Hisham didn't think his life was bad. That would've required comparing himself to someone else, and he had long since stopped doing that. Most mornings began the same: the faint smell of reheated tea, his mom nudging him awake, the ceiling fan rattling unevenly above. He lay on his bed for a few moments, staring at a crack in the ceiling and thinking about nothing in particular.
College was quiet. Not peaceful—quiet. Peace required choice, and Hisham rarely had any.
He dressed, slung his bag over one shoulder, and left home, taking the long route through narrow streets to avoid anyone he knew. The bus was too crowded, too loud, too… everything. Walking gave him space to breathe without being noticed.
Arjun, his only friend, waited near the History Department entrance as usual. Loud enough to feel alive, quiet enough to let Hisham exist, Arjun didn't push him or judge him. "Late again, huh?" he asked casually. Hisham muttered, "Normal," and followed at a careful distance.
Hisham's class was in a quiet corner of the History Department. He always sat in the same spot at the side of the bench, a little removed from everyone, where he could steal glances at Navya. It had become a ritual—arrive early, put his bag down, angle his body just enough to see her without being obvious.
"Dude… she rejected you, didn't she?" whispered a classmate behind him.
"Man, you got rejected again?"
Hisham flushed, muttered something like, "Uh… it's… complicated," and focused harder on his notes. Arjun gave him a sympathetic glance from the next bench but said nothing.
The semester passed in fragments of lectures, library trips, and canteen walks. Hisham's world was small and predictable, but it was safe. He liked the routine, the small patterns, the quiet orbit he maintained around Navya without ever speaking.
Sometimes he watched people passing through the corridors outside, but mostly from afar. He hadn't shifted his gaze from his bench ritual, hadn't paid attention to the comings and goings of other departments. That would all change later, but for now, he remained in his corner, invisible, observing life without participating.
And in that quiet orbit of classrooms and corridors, Hisham began to notice small, invisible patterns—the timing of footsteps, the rustle of papers, the way Arjun always waited for him at the canteen, tea in hand. That was enough, for now.