The change was subtle, almost unnoticeable at first.
Joya realized it during morning assembly. Sudom stood a few steps away, close enough that she could see the familiar curve of his shoulders, yet far enough that it felt like a different world. Usually, he would glance at her at least once. Today, his eyes stayed forward.
She told herself it meant nothing.
In class, she waited for the small habits she had grown used to. The quiet question about homework. The borrowed pen. The brief smile that said more than words ever could. None of it came.
When their eyes met by accident, Sudom looked away first.
Joya's fingers tightened around her notebook. She reread the same sentence again and again, but the words refused to stay in her mind. A strange heaviness settled in her chest, slow and steady, like something pressing from the inside.
At lunch, she sat at her usual spot. Sudom arrived late, placed his tray down, and spoke to others. His voice sounded normal. Too normal. He laughed at something someone said, and that hurt more than silence would have.
She wondered if she had done something wrong.
Had she imagined the note? The gestures? The quiet understanding she thought was growing between them?
When the bell rang, Sudom stood up quickly. He didn't wait. Didn't look back.
Joya followed behind, keeping a careful distance, afraid that if she walked too close, she might hear an answer she wasn't ready for. The hallway felt longer than usual, the noise louder, the air heavier.
After school, she lingered by the gate, pretending to scroll through her phone. This was usually the time when their paths crossed naturally. Today, Sudom passed by on his bicycle without slowing down.
For a second, she thought he hadn't seen her.
Then she noticed the way his grip tightened on the handle, the way his jaw set, as if he were forcing himself not to look.
That was when the worry truly began.
At home, Joya sat by her window, watching the road below. Every passing bicycle made her heart jump, only to fall again when it wasn't him. The sky darkened slowly, turning the color of unsaid words.
Her younger brother Bijoy knocked on the door and asked if dinner was ready. She answered without turning her head.
"I'll come in a bit."
She stayed there long after the streetlights flickered on, replaying every moment, every word, every silence. Nothing stood out. Nothing explained the distance that had appeared so suddenly between them.
Sometimes, she thought, distance was worse than rejection.
Rejection at least gave clarity. Distance only left questions.
And that night, as Joya lay awake staring at the ceiling, one thought refused to leave her mind.
If something had changed…
why didn't he tell her?