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Between circumstance and fact, their common ground is truth; but truth is imperfect and malleable. Absolute wisdom, infallible and unyielding to hearsay and misconception, measures how long a truth remains so through the skill of discernment.
Many logical professionals implement this skill to their own advantage; detectives use discernment like a baby would figure out which shape goes into which hole, piecing together a puzzle to make a whole and discarding that which doesn’t fit. Doctors have been trained to memorize anatomy as they would get used to a house, so they can understand why a patient’s eyes might be yellow the same way a usually white blanket could suddenly be stained.
Scholars of the Akademiya have also since recognized this process and implemented the methodology to implore the genesis of fact; from mere observation, the birth of theory, up to its establishment. They even get real stingy with verifying its correctness, treating facts like gospel in the academic setting.
In most cases, however, the extent of such a pursuit falls only one unfortunate step away from completion, stopping only at the birth of theory. Still, this milestone is a laudable contribution to knowledge. Even the first sages must’ve cheered for the first successful horticultural experiment once upon a time.
With the support of her peers around her, Nilou would think she’d achieved something of the same effect. Why would her friends go out of their way to ask her manager if they could talk to her during operation hours at the theater otherwise?
“Nilou! We just heard about the most stupid thing to come out of Cyno’s mouth!” Adhiti barreled to the empty seat next to Nilou in front of her vanity the moment she and Sourya got two steps past the backstage door.
That seemed very uncharacteristic of Cyno, but the redhead doesn’t put her powder brush down when she asks what it was that he said.
The more level-headed Sourya lightly grabs the back of Nilou’s chair and tilts her their way before sighing, backtracking only two days before.
The week-long Sabzeruz festivities allowed scholars the choice whether to catch up on some overdue work during the holiday, or to revel in the celebration, nearly drawing to a close. Being in the forefront of Zubayr Theater’s productions, Nilou has seen a great share of her fellow researchers enjoying themselves in the Grand Bazaar, boxes of Yalda Candies in hand and flower garlands sitting right where their deep green berets usually are. This year, that demographic included Cyno, who, last year, holed himself up at labs as the only member in their group free to do so.
No matter how long it’s been since she returned to the theater, seeing Cyno in the crowd made Nilou’s smile spread wider than any applause, her steps lighter than the gentle flapping of a Crystalfly’s wings. He stayed for the entirety of the show this time around, believing it rude to only drop by at her segment, and wasteful to have queued up and bought a ticket at full price not to get the whole experience.
“He bought tickets to all three of the theater’s shows. And you were only in one of them.” Adhiti remarks.
“Oh, thats,” Nilou brings her brush to swipe across her reddening cheeks. “That’s- kind, of him.”
“But this is the part where it got weird.” Sourya raises a finger in the air. “He and Kiyan stayed after your last show because they wanted to like, catch you and give you their congrats, as they should! But, Kiyan said Cyno said he had somewhere to be before the curtains even lifted.”
“He was talking to someone before he left– this part is crucial, Nilou.” Adhiti practically grabbed the dancer by the shoulders.
It wasn’t particularly out of place for Nilou to be praised for her beauty, what with being the star, if not the face, of Zubayr Theater. Neither was it any cause for concern to talk about Nilou with Cyno, who’s practically the closest to her among her wide circle of friends.
“You’re great friends, right Cyno?” Asked the Vahumana scholar that strategically placed himself beside Cyno in the crowd, just as the troupe were taking their final bows onstage.
Quite confident with the fact, the Spantamad scholar nods. “Sure.”
“I’m sure there’s no point in upsetting that delicate balance between the two of you. I doubt Nilou can bear to lose someone like you if it did.” The guy probes, perfectly rehearsed scoffs sprinkled in his inference. “So, you think she’s looking for something other than friendship?”
“The thing about Nilou is that she gets what she wants. By some, divine intervention, or her own perseverance.” Talking about her with perfect mastery was like breathing to Cyno, drawing the sight of her up on stage in like an inhale and exhaling in turn. It seemed like he could stand to ignore this person’s gist, too.
“She’s a go-getter, alright. Kind of telling how there are things right within her grasp but she doesn’t take.” The guy shoots him a sideways glance. “Maybe because it’s not really what she wants.”
“Perhaps not.” Cyno shrugs.
“Then, you don’t mind me talking to her, right?”
A silence follows from the silver-haired Spantamad boy’s end. One that suggests ponderment, thoughts streaming into his conscious and he was fishing for the right response. After a few more stale seconds, he coldly replies,
“You can try.”
