Chapter 6: The Space Between Us

Ren woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating against his nightstand. Half-asleep, he squinted at the screen. It was Maya "I don't even know what to say to you anymore". No greeting. No warmth. Just cold disappointment wrapped in a single sentence.

Ren exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn't sure what stung more—the words themselves or the fact that he had expected them. He stared at the message for a long moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he locked his phone instead. He didn't have the energy to respond, not when every word felt like a landmine.

Seconds later, another notification lit up the screen.

Tulip: Did you survive the night, or did your chess defeat haunt your dreams?

Ren blinked at the message, his lips twitching slightly. It was so her—effortlessly playful, as if there was no weight to anything. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before finally responding.

Ren: Ha. Keep dreaming.

A few seconds passed before another text came through.

Tulip: Speaking of dreams, how about we meet today? You still owe me that coffee, remember?

Ren hesitated. He wasn't the type to agree to spontaneous meetups. He preferred things planned, controlled—situations where he knew exactly how to act, what to expect. Meeting in person was different. It wasn't like chatting from the comfort of his room, where he had time to think before replying.

But before he could overthink it, his fingers betrayed him.

Ren: Fine. Where?

Later That Day

The cafe was quieter than Ren had expected, the hum of soft music blending into the low murmur of conversation. He spotted Tulip before she saw him, her fingers idly stirring a drink she hadn't taken a sip of yet.

She looked different in person. Not physically—she was still Tulip, still effortlessly confident in a way that made people gravitate toward her. But there was something else.

Something thoughtful. Something guarded.

He hesitated near the entrance, shifting his weight. His hands felt awkward—should he keep them in his pockets? Cross his arms? The longer he stood there, the more painfully aware he became of himself.

What was he even doing here?

Before he could retreat, Tulip glanced up, catching sight of him. A grin spread across her face, playful and teasing, as she waved him over.

"I half-expected you to bail," she said as he slid into the seat across from her.

Ren swallowed, suddenly aware of how much smaller his voice felt in comparison to hers. "You think that little of me?"

"No," she mused, tilting her head. "I think that much of Maya."

His jaw tensed. Tulip didn't push, didn't say more, but the weight of her words settled between them.

For a while, they talked about everything else. About art, about music, about how Tulip had been practicing chess just to wipe the smug look off his face. Ren rolled his eyes, but a faint smile lingered. He couldn't tell if she was playing the game or playing him.

But the conversation kept circling back—brushing up against the things they weren't saying, lingering in the spaces between words.

And then, somewhere between a joke and a passing comment, Tulip let something slip.

"You're lucky," she murmured, staring at her drink. "You have people who care enough to get mad at you."

Ren blinked. "What?"

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Forget it. That was weirdly sentimental of me."

But he didn't forget it. He couldn't.

For the first time since they met, Tulip wasn't filling the silence with wit or laughter. She was just... there. Real.

"You think people don't care about you?" he asked.

She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.

"I think people like the version of me that's easy to like," she admitted, voice quieter now. "But the rest? I don't know. Maybe it's easier not to let them see that part."

Ren didn't realize he was gripping the edge of the table until he forced himself to relax.

"That's stupid," he muttered.

Tulip blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"

"You act like it's your job to make people like you," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Like if you're not constantly... I don't know. Being Tulip, then they'll leave."

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.

"That's stupid," he repeated. "Because if they leave, they weren't worth it anyway."

Silence stretched between them. For once, Tulip didn't have a comeback.

Ren looked down, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup.

"I don't let people see everything either," he admitted.

Tulip studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. "Yeah?" she said finally, voice softer. "Maybe we're both kind of stupid, then."

Neither of them laughed. But somehow, it felt like the closest thing to understanding.

As They Parted

The sun had dipped lower, casting golden streaks across the pavement.

Tulip glanced at Ren as they walked toward the parking lot, a smirk playing on her lips.

"You know, Ren... not everything has to be so complicated."

Ren stopped walking. Just for a second.

When he turned to her, she was already a step ahead—grinning like she hadn't just said something that made his chest tighten.

"See you around, chess boy," she called over her shoulder.

Then she pulled open the door to a sleek, jet-black sports car, its surface gleaming under the fading sunlight. The moment she slid into the driver's seat, the contrast hit him like a cold wave.

His mind flashed back to his own worn-out bus pass, the slow, crowded rides home, the way his family calculated every expense down to the last rupee.

Tulip didn't just live in a different world. She belonged to one.

For some reason, he felt smaller in that moment.

Tulip revved the engine, glancing at him through the open window. "Try not to lose any more chess matches without me, okay?"

Before he could reply, she was gone, the low hum of the engine fading into the distance.

Ren stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, feeling the weight of the space she had left behind.

Then his phone buzzed.

Maya: So it's true. You really picked her over me.

Ren's stomach twisted. His fingers hovered over the screen.

For the first time, he didn't know what to say.

Ren stared at his phone, Tulip's last message still glowing on the screen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Maya's voice whispered, You're making a mistake. But as he closed his eyes, all he could see was Tulip's smile—bright, fleeting, and just out of reach.

Sometimes, the hardest truths aren't the ones we say out loud—they're the ones we carry in the silence between us.