Better Than Pretending:

Kyle had always believed in structure. In timetables, clarity, and doing the right thing even when it didn't feel right. That belief was how he maintained his grades and kept his emotions compartmentalized. But now, as he sat across from Clara in the faculty's computer lab, structure did nothing to soothe the knot in his chest.

She hadn't spoken to him since the presentation.

She hadn't smiled at him either—not the real smile, the one she used to throw across tables mid-joke or after making a sarcastic comment about their lecturers. What she gave him now were functional glances, ones that said, We are course mates. Nothing more.

And maybe that's what they were supposed to be.

Maybe that's all they ever were.

But it had felt like something more. It still did.

"Bro," said Marcus, nudging his shoulder. "You spacing out again?"

Kyle blinked, pulled out of his spiral. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Marcus eyed him. "Clara?"

Kyle didn't answer, which was an answer.

Marcus had been his roommate since their first year. Loud, messy, brutally honest—but loyal. The kind of guy who never picked sides unless someone was in real pain.

"She's not mad," Marcus said, softening. "She's hurt. There's a difference."

Kyle sighed. "I thought I was helping her focus. Helping both of us."

"You thought pushing her away would fix everything?"

"I thought emotions complicate things."

Marcus laughed under his breath. "So does pretending they don't exist."

That night, Kyle skipped dinner. Instead, he sat in the common room of the hostel with his laptop open but untouched, staring at an empty document labeled Midterm Revision Plan. He had created it hours ago, but had not written a single line. Every time he tried to concentrate, her voice would come back in fragments.

"You know what's funny? We were never even together. But it still feels like a breakup."

How was he supposed to just move on from that?

Meanwhile, Clara wasn't faring much better.

She had spent her evening in the library café, headphones in, her playlist playing songs she pretended she didn't associate with Kyle. Songs from those late-night study sessions where he'd hum along, and she'd pretend not to notice.

Across the table, her friend Nadia tapped her mug against Clara's. "You're the quietest person I've ever seen pretend to be okay."

Clara pulled out one earbud. "I'm not pretending."

"You are." Nadia took a sip. "You're even more put-together when you're miserable. It's disturbing."

Clara smiled weakly.

"Have you talked to him since the presentation?" Nadia asked.

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes," Clara admitted, "but only if he talks first. I reached out too much before. I always texted first. I always made the awkward moments disappear. This time, he can sit in the silence."

Nadia nodded. "So… this is war?"

"Not war," Clara said. "Just me, choosing myself for once."

They both looked out the café window, where the breeze carried the first signs of the rainy season—thick clouds, swaying tree branches, and a nervous energy in the air.

A week passed.

Assignments came, deadlines loomed, and nothing significant happened between them. Except everything felt significant. Kyle and Clara worked in the same group again. She corrected his citation style. He offered to send a reading list. They passed each other printouts, pens, and polite thank-yous. But every exchange was layered. Careful. Controlled.

Then came the storm.

Not metaphorically—an actual downpour hit campus the day of the Economics Quiz. Most students were caught off guard. Clara, as usual, had her tiny blue umbrella that barely covered her. Kyle stood under the lecture hall's awning, watching students scatter and sprint.

Clara passed by. Her clothes were already wet around the edges.

He hesitated. "Hey, Clara."

She stopped, surprised.

"Let me walk you back to your hall," he said, stepping into the rain beside her without waiting.

"You'll get soaked."

"I already am."

They shared the tiny umbrella in silence. Rain thudded around them like a backdrop to the conversation neither of them knew how to start.

Halfway through the walk, Clara spoke. "This doesn't fix anything, Kyle."

"I know," he said. "I just… I didn't like the idea of you walking alone in this."

She didn't respond, and he didn't push.

At her hostel gate, she stopped. He handed her the umbrella.

"You need it more than I do," he said.

Clara looked at him, unreadable. "Thanks."

She turned and walked in, and for the first time in days, Kyle felt like maybe—just maybe—there was something left to hold onto.

Later that night, Clara pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for ten minutes before she finally typed:

Clara: You okay?

A minute passed.

Kyle: I don't know.

She didn't expect that answer.

Clara: Do you want to talk?

This time the response came quicker.

Kyle: Yeah. But not over text.

They agreed to meet the next day. No pressure. No expectations. Just a walk around campus after their elective. Clara spent half the night wondering what he wanted to say. Whether it would help or make things worse.

The next day, they walked slowly, avoiding the busy areas. The sky was a soft gray, the kind that made everything look like it had a filter on. For once, neither of them had anything academic in their hands.

"You said you don't know if you're okay," Clara began. "Why?"

Kyle exhaled. "Because I miss you. And I'm trying to convince myself that I shouldn't."

Clara looked down. "Why shouldn't you?"

"Because I thought we were a distraction to each other. But it turns out, being apart is the bigger distraction."

She smiled faintly. "I could've told you that."

He laughed. "Yeah. You probably did. I just wasn't listening."

They walked in silence for a while.

"Clara," he said, stopping. "I don't know what this is. What we are. But I don't want to lose it. Even if it has to stay complicated for now."

She turned to face him. "You don't always have to have the answers, Kyle. But you do have to stop pushing people away when it gets messy."

He nodded slowly. "I'll try."

"Good." She paused. "Because I don't think I can go back to pretending we're just classmates."

That evening, Kyle stood outside Clara's hostel again. He didn't go in. He just looked up at the building and smiled—small, hopeful, unsure.

And somewhere on the third floor, Clara sat by her window, watching him from behind the curtain.

Neither of them knew what came next. But maybe, for the first time in weeks, that was okay.

They walked into the library side by side. Still not lovers. But definitely not just course mates anymore.

Clara paused at the foot of the stairs. Kyle moved ahead slightly, then noticed she hadn't followed.

"You coming?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah… just needed a second."

He waited.

She caught up, and they climbed together, their steps echoing faintly in the quiet of the corridor. The usual hush of the library felt heavier today, almost sacred. Clara wasn't sure why her chest felt tighter now that they were inside. Maybe it was because there was no more rain to distract her. No more need for umbrellas or excuses.

They reached the mezzanine, where the group presentation team was already seated. Jessie offered a smile—one Clara returned it a bit too late.

Kyle slid into a chair opposite her. Their eyes met once. Then they looked away.

Clara took a breath, opened her laptop, and tried to focus on the slideshow. But her mind drifted to his words, "I still want you around, And I think I was just scared".

And for once, she didn't feel the urge to run from that.