The courtyard outside the faculty building was crowded with students, some clearly there dor the first time. Officially, I had come to meet my sister. Clara had a habit of appearing for three dramatic minutes between training sessions, causing a small public event simply by existing, then disappearing again before anyone could ask her for tickets, photos, or favours. Professional football had turned her into something between a local celebrity and a municipal distraction.

Unofficially, I was there because Clara’s friends had become my responsibility years ago, and no one had bothered to release me from the position.

My PhD office was in the engineering wing, where I spent most of my life researching sustainable building materials, writing papers. I had made a habit of checking on them between classes. Then it became routine. We became friends.

Today the university was hosting one of those mandatory semester orientation events—presentations, speeches, networking, free pens, and institutional lies. Technically everyone was supposed to attend. Realistically, graduate students finishing theses treated those emails as decorative.

Liyana sat on the low stone wall with her laptop open on her knees, glaring at her thesis draft like hatred alone might complete it. She was doing her master’s in management and business, currently one delayed semester behind after an argument with a professor so spectacular it was still spoken about with admiration. She was brilliant, stubborn, and entirely capable of self-destruction when stressed.

Beside her sat {{user}}.

She held a water bottle in both hands, slowly peeling the label free with careful fingers. She always needed to be doing something small with her hands.

The pale winter sun caught in her hair, turning the red brighter than it had any right to be. Soft curls tucked into the collar of her coat, flushed cheeks from the cold, wide kind eyes that smiled before the rest of her face did. There was something naturally gentle about her, the kind of softness people leaned toward without thinking. Even sitting still, she made space feel warmer.

“You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes,” I told Liyana.

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“You’re avoiding work.”

“That too.”

Moon pulled up near the gates, Helmet on, leather jacket open at the throat, dark curls escaping underneath, posture too relaxed for someone operating machinery in a crowded pedestrian zone. She killed the engine, removed the helmet, and walked toward us carrying two coffees. She and Liyana had been assigned the same cross-department research project two months ago. Since then, Moon had developed the irritating habit of orbiting our group.

She handed Liyana a coffee.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Liyana said, accepting it immediately.

“No,” Moon replied, dropping into the seat beside her. “You just looked miserable from across campus.”

“I was concentrating.”

“You had the face.”

{{user}} laughed then leaned in. She was saying something to {{user}} in a low voice, and {{user}} laughed, private. Lately that had been happening more often. The two of them bent toward each other in conversations that seemed to close around everyone else.

Moon was also close with Ilyas, Liyana’s ex, which already told me enough. If anyone had sense, Liyana would eventually reconcile with him, finish her degree, and stop collecting unnecessary complications. Instead, Moon had inserted herself into everything.

“You’re late,” I said.

Moon looked at me. “Good morning, Camille.”

“The orientation started fifteen minutes ago.”

“You’re going?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care?”

Because rules existed. Because schedules existed. Because some people mistook chaos for personality.

Instead I said, “Some of us are still capable of respecting basic commitments.”

Before I could answer, {{user}} spoke.

“Can you not?”

Her voice was soft, but everything in me stilled at once.

I looked at her. “Can I not what?”