After that, she started saying no more often.

Not every time. Just sometimes. A test she didn't tell him she was running.

The first few times, he reacted the same way—the pout, the pleading eyes, the soft "please?" that made her feel like she was denying a child dessert. And then, when she held firm, he'd let it go. He'd pull his hands back. He'd sigh. He'd go quiet.

But the quiet was worse than the pout.

Because the quiet felt like disappointment. Not anger. Not pressure. Just... sadness. Like she'd taken something from him that he'd been counting on.

She mentioned this to Maya, casually, over coffee.

"He pouts?" Maya's head snapped up.

"It's not a real pout. It's just—he looks disappointed. And then he gets over it."

"Does he get over it, though? Or does he just stop asking until the next time?"

"Both, I guess."

Maya set down her mug. "Viva. That's not healthy. A normal person hears 'no' and says 'okay' without the face. The face is a punishment. It's meant to make you feel guilty so you say yes next time."

"I don't think he's doing it on purpose."

"That's worse. That means he doesn't even know he's manipulating you."

Viva wanted to defend him. But she remembered the tight jaw. The bouncing leg. The way he'd kissed her like he was proving something.

"Maybe you're right," she said.

Maya sat back. Looked relieved.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Maya said. "You're my best friend. I've seen you lose yourself in guys before."

"I know."

"So just... think about it. Really think about it. What happens if you stop having sex with him for a month? Does he still show up? Does he still care about your day?"

Viva didn't have an answer.

But she started watching even closer.