Jealousy Doesn't Count
Rafi saw the StamfordSpills post while standing in the lift at Bayview Residences.
It was an unremarkable moment–fifteen seconds of fluorescent light, the soft vibration of a moving box, the sleepy silence of a Monday morning. He had just left Block Cobalt with his backpack slung over one shoulder, his umbrella handle familiar against his palm. He’d told himself he would stop checking the rumor page. He’d told himself the best way to starve a story was to stop feeding it.
Then his phone buzzed.
Mika: Rafi. StamfordSpills posted Bayview.
Under that, the notification he hadn’t wanted:
StamfordSpills: New post.
He clicked without thinking.
The image loaded slowly–grainy, taken through glass, angled like someone had been hiding behind a curtain. Mika, framed by the Bayview common kitchen window, phone lifted. Rafi leaning into frame, shoulders square, face calm. It looked like a domestic snapshot, the kind that might have belonged to a private album.
The caption was blunt.
bro they’re at BAYVIEW now??? fast fast 😭
The comments were already multiplying.
power couple fr
Chloe must be screaming
wait is this real or PR stunt
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
The lift doors opened.
He stepped into the lobby like nothing had happened.
His body could do that. It had learned to keep expression separate from impact.
But his chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t quite anger.
It was the sensation of being touched without permission.
Not physically.
Narratively.
He walked out of Bayview and into the sticky, wet-tinged air. Clouds hung low in the sky, thick and bruised at the edges. It wasn’t raining yet, but the weather had that heavy pause that always came before it decided to fall.
Rafi crossed the courtyard and slowed near the covered walkway.
He typed.
I saw. Don’t reply to comments. We keep it boring.
He stared at the words.
Boring was the only weapon that worked against attention.
He added another message.
Are you okay?
His thumb hovered.
He almost deleted it.
He sent it anyway.
Then he put his phone away and kept walking, as if the city didn’t have his face on its tongue.
The thing about rumors was that they didn’t feel like rumor when they reached the people who mattered.
By the time Rafi reached Stamford’s Glass Atrium, the air inside was buzzing with a different kind of energy from Orientation Week.
This was the Internship Fair.
The atrium had been rearranged into neat lanes of booths, each one dressed with corporate banners and branded tote bags. Recruiters in blazers smiled like their job was to make the future look attainable. Students moved through the aisles clutching resumes and desperation, practicing their introduction lines under their breath.
Rafi’s Cyber Defense Society had a small booth too–whiteboard markers, a poster about phishing awareness, a sign-up sheet for next month’s capture-the-flag workshop. It looked humble next to the bank booths and the government-linked agencies with their sleek holographic screens.
Meridian Capital Bank’s SOC team had a booth with a looping demo of dashboards.
SkyLattice Cloud & Networks had a tall banner with a slogan about resilience.
And, tucked slightly to one side, a clean booth with a minimalist logo: NCSB – National Cyber Security Bureau.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
Even seeing the letters made his spine straighten.
NCSB wasn’t just an internship. It was an entry into a kind of career that came with quiet power and strict boundaries. It was the sort of thing donors liked to name-drop at dinners, as if proximity to national security made their money nobler.
He adjusted his shirt, smoothed an invisible crease, and reminded himself to breathe.
His phone buzzed.
Mika: I’m okay. I didn’t reply. Haruka messaged though.
He typed back quickly.
Ignore. After fair, we talk.
He wasn’t sure why he typed we.
The arrangement had always been framed as mutual benefit.
But the more the world pushed, the more he found himself using plural language like it could build a wall.
Rafi moved toward the Cyber Defense Society booth. A junior member waved at him.
“Bro! You’re early.”
Rafi nodded. “We need to set up.”
As he helped tape down cables and align posters, his mind kept circling back to the Bayview photo. To the invasion of it. To the way Mika had been caught in it too.
He looked up at the atrium’s glass ceiling.
The clouds outside pressed low, darkening the light.
Rain later.
Always.
“Rafi!”
He turned.
Dr. Elaine Koh stood at the entrance to the atrium, scanning the booths with the calm gaze of someone assessing assets. She was with a man in a charcoal suit–older, expensive watch, donor energy. Her smile was polite.
