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Chapter 7 - So hot!

The bus ride back to campus was quiet, but the silence in my own head was deafening. A low, persistent unease had settled deep in my stomach. I thought about texting Shahana, but I knew she'd be in class—and besides, my mind was already spiraling into a different kind of panic. All the lectures I'm missing. All the slides I haven't reviewed. My planner felt miles away, and so did my sense of control.

Without overthinking it, I pulled out my phone and typed out a message to the one person who, lately, felt both familiar and entirely unpredictable.

Me: Wru?

Alan: Cc.

Community Center. Of course.

I looked down at the towel still wrapped tightly around my waist. Part of me wanted to go straight to the hostel to change, but the Community Center was on the way. And right now, I needed to talk to him. Somehow, it gave me comfort.

When I spotted him, he was laughing at something, Mownika lingering nearby. He looked lighter than he had at breakfast—carefree, almost happy. But as he jogged over to me, the smell hit me first: that distinct, skunky scent of weed. I felt my nose crinkle instinctively. I wanted to say something, to remind him of Rule #6, to hold that boundary between us. But the words died before they could form. I needed him right now, sober or not.

"Hey," I said, forcing my voice to sound lighter than I felt.

"Hey, you," he replied, but his smile faltered as he took in my expression. He could tell. His shoulders tensed slightly, like he was bracing for criticism. Had I been judgemental with him?

So I just said it, blunt and honest. "I'm going to have to break rule number six. Because I need you right now." The words hung between us, almost like a test. If he walked away now, I would know this friendship was never real to begin with.

But he didn't walk away. Instead, he led me silently into a small storage room cluttered with costumes, empty beer bottles, and the lingering haze of smoke. It was messy, intimate, hidden away from everything.

He searched my eyes, his own suddenly serious. "Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice surprised me. I shook my head, unable to hold his gaze, and stared down at my feet.

"Kinda. Not really," I mumbled.

Then his eyes dropped to the towel still wrapped around my waist. I saw his expression shift—his breath caught, his eyes widened. In an instant, whatever haze he'd been in seemed to vanish. He reached out, taking both of my hands in his.

"Fiza," he said, his voice low and clear. "What happened?"

"Did someone..." he began, his voice rough with a worry I'd never heard from him before. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No," I said immediately, wanting to wipe that strained look off his face. I watched his expression shift from tense fear to relief, and something warm unfolded in my chest. There was so much more to him, hidden beneath all that carelessness.