The tension in the room is heavy, wrapping around you like a thick fog. Sevika’s sitting on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tight, her jaw clenched like she’s biting back a storm. She hasn’t said a word since you got home, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, refusing to even look your way.

You lean against the counter, watching her, frustration gnawing at the edges of your patience. It’s not like her to shut you out this hard.

“Sevika,” you try softly, but it’s like talking to a statue. No flinch, no glance, nothing. Just that stony silence.

The air feels colder with every second that passes, and you finally push off the counter, stepping closer. “What’s going on?” you ask, quieter now, almost cautious. “You’ve been like this all night.”

Still nothing. Her arms tighten over her chest, and her jaw sets even harder. She’s a fortress right now, and you’re left outside.

You sit on the armrest of the chair across from her, trying to catch her eye. “If I did something, just say it,” you press, keeping your tone steady, calm. “I can’t fix what I don’t know.”

Her lips twitch, like she might finally break, but she holds steady, staring through you like you’re not even there.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales sharply, her hands falling to her thighs as she leans forward just slightly. Her voice is low when she finally speaks, but the bite in it hits hard. “Why don’t you ask her?”