Rafi’s stomach tightened.
He wasn’t scheduled to see Dr. Koh today.
He walked over anyway.
“Dr. Koh,” he greeted.
Her gaze held his for a half second too long.
“Rafael,” she said. “This is Mr. Rutherford.”
The Rutherford.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
He bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Rutherford smiled. “You’re the Cyber Defense Society one.”
Rafi nodded. “Yes.”
Dr. Koh’s smile sharpened, as if pleased he was being recognized.
“Internship fair is a good place to be seen,” she said lightly.
Rafi heard the subtext.
Be visible. Be stable. Be convincing.
Mr. Rutherford’s gaze drifted over Rafi–his posture, his expression, the way he stood without fidgeting.
“Busy semester?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Rafi replied.
Mr. Rutherford chuckled. “It’s always busy when you’re doing things right.”
Rafi smiled politely.
Dr. Koh’s gaze flicked past him for a moment.
Then returned.
“How are things?” she asked.
It sounded casual.
It wasn’t.
Rafi held her gaze.
“Fine,” he said.
Dr. Koh’s mouth curved. “Fine.”
Her eyes sharpened slightly, as if she’d tasted the weakness of the word.
“Good,” she said. “We’ll see you at the donor dinner.”
Rafi nodded.
As Dr. Koh and Mr. Rutherford moved on, Rafi exhaled slowly.
He could handle committees.
He could handle donors.
He wasn’t sure he could handle his life becoming content.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Priya.
Priya: I’m coming to the fair. Mika too. Do NOT look like you’re being held hostage. smile 2%.
Rafi stared.
2%.
His mouth twitched despite himself.
He typed back.
Noted.
Then he looked up.
Mika was entering the atrium.
She didn’t walk in like a girl trying to make a scene.
She walked in like a girl trying not to become one.
Her outfit was simple and university-appropriate: a soft cream blouse tucked neatly into dark trousers, a light cardigan draped over her arm because Stamford’s air-conditioning could be as cruel as weather. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, strands loose around her face, making her look both put-together and human.
Priya walked beside her, radiating confidence like it was perfume. Priya wore a blazer over a tee–too warm for Singapore but worn with the stubbornness of someone who liked to look like she belonged in any room.
Mika’s gaze found Rafi.
It softened.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He stepped away from the booth without thinking.
Priya saw him first and lifted her hand.
“There he is,” she announced, loud enough to be heard.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
Rafi ignored Priya’s theatrics and looked at Mika.
“You okay?” he asked.
Mika nodded. “Yes.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to his phone in his hand.
“You saw the post,” she said quietly.
Rafi nodded once.
He didn’t say it made him angry.
He didn’t say it made him want to disappear.
Instead he said, “We keep it boring.”
Mika’s lips curved faintly.
Priya leaned in between them, eyes sharp.
“Boring is good,” Priya said. “Boring is stable. Stable is survival.”
Mika glanced away, discomfort flickering.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Priya,” Mika murmured.
Priya shrugged. “What? It’s true.”
Rafi looked at Mika.
He could see the fatigue behind her composure.
The way she was carrying her parents’ expectations like a weight strapped to her ribs.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t know what to do with not liking it.
“So,” Priya said briskly, clapping her hands once. “Plan. Mika goes to PR booths. Rafi goes to cyber booths. But you do at least one loop together so people see you as a unit.”
Rafi blinked.
Unit.
Mika’s cheeks flushed.
“We don’t have to–” she began.
“We do,” Rafi said, before she could shrink away from it.
Mika’s eyes widened.
Rafi held her gaze.
“It’s… consistent,” he added, voice lower.
Mika swallowed.
She nodded.
Priya’s eyes gleamed, satisfied.
“Okay,” Priya said. “Let’s start with the cute booths. Then the scary booths. And then you two take one photo, not a selfie, something candid.”
Rafi’s jaw tightened. “No photo.”
Priya stared. “You’re already a photo. Don’t be delusional.”
Rafi exhaled slowly.
Mika’s gaze flicked between them.
Rafi softened his tone.
