Lines We Didn’t Cross
441 Words
It started with rain.
A soft drizzle that turned into a steady rhythm, tapping against the library’s tall windows. Inside, the warmth wrapped around them like a blanket, and the scent of old books and damp jackets filled the air.
Sidro stood near the philosophy aisle, arms crossed, waiting for Irfan.
He was late.
Again.
“I swear,” she muttered to herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “If he says something dramatic like ‘the universe delayed me,’ I’ll throw a thesaurus at his head.”
“Now that’s not very peaceful of you,” Irfan’s voice came from behind, breathless but amused.
Sidro turned sharply. “You're twenty minutes late.”
He grinned. “It was raining.”
“So? You have legs.”
“And a soul,” he added, shrugging. “Which prefers not to get drenched.”
Sidro rolled her eyes but handed him a worksheet. “We were supposed to go over this together.”
“Relax. We’ve got time.”
They settled at a corner table, papers spread between them. Irfan hummed quietly as he wrote, tapping his pen now and then. Sidro tried to focus, but her eyes kept drifting to the way he slouched, the ink smudged on his hand, the way his brow furrowed when concentrating.
He was annoying.
But also—steady. In his own, chaotic way.
“You never actually take anything seriously,” she said suddenly.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You joke, you delay, you deflect. I don’t even know what you really care about.”
Irfan leaned back, pen twirling between his fingers. “You ever think maybe I care too much, and joking helps me not combust?”
The words were casual—but his voice wasn’t.
Sidro looked at him properly for the first time in that moment. “Maybe I just don’t get you.”
“Maybe you don’t try to.”
Silence.
The kind that wasn’t comfortable. Not like the kind Ruhi shared with Junaid. This one buzzed.
Then Sidro sighed, tugging at her sleeve. “Maybe we both suck at this.”
Irfan smiled slightly. “Definitely.”
They didn’t fix it. Didn’t explain or apologize.
But they finished their work. Stayed until the library dimmed with evening shadows. And when they left, they walked side by side under one umbrella—still arguing over who remembered fewer chemistry formulas.
No confessions. No labels.
But something had shifted.
A thread pulled a little tighter. A wall dropped just a bit.
And maybe—just maybe—they were starting to see each other differently.
- Writer
