The corridor outside was louder than the space he had just come from. Someone was laughing near the stairwell. A group moved past him in a hurry, talking over each other.
Normal as-usual noise.
He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and started walking.
For a few steps, his mind stayed on routine things—what was next, where he needed to be, what time it was.
Then, without invitation, Aanya came back into it.
Not as a thought he summoned.
Just as a leftover presence, like something that had been sitting quietly in the background and now stepped forward when there was space.
She had laughed earlier—when she won, when she teased him about the flick.
That sound had been too light for how easily it stayed.
He frowned slightly, almost at himself, as he walked down the steps.
The campus air outside felt sharper.
He noticed, absently, that he had started walking a little slower than usual.
Not stopping.
Just… unhurried.
That wasn't intentional.
His mind replayed something small instead of anything important.
Her face when she leaned forward during the game.
Confident.
Too sure of herself.
Like she had already decided she was going to win even before the dice moved.
He exhaled once through his nose.
A faint curve touched his expression before he corrected it.
Not a smile.
Almost.
A group passed by him, someone calling out to another student loudly.
He didn't look up.
His hand adjusted the strap of his bag again, though it was already fine.
The motion wasn't necessary.
Neither was the thought that followed.
She always did that thing with the flick rule like it was serious.
Like rules mattered more than intent.
He imagined—briefly, without meaning to—the way she had shut her eyes before the flick.
Too quick.
Like she expected impact more than she should have.
That thought lingered longer than it needed to.
He frowned slightly again, softer this time.
Then looked away, as if that would reset it.
It didn't.
By the time he reached the path lined with trees, his pace had slowed further.
Leaves shifted above him in the wind.
He glanced down at his phone, unlocked it, then locked it again without reading anything properly.
A pause.
Then, almost automatically, his thumb hovered over the chat.
No message.
Of course not.
She had left minutes ago.
Still—
He typed something.
Stopped.
Deleted it.
Put the phone away.
The corner of his mouth tightened faintly, like he was mildly annoyed at something no one else could see.
He walked on.
A few seconds later, he realized what the problem was.
It wasn't silence.
It was the lack of interruption.
No sudden comment.
No unnecessary argument.
No voice cutting into his thoughts when they started getting too linear.
It made everything feel slightly too clean.
Too uninterrupted.
And that was… unfamiliar.
He reached the edge of the campus gate and paused briefly, as if deciding something.
Then continued walking out.
The street noise took over again.
Still, the faint afterimage of her presence didn't fully dissolve.
Not dramatic.
Not overwhelming.
Just there.
Like a habit his mind hadn't finished forming yet.
He exhaled once more.
This time, slower.
And kept walking.