UNSPOKEN WOUNDS

"I'm back, Mom," Eyana called out as she stepped inside.

"Why are you so late today?" her mother asked from the kitchen.

"I had some extra work after class—school stuff," Eyana replied, dropping her bag near the door. "And I'll probably be late most of this week because of the debate project."

"Oh, alright then. Your lunch is almost ready. Go freshen up and come to the dining table quickly. It's already late, and I still have to start dinner."

After lunch, Eyana trudged up to her room, stomach full but mind restless. She flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

What more should I add to the topic? Ugh, this sucks. That English teacher is seriously a menace...

Her thoughts drifted from frustration to a certain someone, completely uninvited.

Avyansh.

His smile. The way he spoke. The rare moments he let his guard down. He had shown a kind of quiet respect that felt... genuine. That pigass was definitely a smartass too.

But seriously, why the hell am I thinking about him?

Exhausted, Eyana told herself she'd take a quick nap before continuing her work. But "a nap" turned into sleeping straight through the evening and into the next morning.

She jolted awake at 6:00 AM, eyes wide.

"Ughhh, why did I sleep for so long?! And now I have to sleep again because there's no way I'm waking up early just to study," she mumbled, laughing to herself as she pulled the blanket back over her. "Sleep > everything else."

Naturally, she ended up almost late.

Rushing into school, she spotted Tejal and Jhanvi waving at her near the entrance.

"Good morning, Tejal. Jhanvi," Eyana greeted, slightly breathless.

"Good morning, Eyana," they chimed together, like always.

"Did you work on the notes or any drafts with Avyansh yet?" Jhanvi asked.

"Yeah, we did. We met up at La Vie Café yesterday and managed to complete around 75% of the work."

"Wait—you two worked together?" Jhanvi said, eyes widening.

Tejal nearly dropped her bottle. "Jhanvi, did she just say what I think she said?"

"Yep. You heard it right," Jhanvi nodded.

"Damn, girl! Y'all are gonna be besties at this rate," Tejal teased. "Didn't know you'd get along so fast."

"He's... not that bad," Eyana muttered, looking away.

"Mhm, sure," they said in sync, giggling and nudging her.

Ugh, these two and their never-ending fake scenarios...

The morning assembly dragged on forever. Eyana groaned along with the others.

"I hate morning assemblies," she muttered.

"Same," Tejal and Jhanvi groaned back in perfect unison.

"What's our first class?" Jhanvi asked.

"English, probably... wait. No. No no no—English?! Shit!" Eyana panicked.

"You're dead," Tejal declared, half-laughing.

"I know right!" Eyana hissed. "Why me?!"

Though she'd done most of the work, Samiksha Ma'am's presence alone was enough to make her anxious.

"It's okay, we're with you," Veeryansh and Atharva chimed in, appearing from behind.

"Huh? Oh, thanks, guys."

"She's really stressed," Jhanvi whispered.

"Obviously. She has to deal with the English teacher," Veeryansh said.

"Yep," Atharva nodded.

"No doubt," Tejal agreed.

Just then, Avyansh walked up. "Hey, puffer fish."

"What, pigass?" Eyana snapped, trying not to smile.

"Don't overthink it. My life's not so tragic that I'd end up dating you because of some rumor."

"Excuse me?! Who said I'm interested in you?! I have better options, thank you. It wasn't even me who spread the dating rumors!"

"Is that so?" he smirked.

"Shut up. Our first class is English. Don't tell her we've already done most of the work, got it?"

"Yes, Miss Puffer Fish," he replied with mock obedience.

What neither of them realized was that Samiksha Ma'am had been observing them from afar—watching closely, even if she couldn't hear a word.

After the painfully long assembly, everyone returned to class. The air was thick with dread. Silence echoed louder than usual.

"Good morning, class," Samiksha Ma'am said as she walked in.

"Good morning, Ma'am," the class chorused.

"I hope you're all prepared to share what you've worked on," she said, eyeing the room sharply. No one dared speak out of turn. "Settle down."

She moved row by row.

"Kian and Arohi?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Arohi said. "We collected ideas on defining love and how to present them."

"I worked on types of love," Kian added.

"Well done."

Then it was Jhanvi and Veeryansh's turn.

"Ma'am, we're still working on it," Jhanvi quickly jumped in, stopping Veeryansh from saying too much.

"You idiot," she hissed under her breath.

"Huh? You just called me an idiot, sleepyhead!" he replied, rolling his eyes.

The class chuckled.

Next came Tejal and Atharva.

"We gathered data from teens and adults in their 90s," Tejal said. "We're working on summarizing it."

"Alright."

Then finally—

"Eyana and Avyansh," Ma'am said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure you haven't even started yet."

"We did, Ma'am," Eyana replied, trying to stay calm.

