Unbecoming
The room smelled of stale air and lavender oil. Dhriti had brought the diffuser three days ago, insisting the scent would "realign" Myra's nervous system. Now it just made everything smell like trying too hard.
Myra sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at a half-finished assignment on her laptop until the pixels blurred into grey static. The cursor blinked. She didn't.
The door opened without knocking. It never did anymore.
Dhriti stepped in carrying two cups of tea, the steam curling up between them. She smelled like outside. Dust and something citrusy, proof she'd been somewhere that wasn't this room.
"You ate?" Dhriti asked, hovering near the desk.
Myra nodded without looking up.
"Good. That's good." Dhriti set one cup on the nightstand, then adjusted the curtains with her free hand, letting in a slice of late afternoon light that made Myra squint. "You've been in here all day, Myra. The sun actually came out for once. You missed it."
"I was working," Myra lied, her voice raspy from disuse.
Dhriti sat at the edge of the bed, close enough that the mattress dipped under her weight. She sipped her tea slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Like she belonged here.
"It's nice to see the campus finding its rhythm again," she said, tone carefully light. "Even the library was packed today. Midterms energy, I guess."
Myra's fingers stilled on the keyboard. Something in Dhriti's voice had shifted too, like she was trying to sound offhand.
"So?" Myra said flatly.
Dhriti glanced at her, then away, like she'd just remembered something. "Oh. I ran into Kunal there."
The name hit like cold water.
Myra's throat tightened, but she kept her face neutral. "Okay."
"He looked better than last week," Dhriti continued, swirling her tea. "More... focused, I guess. He was with that girl from the tech committee, Preeti? They had this whole setup going, laptops and books everywhere." She laughed softly. "They were having fun. It was nice to see, honestly. Someone actually functioning."
Myra's hands curled into fists against her thighs. "They're classmates."
"I know," Dhriti said quickly, raising one hand in a placating gesture. "I'm not saying anything. Just noticed, that's all."
She leaned back on her palms, gaze drifting around the room. Over the scattered notes Myra hadn't touched in days. Over the hoodie folded carefully at the foot of the bed, the one she hadn't washed because it still smelled like him.
Dhriti's eyes lingered there for a second too long.
"I just mean," she said slowly, like she was thinking out loud, "maybe it helps to stay busy. To keep moving forward instead of..." She gestured vaguely at the room. At Myra. "You know."
Myra's jaw clenched. Her mind was already racing, already building the image: Kunal leaning over a laptop, smiling at something Preeti said. Kunal laughing. When was the last time she'd heard him laugh?
She wanted to ask what they were working on. Wanted to know if he looked happy. Wanted to demand details.
She swallowed it all down.
"Drop it," she said, voice tight.
Dhriti nodded immediately, standing up. "Okay. Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"It's fine."
"I'll let you work." Dhriti moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "Just... don't isolate yourself too much, okay? It's not healthy."
The lavender scent intensified as she opened the door, like the diffuser was mocking her.
After she left, the room felt different. Heavier. The cursor still blinked on the screen. Myra stared at it.
Kunal and Preeti. Working together. Moving on.
She told herself it didn't matter.
The lie sat bitter on her tongue, familiar in the worst way. The same lie she'd been telling herself every morning when she woke up and remembered Shri, Advik, Ved weren't coming back, That she was fine. That she could handle this.
Her phone sat face-down on the bed. She picked it up, opened Instagram, scrolled to Kunal's profile. His last post was from two weeks ago. Nothing new.
She closed the app. Opened it again. Checked Preeti's profile this time.
A recent story: a photo of coffee cups and open notebooks. No faces visible, but Myra recognized the library tables.
Posted four hours ago.
Her chest constricted.
She locked her phone and threw it onto the pillow.
It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.
But her mind kept circling back, building the scene Dhriti had planted: Kunal, functioning. Kunal, moving on. Kunal, with someone else.
While she was here, falling apart in a room that smelled like fake lavender and failure.
She told herself she was just passing through.
That she needed a book for class, even though classes had moved online. That the library had better wifi. That it was coincidence she was walking across campus the next morning, feet carrying her toward the reference section, heart beating too fast for someone who was "just passing through."
The library doors were heavy, the kind that closed slowly behind you with a pneumatic hiss. Inside, the air was different. Both cooler and dryer, smelling of old paper and wood polish and the faint electric heat of too many laptop chargers.
Myra walked slowly between the stacks, fingers trailing along spines she didn't read. Her bag hung heavy on one shoulder. She hadn't brought any books to return. Hadn't brought anything except the lie she was telling herself.
She turned down the aisle toward the study carrels near the back.
And stopped.
Two rows over, through the gap in the shelves.