“Not now,” he said. “Later. If needed.”
Priya rolled her eyes. “Fine. Mr. Cyber, control freak.”
Rafi ignored the jab.
He looked at Mika.
“Let’s walk,” he said.
Mika nodded.
Rafi turned and began moving through the atrium, Mika beside him.
They didn’t touch.
Not yet.
But they walked close enough that strangers would assume familiarity.
And that, apparently, was enough to make people look.
The PR and branding booths were on the opposite side of the atrium.
Kintsugi PR Studio’s booth was minimal–white table, black logo, a few printed case studies displayed like art. The recruiters weren’t wearing loud smiles. They looked like people who evaluated narratives for a living.
Mika slowed slightly as they approached.
Rafi noticed.
“This one?” he asked.
Mika nodded, eyes fixed on the logo. “Yes.”
Rafi watched her posture shift.
She straightened.
Her expression became calm, composed.
The Mika that belonged in a pitch room.
Priya nudged her with an elbow. “Go. Do your thing.”
Mika inhaled.
Then she stepped forward.
A recruiter–a woman with sharp eyes and a simple bun–looked up.
“Hi,” the woman greeted. “Interested in strategy or content?”
Mika smiled politely. “Strategy.”
Rafi stood a few steps back, giving her space.
He watched the way she spoke.
Clear.
Controlled.
Not overly eager.
She introduced herself, mentioned her major and minor, talked about SEA-Japan markets with a quiet confidence that made Rafi’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.
Pride, he realized.
He felt proud.
That was ridiculous.
He didn’t own her.
He wasn’t her boyfriend.
He was… borrowed.
The recruiter nodded, asking questions.
Mika answered.
Rafi saw her hands–steady now, not fidgeting.
Then the recruiter’s gaze drifted past Mika.
It landed on Rafi.
The woman’s mouth curved slightly.
“And is that your…” she began.
Mika glanced back.
Her cheeks warmed.
“My boyfriend,” she said.
The words came out smoothly.
Like she had practiced them.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
The recruiter smiled, amused.
“Good,” she said, as if a boyfriend was a sign of stability in more ways than one. “We’re doing portfolio reviews next week. Email me your deck.”
Mika’s eyes widened, relief flashing.
“Thank you,” she said.
The recruiter handed her a card.
Mika accepted it with both hands.
As Mika stepped back toward Rafi, Priya’s eyes widened.
“See?” Priya whispered. “Power of being stable.”
Mika’s smile tightened.
Rafi watched Mika’s fingers curl around the business card like it mattered.
He felt something warm in his chest.
He didn’t like warmth.
It made him careless.
Mika looked up at him.
“I got an email contact,” she said softly.
Rafi nodded. “Good.”
It came out too flat.
Mika’s lips curved faintly anyway.
Rafi tried to correct his face.
2% smile.
He gave her a small nod that might have been encouragement.
Mika’s eyes softened.
Priya, satisfied, clapped her hands once.
“Okay,” Priya announced. “Now Rafi goes to his scary booths. Mika comes along, because couples support each other. That’s the trope.”
Mika blinked. “The trope?”
Priya shrugged. “Fake dating trope. Don’t fight me.”
Rafi exhaled slowly.
He didn’t like the way Priya talked about their arrangement like it was entertainment.
But he also understood that Priya, in her blunt way, was shielding Mika from something worse: the shame of needing protection.
Rafi started walking again.
Mika followed.
Priya trailed behind like a chaperone.
The cyber booths felt colder.
Not physically. Stamford’s air-conditioning was equally cruel everywhere.
But the energy was different.
Students stood straighter. Voices lowered. People tried to look serious.
The NCSB booth sat like a quiet judge.
Rafi’s pulse picked up.
He could feel Mika glance at him.
“You want to go there?” she asked softly.
Rafi nodded.
He took a breath and stepped forward.
A recruiter–a man in a navy blazer with a badge that read Threat Operations–looked up.
Rafi introduced himself.
He kept his voice steady.
He spoke about Cyber Defense Society and incident response drills, about the kind of work that wasn’t glamorous but mattered.
