AN UNWANTED BUFFALOW
The living room looked like a battlefield. Empty chips packets, half-eaten noodles, stray cushions, and a tangled blanket sprawled across the sofa made it look as if a mini tornado had passed through. The dim glow of the TV flickered across the mess, casting dancing shadows against the walls. Raffy and I had collapsed here after the movie, completely exhausted, limbs awkwardly draped over the sofa.
I was the first to stir. My hair stuck to my face in messy clumps, pajamas twisted and shirt slipping off one shoulder, and a stubborn noodle stuck to the sofa under my arm. Just as I started to push myself upright i moed towards the door while kicking those pillows who were laying on the floor so peacefully, the doorbell rang—loud, persistent, insistent.
*Ring. Ring. Ring…*
Ten minutes of relentless ringing later, Raffy mumbled incoherently, still buried under the blanket, and shuffled toward the bedroom half-asleep. I groaned, untangled myself, and trudged toward the door, muttering about the audacity of whoever was out there.
When I opened it,
Standing there was a girl I didn't recognize, but whose presence immediately demanded attention. Her posture was perfect, commanding, radiating an attitude that seemed to fill the room. Straight brown hair framed her lightly tanned, flawless skin. Her hazel eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the living room with a mix of judgment and amusement. She smirked, lips curved in a knowing, confident way that made me immediately want to punch her.
The first thing she did was **judge the room**. Her gaze swept the sofa, the chips, the noodles, even my messy pajamas. "Wow," she said lightly, almost sarcastically, "I see someone doesn't care about hygiene or… presentation."
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. *Buffalow,* I muttered in my head, glaring at her silently.
Then her eyes landed on Raffy. Her entire attitude shifted—clingy, possessive, confident. She stepped closer and looped her arm through his casually, hugging him lightly as if she'd been doing it forever. "Raffy," she said, almost breathless, "do you remember the treehouse at my place? Or the summers we spent by the creek? You always promised you'd race me to the top of the hill…"
Raffy froze, blinking at her, his friendly but cold demeanor perfectly intact. "Uh… okay…" he said cautiously, as if trying to place a vague memory that didn't quite surface.
I couldn't breathe. She was **touching him, hugging him, talking about their childhood like it was real**, and I was standing there, tangled in my mess, awkward, furious, and jealous all at once. But i thought that why should i care if she's her girlfriend or a so-called BESTFRIEND
Mehzil's eyes flicked to me briefly, sharp and evaluating, like she was cataloging every flaw. I could feel the judgment radiating from her. I clenched my fists. *Why am I even feeling this? She's nothing compared to me. Buffalow.*
She let go of Raffy's arm slightly, turning her full attention to him again, words flowing like a charm, each one meant to trigger recognition. "And remember the kite fight? You tripped and landed face-first in mud. I laughed so hard. How could you forget that, Raffy?"
Raffy shifted, polite but detached. "Hmm… I think I remember… maybe," he said slowly, a cautious smile on his lips, trying to remain neutral, friendly but cold.
I wanted to scream. She was **clingy, overbearing, judging, and somehow making him remember things that weren't even really his memories**—and my blood was boiling.
I stepped back, arms crossed, trying to hide my awkwardness and rising jealousy. Her presence was impossible to ignore, her confidence and boldness infuriating. Yet, Raffy remained calm, almost oblivious to how much tension she was creating.
I muttered under my breath, *buffalow… seriously,* trying to convince myself that this shouldn't bother me, that Raffy's attention to someone else didn't matter. But even as I told myself that, a pit of jealousy twisted in my stomach.
The tension in the room thickened. Mehzil's smirk never faded. Raffy's calm, friendly distance only made her clinginess more noticeable. And I realized, standing there in my messy pajamas, hair wild and face flushed, that my emotions were a mess I couldn't quite control.
While the tension between Raffy, Wateen, and Mehzil simmered in the hostel, elsewhere the air was thick with a different kind of storm. Maheen's phone buzzed insistently, and she stared at Ayan's name on the screen with a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Earlier that morning at the university, she saw him with someone else— he was hugging a girl that made her blood boil. She had stormed off, refusing to answer his calls immediately, her mind racing through every possible betrayal. Meanwhile, Ayan was left behind, staring after her in confusion, unaware of the misunderstanding he had just caused.
When Maheen finally answered, her voice was icy. "You better explain yourself," she demanded.
Ayan, calm and slightly amused, tried to reason with her. "Maheen, it's not what you think. I wasn't cheating. I swear."
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she shot back, eyes narrowing. Her heart ached with anger and disappointment, even though deep down she wanted to trust him.
The argument ended inconclusively, leaving a lingering tension between them. Neither Zain nor Zara knew about the fight—they were too busy packing for their trips home, unaware of the tiny cracks forming in their little street crew.