn but always present. Loving Akarsha publicly threatened those lines.
And loving someone should never feel like walking a tightrope.
The first time Noelle truly noticed the change was in the cafeteria, beneath the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays against plastic tables. She reached across the table absentmindedly, her fingers brushing against Akarsha’s wrist the way they always did when she wanted her attention.
Akarsha pulled her hand back to grab her water bottle.
It was a natural movement.
But when she set the bottle down again, she didn’t return the touch.
Noelle’s brows drew together slightly.
“You’re quiet,” she said after a moment, tilting her head as if studying her.
“Just tired,” Akarsha replied, keeping her tone even as she picked at the edge of her napkin.
“You’ve been tired all week.”
She offered a small shrug. “Midterms.”
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the truth either.
Noelle watched her longer than usual, her gaze lingering in a way that felt searching rather than casual. “You feel far,” she said finally, softer this time.
Akarsha let out a light laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re literally sitting across from each other.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I know, Akarsha thought.
She knew exactly what Noelle meant.
That knowledge settled heavy inside her chest.
They didn’t have a routine of walking to school together. Their schedules and addresses never lined up neatly enough for that. What they did have were small intersections throughout the day—the space beside each other before class began, the shared corner table in the cafeteria, the quiet minutes after dismissal when most students had already filtered out.
Those intersections began to thin.
Akarsha stopped arriving early to plan a prank or surprise for Noelle. She started sitting one seat farther during lunch—close enough to be normal, far enough to feel the absence. In the library, where their knees used to brush beneath the table without either acknowledging it, she shifted her chair just slightly so there was no accidental contact to begin with.
It was subtle, careful, deliberate.
But Noelle noticed every single adjustment.
The first time she reached for Akarsha’s hand beneath the cafeteria table and found empty space instead, she told herself she was imagining it. The second time Akarsha packed up her things before she finished speaking, she told herself it was just bad timing.
By the third time Akarsha laughed at something Min said but didn’t glance at her the way she used to—didn’t seek her reaction like a silent check-in—Noelle felt the shift settle into something undeniable.
That afternoon, they ended up alone in one of the unused classrooms after club hours, the windows half-open and letting in the low hum of traffic from outside. The room smelled faintly of dust and old paper. Akarsha stood by one of the desks, fingers tracing the carved initials left behind by students years before them.
Noelle closed the door behind her.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said quietly, not accusing—just stating.
Akarsha’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly before she turned around with a practiced expression of mild confusion. Not accusing… good. Keep it calm. “I haven’t.”
“You have.” Noelle stepped closer, though not close enough to touch. She notices everything, doesn’t she? Even the smallest retreat. “You don’t sit next to me anymore. You don’t wait after class. You barely look at me when someone jokes.”
Akarsha let out a small breath through her nose. “You’re overthinking.” Gentle words, she thought. But maybe too gentle. She’ll feel it anyway.
Noelle folded her arms, more to steady herself than anything. I need to say it. I need to know what’s wrong. “If I did something, you can just say it.”
The room felt too small.
Akarsha shook her head slowly. “You didn’t.” Not that. Anything else? Anything I can say that won’t hurt her?
“Then what is it?”
There it was—the opening.
Akarsha could say it now. Could tell her she saw the way she flinched when classmates lingered too long. Could tell her she noticed the way she always checked the hallway before standing too close. Could tell her that loving someone shouldn’t require constant calculation.
But… not yet. Instead, she looked down at her hands.
“I just think,” she began carefully, “that maybe this isn’t fair to you.”
Noelle frowned. Fair? What does that even mean? “What isn’t?”
“This.” Akarsha gestured vaguely between them. “Us.”
Silence pressed in from all sides.
Noelle’s heart began to pound, but she forced her voice to stay level. Don’t break. Not yet. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Akarsha hesitated long enough for the answer to hurt before it even came. Because it’s true. She shouldn’t have to tiptoe around me. She shouldn’t have to hide.
“You shouldn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t have to feel tense every time someone looks at us. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
Noelle’s breath caught. She sees. She knows. And she still… cares.