The recruiter nodded, asked him about tools, about mindset.
Rafi answered.
He could do this.
This was clean.
Clear.
A conversation with rules.
Then the recruiter’s gaze flicked to Mika.
“Friend?” the recruiter asked casually.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
Mika opened her mouth.
Rafi spoke first.
“My girlfriend,” he said.
The word landed differently in his mouth than it did in Mika’s.
He felt it.
A small shock.
The recruiter’s brows lifted, then his mouth curved.
“Ah,” he said. “Good. Support system matters. This work is… intense.”
Rafi nodded.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
The recruiter handed Rafi a QR code.
“Apply through the portal,” he said. “And if you make it to screening, be ready for background questions.”
Background questions.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
Perception.
Stability.
The recruiter’s eyes held his a fraction longer.
“You’re involved with SADRO?” he asked, as if confirming.
Rafi nodded. “Leadership Scholars Council.”
The recruiter nodded, satisfied.
“Good,” he said. “You understand discretion.”
Rafi swallowed.
He stepped back with Mika.
Priya exhaled loudly behind them.
“Okay, wow,” Priya muttered. “That booth makes me want to pay taxes properly.”
Mika let out a small laugh.
Rafi tried not to.
As they moved away, Rafi’s phone buzzed.
A message.
Chloe: So it’s true. You replaced me with a Japanese girl. Cute.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t reply.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Mika’s gaze flicked to his hand.
“Is it her?” Mika asked quietly.
Rafi didn’t like the way Mika’s voice softened, cautious, as if she didn’t want to step into a minefield.
He nodded once.
Mika looked away.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He didn’t want Mika to feel like a placeholder.
He didn’t want her to feel like a tool in his war with perception.
But that was the nature of what they were doing.
Tools.
Screenshots.
Proof.
Priya’s phone buzzed.
Priya glanced at it, then made a face.
“Oh,” Priya said. “StamfordSpills is live-posting the fair. They’re watching which booths people go to.”
Rafi’s stomach dropped.
Mika’s cheeks went pale.
Priya scrolled, then held up her phone.
There was a story.
A shaky video of the fair.
And there, in the corner, Rafi’s shoulder and Mika’s ponytail.
The caption:
they’re together AGAIN. bro this is real.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Mika’s fingers tightened around her tote strap.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Mika glanced at him.
Rafi’s voice stayed calm, but there was steel under it.
“We do one loop,” he said. “Together. Clean. Then you go back to your booths. I go back to mine.”
Mika nodded.
Priya’s eyes widened. “Wow, he’s taking charge. Okay boyfriend.”
Rafi ignored her.
He turned toward the next aisle.
“Walk,” he said.
Mika stepped closer.
This time, she didn’t keep the careful gap.
She walked near enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
Rafi’s body registered the warmth.
He forced his mind to focus on the environment.
Booths.
People.
Angles.
He needed to look stable.
He needed to make Mika look stable.
He needed–
A voice cut through.
“Mika?”
Mika stiffened.
Rafi’s gaze lifted.
A man stood near the Media Lab booth–a tall senior with an easy smile and a lanyard full of badges. He wore a blazer casually, like it wasn’t a costume. His hair was styled without looking like effort.
He looked at Mika with familiarity.
“You’re Mika Nakamura, right?” he asked.
Mika blinked, startled, then nodded.
“Yes,” she said.
The man’s smile widened.
“I’m Adrian,” he said. “I saw your Media Lab reel last month. The one about cultural micro-moments in Singapore? It was really good.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“Thank you,” she said, polite.
Rafi stood beside her.
Adrian’s gaze flicked to Rafi.
Then back to Mika.
He didn’t acknowledge Rafi immediately.
That, for some reason, irritated Rafi more than it should have.
Adrian leaned slightly closer to Mika, voice lowering like they were sharing a secret.
“Are you looking for internships?” he asked.
Mika nodded. “Yes.”
Adrian smiled. “I’m interning at a boutique agency right now. They love people who can bridge cultures. You’re Japanese, right? SEA-Japan strategy is hot. I can intro you.”
Mika’s eyes widened.
“That would be…” she began.
