The Shape Of Routine

Chapter 3: The Shape of Routine

By the third week, Riverside College had quietly adjusted to Tasha’s presence.

Not in a dramatic way. Nobody officially included her in anything. No one announced her as part of a group. It just happened slowly, like water finding its own level.

She had become part of Emis and Shimy’s routine.

And routines, Emis realized, were dangerous when they started to change without permission.

Shimy was the first to adapt fully.

He always was.

“Wait for me after lecture,” Shimy said one morning, already halfway into his bag.

Emis was tying his shoelace. “Why?”

“So we can walk with Tasha.

”Emis paused. “We don’t have to wait.”

Shimy shrugged. “We do now.”

That we do now stayed in Emis’s mind longer than expected.

When Tasha arrived, she looked slightly more comfortable than before. Not fully confident, but no longer new in the way she once was.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning,” Shimy replied instantly.

Emis nodded.

They walked together.

At first, the silence felt natural—footsteps, distant voices, the sound of campus waking up.

Then Shimy broke it, as usual.

“So, Tasha, are you always this focused in class, or is it just to impress lecturers?”

Tasha glanced at him. “Is that your theory?”

“I have many theories.”

“Most of them wrong,” Emis added quietly.

Tasha smiled. “I’m focused because I don’t like falling behind.”

“That’s responsible,” Shimy said.

“It’s survival,” she corrected.

Emis looked at her. “Survival?”

She nodded. “Different school, different system. You either keep up or disappear.”

The sentence landed differently than expected.

Shimy slowed slightly. “That sounds intense.”

“It is.”

For a moment, even Shimy didn’t have a joke ready.

They reached the lecture hall.

Inside, things returned to normal: pens, notes, half‑sleeping students, the lecturer’s voice blending into background noise.

But Emis noticed something new now.

Tasha sat between them again.

Not because she chose it intentionally.

But because it had become the natural arrangement.

Shimy leaned slightly toward her. “You understand this part?”

“Not fully,” she admitted.

“I’ll explain it later.”

Emis glanced at him. “You’re not the lecturer.”

“I’m better.”

“You failed last semester.”

“That was strategy.”

Tasha laughed quietly.

Emis noticed again.

That laugh.

It wasn’t loud.

But it always seemed to make Shimy straighten slightly when he heard it.

And Emis hated that he was starting to notice these things.

After class, Shimy insisted on buying drinks.

“No,” Emis said immediately.

“Yes,” Shimy replied.

Tasha looked between them. “Do you always argue like this?”

“Yes,” both answered at the same time.

She smiled. “That’s impressive consistency.”

At the small campus kiosk, Shimy ordered first.

“Three iced teas,” he said.

The vendor looked at him. “All the same?”

“One for me,” Shimy said, pointing at Emis, “one for him, and one for Tasha.

”Tasha blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Shimy interrupted.

Emis didn’t say anything.

But he noticed.

Shimy was doing that thing again.

Taking space first.

Talking first.

Choosing first.

As they walked away, Emis spoke quietly.

“You’re buying things now?”

Shimy shrugged. “It’s just drinks.”

“It starts small.”

Shimy looked at him. “What does that even mean?”

Emis didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he cared too much.

Tasha walked slightly ahead of them now, holding her drink with both hands.

“You two are strange,” she said.

“In what way?” Shimy asked quickly.

“You act like you compete without saying it.”

Silence followed.

Emis glanced at Shimy.

Shimy glanced at Emis.

Neither responded immediately.

Then Shimy laughed lightly. “That’s just how we are.”

Tasha nodded slowly. “I’m starting to see that.”

But she didn’t sound concerned.

Just observant.

That evening, Emis stayed behind again after class.

Not because he needed to.

Because he noticed Tasha also stayed.

Shimy had already left.

“So it’s just you again,” Tasha said, packing her bag.

Emis nodded. “Seems like it.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t talk much when he’s not here either.”

“I don’t talk much at all.”

“That’s true.”

A pause.

Then she asked, softer this time:

“Do you choose silence, or does it choose you?”

The question caught him off guard.

Emis looked at her.

“I don’t know,” he admitted again.Tasha accepted that answer like she was getting used to it.

“Fair,” she said softly.

She walked toward the door, then stopped.

“You should talk more, Emis.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

Then, quietly:

“Only if there’s something worth saying.”

Tasha smiled slightly without turning back. “Maybe there is.”

And then she left.

Emis stayed alone in the room again.

But this time, the silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt like it was waiting for something to happen next.

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