Adhiti’s jaw was about to make contact with the tabletop of the vanity, Sourya’s amber eyes swelled to the size of the moon, and Nilou turned into ice– unmoving, in a vegetative, blanched sense.
“Why would he say that?!” Adhiti seemed more agitated about it than Nilou herself.
“Yeah, why would he let someone have a shot at his girlfriend?” The word hardly rolled softly out of Sourya’s mouth, not to the effect it should’ve had– but Nilou understands.
Despite all the truths surrounding the fact of their relationship, was it actually an erroneous claim all along? A poorly-grounded theory only agreed upon at select, opportune moments? Has she been sorely mistaken all this time?
No, that can’t be it. Nilou knows him too well for him to reduce whatever they had to something as insignificant as, repotting a plant growing perfectly well where it’s already rooted.
So, after an endless night of staring at a wall, unfazed over her muscles protesting her inability to fall asleep– because apparently missing her shot negated two weeks worth of exhaustion, no buts– she dusted herself off and dressed herself up, as well as the untouched box of Yalda Candies from the Sabzeruz Festival, then headed up one vacant afternoon to Razan Garden where she knew Cyno would be.
The distant laughter and song from below the Divine Tree didn’t seem to disrupt his focus as much as her presence did, but despite the crease on his forehead and the line of his pursed lips etching deeper into something of a frown, his sunset eyes follow her form like the sun would descend towards the horizon, slow in its trail and soft while it still burns.
Hands clasped neatly behind her back, she flutters toward him like the languid leaves swaying above their heads. “Still working, huh?”
“You’re here.” The silver-haired boy closes his notes before she could take a peak, piercing through her timidness with a discerning look.
Her chin retracted in shock. “Are you surprised?”
“Well, today’s the last day of the Sabzeruz Festival, if I recall correctly.” For how much Cyno had closed his notebook and left it open just a crack, he gave his attention to her just as much. “Even after your show, you still showed up to help out at the theater the day after. I would think you’d take this chance to rest so you have the energy for next week’s coursework, but I have a feeling someone told you I was working again during the festival.”
“Spot on.” Despite her blue eyes narrowed into slits, her smile spread wider, impressed.
“So, who told you?” He starts flipping back to where he left off in his notes, partly so he can hide beneath the pages. “Let me guess, it was Adhiti.”
The redhead lets out a cheeky laugh, one Cyno hasn’t had solely to himself in two weeks. Whatever it meant, whether he was right, or if she was merely laughing at how he easily came up with that possibility like that was amusing to her, didn’t matter as much as the sound of it from up this close. Now, even the butterflies can hear it, and perhaps flutter their wings to it too.
She doesn’t answer his question in the end. Instead, she asks what he’s been up to– minus the three shows he attended during the festivities– and she allows herself the comfort of familiarity, where this silver-haired boy drones on about the chemistry of nature, and the scientific give-and-take of influencing a product using the same element from equation. She can still remember him drawing fun symbols on cardboard at the cafe when she went on break from rehearsals one afternoon, colored markers littered across the tabletop and Gata surprisingly asleep beside his hip. Past the furrow of his brows and the focus in his eyes, Cyno looked like a kid then. The signages he’d left on various points along the walkway of the gardens looked pretty intuitive as well– childish, if one may.
He doesn’t miss the faint giggle that slipped out of her mouth even as he’s reading his notes aloud. Instead of asking what’s so funny about his peculiar drawing of a butterfly with its bottom wings easily mistakable for the insect’s freakishly long legs though, Cyno keeps a mental note of that particular drawing, how fitting it was that she was drawn to the same spot he marked solely for the butterflies.
“Have the sample specimens started showing behavioral changes?” Nilou asks him. “If so, I can start recording data and just review the objectives to be reached later on.”
His shoulders sag. As much as it was admirable of her to come up and check on him, it kind of irked him that she’d rather get back to work as soon as she can instead of taking her due rest.
He tames his pursed lips, holds back a grumble, and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself.”
“What? But- Sourya said you doubled your doses. That’s too much work for only one person to handle.”
“Just do what you usually do then. You can help post-mortem.”
“But I’m here now,” Nilou takes him by the arm. “What can I do to help?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Try as he might to hold it in, a sigh escapes in between his words.
That felt like an arrow through her chest– one she can’t yank out, else she’ll bleed everywhere much too soon. The only thing keeping her pout from becoming a frown is the fact that she’s too cute to ever truly be taken seriously angry, so Cyno ends up relenting.
“There’s no rush, just … come along. Look at the samples with me.”