Rafi felt something tighten in his chest.
Not logic.
Not threat.
Something primitive.
Mika’s gaze flicked briefly to Rafi, as if checking his expression.
Rafi kept his face neutral.
Adrian’s smile remained easy.
He finally turned his attention to Rafi, a fraction.
“And you are…?” Adrian asked, polite, like an afterthought.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
Before he could answer, Mika spoke.
“My boyfriend,” she said.
Adrian blinked.
Then he smiled, as if amused rather than deterred.
“Ah,” he said. “Nice. Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t actually look sorry.
He turned back to Mika.
“So, Mika,” he continued, warm and confident, “if you’re free this week, I can show you my agency’s portfolio. Coffee? I can help you refine your deck.”
Priya made a small choking sound behind them, like she was trying not to laugh.
Mika froze.
Rafi felt the air shift.
This was not a recruiter.
This was a man using opportunity as a way to get closer.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She glanced at Rafi again–subtle, quick.
And in that glance, Rafi saw something he didn’t want to admit.
Mika was unsure.
Not because she wanted Adrian.
Because she didn’t know how to refuse without looking rude.
Because she had been trained to be pleasant.
Because she was still trying to survive perception.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He stepped forward half a step.
Not aggressive.
Just present.
“Thanks,” Rafi said, voice calm. “But she already has a contact for Kintsugi. She’ll follow up there.”
Adrian’s smile faltered slightly.
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s words had done two things at once:
They had protected her.
And they had claimed her choices.
Mika’s cheeks warmed further.
Adrian recovered quickly.
“Kintsugi?” he said, eyebrows lifting. “Nice. Okay, you’re sorted.”
He looked at Mika with a grin.
“Still,” he added, “if you want a second opinion, my offer stands. No pressure.”
No pressure.
The most pressuring phrase in the world.
Mika forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Adrian lingered a second longer.
Then he lifted his hand in a casual wave and walked away.
Priya leaned in immediately.
“Oh my god,” Priya whispered, eyes wide. “He was flirting. 100% flirting.”
Mika’s cheeks flushed.
“He wasn’t,” she murmured automatically.
Priya gave her a look. “Girl. He was offering ‘coffee’ like it’s a scholarship.”
Mika looked down, embarrassed.
Rafi kept his face neutral.
But his chest felt tight.
Jealousy.
The word was ugly.
It belonged to people who were insecure.
Rafi didn’t do insecure.
He did control.
He did boundaries.
Yet the sight of Adrian leaning in, the confidence in his smile, the way he had addressed Rafi like an obstacle rather than a person–something in Rafi’s body had reacted.
It made his fingers curl.
It made him want to step closer.
It made him want to say things that were not part of the plan.
Mika glanced at him.
Her eyes were careful.
“Rafi,” she asked softly, “was that okay?”
The question was not about Adrian.
It was about Rafi’s intervention.
About control.
About the way he had spoken for her.
Rafi swallowed.
“I didn’t want him to waste your time,” he said.
Mika’s gaze held his.
“And if I wanted to talk to him?” she asked, carefully.
Rafi went still.
His chest tightened.
He forced his voice calm.
“Then you can,” he said.
Mika watched him.
She didn’t look convinced.
Priya, sensing tension, cleared her throat loudly.
“Okay!” Priya said, clapping once. “We got what we needed. Mika got contacts, Rafi got QR codes, and StamfordSpills got their content. Time to go before you two accidentally start a war.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They left the atrium as clouds finally broke.
The rain came down in hard sheets, transforming the campus into a blur. Students screamed and laughed as they ran for shelter, resumes pressed to their chests like fragile promises.
Rafi opened his umbrella with a practiced flick.
Mika stepped under.
This time, she didn’t pretend to search for her own.
She simply moved closer.
Under the canopy, their shoulders pressed lightly.
Rafi felt the warmth.
He also felt the tension.
They walked toward the Skybridge Walkway in silence.
Priya had already peeled away toward MBW, muttering about finance booths and “people who think Excel is sexy.”
Now it was just Rafi and Mika.
The rain made the world smaller.
It made voices quieter.
It made the space between them feel more intimate than it had any right to.