A strange mix of relief and shame washed over her all at once.
“I’m trying,” Noelle said, quieter now. “I just… I need time.”
“I know.” Akarsha’s voice didn’t waver. And I’ll give it. Even if it kills me inside. “And you deserve that time.”
The way she said it made something inside Noelle twist. She’s already here. And I’m still… so far behind. “You’re saying that like you won’t be there for it.”
Akarsha’s jaw tightened before she could stop it. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe this is easier this way. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”
The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t cruel. They were steady. Noticeably considered.
Noelle felt her throat burn. She’s right. I’m not brave enough yet. “So you’re tired.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Akarsha forced herself to meet her eyes. She deserves someone who doesn’t hesitate. “You deserve someone you don’t have to hide.”
The sentence hung between them, heavier than anything else she could have said.
Noelle’s first instinct was to argue. To insist she wasn’t hiding her. But the images came too quickly—her pulling her hand away in crowded halls, laughing off jokes too fast, stepping just slightly out of reach when teachers passed by.
She hated that Akarsha had seen all of it. She hated more that she was right.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” Noelle whispered.
“I know.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
Akarsha’s expression softened in a way that nearly broke her composure. It’s not about fair.
But to Noelle, it was. It’s about me not being ready. About still measuring every step. About loving her enough to let her go if I can’t give her everything.
“Maybe I just don’t feel it the same way anymore.”
Silence swallowed everything.
Noelle’s face didn’t crumple or shatter. It just… emptied. She means it. She really means it.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
That single syllable felt like something breaking open inside Akarsha’s ribs. I wanted to tell her she could wait forever. That I would wait. But… maybe I can’t.
“I see.”
The realization settled into something heavy and self-inflicted.
“…Maybe you’re right,” Noelle said finally, the words tasting wrong but feeling inevitable. “Maybe it’s better this way.”
Akarsha hadn’t prepared for that.
She had expected anger. Tears. Resistance.
Not agreement. Not quiet acceptance.
Noelle swallowed, straightening her posture as if bracing herself. “You shouldn’t have to wait for me to figure myself out.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Akarsha almost said. But if I do… she’ll hold on, and it’ll hurt her more.
So she stayed silent.
Noelle gave a small, strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess I just wasn’t strong enough.”
The self-blame in her voice hit harder than any accusation could have.
Akarsha wanted to correct her.
She wanted to tell her strength had nothing to do with it. Wanted to say she would choose her even if it stayed hard forever.
But instead, she let the silence stretch. Because if she reassured her now, Noelle would hold on. And if she held on, she would suffer.
“It’ll be easier,” Noelle continued softly, as if convincing herself. For both of us.
Akarsha nodded once. Easier. Easier… and still breaks me inside. It felt like betrayal.
“Yeah,” she said. “Easier.”
Noelle stepped back first this time. Not in anger or devastation. She stepped back in resignation. When she walkwed out of the classroom, she didn’t look back.
And somehow, not looking back hurt more than tears ever could.
Akarsha doesn’t cry when Noelle walks out of the classroom.
She stays exactly where she is, palms resting flat against the cool surface of the desk behind her, staring at the faint scratches carved into the wood like they might rearrange themselves into something that makes sense.
The door clicks shut. The sound is small but it echoes anyway.
For a few seconds, she tells herself this is relief. That this is what she wanted. That this is the version of the story where Noelle gets to breathe without checking the hallway first. Where she doesn’t have to measure every laugh or soften every glance. Where she can exist without fear wrapped around her ribs.
That was the point.
Wasn’t it?
Akarsha straightens slowly, slinging her bag over her shoulder with movements that feel rehearsed. Normal. Unremarkable. She even manages to nod at someone in the corridor as she steps out, like nothing inside her has shifted out of place.
Noelle doesn’t look at her the next day.
She sits with Min and Diya at lunch, posture composed, expression carefully neutral. She laughs when she’s supposed to. Responds when spoken to. If her eyes drift across the cafeteria and pass over Akarsha without lingering, it’s subtle enough that no one else would notice.