Cyno drags his feet along the stone, hoping that Nilou is thoroughly appeased enough to follow behind.
Equal parts fortunate and miserable for him, Nilou was very persistent to a fault. For a Hydro allogene, it’s quite ironic how at risk she is of burnout, yet she remains steady like water in her course, with just the right amount of pressure to keep things challenging. The frown stayed on, but her feet traced his steps soon enough.
For a second there, Nilou was nearly disheartened to speak out of turn. Cyno would most likely take the silence as a gesture of respect for someone who’s working diligently, but she was oddly and, pleasantly surprised when he tilted his silver head her way and filled the space between them with some conversation.
“Were you able to enjoy the festival?”
“Huh?” Nilou blinks.
“I remember you said you’d have done three shows like you used to if you had the time.” Cyno recalls monotonously, albeit the thought behind it. “So, did you still have fun?”
“Apart from reading materials in between breaks? It was,” Her shoulders visibly loosen up, her eyes softening too. “It was just like before.
“All the details in production were intentional, the old mirrors still fog up a bit after practice, Mister Zubayr treated everyone to dinner the night of the final show; everything stayed the same. And you know, after I enrolled in the Akademiya, I didn’t think I’d ever have those experiences again, but coming back was super rewarding and … like I was coming home.”
Nilou hardly realized they’d stopped somewhere and Cyno had his notes cracked open again until she heard him hum in response.
“Ah- r-right! Since I’m talking your ear off about the Sabzeruz Festival, I just remembered, I got you something!”
Not that anybody’s ever asked him, but Cyno was glad to hear Nilou talk endlessly, especially after last week, when all he could hear from her were thank you’s in an unending loop. But since he already hears her rummaging through her bag behind him, he doesn’t say his thoughts aloud, and only turns her way when he knows whatever she got him was sitting prettily upon the palms of her hands. His eyes land on a familiar, neatly crafted round box any kid that grew up in Sumeru would recognize.
“Yalda Candies?” Cyno had no idea why he thought there’d be something special about this particular box when he lifted the lid, but to no avail.
“It’s just, I wasn’t able to follow through with what I promised you last year when you took over our lab experiments.” She explains. “I owe you these.”
“You didn’t have to hold yourself to that.” After the dubious, mocking scoff that slipped out of him, the shadow of a grin easily made up for it. “I insisted, remember?”
“Well, I insist too.” Nilou held the box of sweets out closer for him to take. The guy’s gaze flitted from the box, up to her blue eyes, then back down to the box again, as if asking if it had his name on it for legitimacy of ownership or something, to which she huffs, “Hey, I sincerely got this for you! A-and you’re still working this year so, last year’s stipulation is still valid!”
Cyno recalls something he’s learned from being adopted, like his skin remembering the layer he had shed a life ago. Something about the letters in, found both in initiative and innate, but as well in kindness. Which oddly makes sense because, someone who cares about you would have no trouble showing you their heart if they wish to give a piece of it to you. Like an illustration book he eyed on top of the professor’s messy pile, with far too complicated vocabulary for a ten-year-old to understand, unreservedly lent to him anyway to peruse.
Half his mind says she’ll most likely just eat it if he refuses, but the more reasonable half tells him the purpose of any gift is to be received, in kind spirits and with a grateful heart.
“Thanks, Nilou. Belated happy Sabzeruz Festival.”
Cyno knows he did the right thing when she flashes him that terribly bright simper. But as pleased as she looked, Nilou’s blue eyes darted cartoonishly fast when he tucked the lid beneath the hat box and his hand started fishing for a piece of candy in the bunch.
Nilou’s done the math; Cyno’s too smart to fool. She knew all too well that the probability of Cyno figuring out that there’s some underlying motive beneath the gesture a year late in its doing was high. But that’s fine, because his skepticism wasn’t a factor she considered in her calculations– else she wouldn’t have had the guts to put her plan in motion in the first place. She’d have chickened out, and she would’ve kept living in the limbo of staying friends.
She shouldn’t want more than what they have now, but Nilou just couldn’t get over the idea that he can stand to just … give her away. That the Goddess’s voice that had whispered to her to try learning that specific problem on the worksheet that fateful day at the cafe, when her usual table was taken and Cyno had been her hero to not only sit with him, but help her too, was just a gust of wind blowing in the shell of his ear, drowned out by all the trading card banter and the usual scholarly debate.
It can’t be one-sided, it couldn’t be– not after he slowed down and waited for her to catch up with him after he refused her help. Not when he’s trying to share the candies she got for him with her either.
