Chapter - 8 The quite jealousy

Pov: Ram

The day was dragging, but Rithul's voice snapped through the stillness like a misplaced beat in a calm song.

"Bro," he said, leaning closer, "I need to tell you something."

I closed my notebook halfway, looking at him.

"What's up?"

He scratched his neck awkwardly. "There's this girl. From your department. Ren's close to her."

I paused.

"Max?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes lit up. "Yeah! You know her?"

My heart clenched.

I knew her.

I knew her from high school halls, from the rain, from the silence between goodbyes.

I knew her when she called me Mike—that secret name she never told anyone else.

But now, she was just Max to the world. And apparently, to Rithul.

"I want to talk to her," he said, hopeful. "And since you're... kinda in that circle now, I thought—maybe you could help?"

I forced a nod, but something inside felt off.

"Why her?" I asked quietly.

He chuckled. "She's different. I don't know. The way she talks, her eyes, like there's something she's hiding but still smiling through it... I want to know her."

I knew that feeling too well. That ache of curiosity. That pull toward her mystery.

But hearing someone else say it—about her—it stung.

"Sure," I replied, voice low. "I'll see what I can do."

Later, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at her chat window.

Her contact still read: Mike with a blue heart.

She never changed it. Neither did I.

I typed....

Mike: Do you believe in second chances?

She replied after a while.

Max: Only if the first one didn't know its worth.

I smiled faintly at her reply before typing again.

Mike: What if someone... new, sees that worth now?

Max: You mean someone else? For me?

Mike: Maybe. Someone who's been around quietly.

Someone who thinks you're... not easy to forget.

She took a while. Then—

_________________________________________

Max: That's oddly specific, Mike.

Should I be flattered or concerned?

I hesitated. I could've said it was Rithul.

But why did my fingers stop?

Mike: Just something I heard. A friend of mine asked me about you today.

Max: Oh? Like what?

Mike: Just... said you had that kind of face.

The kind people remember.

Even when they try not to.

Max: That sounds like someone who tried and failed.

Mike: Maybe.

Or maybe someone who never really wanted to forget in the first place.

Typing...

Then backspace.

I stopped myself.

Mike: Anyway... If someone did have a thing for you, would you want to know?

Max: Depends on who.

Some people we forget for a reason.

Others—we wait to remember.

And just like that, she left me with a silence that buzzed louder than words.

I read her reply again and again.

Then I sent it.

Mike: His name's Rithul.

I'm sharing his contact. He asked me.

Max: Rithul? That's your friend, right?

Mike: Yeah.

That was it.

Short. Clean. No emotion.

But inside, my thoughts were screaming.

I didn't want to send it.

Didn't want to give her a door to someone else.

But I did.

Because it's what I was supposed to do.

I hit "share contact."

Her typing bubble appeared.

.....

And then disappeared.

The silence after that?

Louder than everything I'd ever said to her.

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