Kunal sat hunched over a laptop, his usual focused intensity radiating off him like heat. Papers spread across the table in organized chaos: printouts, handwritten notes, highlighted articles. His pen moved in quick, precise strokes across a notebook.
Preeti sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. She was pointing at something on the screen, explaining. Her lips moved but Myra couldn't hear the words from here.
Kunal looked up at her. Said something back.
Preeti laughed, a small sound, but genuine.
And then Kunal smiled.
Not the tight, controlled expression he'd been wearing for days. Not the numb mask he showed everyone else.
An actual smile. Small, brief, but real.
Myra's breath caught.
She watched Preeti lean in closer, tapping the keyboard. Watched Kunal nod, already absorbed again, but with an ease she hadn't seen since before. His shoulders weren't as tense. His jaw wasn't locked.
He looked... okay.
Better than okay.
He looked like someone who was healing.
While she was drowning.
The thought struck hard: He's moving on.
Preeti said something else. Kunal's lips quirked again. Not quite a smile this time, but close.
And Myra felt it then. Sharp and sudden and completely unfair.
Anger.
Not at Kunal. Not exactly. But at Preeti for being there. For being helpful and smart and present in ways Myra couldn't manage. For making him smile when Myra couldn't even look at her own reflection without falling apart.
It was irrational. Myra knew it was irrational.
Preeti hadn't done anything wrong. She was just... existing. Working. Helping a friend.
But rationality didn't stop the hot spike of resentment that curled in Myra's chest.
She gets to be normal with him. Gets to sit there and just... exist, Would Advik had hated her too?
The thought made her snap out of her spiralling
She took a step back.
Her shoulder hit the shelf behind her. A book shifted, the sound too loud in the quiet library.
Kunal's head started to turn.
Myra bolted.
Outside, the air hit her like a slap. Warmer than the library, humid, oppressive.
She made it three steps before her legs gave out.
Leaned against the stone wall, palms flat against cold surface, breathing hard. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Kunal is fine. He's completely fine.
The thought looped, vicious.
And you're not.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to go back in there and demand answers. If his research mattered more than Advik, if he'd just decided to stop caring because it was easier than breaking.
But she couldn't move.
Students walked past without looking at her.
The anger at Preeti flickered and died, replaced by something worse.
Shame.
Because Preeti hadn't done anything except be functional. Be helpful. Be there.
All the things Myra couldn't manage.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't check it.
She pushed off the wall and started walking. Not back to her room, not to class, just away.
The corridor stretched ahead, empty and echoing.
She walked until her hands stopped shaking.
It took a long time.
Three buildings away, still at the library Kunal was submerged in a different kind of chaos. scouring through reddit threads and social media stories for an new clue.
"Look at the stitching," Preeti said, leaning closer to the screen. Her finger traced the edge of a tactical vest in a grainy phone video someone had uploaded before it got taken down. "This isn't standard police issue. The reinforcement pattern, see how it's double-layered here? That's custom work. Expensive."
Kunal sketched the pattern in his notebook, each line precise. "Military contractor?"
"Maybe. Or private security." She zoomed in further, pixelation bloating the image. "The buckle" she paused, "someone filed down the logo, but you can still see the outline. If we find the manufacturer..."
"We find the client list," Kunal finished.
They'd been at this for hours. The table between them had become an archaeological dig. Layers of printouts, highlighted articles, screenshots arranged in careful columns. Preeti had organized them by category: uniform details, source, timeline inconsistencies.
She sat back, rubbing her temples. "This feels insane. We're investigating literal terrorists with Google Images and a campus library subscription."
"They're not terrorists," Kunal said flatly, not looking up.
Preeti blinked. "They attacked a school. Kidnapped students. That's—"
"Terrorism is designed to create fear for political goals. This was targeted extraction. Specific people, specific purpose." His pen kept moving. "Terrorists want everyone to know. These people wanted to disappear."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Didn't say it did."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the rustle of paper.
Preeti stared at her laptop screen, then at the notes spread across the table. "This is wrong," she said quietly. "What happened. Keeping them wherever they are. It's wrong."
Kunal glanced at her.
"I mean, obviously it's wrong," she continued, words coming faster now, like she'd been holding them in. "They're students. Our age. They were taking an exam and now they're just... gone. And the college is calling it an incident and telling us to go to counseling like that fixes anything." Her hands twisted together. "Someone should be looking for them. Actually looking. The police, the government, someone with authority—"
"They won't."
"They should."
"But they won't." Kunal's voice was flat, factual. "So either we do it, or no one does."