“What’d you pick?” She asks, her fingers hovering above the one wrapped in magenta.
Cyno lets out a hum as the candy rolls against his tongue. “Pomegranate.”
Nilou mentally crosses off a question in her list, each assigned to the six candies in the box. Three of them, she declared, were tender, vulnerable questions that coyly hinted at her standing in his life; while the other three were the harder, more direct ones that confronted his behavior that gave rise to her doubts in the first place. If she remembers correctly, pomegranate was code for–
“It’s much easier to eat that way, right?” She quips. “I-instead of the mess you get on your fingers and, the effort it takes before you could even eat it.”
“The mess is worth it nevertheless when you finally get to taste it.” The silver-haired boy shrugs. “Like all the rehearsals you’ve done for the show in between classes the past year thus far.”
Her smile spread truer. “You’re right.”
“Okay, now you pick one.” He holds the box out for her again; her fingers hover past the purple and gold wrapped one, opting for the bright red. “Well?”
“Agh–” Nilou’s expression immediately sours. “Harra Fruit.”
There goes one emotionally difficult but significantly crucial question down the drain.
“Sorry–” He should be blameless, certainly, but Cyno immediately put the box away and fished out her water from her bag, like it was his own. As though completely attuned to her and her belongings. “Drink up. Not too fast, though.”
How annoying, he even wiped a dribble of water that ran down her chin.
Her face felt red, she could feel it contrast the refreshing stream of water relieving the dryness down her throat. She crumples the red wrapper in her fist hard, hoping the red in her face flushes back down the rest of her body.
“Let’s save the rest for later.” The sunset-eyed boy declares, wedging the lidded box underneath his forearm. It didn’t take Nilou long to figure out how hassling that was and put it back in her bag in the meantime.
The more signages they encountered along the walkway, the thicker the trail of neatly lined ants walking right by their feet. They were headed towards a particularly crude drawing of a sugar cube, dotted along its edges for that crumbling effect, identical to the trickling little soldiers marching up to some hidden anthill beneath the shrubbery.
“Are ants really drawn to sugars? And did you actually leave sugar cubes for them to find?” Nilou asks, her eyes tracing the path the ants are on.
“Not really and, not at all– that’s a sign, though.” Unnerved at the idea of an entire colony of crawling insects, Cyno lifts the end of his Akademiya garbs and steps into the shrubbery to take a closer look at the ants’ behavior. Before Nilou could follow suit, he holds out his arm, telling her to stay put while he observes the occurrence.
“Oh, looks like an experiment.”
Among the six schools of thought housed by the Akademiya, Amurta and Spantamad students bear the brunt of their other peers’ annoyances due to their experimental procedures in perforce campus grounds. It sure isn’t the first time a green-badged scholar got sanctioned for a complaint pertaining to a very unpleasant odor emitted by a potion they released at the outskirts of the city– but its area of effect reached the city nonetheless– and there were countless worse ones that followed not long after.
This scholar, who particularly felt concerned by the alarmingly increasing habitation of ants at Razan Garden, had a tone only someone who’s been fed with a silver spoon since birth could have. It didn’t help that the guy’s face could only muster half a smile to greet Nilou, the upper half of his face still crumpled at the sight of the insects crawling by their feet.
“Can I help you?” Nilou kept it short.
“Hi, Nilou! I saw your show at the Sabzeruz Festival last week, you were fantastic.”
Sneaking a quick glance at the badge on this guy’s beret, Nilou smiles at the group of Vahumana scholars before her. “Ah, thank you kindly.”
“You’re pretty, industrious, aren’t you? You’re already back to scholar work and the Sabzeruz Festival hasn’t even officially ended yet. Would it hurt to rest just a few more days?”
“I’m both a performer and a scholar! They’re not mutually exclusive.” The courteous grin tilts by the slightest when she corrects him, which should’ve earned her some space– maybe even a disrespected scoff– but they coo at her assertion like it was a party trick.
“Wow, Nilou, there’s so much to you that sets you apart.” The first one cheers at the trick.
Other than surprise, what’s a trick without the gear to make it happen?
“Ohhh, I get it, you have help!” Said another one of the four, pointing at the unsuspecting Cyno hunched over an anthill (probably). “No wonder you can juggle all that work.”
The shrubbery rustled as Cyno was about to stand to his full height, but before he could speak for himself, Nilou had already petrified them stiff with an uncharacteristically blank stare and the slow blink of her eyes, unimpressed.