Akarsha notices.
She tells herself it’s working.
It’s supposed to feel like this—like a clean break, like a stitch pulled tight to stop further tearing. Noelle isn’t glancing over her shoulder anymore. She isn’t flinching when someone makes a joke. She isn’t hesitating before speaking.
She looks lighter.
That should be enough. Right?
The first night without a goodnight text is harder than she expected. Her phone stays dark on her desk while she pretends to focus on her homework, the silence stretching wider with every passing hour. She reaches for it twice before forcing herself to pull her hand back.
If she checks, she might cave.
If she caves, all of this was pointless.
So she turns her phone face down and lies back on her bed, staring at the ceiling while the house hums quietly around her. It’s quieter than it’s ever been.
Weeks pass.
They become good at being casual acquaintances in public.
They pass each other in hallways with polite nods, the kind exchanged between acquaintances who once shared a group project. They sit on opposite sides of rooms without anyone questioning it. When someone jokes about them now, it’s brushed off easily—“That was a phase,” someone says once, laughing.
Noelle doesn’t deny it. But she doesn’t confirm it either.
Instead, she just lets it fade. The same thing she’s trying to do with all her memories of her time with Akarsha.
Akarsha watches the tension leave her shoulders day by day. Watches her grow steadier, more grounded, more secure in the version of herself she presents to the world. She joins more activities. Speaks up even more in class. Smiles without that flicker of calculation in her eyes.
She looks safe.
That was the goal.
One afternoon, months later, Akarsha sees her outside the campus gates talking to someone—a boy from the debate team, if she remembers correctly. They’re standing a little too close to be purely casual, but not close enough to invite speculation. It’s careful. It’s manageable. It fits.
Noelle laughs at something he says, and it’s easy.
Uncomplicated.
Akarsha doesn’t stay long enough to watch more. She doesn’t need to. The pain that she was feeling was already too much to bear.
That night, she finally allows herself to sit with the truth she’s been avoiding.
She didn’t let Noelle go because she stopped loving her. She let her go because she loved her enough to choose her safety over her own happiness. And sometimes, love isn’t loud or triumphant or enduring.
Sometimes it’s stepping back.
Sometimes it’s swallowing the words you want to say.
Sometimes it’s allowing someone to believe you didn’t care enough—because correcting them would cost them more than it would save you.
Akarsha closes her eyes and exhales slowly, the weight of it settling into something permanent rather than sharp. The ache is no longer fresh; it’s dull now, familiar. Livable.
She wonders, briefly, if Noelle ever thinks about her.
If she ever questions whether things could have been different.
Then she pushes the thought away.
It doesn’t matter.
Noelle is safe.
Noelle is steady.
Noelle is becoming the version of herself she always wanted to be—even if Akarsha isn’t standing beside her to see it.
That was enough.
That had to be enough.
Years later, when she thinks back on it, she doesn’t remember the exact words they said in that classroom. She remembers the way the light fell through the dusty windows. The way Noelle’s voice trembled just slightly when she said, “Maybe it’s better this way.”
She remembers wanting to argue.
Wanting to pull her back.
Wanting to be selfish just once.
She remembers choosing not to.
And that, morethan anything else, is what stays.
It wasn't the heartbreak. No. It was a even the silence. But rather, it was the choice.
The fact thst she could’ve chosen differently but settled for the one that led them both to where they are now. That she has no one else to blame but herself.
The strange thing is, she doesn’t regret loving Noelle.
If she had the chance to go back to that classroom, to that moment, to the words caught in her throat she knew she would still make the same choice.
Because loving someone sometimes means stepping aside and letting them live the life that’s safest for them.
Even if that life doesn’t include you anymore.
Akarsha exhales slowly and leans back in her chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling like she used to when she was trying to solve a problem that had no clean answer.
She exits her IDE and opens the notepad on her laptop. Then she types her thoughts:
I’m afraid I’ll continue to love you for far longer than I’ve ever had you.
