Dev didn't understand when it changed.
There wasn't a moment he could point to.
No single sentence. No clear mistake.
Just… a shift.
Quiet at first.
Then undeniable.
Kabir had become distant.
Not rude.
Not harsh.
Just… cold in a way that didn't exist before.
And that made it harder to understand.
Dev sat at his desk, notebook open in front of him.
The page was half-filled with notes from class.
But his pen hadn't moved in the last ten minutes.
Because his thoughts weren't on the equations anymore.
They were somewhere else.
You should focus on your exams.
I'm busy.
That was before.
The words replayed in his mind, not because they were wrong—but because they felt incomplete.
Like something had been removed from them.
Something that used to be there.
Something Dev hadn't realized he had started depending on.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling slowly.
"This doesn't make sense," he murmured to himself.
Because Kabir hadn't said anything directly.
Hadn't corrected him.
Hadn't drawn a line.
But the line was there now.
Dev could feel it.
Even if he couldn't see where it had been drawn.
The worst part wasn't the distance.
It was the contrast.
Because Dev remembered exactly how it used to be.
The quiet conversations after class.
The way Kabir would stay back without making it feel like an effort.
The way he listened—not just to questions, but to pauses.
And now—
everything felt structured again.
Formal.
Like Dev had been placed back into a role he didn't realize he had stepped out of.
Sir.
That word felt heavier now.
More distant.
He hadn't meant for that to happen.
He hadn't even realized when things had started feeling… different.
But they had.
And now they were gone.
A soft sound came from the other side of the wall.
Kabir's flat.
Dev stilled slightly.
He hadn't meant to notice it.
But he did.
Every time.
Without trying.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Stop thinking about it.
But the thought didn't stop.
Because it wasn't just about proximity anymore.
It was about absence.
Kabir was right there.
And yet—
it felt like he wasn't.
Dev stood up and walked toward the door.
He didn't think.
He just moved.
His hand hovered over the handle.
If he knocked—
what would he say?
Why are you avoiding me?
Too direct.
Did I do something wrong?
He had already asked that.
And Kabir had said no.
Then why does it feel like this?
That felt too… exposed.
Dev stepped back.
Ran a hand through his hair.
"This is stupid," he muttered.
He wasn't a child.
He shouldn't feel this affected just because someone became a little distant.
People got busy.
People changed.
That was normal.
So why did this feel different?
Because Kabir wasn't just someone.
That thought came quietly.
But it stayed.
Dev sat back down slowly.
Because that was the part he hadn't wanted to look at too closely.
Kabir wasn't just his professor anymore.
Not in the way Dev had started seeing him.
Somewhere along the way, Kabir had become—
familiar.
Safe.
Easy to talk to.
And now that ease was gone.
Replaced with something careful.
Something guarded.
And Dev didn't know how to reach past it.
The next day in class, Dev didn't look up as much.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he wasn't sure what he would see if he did.
Kabir didn't call on him.
Didn't pause near his desk.
Didn't do anything wrong.
But didn't do anything the same either.
And that difference was enough.
After class, Dev packed his bag immediately.
He didn't stay.
He didn't even wait to see if Kabir would.
Because he already knew.
That evening, Dev returned to his flat and closed the door behind him.
The quiet felt heavier than usual.
He placed his bag down and sat on the edge of the bed.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Because his thoughts had finally settled into something clearer.
Not answers.
But a realization.
He was hurt.
Not deeply.
Not dramatically.
But enough that it lingered.
Enough that it changed how things felt.
Dev looked toward the wall that separated their flats.
Just for a second.
Then looked away.
"I shouldn't think about this," he said quietly.
And he meant it.
But that didn't make it easier.
Later that night, Dev picked up his notebook again.
Tried to study.
Tried to focus.
But his mind drifted again.
Not to confusion this time.
But to something simpler.
A question he didn't know how to ask.
What changed?
And more importantly—
Was it something I did?
He didn't have the answer.
And he didn't know how to find it.
Because the only person who could answer it—
was the one he didn't know how to confront anymore.
Dev lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
And for the first time since moving in—
being this close didn't feel comforting.
It felt like being near something he couldn't reach anymore.
And that was worse than distance.
Because at least distance made sense.
This didn't.