“Do you think I just bat my eyes at my fellow researchers and they’ll instantly write up a report for me? You think I bribe my professors with free show tickets so I can do a neat little dance onstage and my grades will suddenly raise themselves?” She throws in a chuckle along with her satirical rhetorics at them.
“Hey, come on. That’s not what we meant.” One guy groans.
“In any case, I think it’s about time I ask why you asked about our experiment in the first place.” Beneath a rehearsed smile, she grits her teeth, the same way she would when the troupe members shove her to the backroom when the sages ask for Mister Zubayr to “discuss business” as they usually do. “We’re not disrupting anybody in the area, are we?”
The first Vahumana guy from earlier clears his throat. “Sorry, Nilou. We just wanted to uh, make your acquaintance for a, paper- yeah. On the integral structures o-of, culture and arts in an academic-centered society.”
“... I see.” Nilou breathes out, unconvinced at his fast reflexes but somehow impressed just how aware Vahumana scholars are about the bazaar and the theater in that sense. Either way, “Like you said, I’m back to working on experiments so if there’s nothing urgent or pressing, I hope you don’t mind leaving us to it.”
The group walked past them with half of them with their tails tucked between their legs, and the other half muttering some nitpicky things about her well-kept attitude underneath that darling showgirl persona. To which Cyno, who had finally risen from the pseudo-farm of sweets the ants have made under the effects of the potion he sprinkled in the area, also affirmed.
“You were pretty defensive just now, Nilou.” He utters under his breath, his sunset colored gaze watching them descend down the Divine Tree. “They probably just wanted to talk to you.”
“Defensive?” Nilou parrots.
“Although their argument was incorrect, your rebuttal failed to address the argument in the first place. You answered as though they were shooting your character down instead of you stating facts to dispel their wrongs.” Cyno explains. For someone who usually keeps his scholarly musings to himself, he’s suddenly so versed in the rules of a debate.
“Well, who wouldn’t take offense when you and your effort are being discredited so lightly?”
That frown (pout) from earlier was back on her face, and Cyno makes yet another generous contribution of carbon dioxide exhalation. To some degree, she’s right, but …
“Prejudice is often the initial disposition of someone yet to be educated.” Cyno uses the line between sageness and reprimand like a jump rope– again, to Nilou’s dismay. “If they get to know you, maybe they’ll have something better to say next time.”
“Do you really think that guy was being serious about that paper?”
He couldn’t discern that look on her face; one part incredulous, one part worried, a hint of anger in the fiery blue in her usually sky-like eyes. But his remained stoic, the slightest bit disappointed with his lips pursed into a flat line. “Well, we won’t know now, will we?”
Then and there, Nilou felt like Cyno had twisted the knife she forgot remained pierced through her chest.
Does her scholarship matter to him more than her artistic integrity?
Was he really that dense not to see the guy trying to shoot his shot?
“You’re … not serious, are you?” She hopes he isn’t, but she couldn’t mask the hurt in her voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason they reached out to me and not the people at the bazaar is because I’m more affiliated to the Akademiya than Zubayr Theater. If not the fact that I’m some random owner of an elemental gemstone turned performer at the bazaar.”
Like the trail of ants by their feet, relentless in their march, Nilou wondered if her spite was valid as the anthill was real if she didn’t look, if she didn’t at least try. Or if her woes held any credence if she was an isolated case. But she has been trying, and she wasn’t alone– she’s been trying so hard that those Vahumana scholars think she’s made it look easy all this time, but those that know her know better.
“... Don’t be upset.” Cyno mumbles. “Lesser Lord Kusanali would want you to enjoy the remainder of her festival.”
The redhead faintly whines after being guilt-tripped, but Cyno finds it auspicious at the very least– as long as she’s still talking, they’re okay. He lets his mouth run a little further. “That guy approached me during your show last week. He asked me if he could talk to you.”
“... What?”
“It was just small talk.” He looked down on his feet; they were the only things he remembers seeing as he walked out of the theater minutes before Nilou’s show ended. He wants to ask them why they’re itching to pace about again today, but even in his head, they say nothing. “If it can help you figure out what’ll make you happy, then, it won't hurt to let him.”
Nilou suddenly feels lightheaded– what does he mean by figuring out what’ll make her happy? What did that have to do with that guy? Why the sudden concern with something so, abstract?
Of course, she’d also be susceptible to fall for the idea that Cyno daren’t say a word while they had their time with her because he might’ve staged the interaction, or at least hoped for it– but instead, she feigns mistrust.
“And you think he’d know better than you would?”
