The university felt different that week.
Busier.
Louder.
Alive in a way that left little room for silence.
The annual workshop had taken over almost every department—students rushing between halls, professors coordinating schedules, volunteers carrying files, banners, equipment. Conversations overlapped, instructions echoed, and time seemed to move faster than usual.
It should have been distracting.
It should have helped.
For both of them.
But somehow—
it didn't.
Dev adjusted the stack of files in his hands, scanning the list again.
Registration desk. Team allocation. Session coordination.
He had been assigned to logistics.
He preferred it that way.
Less talking.
More doing.
More space to stay occupied.
Because staying busy was easier than thinking.
"Dev."
He froze slightly at the sound.
Kabir.
Even in the noise, he recognized it instantly.
He turned.
Kabir stood a few steps away, holding a clipboard, expression composed as always.
"Your team's been reassigned," Kabir said. "There was a change in coordination."
Dev nodded quickly.
"Okay, sir."
Kabir's gaze lingered for a fraction of a second.
Then—
"You'll be working with me for this session."
A pause.
Small.
But it landed heavier than expected.
Dev blinked once.
"Alright."
That was all he said.
But something in his tone had changed.
Quieter.
More careful.
Kabir noticed.
Of course he did.
They worked side by side for the next hour.
Not alone.
Never alone.
People moved around them constantly—students asking questions, faculty giving instructions, materials being passed, schedules being updated.
On the surface, everything was normal.
Professional.
Efficient.
Kabir gave directions.
Dev followed them.
Short conversations.
Minimal eye contact.
No pauses long enough to become personal.
Exactly how things should be.
And yet—
Dev felt it.
That distance.
Even here.
Even with so many people around.
Kabir spoke to others the same way he spoke to him now.
Clear. Direct. Neutral.
And that was the difference.
Before—
Dev had been… different.
Now—
he wasn't.
"Dev, pass me the registration list," Kabir said.
Dev handed it over immediately.
Their fingers brushed slightly.
Just for a second.
Both of them noticed.
Neither of them reacted.
Kabir took the paper.
"Thank you."
Formal.
Dev nodded.
"Okay."
And that was it.
By afternoon, the rush had intensified.
A speaker had arrived late. One session overlapped with another. Students were being redirected across halls.
Kabir moved quickly, coordinating, adjusting, solving problems before they escalated.
Dev followed closely, managing tasks without needing repeated instructions.
They worked well together.
Seamlessly, even.
Like they had done this before.
Like they understood each other's rhythm.
And that—
made it worse.
Because the ease was still there.
Just… hidden.
At one point, Dev found himself standing beside Kabir near the side corridor, momentarily away from the crowd.
It was quieter there.
Not silent.
But enough.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Dev said, softly—
"Sir."
Kabir turned slightly.
"Yes?"
Dev hesitated.
Not because he didn't want to speak.
But because he didn't know how to start.
"You don't have to treat me like everyone else," he said finally.
The words came out more directly than he expected.
Kabir stilled.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Dev looked at him.
Really looked.
"You know what I mean."
A pause.
Kabir's expression remained controlled.
"This is a professional setting," he said.
Dev gave a small nod.
"I know."
Another pause.
Then, quieter—
"But it wasn't always like this."
That landed.
Kabir didn't respond immediately.
Because Dev was right.
And that was exactly what Kabir was trying to fix.
Kabir looked away briefly.
Then back.
"This is how it should be," he said.
Careful.
Measured.
Dev's gaze didn't shift.
"Should be for who?" he asked.
Kabir didn't answer.
Because the real answer was—
for Dev.
To protect him.
To keep things from becoming complicated.
From becoming something that could affect him.
But saying that out loud would mean admitting why.
And Kabir wasn't ready for that.
Dev exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he said.
Just that.
No argument.
No push.
But something in him closed off slightly again.
Kabir saw it.
And that made his chest tighten in a way he didn't expect.
A voice called from down the hall.
"Sir, we need you here!"
Kabir turned immediately.
"I'm coming."
He stepped away.
Then paused for a fraction of a second.
Not turning back.
But not fully leaving either.
"Dev," he said.
Dev looked up.
Kabir hesitated.
Then—
"Focus on the work," he said.
And walked away.
Dev stood there for a moment.
Watching him go.
The same words.
The same tone.
The same distance.
He looked down at the papers in his hands.
Then back at the corridor.
"This is how it should be," he repeated quietly to himself.
But it didn't feel right.
Not even a little.
Across the hall, Kabir was already back to coordinating, giving instructions, solving problems.
No hesitation.
No visible conflict.
But inside—
the dilemma hadn't gone anywhere.
If anything, it had become sharper.
Because working beside Dev had reminded him of something he couldn't ignore anymore—
Distance didn't remove what he felt.
It only made it harder to breathe around it.
And yet—
getting closer wasn't an option either.
Not without risking something he wasn't willing to risk.
Not Dev.
Never Dev.
By the end of the day, the workshop continued successfully.
Everything worked.
Everything moved forward.
Everything stayed in place.
Except—
whatever existed between them.