Mika’s hands were tucked into her cardigan sleeves.
Her face was calm, but her eyes kept flicking toward him.
Rafi stared forward.
He told himself to focus on logistics.
They needed to decide how to handle Haruka.
They needed to decide how to contain StamfordSpills.
They needed to decide–
“Rafi,” Mika said.
He looked at her.
Her voice was soft. “Are you… upset?”
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“No,” he said.
Mika’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“That’s your default,” she said.
Rafi blinked.
He didn’t like that she was learning him.
He also didn’t dislike it as much as he should have.
“I’m not upset,” he said again.
Mika’s gaze held his.
“About Adrian,” she added, clarifying gently.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He could have lied.
He could have said, It doesn’t matter. It’s pretend.
But the rain was loud, and the umbrella created a small bubble of privacy that made lies harder.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“I don’t like how he talked to you,” he said.
Mika blinked.
Rafi continued, voice lower.
“He was…” he searched for the right word. “Assuming.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“He was being nice,” she murmured, reflexively defending the world.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
“He was being strategic,” Rafi corrected.
Mika stared at him.
The rain hammered the umbrella.
They reached the Skybridge.
Glass walls around them, rain streaking down like a thousand lines of code.
Mika slowed.
Rafi slowed too.
Mika looked at him.
“You stepped in,” she said quietly. “You spoke for me.”
Rafi’s chest tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the apology surprising him.
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s jaw flexed.
“I didn’t mean to control you,” he added. “I just…”
He stopped.
He didn’t want to say the next part.
He didn’t want to admit that he had felt something sharp and possessive.
Mika’s gaze softened.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Rafi’s stomach twisted.
He didn’t trust her okay.
Mika’s voice lowered.
“But you sounded like you meant it,” she said.
Rafi blinked.
“What?”
Mika looked away briefly, then back.
“When you said I already had a contact,” she clarified. “When you… decided for me.”
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t know how to explain the heat in his chest.
He didn’t know how to explain jealousy without making himself sound pathetic.
So he did what he always did.
He reframed it into logic.
“You do deserve better than him,” he said.
The words slipped out too blunt.
Mika froze.
Rafi regretted it immediately.
Deserve.
Better.
It sounded like judgment.
Mika’s eyes widened slightly.
“Better?” she repeated.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He forced his voice calm.
“He offered ‘coffee’ like it was mentorship,” he said. “That’s not… clean.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She stared at him.
Then, quietly, she asked, “Do you always notice that?”
Rafi swallowed.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Mika’s gaze held his.
“And you don’t like it,” she said.
Rafi didn’t answer.
The rain filled the space.
Mika stepped closer by half a step.
Not touching.
But close enough that her breath felt warmer.
“This was supposed to be pretend,” Mika said softly.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” he replied.
Mika’s eyes searched his face.
“But you looked…” she hesitated, cheeks flushing. “You looked like you didn’t want anyone else near me.”
Rafi’s pulse jumped.
He stared at her.
The truth sat in his throat like something dangerous.
He could deny.
He could laugh.
He could say, It’s for the story.
But Mika’s eyes were too careful.
Too honest.
And the umbrella held them in a space where avoidance felt like cowardice.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“It doesn’t count,” he said.
Mika blinked. “What?”
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Jealousy,” he said, voice low. “It doesn’t count. Because it’s pretend.”
The words were ridiculous.
He knew it.
Mika knew it too.
Her lips parted.
Then she let out a quiet laugh–not mocking, but surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to admit anything at all.
“Jealousy doesn’t count,” she repeated softly.
Rafi’s cheeks warmed.
He hated that.
He hated that his body was betraying him.
Mika’s laughter faded.
She looked at him, serious now.
“Then what counts?” she asked.
Rafi went still.
What counts.
He didn’t have an answer.
Not one that wouldn’t change everything.
His phone buzzed.
A vibration that felt like the world reminding him it was always watching.
He glanced.
A notification.
Dr. Koh: SADRO meeting moved earlier. 6:30 PM today. Confirm attendance.
Rafi’s stomach tightened.
Mika saw his expression shift.
