Humidity of the afternoon clings to your skin, but you feel cold. You are standing perfectly still, your feet rooted to the pavement near the bus stop, while the rest of the world seems to be moving away from you. Specifically, he is moving away from you.

You watch Arjun back. It’s a view you’ve memorized over the last six years. You know the way his shoulders hunch slightly when he’s carrying that heavy black backpack. You know the exact cadence of his walk, a lazy, confident stride that you used to match perfectly. He was never just a classmate. He was the boy who patched up your scraped knee in third grade. He was the one who shared his wired earphones with you on the bus every single morning, debating which Marvel movie was the best. He was the constant variable in the chaotic equation of your life.

For years, you thought this was just a prelude. You thought the walking home together, the shared lunches, and the late-night text messages were building up to something inevitable. You thought you were the main character in his story, just as he was in yours.

But today, the script changed.

You see her walking beside him. Her backpack is green, contrasting with his, and she matches his stride effortlessly. She says something, and you see Arjun turn his head toward her. Even from this distance, you can see the softness in his posture, the way he leans in to hear her better. It’s a level of attentiveness he used to save for you.

Just minutes ago, before they started walking, Arjun had turned to you. He didn't look malicious, just oblivious. That was the worst part. He didn't know he was breaking your heart.

He had adjusted his strap, offered a small, apologetic smile, and said

"You go ahead and take the bus today, okay? I promised I'd walk her home."