Some equations feel balanced… until a third variable is added.
That was how Aarav Mehta saw it.
For the first time in years, he wasn't drifting. He was present. Suhani had become his quiet mirror, Kabir his noisy contrast. In the middle of them both, Aarav had found something strange and almost alien—peace. Not joy. Not excitement. But the peaceful discomfort of a heart waking up after too long asleep.
And then, like all fragile things, it began to strain.
---
It began subtly.
Lunch breaks used to be calm. Aarav with his notebook. Suhani with her sketchpad or book. Kabir with his stories and snacks.
But now?
Now Kabir was louder. Suhani quieter. Aarav more watchful.
Kabir would crack jokes and Suhani would smile—longer than she used to. Aarav noticed.
Suhani would look at Kabir when she laughed, not Aarav. Aarav noticed.
And Kabir? He wasn't doing anything wrong. That made it worse. Because people don't always hurt you out of malice. Sometimes they hurt you just by being there.
Three is a crowd, the saying goes.
Aarav was beginning to believe it.
---
Thursday lunch, Kabir brought food from home.
"Try this!" he said, holding out a tiffin box.
Suhani tried it. "This is amazing! Did you make it?"
"Nah, my mom. I just supervised like a master chef."
They laughed.
Aarav picked at his idli. It had never tasted blander.
"You okay?" Suhani asked.
"I'm fine," Aarav replied.
"You haven't said anything in fifteen minutes," Kabir noted.
"Not everyone needs to perform," Aarav shot back.
Silence.
Kabir blinked. Suhani looked down.
Then Kabir said, "Fair. But just because I talk doesn't mean I'm fake."
Aarav didn't reply. But his silence was louder than any accusation.
---
Later that day, in class, Suhani passed him a note.
"You're pulling away again. Why?"
He stared at the slip of paper.
Wrote back.
"Maybe you don't need me anymore."
She read it. Folded it. Didn't reply.
---
The next day, Aarav skipped lunch.
He sat alone on the library stairs, watching sunlight stream through the old glass like slices of something holy and untouchable.
He thought about Arjun.
His brother had been the same—charismatic, bright, adored. Everyone loved him. Even Aarav. But when Arjun disappeared, Aarav had asked himself: What's the point of shining if it means no one sees you burning?
Now, watching Kabir and Suhani growing closer, he felt the same question tightening inside.
Was this jealousy? Loneliness? Or fear?
Maybe all three.
Maybe more.
---
When he finally returned to class, Suhani was waiting.
"Walk with me," she said.
They ended up behind the auditorium, where the wind sounded like a whispering crowd.
"You've been off all week," she said.
"I've been observing."
"You're good at that."
He didn't answer.
She looked at him, her voice soft. "You're not being fair to Kabir."
"I know."
"And to me."
Aarav sighed. "It's just… hard."
"To see me laugh with someone else?"
He nodded slowly. "I know it's selfish."
"It's human."
Then she added: "But Kabir isn't trying to replace you."
Aarav's jaw clenched. "I know."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
He looked away. "That if I open up fully, if I finally choose to feel, I'll lose everything again. Like with Arjun."
Suhani's eyes softened. She stepped closer.
"You're not alone anymore, Aarav. But you will be if you keep pushing people out."
Silence.
He finally looked at her.
"You and Kabir… do you—?"
She shook her head before he finished.
"We're friends. But he sees me. You… understand me."
That hurt more than it should have comforted.
---
Later that day, Kabir found him on the terrace.
"Hey," he said, tossing a cricket ball in his hand.
Aarav didn't move.
Kabir leaned on the railing beside him. "Suhani told me you've been weird."
"She's honest."
Kabir grinned. "She is."
They stood in silence for a while.
Then Kabir said, "You know, I wasn't trying to steal your spotlight."
"You didn't. I never had one."
"You do. You just hide from it."
Aarav sighed. "I'm not good at… people."
"Neither am I. I just pretend better."
Aarav turned to him. "Why do you try so hard?"
"Because if I stop, I start thinking. And when I start thinking, I start remembering."
A beat.
"And remembering hurts."
Aarav looked away. "We're more alike than I thought."
Kabir nodded. "Yeah. Maybe we're just broken in opposite directions."
They both laughed—quiet, dry, but real.
---
The next day, Aarav joined Suhani and Kabir at lunch again.
No speeches.
No apologies.
Just shared silence and shared food.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Later, as they left for class, Suhani whispered:
"Three doesn't have to be a crowd."
And Aarav, for the first time, believed her.
---
That night, he wrote:
> "When you've been alone long enough, even friendship feels like a threat.
But maybe the real threat is what happens when you don't let anyone in."