Suddenly the walkway felt much too dangerous to have a conversation like this. Like the wind would violently roar against Cyno’s ears or the clouds would start pouring rage if they found out this girl with the skies in her eyes and roses for cheeks had been wronged.
He steers her somewhere a little more quiet, around the tree bark and up the ramps, where the flowers glow and the sun passing through the leaves hit the teal glass roof of the gazebos to paint the grey stone floors with dancing waves. And maybe, just maybe, the stone can absorb the heat of Nilou’s temper, and the dew on the leaves can help cool her down.
Nilou’s teal Akademiya garbs pool atop the stone as she fitfully plops herself down the little gazebo steps, and Cyno can do nothing but tower over her and watch her dig out his box of Yalda Candies from her bag, grumbling all the while.
On a surface level, he gets it. Once upon a time, he, too, was a ten year old upset over being held hostage at Bimarstan yet again until Professor Cyrus was done with his classes for the day. The Amurta nurses would give him pudding after he finally mustered up the willpower to take his awfully bitter medicine for the afternoon, and he soon realized the magic of sugar. Even when he knows better now, that sweets are great for replenishing energy, they’re still good pick-me-ups either way.
“Are you gonna tell me I’m eating too many sweets now?” She shoots him a glare.
Apart from her unexpectedly sulking right now, Cyno would have let her finish the whole thing on account of her hard work leading up to the Sabzeruz Festival, but she insisted those were for him.
“At least share some with me.” He utters begrudgingly, to which Nilou huffs and shoves in his palm a candy covered in brown wrapper.
His instincts tell him it’s chocolate, but after he pops the candy in his mouth, the entirety of his face scrunches at the bitter tamarind flavor razing his tongue.
Without a single concern for the state of his taste buds, Nilou proceeds with her candy roulette. “Does the thought of me with someone else not make you feel bad? Even just a slight pinch to your heart?”
“What?” Cyno manages amidst the slowly dissipating taste in his mouth.
“You know, me acting friendly with some other scholar! T-the way I, am with you!” Having to say it makes her think he doesn’t see her that way at all, fueling her frustration even further. “Wouldn’t it kill you to see me studying with someone else? Sharing pudding with them at the cafe, even introducing them to Gata? Letting them walk me home when it gets late?”
“... It wouldn’t kill me.”
She scoffs bitterly. “Of course it won’t.“
“It’ll be one terrible headache though. But when have I ever not survived one of those?”
Cyno drops his weight on his butt the same way Nilou did, the ends of their uniforms pooling against each other and their shoulders touching like always.
Upon his lap, Nilou tossed a white-colored piece of candy as he was stretching his legs. There weren’t a lot of flavors nor foods he could think of that could be the flavor of this particular candy– either way, the narrow-eyed boy wasn’t in the mood to find out.
“What flavor is it?” She says curtly, more like an order and less like a question.
“I don’t know.” Cyno simply rolls the candy around in his palm.
“Taste it.”
“I don’t want to.”
Not even bothering to look at him, Nilou snatches the candy out of his hand and tastes it herself.
He doesn’t ask whether it’s rice or coconut flavored, nor does she speak on it either. She just puts the lid back on the box then crosses her arms over it, resting her head on them and looking away from Cyno.
“Are you tired now?”
With how high up they are from the clamor of the festival beneath the Divine Tree, and the celebration about to end sooner than later, Nilou supposes she was. She’s certainly tired of figuring out whether or not she has a chance with the guy beside her, gently stroking her back, in an attempt to get her to look at him. She can’t discern her chances when he acts like this, it’s stirring the hope in her again, leaving her bubbly yet empty. Still, if what he said earlier was any proof otherwise, then there’s no argument left to be made.
Her lips tremble, and her eyes start to sting, but she swallows the lump in her throat and foregoes the rules of her little game in surrender, finally taking out the knife in her chest.
“I’m not talking to that guy again, for the record.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she speaks it into existence, much less think about it, “But if you reject me today, do you think we can still be friends? I, really like studying with you.”
“Why would I reject you?”
Teary-eyed and nose kissed red, Nilou sits up and faces him. “Because you told that guy you were okay with them making a move on me.”
“... What?”
“You– you said he could try! Sourya and Adhiti told me!”
Cyno starts balling the sleeves of his uniform into his palms to wipe the stray tears running down her cheeks before she starts downright crying– but Nilou swats his hands away, planting both of hers on her face.
“Don’t. Cyno, just don’t–” Nilou chokes out. “Don’t make this more complicated than it has to be.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on, Nilou. You've been easily upset over the smallest things, why is that? Why are you crying? And, why would I reject you?”