"Together?" she asked, her voice sharp.

"Yes," Avyansh answered before Eyana could speak.

The teacher narrowed her eyes—clearly displeased—but the bell rang before she could say more.

Thank god, Eyana thought.

"Finally! Class is over," Tejal sighed.

"For real," Eyana muttered. "Let's get out of here."

"Ayo, Veeryansh—idiot. We're meeting today with Eyana and Avyansh to finish up the debate prep, okay?"

"Ugh, alright, sleepyhead," he replied with a grin.

"Let's meet at La Vie Café," Tejal said.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Siddhartha's pov

The hallway was loud, as always, with students buzzing around after the English class disaster. But Siddhartha's world had gone strangely quiet.

He stood a few steps behind, watching her.

Eyana.

She was laughing — genuinely, for once — probably at something stupid Avyansh had said. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and her messy ponytail bounced as she walked beside Tejal and Jhanvi. She didn't notice him, of course. She never really did.

But Siddhartha did.

He noticed her in ways no one else seemed to — quietly, from afar. He thought that maybe if he stared long enough, she'd somehow see the truth in his eyes. That she mattered. That someone did notice.

But someone else noticed something else, too

Avyansh's pov

From the corner of the hallway, Avyansh had seen it all — Siddhartha standing there like some moody poet from a sad film, staring at Eyana as if she were the moon itself. It wasn't subtle. Not to Avyansh, at least.

His jaw tensed.

What the hell was that?

He tried to ignore it at first, to brush it off as nothing. But his chest felt tight. Like something was clawing under his skin, something hot and ugly.

As Eyana laughed at something Jhanvi said, Avyansh's gaze drifted back to Siddhartha — still standing there, still watching. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

And that was it.

He turned, walked straight up to Siddhartha, and blocked his view.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" Avyansh's voice was low, sharp — like a blade barely sheathed.

Siddhartha blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb. Don't stare at her like that."

"Like what?" Siddhartha said, voice calm but eyes narrowing. "You don't own her."

Avyansh stepped closer. "No, I don't. But I see what you're doing. Acting all silent and broody from the corner like you're some kind of tragic hero. You don't even talk to her, but suddenly you're obsessed?"

Siddhartha's jaw tightened. "And you? Acting like you're any better? You tease her like a child one minute and act like you care the next. You confuse her."

"I don't confuse her," Avyansh snapped. "At least I have the guts to be honest with her."

A tense silence fell between them. A few students nearby glanced their way, sensing something heated but not understanding what.

Siddhartha leaned in slightly, voice colder now. "Just because you're close to her doesn't mean you understand her. People like you only look at the surface."

Avyansh's eyes darkened. "And people like you wait in shadows, hoping for something you don't have the courage to fight for."

They stood there, chest to chest, words sharp, breaths heavy.

Then suddenly—

"Avyansh?" Eyana's voice cut through the air, unaware of the storm that had just passed. "We're heading to the café, come on."

Both boys looked at her. Siddhartha stepped back. Avyansh didn't even respond — just walked past Siddhartha without another word, joining Eyana and the others like nothing had happened.

But inside?

His thoughts were on fire.

Because now it wasn't just the rumors. It wasn't just the debate. It was the fact that someone else had noticed her too — and that changed everything.

La Vie Café

The La Vie Café buzzed softly with low music and the quiet chatter of college students and couples. It was warm inside, cozy — sunlight filtered through vintage glass windows, casting a honey-colored glow across the rustic wooden tables.

Eyana slipped into the corner booth first, sliding her bag beside her. Jhanvi, Tejal, and the rest settled in around her, with Avyansh taking the spot directly across from her. His jaw still felt tight. He hadn't said a word since they left school. She noticed it, but didn't push. Not yet.

"You okay?" she asked quietly while the others were busy ordering.

"Yeah," he muttered, eyes fixed on the table. "Fine."

But he wasn't. Not even close.

She gave him a look, but he avoided her eyes. Instead, he flipped open his notebook, as if burying his thoughts under lines and ideas could actually make them go away.

"So I was thinking," Eyana said, flipping to a clean page, "we should add a segment on how love can be misunderstood. Like, sometimes people think it's affection, but it's really just attention. Or confusion."

Avyansh tensed. "You mean like staring at someone like they're a movie you're obsessed with?"

Eyana blinked. "What?"

"Nothing." He bit the inside of his cheek. "Go on."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she started scribbling in her notebook, humming under her breath. Avyansh couldn't stop glancing at her — at how the light caught the strands of her hair, at the way her eyes narrowed in concentration.

And then, casually, she said it.

"Oh, and Siddhartha mentioned something similar once... during lunch, I think. About how people confuse admiration with love."

Avyansh's pen snapped mid-sentence.

Everyone at the table paused and looked at him.

