THE AWKWARD SILENCE

The walk back to the dorm was a blur. Maya kept up a steady stream of worried chatter, asking questions that Anya didn't have the capacity to answer. Did her system crash? Did she get locked out? Was she feeling okay? Each question was a pebble hitting a brick wall. The moment the door to their room clicked shut behind them, the dam of Anya’s composure broke. The first thing she did was rip off the grey hoodie. The soft fabric that had felt like a warm hug for weeks now felt like it was burning her skin. She threw it on the floor with a strangled noise of frustration, as if it were contaminated.

Maya stared, wide-eyed, at the discarded hoodie and then back at Anya’s pale face.

Maya: "Whoa, okay. What did that hoodie ever do to you?"

Anya: (her voice tight) "I'm just... hot."

It was the weakest excuse she could have possibly come up with, and they both knew it. Before Maya could press further, Anya retreated to her side of the room, turning her back. "I'm fine. Just tired. It was a long day." The dismissal was clear in her tone, a wall going up where there had never been one before. Maya, sensing that pushing would only make things worse, reluctantly dropped the subject, her expression a mixture of confusion and deep concern.

The night was sleepless. Every time Anya closed her eyes, she saw the rocket ship. The victory horn. The quiet, unassuming way Sameer had just… left.

The next morning felt like a death sentence. They had a project meeting scheduled in the library. There was no way to get out of it. She had to face him. As she got dressed, she saw the grey hoodie still lying in a heap on the floor. A fresh wave of anger and confusion washed over her. She still had his hoodie. The irony was so thick it was suffocating.

She found him at their usual table, already deep into his work. For a horrifying second, her heart did the familiar little flip it always did when she saw him. Then the memory of the competition crashed back down, extinguishing the feeling completely.

She forced her lips into a shape that was supposed to be a smile.

Anya: "Hey."

Sameer looked up, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Hey. You okay? You left pretty fast yesterday."

You mean after you used your secret-weapon-of-mass-destruction to blow up my brain and steal my victory? Yeah, I’m great.

Anya: (her voice sounding unnaturally cheerful) "Yeah, just tired. But hey, congratulations on the win! That was... really impressive. You were amazing."

Each word felt like a lie she had to drag out of her throat.

Sameer: "Thanks," he said quietly, looking back at his screen. "You did really well too, making it to the final showdown. It was a tough competition."

The casual compliment was like pouring salt in a wound. He was praising her for making it to the finals of a competition he won by beating her. The irony was sharp and painful. She had to physically clench her fists under the table to keep from saying something she would regret.

Anya: "Yeah, well. Not creative enough, I guess."

The silence that followed was heavy and excruciating. Before, their silences had been comfortable, a shared space of focus. Now, it was a minefield. Every tick of the library clock, every soft cough from a nearby table, felt amplified. To Anya, his quietness was no longer a sign of his introverted nature; it was the smug silence of a victor.

He pointed to a section of their project code on his screen. "I think I found a way to streamline the user authentication process."

Anya leaned in, forcing herself to focus. But all she could see was his hand, the same hand that had doodled the rocket ship, the same hand that had typed the code that beat her. He was explaining the logic, his voice calm and steady, but all she could hear was the echo of Zero’s witty, arrogant comments on the forum.

He was the same person. He was a walking contradiction, and he was sitting right next to her, completely and utterly oblivious to the storm raging inside her head. He had no idea that she knew. And that, Anya realized with a growing sense of dread, was the most awkward, infuriating, and impossible part of it all.