The campus was quiet that evening — too quiet. The laughter that usually floated through the hostel corridors had faded with the dusk. Inside his room, Kabir sat at his desk, the faint hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the scratch of his pen.
A half-empty notebook lay open before him. On the first page, in neat handwriting, he'd written a title.
"For Her, Not for Me."
He stared at the words for a long time before adding the first line.
If she's happy with him, that's enough for me.
The Weight of Silence
It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it coming — the way Rhea's eyes lingered on Aarav a little too long, the way her laughter came easier when Aarav was near.
He told himself it was fine.
They were friends. Teammates. Dreamers bound by ambition. And yet, when he watched them together — her eyes bright with curiosity, Aarav's voice alive with passion — something in Kabir quietly unraveled.
He closed his notebook and leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling paint. He had always been the steady one — the calm between their chaos. Maybe that was his role: to keep things balanced, even if it meant swallowing every feeling that threatened to spill over.
Words He Couldn't Say
The next evening, he returned to the notebook.
There are moments when I almost tell her. When she smiles at me and the world softens. But then he walks in, and I remember — stories like mine don't get endings. They become echoes.
He paused, tapping the pen against his palm.
He wasn't bitter. Not really. Aarav was his friend — his brother in dreams. And Rhea… she was light. She deserved to shine, even if the light wasn't his to hold.
Still, when he saw the two of them together in the editing room — her leaning over Aarav's shoulder, both laughing at something on the screen — he felt invisible.
He smiled when they looked his way. Always smiled. Because that's what friends do.
The Night of the Shooting Star
Later that night, he went up to the terrace alone. The stars looked the same as they had during that first night of celebration — distant, shimmering, untouchable.
He lay back on the cool tiles, notebook resting on his chest, and whispered, "If this is what love feels like, I'll keep it."
Because even if it hurt, it was his.
A shooting star streaked across the sky just then, fast and bright. He almost laughed. "Really? That cliché?"
Still, he closed his eyes and made a wish. Let them be happy. Even if I'm not part of the story.
The Letter That Stayed Unsent
A few days later, he wrote something different. Not an entry — a letter.
Dear Rhea,
You once told me every story needs a heartbeat. Maybe that's what you are — ours. You make things feel alive, even when they're breaking.
If someday you find my words, I hope they make you smile, not cry. Because every page of this — every quiet line — was written out of love, not regret.
Yours, always — the friend who stayed in the background.
He folded it neatly, slipped it between the pages of the notebook, and placed it inside his drawer. He didn't intend to give it to her. Maybe someday. Maybe never.
The Mask of Normalcy
The next morning, the trio met again in the college auditorium to plan their next project. Aarav was full of energy, tossing ideas like confetti.
"Let's push ourselves this time," Aarav said, pacing. "We've done emotion. Let's do something real — something darker."
Rhea nodded enthusiastically. "I love it. Maybe a story about chasing dreams?"
Kabir forced a smile. "You mean, like us?"
Aarav grinned. "Exactly. Three dreamers — one world, endless ambition."
"Sounds familiar," Rhea teased.
Kabir laughed, his voice steady. "Yeah. Familiar."
But inside, something twisted — because this wasn't just their story anymore. It was his unspoken truth projected on screen.
Quiet Strength
That night, Kabir wrote again.
Maybe love doesn't need to be returned to be real. Maybe it's enough to simply exist — to give without asking, to care without claiming.
If my silence keeps their laughter alive, then I'll stay silent.
He looked at the ink smudges on his fingertips, at the trembling in his writing, and felt strangely lighter.
He wasn't giving up — he was choosing peace.
Rhea and Aarav would go on creating their world, and Kabir would guard it from the sidelines — the unseen author of their story.
The Last Entry of the Night
Before turning in, he added one final line beneath the date.
Sometimes, love means clapping for someone else's happiness — even when your hands tremble.
He closed the notebook and placed it by his bedside.
The moonlight fell across the cover like a quiet blessing. He smiled faintly and whispered into the dark, "Goodnight, Rhea."
The fan kept spinning above, steady and endless — like his resolve.