The courtyard buzzed like it always did after morning lectures — sunlight bouncing off windows, iced coffees sweating on stone ledges, voices layered over the sound of sneaker soles and half-argued deadlines. Students moved fast, earbuds in, group chats exploding in their palms. Chaos, but the kind that made sense.

  Hamari sat at the edge of the garden wall, hoodie wrapped tight over his shoulder brace. He wore it like a second skin now — always on, always hidden.

  A flyer for an upcoming student council forum sat half-folded in his lap. Another one poked out of his hoodie pocket — something about a sustainability debate. He hadn’t read either.

  He still went to class. Still showed up to council. Still answered messages — mostly.But the rhythm was different. Slower.Off-beat.

  Basketball had filled every crack in his schedule. Early morning drills, late-night weight rooms, skipping parties for solo workouts, film review, protein bars at 2 a.m.Now, the cracks were empty. And they echoed.

  He wasn’t out of the world. He was just… behind it. Watching it move while he stayed still.

  A shadow fell across his lap.

  “Look who finally escaped the cave.”

  Hamari didn’t need to look to recognize the voice.Oliver dropped down next to him, smoothie in one hand, sunglasses he didn’t need on his forehead.

  “I wasn’t hiding,” Hamari said without looking up.

  “You skipped three parties. The group chat had theories.”Oliver offered the smoothie. “Passionfruit. For your healing journey.”

  “I’m good.”

  Before Oliver could argue, Leonardo arrived — hood half on, ID lanyard caught on his sleeve, chewing a lollipop like it was his job.

  “Tell me why Eva said you’re on some inner growth arc?” Leo said dramatically. “Like injury = rebirth? Bro’s journaling and listening to lo-fi heartbreak beats.”

  “Do you own a candle now?” Oliver asked, dead serious.

  Hamari rolled his eyes. “No.”

  Leonardo leaned in. “Say that again. Say it like you mean it.”

  A beat passed. Hamari didn’t.

  Then Elijah appeared — calm as always, balancing two notebooks and a protein bar. He tossed one toward Hamari, who caught it with his good hand.

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  “Still got it,” Elijah said.

  “Barely,” Hamari muttered.

  They all dropped into the bench like puzzle pieces falling back into place.And for a second, it felt like the noise matched the silence he’d been carrying.

  “You know,” Oliver started, “since you're not tied to the court anymore, you could actually come to the party this Friday.”

  “Rooftop one,” Leo added. “Vibes only. Less sweat, more flirting. You’re overdue.”

  Hamari smirked, just slightly. “I’m good.”

  Leonardo narrowed his eyes. “Good good or there’s-someone-I’m-not-telling-y’all-about good?”

  Hamari shrugged, didn’t answer.Which, of course, only made it worse.

  “Hold on,” Oliver said. “You’re holding back.”

  Right then, like it was planned by the universe itself, Eva walked by with her headphones around her neck and said offhandedly, “Didn’t he get carried off the court by that Lina girl?”

  The silence that followed was sharp.

  Leonardo dropped his lollipop. “Lina? As in don't-make-eye-contact-or-you’ll-blush Lina?”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “You’ve been quiet about that.”

  Elijah just stared at him. “Seriously?”

  Hamari’s thumb slid under the edge of his brace, adjusting it lightly. He kept his voice low. “She was there before anyone else.”

  No one spoke for a beat.

  Then Leo whistled. “So that wasn’t just pain-induced hallucination. That was real.”

  Oliver leaned forward. “Did she talk to you? Like, after?”

  Elijah caught the shift in Hamari’s shoulders. “She did, didn’t she.”

  Hamari exhaled slowly. “We talked.”

  Another pause. This time, no teasing.

  He looked up, eyes clearer than they’d been in days.“She’s twenty-three.”

  Oliver blinked. “She’s older?”

  “Two years,” Hamari said. “But she still said yes.”

  Leo made a soft exploding sound with his mouth. “Bro’s in.”

  Elijah smiled — small, steady. The kind of smile that knew this mattered. “So when?”

  “Sunday.”

  Oliver fist-bumped the air. “Now that’s recovery.”

  Hamari’s dorm room — low light, quiet

  The city buzzed outside his window.Voices, a party across campus, a motorbike tearing through the street like it had something to prove. But Hamari’s room stayed still.

  The desk was cluttered — notes from his macroeconomics class, council meeting printouts, protein wrappers, a water bottle on its side.His brace sat on the chair nearby, off for the first time in hours. His shoulder throbbed — not sharp, just a dull, constant whisper.

  On the bed, his phone lit up.

  LinaStill good for Sunday?

  He stared at it for a second. Not overthinking. Just feeling it.

  They’d talked — for real.She didn’t treat him like a boy or a project. Just a person.Even when he told her about the injury.Even when he asked her age.Even when he braced himself for that slight hesitation.

  But she didn’t hesitate.She smiled.

  And now, here they were.

  He typed back:

  Yeah. Sunday.Can’t lie—been thinking about it.

  The reply came almost instantly.

  Me too.

  He put the phone down, let his head fall back against the wall.

  Everything was still.But for the first time in weeks —it didn’t feel empty.