“What is it?” she asked.
Rafi swallowed.
“Meeting,” he said. “Grant related.”
Mika’s brows knit.
“Because of the posts?” she asked, voice small.
Rafi didn’t answer.
He didn’t know.
But the timing felt cruel.
Rain hammered the umbrella.
Rafi looked at Mika.
Her eyes were tired.
And beneath the tiredness was something else.
Fear.
Not of rain.
Of consequences.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He shifted the umbrella slightly, angling it to cover her more.
Mika watched the movement.
Her throat bobbed.
“Rafi,” she said softly.
He looked at her.
Mika’s fingers hovered near the umbrella handle.
This time, she didn’t touch it.
She touched his sleeve.
Lightly.
A small anchoring gesture.
Rafi froze.
Heat spread under his skin.
Mika’s voice was quiet.
“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she whispered.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Stop,” he said, not harsh.
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s voice softened, reluctant.
“You’re not ruining anything,” he said.
He didn’t know if it was true.
But he knew saying the opposite would break something in her that had already been stretched thin.
Mika stared at him.
Her fingers remained on his sleeve.
Then she withdrew them slowly, as if afraid of what touch could imply.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
They resumed walking.
Rain followed.
At the end of the Skybridge, they paused under the shelter.
Mika looked at him.
“About Adrian,” she said, voice careful. “I wasn’t… interested. I just didn’t know how to refuse politely.”
Rafi’s chest loosened slightly.
He hated that it loosened.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said.
Mika’s lips curved faintly.
“You sound relieved,” she murmured.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not,” he lied.
Mika didn’t push.
But her eyes softened.
The rain eased slightly, shifting into a lighter drizzle.
Rafi glanced toward the campus exit.
“You going to Media Lab?” he asked.
Mika nodded. “Yes.”
Rafi nodded.
“Text me if Haruka messages again,” he said.
Mika blinked.
The offer landed like a quiet promise.
“Okay,” she replied.
Rafi turned to leave.
Mika’s voice stopped him.
“Rafi.”
He looked back.
Mika’s cheeks were faintly pink.
“Thank you,” she said.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He still didn’t like gratitude.
But he didn’t deflect.
He nodded once.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Then he walked away, umbrella still open above him even as rain thinned.
Because routine mattered.
Because protection was habit.
Because if he closed it too early, it would feel like ending the moment.
And Rafi wasn’t ready to admit he cared about moments.
That night, StamfordSpills posted again.
This time it wasn’t a blurry photo.
It was a short video from the internship fair.
Rafi and Mika walking side by side, Mika laughing softly at something he’d said, Rafi’s expression calm but his body angled subtly toward her as if shielding her from the crowd.
The caption:
he looks like he’d fight ppl for her lmao
Rafi stared at the screen in his room, the glow lighting the ceiling like stormlight.
He should have felt annoyed.
He should have felt angry.
Instead, the video made his chest tighten in a way that was worse.
Because for one second–one small, stolen second–it had captured something true.
Not love.
Not yet.
But instinct.
Presence.
The quiet kind of choosing that happened before you realized you were doing it.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Mika.
Mika: Kintsugi replied. They want a portfolio review next week.
Rafi’s chest loosened.
Good.
He typed back.
Congrats. You’ll do well.
He stared at the words.
Then added, before he could stop himself:
If you need practice for questions, tell me.
He hit send.
A minute later, Mika replied.
Mika: Okay.
Then, after a pause:
Mika: Thank you for today. And… you don’t have to pretend jealousy doesn’t count.
Rafi stared.
His throat went dry.
He read it twice.
Three times.
He didn’t know how to reply.
He didn’t know how to admit that jealousy–real or pretend–was a crack in his control.
He didn’t know how to admit that Mika was becoming something more than a story.
So he did what he always did when emotions threatened to spill.
He kept it simple.
Goodnight, Mika.
He sent it.
He stared at the ceiling.
Outside, rain began again, tapping against the window with the patience of something that knew it would always return.
And in the dark, Rafi realized he had broken one of his own rules without even noticing.
He had started wanting.
Not stability.
Not optics.
Not proof.
Her.