Nilou can only cry until she feels the need to set the record straight. Because as far as she knew, and so did the majority of their year, if not their entire darshan, Cyno is one of Spantamad’s best– a reputation he has proven despite his posited affiliation to the sage. If he thinks playing dumb was delaying the inevitable, he was sorely mistaken.
“It wouldn’t mean that much to you if I started seeing someone else! But- but you were patting my back just now, and you shared your candy with me, but you told that Vahumana scholar that they can– shoot their shot!”
Through sniffles and sobs, Nilou lays out her cards. Then she hits him with, “That means you don’t like me!”
“Nilou, that’s not true.“ Cyno calmly responds, his hands rubbing her knees where they rest atop of.
She can’t muster a mean glare when her eyes are glassy and her nose is runny, but she gives him her best one. “Then why did you say that?!”
“Listen, you.” He starts off with a sigh– and only from Professor Cyrus could he have learned to sound scolding like that– but his hands don’t stop, and she’s too busy wiping the snot out of her nose to argue. “There is nothing you can set your mind to that you couldn’t get. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve gotten your grades up, you’ve gotten down your footing, you’re dancing again. And it was incredible to have been there to witness you win the battles you’ve fought– remember when you thought you couldn’t impress someone like Professor Behnaz with the way you think, then your paper ended up being an example to follow for her other classes?”
“You know how she is. I wanted to show her that my interpretation of the theory is just as correct as hers, no matter how “polarizing” it seems.” That mean look on her tear stained face was reduced to her classic pout. It made him chuckle.
“You’ve done well, Nilou.” Cyno pats her knee, genuine in his praise. Then he sighs, arriving at the fork in the road. “You know I’m not the only person who thinks that way. That Vahumana scholar certainly did, he talked you up real high earlier.”
“... I guess.” She feels calmer now; she relents.
“I only said he could try talking to you in case you …”
“In, case I what?”
His sunset-colored eyes looked down on his own hand on her knee, and his feet felt restless once more, but he didn’t want to make her cry again.
“In case you didn’t want to spend another year working with me again.” It took a big breath of air out of him to say it out loud, but at least he finally got it out.
“Why,” The red-nosed, red-haired girl finally wipes the last of her tears. “Why wouldn’t I want to work with you again?”
Cyno couldn’t bring himself to speak any louder than a whisper, he couldn’t even unclench his fist from her skirt. “Everything you want is right at the tip of your fingertips, Nilou; I’ve been beside you this whole time. If … if I’m not the first person you reach for, then, that says something. Right?”
“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? What, for ... for our senior research?” She feels another wave of waterworks stinging the shores of her bottom lids.
“I want you to be happy with whatever it is you choose to do.” He finds the courage in him to bring his chin up and look her right in the eye; he means it. He’s tossing it up in the air, resigned and resolute right from the start.
Then, Nilou does the absurd: she laughs, amidst tears racing down her cheeks, lifted by the remnants of a smile. Cyno finally releases the crumpled fabric of Nilou’s Akademiya garbs from his clutches and proceeds to stare at her, trying to decipher just what level of wrong he had done this time to cross-circuit sadness and joy in a single reaction.
Before he could wrack his brain over a probable answer, he feels her hands atop his own.
“I came up to see you when I could’ve been dozing the afternoon away because, I wanted to see you.” She points out matter-of-factly.
“I was only up here working so I’d have a sound proposal to show you the next time we meet.” He reasons, laying out his own cards. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a word in with you while the festival was ongoing. Honestly, I was surprised that Vahumana scholar managed to find you free when he did.”
Then it hit her.
“Cyno,” Another peculiar change– Nilou looks sober now. “When you said they could try talking to me, did … did you mean, it would’ve been difficult for them to get a hold of me?”
“Yeah?” He raises a brow at her quizzically. “You’ve been so busy, the only time I thought I could talk to you was after your show.”
“But, you didn’t even stay until the end to come see me.”
“Because I wanted my proposal to be foolproof, something that you just couldn’t say no to- that's why I didn't count on you finding me working today. Just … one more year with me, if that’s not too much to ask.”
Just one more year? That’s two entire terms!
Two more terms of falling asleep on his shoulder when the afternoons at the cafe are quiet. Two more terms of him whispering the right answers under his breath whenever she gets called on for absentmindedly tapping her foot beneath the desk during lectures. Two more terms of walking home together, their minds too exhausted to move away when their knuckles bump into each other as they walk under the stars.
