8

Aditi's POV:

I should've known better than to expect anything more from him.

Samir might've been the perfect senior in everyone else's eyes- polite, talented, and always in control -but to me, he was just another overhyped senior who didn't know how to mind his words.

That misunderstanding? It wasn't just a simple misstep. It felt deliberate, like he didn't care enough to clear it up or, worse, thought I wasn't worth the effort. The cafeteria incident was one thing-long moved past that ridiculous spat- but this? This stung in a way I hadn't anticipated.

He came that night to clear it and was like he didn't expect me to hear it, huh? So, what does he mean with that?

Fine, I told myself. If he wanted to act like I didn't matter, I could do the same.

I closed my notebook with a deliberate snap and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Another long day of classes and yet another pile of notes to revise. The rhythm of my life felt predictable, even comforting in its monotony. At least it kept me busy. It kept my mind from wandering too far, especially to things—or people—that didn't deserve my attention.

Samir- His name flitted through my mind like a shadow, faint and unwanted. I shook my head slightly, dismissing it. He was irrelevant now; I reminded myself for the hundredth time. A fleeting presence, a senior who would graduate soon and disappear from my life entirely.

Whatever had happened that day was a closed book. I had overheard just enough to know what his friends thought of me, and more importantly, what he didn't do to defend me. His silence had been deafening. It told me everything I needed to know.

For a moment, I let myself remember the scene, though the memory felt like an itch I couldn't quite reach. I've been walking past them, minding my own business, when their conversation caught my ear. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when you hear your name, it's hard not to stop and listen. The words had been sharp, cutting in a way that wasn't entirely unexpected but still hurt in ways I hadn't anticipated.

"She just tagged along looking cute," one of them had said, his tone laced with mockery. 

I had frozen in place, my heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest. And then, the blow that truly stung:

"Honestly, what's the big deal? She's not even all that."

It wasn't the words themselves that hurt the most. It was the fact that Samir had stood there, listening, not saying a word. Not agreeing but not disagreeing either. His silence had felt like an endorsement, a quiet nod of approval to their cruel remarks.

I didn't stick around to hear more. I turned and walked away, my head held high, my steps steady. But inside, something had cracked—just a little.

Now, weeks later, that moment felt like a distant echo, something I only remembered when my thoughts strayed too far from the present. And even then, it didn't matter. Or at least, that's what I told myself.

Samir's opinion of me, his actions—or lack thereof—they didn't define me. I wasn't going to let one moment, one person, take up more space in my mind than they deserved.

It wasn't like we had ever been close. Our interactions had been limited to the event we worked on together, and even then, they had been surface-level at best. Polite exchanges, teamwork out of necessity. I had respected him in a distant sort of way, admired his confidence and leadership during the event. But that was it. There had never been anything more.

Now, even that faint respect felt misplaced. His silence in the face of his friends' comments had shattered any illusion I might have had about him.

Clarifications? Explanations? I wasn't interested. What could he possibly say that would change anything?

Maybe he hadn't agreed with his friends. Maybe he had even wanted to defend me. But the fact remained that he hadn't. And that spoke volumes.

I sighed and flipped through my notes, forcing myself to focus on the neatly written words in front of me. Sameer wasn't worth my energy. He wasn't worth the space he had taken up in my thoughts these past few weeks.

In the corridors, I walked past him as if he was invisible. I didn't stop, didn't glance his way, didn't let myself linger in the places where I knew he might be. It wasn't out of anger or spite. I wasn't trying to make a point. I just... didn't care anymore.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Sometimes, I caught him looking at me, his gaze lingering just a little too long. I could feel it, even when I didn't meet his eyes. And sometimes, I wondered what he was thinking. Did he regret his silence? Did he want to say something to me?

But I pushed those thoughts away. If he had wanted to speak, he should have done it when it mattered. Now, it was too late.

I wasn't being dramatic. This wasn't some grand act of defiance or bitterness. It was simply practicality. Samir is a senior. In a few months, he would be gone, off to wherever his life was taking him next. And I would still be here, moving forward, focusing on my own goals and dreams.

There was no point in dwelling on someone, for all intents and purposes which has become already a part of my past.

I smiled faintly to myself, turning another page in my notebook. My friends' voices buzzed around me, a comforting hum that reminded me of the world beyond my thoughts. They didn't ask about Samir, and I didn't bring him up. He was a footnote in my story, nothing more.

If he carried guilt or regret for what had happened, that was his burden to bear, not mine. I had let go of whatever anger or disappointment I might have felt.

My life was too full, too important, to waste time on someone who had proven himself unworthy of it.

I straightened in my chair, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder. The future stretched out before me, bright and full of possibilities. Samir was just a shadow in my rearview mirror, fading into the distance.

And I was perfectly fine with that.