Chapter 3 - Crash
Chapter 3: Crash
He found out through a story.
Not hers — someone else’s. A tagged post, barely three seconds long. A flash of fingers interlaced, her laugh in the background, and a caption that made his stomach drop:
“Double dates soon 🥰”
Aleem froze. He tapped the screen again. Rewatched it. Once. Twice. Thrice.
She never mentioned anyone. Not once in their long walks, their coffee runs, their movie night talks. She never hinted. Never said she was seeing someone. Never even paused to ask what they were.
And yet, there it was — proof.
She was someone else’s.
And he… he was just the guy who’d always been around.
The Universal Studios tickets were already booked. His plan was simple: confession by the fairy lights near the Hollywood zone, a quiet “I like you” over churros. A maybe. A chance.
Now? It was pointless.
And yet, he still went.
Not because he believed it would change anything, but because he needed to finish the story he started.
She greeted him like nothing was different. Bright smile. Ponytail bouncing. “Thanks for the invite! I’ve always wanted to come.”
He forced a smile. “Yeah. Thought it’d be fun.”
The whole day was a blur. He couldn’t remember which rides they went on. Just how often she checked her phone. The way she replied to messages with a soft grin. The moments her eyes lit up — not at him, but at whatever name was behind the screen.
He didn’t bring it up.
Not until they were sitting at the waterfront near closing. The fairy lights glowed like dying stars above them.
She sipped from a paper cup, kicking her feet slightly. “This was nice. We should do this more often.”
Aleem’s heart twisted. He looked at her, really looked — at the face he thought he knew, the voice he clung to in every late-night daydream — and finally said the words he had rehearsed a hundred times.
“I like you.”
She blinked. Stopped moving.
“Oh.”
“I was going to tell you earlier,” he added quickly. “This wasn’t random. I planned today… to confess.”
There was silence. Long, stretching, painful.
Then:
“I’m… I’m really sorry, Aleem. I didn’t know.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I just… I didn’t see it that way.”
He didn’t say anything. Just looked out at the water, at the reflections that danced and broke with every ripple. His hands were cold.
Then came the words that would haunt him long after.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
He wanted to scream.
Why didn’t you see it?
Why didn’t you notice when I always showed up? When I listened even when you didn’t ask? When I gave and gave and gave until I didn’t know where I ended and you began?
But all he said was, “It’s fine.”
She reached out to touch his arm. A gesture of comfort.
He gently pulled away.
He didn’t cry on the way home.
He didn’t throw the tickets.
He didn’t delete the chat history.
He just sat on his bed that night — eyes blank, body still — and let the quiet take him.
The silence was louder than rejection.
It wasn’t heartbreak.
It was emotional collapse.
For the next few weeks, Aleem moved like a ghost. He went to class. He showed up for meetings. But the spark was gone.
He stopped checking her stories.
Stopped replying to friends unless absolutely necessary.
Stopped trying.
When he finally messaged Crystal, it was nearly 2 AM.
Still up?
She replied almost instantly.
Yeah. You okay?
He stared at the blinking cursor. Then typed.
No. But I think I’m done. With everything.
They met a few days later. No fanfare. Just two friends sitting on a bench at the Yunnan Garden steps, beneath the low hum of campus lights.
“I feel stupid,” Aleem murmured. “For hoping. For waiting.”
Crystal didn’t interrupt.
“I thought if I just held on long enough, did enough… I’d win.”
“That’s not love,” Crystal said quietly. “That’s survival.”
He looked at her, tired. “I don’t want to try anymore.”
“I know.”
“It’s too much. I’m drained. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not trying to prove I’m worth someone’s time.”
Crystal placed a hand on his arm, firm. “Then rest. Stop chasing people who make you beg for crumbs. Let the silence be yours for once.”
And so he did.
For the rest of Year 3 and into Year 4, Aleem focused on himself. No more romantic daydreams. No more hidden intentions. He smiled when necessary. Laughed when expected. But the walls were up now — tall, fortified.
Love was a door he no longer knocked on.
Until one random morning, during add-drop week of Year 4 Semester 2, Aleem walked into a badminton class at the Sports Hall. He didn’t expect anything.
Not joy. Not change. Not connection.
But that was the thing about echoes.
They always come back when the world is quiet enough to hear them.