They'd been there since morning. Three cups of cheap coffee each, laughter echoing under flickering ceiling lights. Mina at the corner table, Ren sprawled across from her, Aya perched at his shoulder — two laptops, one shared desk lamp, half-whispered jokes that didn't always include her. It's always been this way, hasn't it? Since college, when Mina first noticed Ren's laugh was just a little warmer when Aya was around. That he'd hold the door for Mina but wait for Aya to catch up. That every time she thought he's looking at me, she'd catch Aya in the reflection instead. She could've said something then — back when they were just kids in lecture halls, passing notes and fighting sleep through all-nighters. But she didn't. Because Ren smiled at her too, sometimes. Because he'd ask for her pen, tap her shoulder, say "You're a lifesaver, Mina" and for a heartbeat it felt real. So she stayed. She became the buffer. The easy friend. The one who'd pull all-nighters for group projects so Ren and Aya could nap on each other's shoulders. The one who'd pick the café, pick the movies, pick the quiet corners where Ren could whisper to Aya and she'd pretend not to hear. She told herself it was fine. She was fine. It was enough to stand close, enough to know his coffee order, enough to call him at 3am when deadlines stacked up and he'd say "You're amazing, Mina — I'd fall apart without you." She knew he'd never fall apart with her. She was the one who made sure of it. College ended, real life started — yet nothing changed. Same trio, different desks. Now they were in a cramped publishing office, selling deadlines to dreams and pretending it felt worth it. Mina told herself it was. That maybe if she stayed long enough, he'd see her first.