Preeti looked down at her hands. "My parents would kill me if they knew I was doing this. They kept me home for three days after the attack. My mom wanted me to transfer." She laughed, but it sounded strained. "I had to convince her Meridian was safe. That the administration had it under control."
"Do you believe that?"
She didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was smaller. "I want to."
Kunal watched her. Saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept reorganizing the papers even though they were already organized.
"You can stop," he said. "This isn't your fight."
Preeti's hands stilled. She looked at him, something hardening in her expression. "They took your friends. They could've taken anyone. Next time it could be me, or my roommate, or—" She stopped. "It is my fight. It's everyone's fight. We just don't all know it yet."
The words hung between them.
"Besides," she added, trying for lightness, "someone has to make sure you don't get expelled before you actually find anything useful."
Kunal almost smiled. Almost.
"We need the CCTV footage," he said. "The real footage. Not whatever edited version they showed the police."
Preeti's expression shifted. "Kunal—"
"North Gate cameras. The night it happened. Twenty minutes before the attack to twenty minutes after."
"That's—" She lowered her voice. "That's not just breaking a rule. That's accessing restricted security systems. That's the kind of thing that gets you expelled. Or arrested."
"I know."
"Do you?" She leaned forward, urgent now. "Because I don't think you do. This isn't like sneaking into the exam hall early or hacking the mess menu. This is federal-level stuff if they decide to press charges."
"I know what it is."
Preeti sat back, arms crossed. Her jaw worked like she was chewing on words she didn't want to say.
"I hate this," she said finally. "I hate that we have to break the law to do the right thing. That's not how it's supposed to work."
"But it's how it does work."
"I know." She closed her laptop, the snap echoing in the quiet library. "I know that. I just—" She exhaled sharply. "I wish it didn't."
Kunal waited.
"You have a plan?" she asked.
"Working on it. Need to map security schedules first. Guard rotations. When the camera feeds get backed up to the server."
"That's going to take time."
"I have time."
Preeti studied him. Really looked at him, like she was trying to see past the focus, the clinical precision, to whatever was driving him underneath.
"What do you need from me?" she asked quietly.
Kunal met her eyes. "Your student ID gets access to the engineering server room. Mine doesn't."
She flinched. "Kunal—"
"I'm not asking you to do it. Just to get me in. After that, it's on me."
"That's not how it works and you know it. If you get caught, they'll check the access logs. They'll know I let you in." Her voice rose slightly. "I could lose my scholarship. My parents—"
"Then don't do it."
The words landed blunt and final.
Preeti's hands curled into fists on the table. "You're really going to do this."
"Yes."
"Even if I don't help."
"Yes."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then at the papers spread between them, all the hours of work, all the careful documentation. Evidence of people who'd been erased.
"When?" she asked.
Kunal blinked. "When what?"
"When do you need access?"
"You don't have to—"
"When, Kunal?"
He hesitated. "Friday night. After midnight. Security's thinnest then."
Preeti nodded once, sharp. "Okay."
"Preeti—"
"I said okay." She started gathering her things, movements quick and jerky. "I'm already in this. I've been in this since I sat down and started helping you chase uniform manufacturers across the internet like some kind of amateur detective." She shoved her laptop into her bag. "I just need to not think about it too hard or I'll talk myself out of it."
Kunal watched her, something like surprise crossing his face.
"I still think this is wrong," she said, shouldering her bag. "Breaking into the security office. All of it. But keeping people locked up somewhere is worse. And if no one with authority is going to do anything about it..." She trailed off.
"Then we do it," Kunal finished.
"Yeah." She smiled, but it was tight, anxious. "God, my parents would disown me."
"Don't tell them."
"Obviously." She glanced at him, and for a second the fear showed through. "This is really stupid, isn't it?"
"Probably."
"Great. Good talk." She turned to leave, then stopped. "Kunal?"
He looked up.
"After this is over, after we find them, or figure out what happened, or whatever, we're never speaking about this again, right? Like, this friendship is based entirely on mutual legal jeopardy and nothing else."
Despite everything, despite the weight sitting on his chest that never lifted, Kunal's mouth twitched. "Deal."
She nodded and left.
Kunal sat alone at the table. Looked at the organized chaos of evidence spread before him.
Preeti's handwriting in the margins: neat, careful annotations. Questions she'd thought to ask that he hadn't.
He felt something unfamiliar. Not quite gratitude. Not quite relief.
Just the recognition that he wasn't doing this alone anymore.
He snapped the laptop shut.
The reflection of his face in the dark screen caught him off guard. He looked at the hard set of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes.
This wasn’t the Kunal who had been helpless once. That version of him was gone, buried under the weight of the last few weeks.
He knew that if he took the next step, there would be no turning back.
He stared at himself for a long moment, then stood up and left the library.