Morning arrived softly, almost deceptively peaceful.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing across Haniya's face like it had no idea what kind of weight the night before had carried. She lay still for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of movement in the house—footsteps, murmured voices, the clatter of utensils. Life going on, uninterrupted.
She exhaled and finally sat up.
Her phone lay face down beside her pillow. She hadn't checked it since last night. Some part of her was afraid to. Afraid that one notification could undo the fragile calm she had built inside herself.
She picked it up anyway.
Nothing.
No missed calls. No messages.
Relief and unease arrived together.
After getting ready, she stepped out of her room. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and toast. As she moved toward the dining area, voices grew clearer—Vivaan's animated tone, Harsh laughing loudly, Kashvi's calm replies threading between them.
Normal.
Too normal.
Haniya paused just before entering.
"Morning," she finally said.
All heads turned.
Vivaan grinned. "Oh look, the star of yesterday's episode has arrived."
Harsh added, "Careful, Vivaan. Aarav might sue you for defamation."
Aarav, who was pouring coffee, didn't look up—but the corner of his mouth curved upward. "I'm hearing everything."
Haniya rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. She took a seat beside Kashvi, who immediately leaned closer.
"You okay?" Kashvi asked quietly.
Haniya nodded. "Yeah."
Kashvi studied her for a second longer, then squeezed her hand once under the table. She didn't push. She already knew enough to recognize when silence was a shield.
Aryan sat across from them, unusually quiet. His gaze kept drifting—not to Haniya, but to Kashvi. Every time she laughed at something Vivaan said, something unreadable flickered across his face.
Aarav noticed.
He always noticed.
Breakfast passed with casual conversation—practice schedules, inside jokes, Vivaan complaining about everything from burnt toast to early mornings. On the surface, it was easy. Comfortable.
But underneath, things were shifting.
After breakfast, they headed out for practice.
The field buzzed with energy, the sharp sound of shoes against the ground, the familiar rhythm of drills grounding them. For Haniya, movement usually helped—it gave her something physical to focus on, something predictable.
Today, it didn't work.
She missed a step. Then another.
"Focus," the coach called out.
She nodded, jaw tightening, and pushed herself harder. Sweat beaded at her temples, her muscles protesting, but she welcomed the burn. Pain was easier than thoughts.
Aarav noticed her falter again and jogged closer during a break. "You're pushing too much."
She wiped her forehead. "I'm fine."
"That wasn't a suggestion," he said gently. "It was concern."
She met his eyes, something tired flashing through hers. "I don't want to fall apart in the middle of the field."
"You won't," he said. "And even if you do, I'm right here."
That did something to her chest.
She nodded and took a breath.
Practice ended without incident, but the heaviness stayed.
By lunch, Haniya barely touched her food. Kashvi sat beside her again, glancing between her plate and her face.
"Not hungry?" Kashvi asked.
"Just not feeling it," Haniya replied.
Across the table, Aryan watched Kashvi intently. When she leaned closer to Haniya, whispering something that made her smile faintly, his fingers tightened around his spoon.
Vivaan noticed that too.
"Bro," he said, nudging Harsh. "Aryan looks like he's mentally writing poetry."
Harsh snorted. "Tragic poetry."
Aryan shot them a glare. "Shut up."
But he didn't look away from Kashvi.
Lunch ended early. People began drifting away—some to rest, some to shower, some to their phones.
Haniya walked back toward her room slowly. The corridor felt longer than usual.
Halfway there, her phone buzzed.
Once.
She stopped.
Her heart dropped before she even looked.
Unknown number.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. For a second, she considered ignoring it. Pretending she hadn't seen it.
But she already knew.
She answered.
"Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end. Then—
"So you picked up," a male voice said, low and unsettlingly calm.
Haniya's breath caught. Her hand trembled slightly as she tightened her grip on the phone.
"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her voice steady through sheer will.
A soft chuckle. "Is that any way to talk to someone who knows your secrets?"
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"I told you," she said quietly, "to never call me again."
"And I told you," he replied, "that you don't get to decide when this ends."
Her nails dug into her palm.
"I moved on," she said. "You should too."
Silence stretched for a moment.
Then, cold and sharp: "You can't move on from blood, Haniya."
The line went dead.
She stared at her phone, chest heaving, the world tilting.
Blood.
The word echoed in her head like a scream.
She slid down against the wall, knees pulling up to her chest as she struggled to breathe.
Moments later, footsteps hurried toward her.
"Haniya?"
Kashvi.
Haniya looked up, eyes glassy, face drained of color.
Kashvi crouched in front of her instantly. "What happened? Who was that?"
Haniya tried to speak—but her voice broke.
Kashvi took her hands, grounding her. "Hey. Look at me. You're safe. Talk to me."
Haniya swallowed hard. "He called."
Kashvi's expression hardened immediately. "That man?"
Haniya nodded.
"What did he say?"
Her lips trembled. "That… I can't move on from blood."
Kashvi pulled her into a tight hug, shielding her from the hallway, from the world. "You're not alone. Not anymore."
Haniya clung to her, shaking.
Unseen down the corridor, Aarav stood frozen, having witnessed only the aftermath—the way Haniya collapsed into Kashvi's arms, the fear written all over her face.
Something was very wrong.
And this time, the calm wasn't going to hold.