Iqra didn't expect it to hurt the way it did.
She told herself she was prepared.
She knew he liked Tannu.
She knew they were talking more.
She even knew they were probably dating now, even though he hadn't officially said the words.
But knowing something and seeing it are two different kinds of pain.
She saw them after school, near the gate where she and Pritam used to stand almost every afternoon.
He was leaning slightly toward her.
Closer than he ever leaned toward anyone else.
Tannu was laughing — not loudly, not dramatically — just comfortably, like she belonged there.
And that was the part that hurt.
She belonged.
Iqra stood a few steps away, unnoticed.
For a second, she thought about turning around.
Pretending she hadn't seen.
But her feet didn't move.
Because some part of her needed proof.
Proof that this was real.
Proof that she wasn't overthinking.
Pritam reached out and adjusted a loose strand of hair from Tannu's face.
It was such a small gesture.
Soft.
Careless.
Natural.
The kind of gesture that doesn't need permission.
Iqra felt something drop inside her chest.
Not break.
Just drop.
Like when you miss a step on the stairs and your heart stumbles before your body does.
She realized something in that moment.
He had never touched her like that.
Not because he couldn't.
But because he didn't think to.
And that difference was louder than any confession.
Tannu noticed her first.
Her smile was polite.
Warm, even.
"Hi, Iqra," she said, as if they were just classmates sharing normal air.
Pritam turned quickly, surprised.
"Oh! I didn't see you there."
Of course you didn't, she wanted to say.
I'm easy to miss now.
But she smiled.
Because that's what she had trained herself to do.
"Hi," she replied, her voice steady in a way she didn't feel.
For a few seconds, the three of them stood in a strange triangle of silence.
Pritam looked happy.
Comfortable.
Different.
And Iqra hated herself for noticing the difference.
"So… we were just heading to get something to eat," he said casually. "You wanna come?"
The invitation felt kind.
It also felt cruel.
She imagined sitting across from them, watching them share jokes, inside stories she wasn't part of, laughter that didn't need her.
"I have some work," she said quickly.
A lie.
But a necessary one.
"Okay," he said, nodding easily.
Easily.
That was the part that hurt the most.
He didn't insist.
Didn't notice the slight tightness in her voice.
Didn't see the way her hands were clenched behind her back.
Because he wasn't looking at her the way he used to.
As they walked away together, their shoulders brushed lightly.
Not dramatic.
Not cinematic.
Just close.
Close in a way she used to be.
Iqra stood there longer than she should have, watching them disappear into the crowd.
It wasn't jealousy that made her chest ache.
It was displacement.
Like she had been gently removed from a position she thought was permanent.
She told herself this is normal.
People fall in love.
People grow.
Friendships change.
But logic doesn't calm a heart that feels replaced.
That night, when her phone buzzed, she didn't rush to open it.
She stared at his name for a long time.
Pritam: Sorry I didn't talk much today. Was with Tannu.
She typed and erased several responses before settling on:
It's okay :)
That smiley face felt heavier than it should have.
Because it wasn't okay.
And for the first time, she realized something she had been avoiding:
She wasn't losing him all at once.
She was losing him in small, polite, reasonable pieces.
And somehow, that hurt more.