It sounded awfully comforting in her head, irrefusable through and through that Nilou doesn’t even think of how much harder it’ll be living two separate lives at the same time when senior year comes around, not when she knows Cyno will be there for both. Just like yesteryear, just like now.
“Are you sure you want me?” Her voice cracks, but she just has to know.
“There’s no one else I have in mind.” Cyno shakes his head. “Besides, I see no reason why it shouldn’t be you.”
“Well,” The redhead then closes in on herself, suddenly bashful of her own vulnerabilities. “Wouldn’t it be, a-awkward working with someone whose feelings you- don’t reciprocate?”
“I thought the feeling was mutual.”
Good heavens, she’s gonna start crying again. Crying, and laughing, practically reducing this invincible image of hers he had in his head to some skittish, lovesick fool.
“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong again.” Cyno sheepishly tears his gaze away.
The laughter that comes out of her this time sounds like a song the butterflies would dance to. “It’s annoying how much I like you.”
How baffling. The silver-haired scholar had no idea his cumulative efforts of perfecting his research proposal, the summation of all the puddings he had treated her with, and the grand total of minutes he had spent in the Grand Bazaar, hoping for even a glimpse of her red locks somewhere in the theater, can all be shorthanded into a matter of like. Because at surface level, it wasn’t hard to like Nilou, and he was no exception to that fact.
But like that old illustration book his adoptive father had lent to him without hesitation, a piece of text the professor was once so stingy about when Professor Zaha Hadi from across the street had asked him about, the only other time Cyno had seen such a gladdened look on Nilou’s face was when she finally got to perform at Zubayr Theater again. Does he think of Nilou’s love for dance in an overestimation that he believes himself unequal to such a privilege? Or was Nilou truly upset over the idea of him not liking her all along?
Cyno might as well rip off the Spantamad badge on his beret and toss out down the Divine Tree– what a senseless misjudgment on his part.
“I, may have gone about this the wrong way.” The sunset-eyed boy heaves out a sigh.
“You think?” Nilou gingerly piques. “Though, if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I was overreacting the whole time.”
He didn’t bother denying that at this point. He even makes it a point to finally wipe her tear stains clean off, the wet patches on his sleeve serving as irrefutable proof that she did go overboard just now.
“Is it a bad time right now to ask you to consider me as your thesis partner for next year?”
Giddily, the redhead nods. “Yes.”
“Yes, it’s a bad time?” Cyno’s eyes grew comically large.
“Yes, I’d love to be your research partner, silly!”
With that, Nilou throws both her arms around his shoulders in relief– but not without rolling her eyes at him first. She breathes him in, the crisp scent of neatly ironed fabric and the freshness of dew from the leaves, and she is right the whole time; there was truth in everything he said, but they weren’t facts. Cyno wouldn’t, not how she knows him, and he didn’t, just as she knew.
But, just so they were on the same page …
“Does that make me your girlfriend now?” Unwilling to lift her face from its comfortable spot on the crook of his shoulder, Nilou muffledly asks.
“... You’re mine now.” Cyno mumbles just as faintly against her hair, his arms finding their way around her in declaration. “Girlfriend, co-researcher, thesis partner, study mate– anything. Just, mine.”
The absolution in enumeration made it all the more factual than just true. On the off-chance that Nilou receives yet another superficial invitation for collaboration, just like what Cyno had perceived of that Vahumana scholar’s offer before, her exclusivity to Cyno can serve as an emergency exit. If they ever needed to spell it out to anyone who tries it again, just as what that scholar actually initially intended, they’re in likeminded agreement now.
Scholars would think that a widely accepted theory such as Cyno and Nilou being together didn’t need to undergo the trials of factual establishment with all the evidence pointing to its validity. Yet, for those of them that lacked the discernment to think otherwise, it took only one phrase out of the son of the Spantamad sage in response to yet another out-of-context inquiry to set it in stone.
“So, has Nilou been talking to anybody recently?” Nikhil prods, finally caught up with whatever went down at the theater that one eventful day.
To which Cyno nonchalantly replies, “My girlfriend’s been consulting with a few professors regarding her output submissions following the festival, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh.” A big smirk spreads across Nikhil’s face, contrasting his short verbal response.
“If you mean that guy Sourya and Adhiti probably yapped your ear off about, best not to bring it up again when Nilou’s around, unless you have a grudge against me.”
Suffice to say, their friends’ doubts have been dispelled, Nilou’s integrity as a scholar remains intact, and Cyno’s ever the same unbothered genius they know him to be.