She stares at it for a moment—letting her lingering feelings seep in. Then as quickly as she could, she hit backspace until her notepad was as blank as it was when she first opened it.
In a library, hours away from where Akarsha had moved, Noelle sat across a man—textbooks open, notes scattered, pens left uncapped.
She’s tried so hard to forget everything. But every time she went to the places they’ve been, the memories keep flowing into her head without warning. And now, as she looks at the seat Akarsha used to occupy, all she felt was a weight on her chest.
It wasn’t her sitting there anymore. It was someone else. Someone she barely knew but chose to spend the majority of her time with.
He was right in frontf her but all she could think of was Akarsha.
Sometimes she wonders if Akarsha ever stopped loving her.
Or if she simply stopped waiting.
And on nights when the silence feels heavier than usual, Noelle closes her eyes and admits something she’s never told anyone. Not even herself.
She’s afraid she spent too long being afraid. Afraid long enough to lose the only person who ever made her feel brave. And she’s even more afraid that by the time she realized it—
Akarsha had already learned how to live without her.
The cafe is small. Quiet enough that the clink of porcelain cups sounds louder than it should.
Noelle sits by the window, laptop open, though she hasn’t typed anything for the past ten minutes. A half-finished cup of tea sits beside her, the steam long gone.
She came here because it’s close to work. Because it’s quiet. Because it’s easy to disappear into the corner and focus on things that have clear answers. She doesn’t expect anything unusual to happen today. That’s why the sound of the door opening barely registers at first.
Just another customer.
Another pair of footsteps crossing the wooden floor.
Another voice speaking to the barista.
Noelle’s eyes remain on the screen. Until… she hears a laugh.
It’s been years.
Years of new places, new responsibilities, new routines. Years of convincing herself that memory softens things. But the moment she hears it—bright, careless, just a little too loud for the room—her chest tightens like someone reached inside and pulled a string she forgot existed.
Slowly, reluctantly, she looks up.
And there she is.
Akarsha stands near the counter, one hand resting on the edge while she scans the menu overhead like she’s trying to decode a puzzle. She looks older, obviously. Her hair is shorter now. There’s a messenger bag slung across her shoulder.
But the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking—
That part hasn’t changed.
Noelle’s stomach drops.
For a second she considers looking away. Pretending she never saw her. But it’s too late.
Akarsha turns.
Their eyes meet.
And suddenly all the years between them collapse into something much smaller.
Something fragile.
Something quite unfinished.
Akarsha blinks. Then she smiles.
It wasn't the huge grin Noelle remembers from high school. It wasn't the chaotic one that used to come with terrible puns and worse ideas.
This one is softer. More careful. But it’s still unmistakably hers.
“Well,” Akarsha says, walking over with her coffee in hand. “That’s one way to ruin my plan to pretend I’m mysterious and successful.”
Noelle stares at her for a moment before the words register.
“…You were never mysterious.”
Akarsha laughs under her breath as she pulls out the chair across from her.
“Wow. First thing you say to me after… what, six? Seven years? And it’s an insult.”
Noelle folds her hands together on the table.
“It was an observation.”
“Sure it was.”
THere was silence between them for a bit until… Something shiny caught Akarsha’s eye. She looked down on Noelle’s hands on the table.
A thin band of silver on her left ring finger.
Her heart dropped but she kept her expression neutral, making sure Noelle wouldn’t notice.
“Wow. How long have you been married?” She asked, pointing towards the ring.
Noelle shifted her hands, uncertainty filled her head. She didn’t know whether she wanted to hide it from Akarsha.
Why did I want to hide it?
She shoved her thoughts aside and put her hand up to properly show Akarsha the ring. Hesitantly, she began, “I got married last year. I’m surprised you noticed it almost immediately.”
Akarsha let herself take a look. She wanted to hold Noelle’s hand to get a closer view but she was afraid she wouldn’t want to let go once she got ahold of it again. She settled for the distance she was at instead.
