Salburn's call echoed, yet this year, Felix's words pirouetted in unassuming tones. His gaze, a wayward traveler, betrayed the burden he carried. From his trouser pockets emerged hands adorned with rings, a nervous choreography scratching the back of his neck. A giggle wafted, a gentle breeze breaking the heavy silence. Head tilted, hair tousled, he smiled.

"India's coming with me and I don't want her to think that we...—just her and me this summer. Can you understand, uh?'"

Coward.

Bitter, unspoken words lingered, compelling you to suppress screams, a ballet of unexpressed emotions twirled in perpetual circles. Tensions, a night of shared drinking, a kiss—perhaps more.