The soft whir of ceiling fans echoed in the photography clubroom as Amara adjusted the focus ring of her camera, trying to drown out the idle chatter. Her eyes flickered over the lens, but every so often, they would stray to Kieran, who leaned against the window. His presence, as always, was a quiet weight in the room. He hadn't spoken a word since the session started, his expression unreadable, his posture detached.
Amara didn't think much of it. Kieran was always distant in public. That wasn't new.
As the meeting ended, Amara gathered her things, intending to head back to the hostel. However, before she could make it to the door, Liana, a senior with a perfectly curated reputation and an unnerving smile, approached her.
"Amara," Liana cooed, arms folded as she leaned in. "We need a few extra hands for the cultural showcase backdrop. It's basic stuff — nothing too creative. Thought you might be free."
Amara blinked, caught off guard. "Um, when's it due?"
"Tomorrow," Liana said, her smile growing. "It's technically a group task, but we've all got stuff on our plates." She paused, letting her words sink in. "You don't mind handling it, right?"
Before Amara could even answer, Kieran's footsteps echoed through the room as he stood up from his place by the window. He didn't glance at Liana, nor did he slow his pace, but his presence seemed to freeze the air for a moment, as if he could sense something off about the conversation.
"I'll do it," Amara said, keeping her tone even, unwilling to let Liana see how much she resented being volunteered for something without her consent.
"Perfect." Liana's smile didn't falter as she turned away, but there was something sharp behind her eyes. "We'll get it done. Don't worry about the details."
Amara sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she left the clubroom. She was halfway down the corridor when she noticed Kieran had fallen into step beside her. His silent company was, as always, a strange comfort, though he said nothing.
"You're doing it?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes not meeting hers.
Amara gave a small nod, trying to mask her discomfort. "Yeah. It's fine."
"You don't have to take on every dump job people hand you," he said, his tone firm, though still cold, as if he were stating an undeniable fact.
Amara glanced at him. "It's just a backdrop."
Kieran's hands were buried deep in his pockets as he walked ahead, jaw tight. "Still. You're not their assistant."
There was something almost protective in his voice, though it wasn't softened by kindness. It wasn't exactly comforting, but it wasn't unkind either. Amara didn't respond, and neither did he.
Elsewhere on campus, the badminton court buzzed with energy as Nia warmed up. She was used to the fast pace of the game, the quick reflexes, but today she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. As she finished a light match, she spotted a familiar figure near the sidelines.
Ryan.
He tossed his towel over his shoulder with a confident grin. "Nia, right?"
She smiled, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I joined recently," he said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "Thought I'd try staying active for once."
Nia chuckled. "I've been in the club for a while… but I'm not very consistent."
Ryan's eyes lingered on her for a beat before he smiled. "We should catch up sometime."
The next morning, as Amara grabbed her schedule and readied herself for class, she noticed Nia tying her ponytail in the corner, eyes focused on her phone. It was a usual morning, but there was a slight shift in Nia's energy that Amara couldn't quite place.
"You're not coming to Professor Carter's lecture?" Amara asked as she adjusted her bag.
Nia quickly shook her head, the smile on her face flickering briefly. "Nope. I'm feeling a bit off. Think I'll rest and catch up later."
Amara didn't question it. "Alright. Let me know if you want the notes."
As Amara left for class, she felt a strange pang of concern, but she pushed it aside, thinking it was nothing. Nia often skipped classes here and there. But something in the way Nia lingered behind the door, her smile faltering as Amara disappeared around the corner, stayed with Amara. Nia's avoidance didn't seem casual today.
Next day, the sharp scent of paint still clung to Amara's fingers as she stood by the clubroom window, eyelids heavy from the sleepless night. She'd finished the backdrop around dawn, her fingers aching and her clothes stained with acrylics. Her back hurt. Her temples throbbed. She didn't even have time to properly wash the smudges off her arms.
The others chatted lazily as they filtered into the room, none seeming to notice the faint dark circles under her eyes.
"Amara," a honeyed voice rang out.
She turned slowly to see Liana, perfectly dressed as always, holding a cup of iced coffee she hadn't made herself.
Liana's eyes scanned Amara's tired face, lips curving just slightly.
"You finished the backdrop? Great," she said, like she was talking to a hired intern.
Amara gave a short nod.
Liana didn't pause. "So listen — I need someone to help with the exhibition labels too. Nothing major, just aligning the names and gluing them on. Shouldn't take long if you start now."
There was no 'please.' No asking if Amara was available. Just an assumption.
Amara blinked. Her throat was dry. "I didn't sleep last night," she said plainly.
Liana's brows lifted, just enough to be insulting. "Really? You look... fine," she said, with a sweet-smelling lie.
"I stayed up finishing your backdrop," Amara added, her tone flat but pointed.
A beat of silence passed. Something flickered in Liana's eyes — annoyance, perhaps — but it vanished behind that ever-composed smile.
"Well," Liana said, voice saccharine. "If it's too much, I'll just find someone else."
She turned, then paused. "But I did tell Professor Nelson you were dependable. I guess I'll have to revise that next time."
Amara's stomach clenched, but she kept her face still.
Liana offered one last smile before walking off, heels tapping like punctuation marks.
Behind her, Amara exhaled slowly — a tired, simmering breath.
She wasn't sure what stung more — the manipulation, or the fact that no one else seemed to see it.
By mid-afternoon, Amara found herself hunched over a long table in the club's side room, surrounded by uneven stacks of printed labels, glue sticks, and rolls of double-sided tape. The room was quiet — just the occasional creak of the ceiling fan and the scrape of paper.
She worked slowly, carefully aligning each name with its corresponding artwork title, smoothing the air bubbles with her thumb. Her shoulders ached. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, but she didn't complain. She never did.
Footsteps approached.
Amara didn't look up, expecting another round of passive-aggressive instructions. But it was just Liana, standing at the doorway with her arms folded, surveying the nearly finished work.
"Hm," Liana murmured. "Looks neat."
That was it.
She didn't offer help, or thanks. No acknowledgment of Amara's exhaustion — just a vague, bored comment before she turned and disappeared back into the main room.
Later, as the club gathered to review the showcase plans, one of the faculty heads peeked in.
"Good work on the exhibition prep. Everything's organized so well," he said, flipping through the sheets on the table. Then his gaze flicked toward Liana. "As expected from you."
Liana offered a graceful smile. "Glad it meets expectations, sir."
Amara, standing just behind her, said nothing. She pressed her fingers tighter around the folder she held and reminded herself not to expect credit from people who thrived on appearances.