“Well, it was pretty shiny. I think it was trying its best to get my attention,” she joked, hoping the girl in front of her wouldn’t realize she was starting to fall apart right then and there. “So who’s the lucky one?”
“You remember the guy from the debate team?”
Akarsha shrieked, “Oh my god. You married THE debate dude?” Maybe a bit too loudly—customers from neighbouring tables had their heads turned. Akarsha sunk into her seat.
Noelle made a shushing gesture, furrowing her brows. “Not too loud.” She acted annoyed. “Yes, I did. He’s a great guy. My parents are really fond of him.” But the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth was betraying her once again.
Akarsha had missed that. She had almost said it out loud. But the sun hit Noelle’s ring at just the right time. She saw it reflect the sunlight—pristine, untarnished. It reminded her of everything. That she can’t wish for things to go back to before.
It was too late for that.
Instead, she smiled back. For a moment neither of them speak.
The silence isn’t hostile. But it isn’t comfortable either. It’s the kind that forms between two people who used to know everything about each other and now aren’t sure where the boundaries are.
Akarsha breaks it first.
“So,” she says lightly. “You look exactly like someone who runs the world now.”
Noelle exhales quietly.
“I manage a research team.”
“See?” Akarsha lifts her cup slightly. “World domination.”
“And you?”
“Software development.”
Noelle nods once.
“That sounds right.”
Akarsha leans back in her chair, studying her. “You still drink tea when it’s already cold?”
Noelle glances down at the cup.
“…Yes.”
“Some things really don’t change.”
Noelle almost smiles.
Almost.
Another quiet pause settles between them.
Outside the window, people pass by like this is any normal afternoon. But inside the cafe, time feels strangely suspended. Eventually Noelle asks the question she didn’t expect to say out loud.
“Are you… happy?”
Akarsha doesn’t answer immediately.
She looks down at the coffee in her hands, rotating the cup slightly like she’s considering the question from different angles.
“Most days,” she says eventually.
“That’s good.”
“And you?”
Noelle nods.
“Yes.”
Another small lie placed neatly between them. Akarsha doesn’t challenge it.
She never does.
After a while, Akarsha checks the time on her phone.
“I should probably get going,” she says.
Noelle nods again. Of course she does. People move on. That’s what they’re supposed to do.
Akarsha stands, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Then she pauses.
“…It was good seeing you,” she says.
Noelle meets her eyes.
“Yes.”
For a moment, something almost surfaces between them. Something that sounds like unfinished conversations, unasked questions—things that might have been different if either of them had been a little braver.
But neither of them reached for it.
Some distances, once created, become too difficult to cross again. So Akarsha gives a small wave and turns towards the door. The bell above it rings softly as she leaves.
Noelle watches through the window as she walks down the street and disappears into the crowd. Only after she’s gone does Noelle realize she’s been holding her breath. She exhales slowly and looks down at her tea.
It’s completely cold now.
Still, she takes a sip.
Shortly after taking another, she wonders something she probably shouldn’t.
Not whether Akarsha is happy. Not whether their lives turned out well. But whether, somewhere in another version of the world—
They had been brave enough to choose each other.
That maybe—if the world had been less cruel—it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. She wanted to ask. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She assumes Akarsha is truly happy. And she thinks Akarsha must assume the same of her.
She was right.
On a street just beyond the cafe, Akarsha tries to stride away all of her questions. She believes Noelle is happy now, yet she can’t ignore the one pounding in the depths of her soul:
In some other life, some other choice… would they have stayed? Or would they have let go anyway?
She shoves the thought away and keeps walking. After that unexpected reunion, both of them are drowning in all their what-ifs, yet neither speaks them aloud.
Alas, time never reverses. All it does is keep moving forward. They both know that. So that’s what they’re both doing now. Because what else are they supposed to do when it seems like both of them seemed happier this way?
They walk two different paths now, leaving the past behind, and carrying a quiet love that can’t touch the present. Despite it all, hidden in between the crevices of their hearts, the same thought prevails:
Perhaps, in another life, neither of us would have had to let go.