"Oops," he muttered, tossing the broken pen aside. "Hand cramp."

But Eyana wasn't dumb. She caught it — the flicker in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way he refused to meet her gaze again.

"What's with you today?" she asked, quiet enough that only he could hear.

"Nothing. Just tired," he said too quickly. "Let's just focus on the project."

But even as he leaned over the page, jotting something half-heartedly, his thoughts were anything but focused.

Why did she have to bring him up?

Why did Siddhartha's name taste so bitter in his mouth?

And why did it bother him so much to think that maybe, just maybe, she had noticed Siddhartha too?

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting gold shadows across the café. But inside Avyansh, the storm was just beginning.

The table is cluttered with notebooks, coffee mugs, and unfinished pastries — but the tension between Eyana and Avyansh is loud enough to mute everything else.

He's been quiet. Too quiet.

Eyana notices the stiffness in his jaw, the way his fingers drum relentlessly against the table. Something is off. She can feel it sitting between them like a wall neither of them built but both are now leaning against.

"Okay," she says finally, setting her pen down with a soft clack. "What is going on with you?"

Avyansh doesn't look up. "Nothing."

"No, not nothing. You've been acting weird since we sat down. You're avoiding eye contact, snapping at everything I say, and you haven't contributed a single word to this project in the last twenty minutes."

"I'm just tired," he mutters.

"No," she says, sharper now. "You're angry. So just say it."

He looks up at last, his eyes sharp but tired. "Fine. I'm angry."

The table goes quiet.

Tejal and Jhanvi glance at each other. Atharva looks away, pretending to focus on his coffee.

Eyana folds her arms. "Then tell me why."

Avyansh exhales, bitter. "Because I'm tired of pretending that I don't care when you clearly don't."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm not blind, Eyana. I saw the way Siddhartha looked at you today — like you were something out of a dream. And you just smiled. You didn't push him away, didn't even seem bothered."

"Wait, you're angry because someone looked at me?"

"No. I'm angry because you didn't even notice me watching it happen."

Eyana blinks, stunned.

"I show up. I work with you. I talk to you even when I'm tired as hell. And you... you're somewhere else. It's like I'm invisible unless you need me."

Her chest tightens.

He keeps going, not realizing he's tearing open something raw.

"You act like you care, like this thing between us matters. But maybe... maybe you just keep people close so you don't feel so damn unwanted all the time."

Everything inside Eyana freezes.

The word hits her harder than anything else he could've said.

Unwanted.

It echoes in her chest like a childhood memory she's tried to forget. Her mother's indifference. Her father's silence. The way home never really felt like home.

It's not just a word.

It's a wound.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "What did you just say?"

Avyansh realizes too late.

"Eyana—"

"No." She stands up, quickly brushing away the wetness forming in her eyes. "Thank you. Really. You didn't just say what you think of me... you said exactly what I've always feared was true."

"Eyana, I didn't mean it like that—"

"Yes, you did," she snaps. "You meant every word. And maybe that's the most honest thing you've ever said."

She grabs her bag, her expression crumbling, and turns away.

Jhanvi's jaw is tight with anger. Tejal doesn't say anything, just gets up and follows her friend out.

Atharva leans back in his chair, looking at Avyansh like he doesn't even recognize him anymore.

And Avyansh?

He just sits there, completely still.

Because he saw her heart break — and this time, he was the one who broke it.

Tejal and Jhanvi rushed to Eyana but before that she was already gone.

The chair across from him is empty now.

So is the air.

The laughter that once floated from their table is gone. The tension might have snapped, but in its place is something worse — silence that feels like punishment.

Avyansh stares at the spot where she had been sitting, her coffee half-finished, her scribbled notes left behind in a rush. His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for the pen she dropped. It's still warm.

He shuts his eyes.

"Unwanted."

The word echoes in his head, no longer with anger — but with shame.

He hadn't meant to say it. Not like that. Not with that much venom. It had slipped out, born not from truth, but from fear. From jealousy. From the parts of him that had been stitched together with broken pieces and never learned how to speak without bleeding.

"She looked... hurt," Atharva says quietly.

Avyansh doesn't answer.

"You crossed a line, man," he continues, gently but firm. "You didn't just argue. You hit her where it hurts most."

"I know," Avyansh mutters, his voice raw. "I know."

His chest feels too tight. Like he's carrying something too heavy and too fragile at the same time.

"I just—" he runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. "I was angry, and then I saw Siddhartha, and she smiled at him. She never smiles like that at me."

"Maybe because she's still figuring you out," Atharva says. "And maybe now... she won't want to."

The weight of those words sinks deep.

Avyansh wishes he could rewind it all — take back that moment, that word, that sharpness in his voice that he used to protect himself, even when he knew it would hurt her.

Because it did.

And for the first time in a long time, he hated the way he made someone feel.