(Irshad's POV)
I wasn't expecting to see her again so soon.
But I did. She was walking towards the library and I couldn't help was follow.
The library was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ceiling fans blending with the rustle of pages turning. The scent of old books and the sharp tang of freshly printed ones created a space where the outside world faded. It was my first time here—unlike the roof, which was my favourite spot on campus.
But here she was.
Seerat.
She sat at a corner table, her head bent over a book, fingers lightly skimming the edges of the pages as if the texture itself meant something to her. A loose strand of hair had escaped her braid, falling across her cheek. She didn't tuck it back.
I hadn't planned to follow her.
At least, that's what I told myself as I stood at the entrance, hands in my pockets, watching her through the rows of bookshelves. Gosh, maybe Ali was right. Maybe I really am becoming a stalker.
She was alone.
There was something about the way she existed in silence that unsettled me. Like she belonged to it. Like it had never been a burden to her.
But I had seen her once, when silence wasn't kind to her. When it had swallowed her whole.
It was a strange thing—to watch someone slip between two versions of themselves. On the rooftop, silence had weighed on her like something she couldn't shake off. Here, she carried it differently, like a well-worn coat.
I wondered which one was real. Or if both were.
I could have left. Should have.
Instead, I moved.
I walked between the shelves, my fingers grazing the spines of books I had no intention of reading, moving closer without a real plan. She still hadn't noticed me.
Then, as if sensing something, she looked up.
Our eyes met.
Recognition flickered in her gaze, subtle but certain. Unlike last time, she didn't just offer a polite smile and turn away. She hesitated.
Then, she spoke.
"You don't seem like a library person."
I smirked. "And you don't seem like someone who'd say that out loud."
She let out a small breath of amusement, shaking her head slightly.
I took it as an invitation and pulled out the chair across from her. She didn't protest.
She studied me for a second, then tilted her head. "Are you actually here to read?"
I glanced at the book she had in front of her. The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
Interesting choice.
I leaned back in my chair, drumming my fingers lightly on the table. "Not really. Just needed a quiet place."
She gave a knowing nod. "It is quiet here."
I glanced around. "A little too quiet. The roof is definitely better."
Her lips quirked at that, but she didn't say anything.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was something else.
I tapped the edge of her book with my knuckle. "You like reading?"
For the first time, she looked a little surprised—like she hadn't expected me to ask.
She nodded slowly. "I love it."
Not just 'I like it.' I love it.
It was the first time she had given me something unfiltered, something real.
I raised a brow. "That suits you, you seem exactly like the bookish type."
She smiled, small but real. "And you seem exactly like the type to be found smoking alone on an abandoned roof."
Touché.
I smired, and she turned the page, but her gaze flickered to me again, as if debating something. Then, she spoke—quieter this time.
"I go to that roof top a lot."
Not an earth-shattering confession, but something about the way she said it felt… different. Like it was more than just a casual fact.
I hummed. "So, if I wanted to find you, it would be a good place to check?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, like she was weighing the question, the implication beneath it.
Then, she looked back at her book.
"Why would you want to find me?"
I wasn't sure if it was a challenge or an invitation.
Either way, I wasn't going to ignore it.
For the first time since meeting her, I wondered—maybe I wasn't the only one waiting anymore.
I hadn't expected her to ask that.
Why would i want to find her? I could've said anything. A joke, an easy deflection. But the truth sat heavy in my throat—because I had already looked for her once.
A simple question. One I should have had a simple answer for.
I could've shrugged it off, given her a careless response, something easy—Why not? or You're interesting. Something that didn't sound too much like the truth.
But I just sat there, watching her fingers press lightly against the open pages of her book, waiting. Maybe she didn't expect an answer. Maybe she didn't need one.
Still, the question stayed with me, sitting between us like a book left unfinished.
I leaned back in my chair, rolling my shoulders, keeping my voice even. "I don't know..."
A flicker of something crossed her face, but she didn't look up. Instead, she turned another page, as if my words hadn't settled in the air between us.
The library felt too quiet.
I exhaled, glancing away, my gaze skimming the shelves behind her. Titles I wouldn't remember, words I wouldn't read. She was the only thing holding my attention right now.
"Do you always ask questions like that?" I murmured, tilting my head slightly.
Seerat's lips curved just barely—more to herself than to me. "Only when the answer matters."
I let that sink in. She had a way of doing this—saying things that sounded casual but left a mark. A quiet honesty.
I could've asked what my answer meant to her. Could've pressed. But something told me this wasn't the time.
Instead, I smirked. "That book of yours—what's it about?"
She finally looked up, her brows lifting slightly. "You want to know?"
I shrugged. "Maybe."
Her fingers traced the spine absentmindedly. "It's about love. And existence. About how some things feel unbearably light, and others unbearably heavy."
The words sat between us for a second longer than they should have.
I huffed a quiet laugh. "Sounds deep."
"It is." She tapped the cover. "Not your type?"
"I don't have a type," I said. Then, after a beat, "At least, not for books."
Seerat hummed, like she didn't quite believe me but wouldn't argue.
I tapped my knuckles lightly against the table. "So, do I get to know your name now, or do I have to find you a few more times first?"
She let out a small breath of amusement.
A pause. Then—softly, but certain—she said it.
"Seerat."
The way her name settled in the air, the way it fit her—I liked it more than I should have.
I nodded, as if committing it to memory, even though it had already been there. "Seerat," I repeated. "Nice to finally meet you."
She tilted her head, something unreadable in her gaze. "And you are?"
For a second, I almost wanted to keep her guessing. But I didn't.
"Irshad."
A slow nod. Then, as if testing it out, she said it back. "Irshad."
And maybe it was just the dim lighting or the way the silence stretched between us, but something about hearing my name in her voice made it feel different.
Lighter.
Heavier.
Both at once.
Her voice lingered in the air, wrapping around my name like she was still deciding whether or not it fit.
I didn't know why that made my pulse kick up a notch.
She didn't say anything else, just let the silence settle between us, the kind that wasn't empty but charged, like something unsaid was waiting to surface. I let my fingers drum against the edge of the table, more aware of the seconds passing than I should've been.
I cleared my throat, glancing at the book in front of her. "So, Seerat," I said, my tone lighter, forcing the weight in my chest to even out. "You only read the deep, existential stuff, or do you have a secret stash of guilty pleasures?"
She blinked, then let out the softest huff of amusement. "I don't believe in guilty pleasures."
That made me grin. "Oh?"
She shrugged, resting her elbow on the table, chin propped against her hand. "If you enjoy something, why feel guilty about it?"
I hummed, tilting my head. "That sounds like something a bookish person would say."
Seerat raised a brow, feigning offense. "And you sound like someone who reads nothing at all."
"Hey," I held up a hand in mock surrender. "I've read things."
She gave me a skeptical look. "Name one book you actually liked."
I opened my mouth—then paused.
Damn.
I could've said anything, but suddenly, everything I'd read in passing felt distant, unimportant. What was the last book I actually liked?
Seerat caught the hesitation, and her lips curled just slightly, like she had won something.
"You're impossible," I muttered.
She turned another page. "I know."
I watched her for a second longer, then let my gaze drift around the library. The stillness here was so different from the roof, where the wind carried away unspoken words, where the city lights blurred the edges of reality. Here, everything felt sharper. More real.
"So," I said after a while, breaking the silence, "do you always come here alone?"
She stilled, her fingers hovering over the page.
Then, she nodded. "Mostly."
Her voice was softer now, like she wasn't sure she wanted to explain.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table. "Why?"
She glanced at me, then away, like she was thinking about how much she wanted to say. "I guess I just like the quiet."
A beat.
Then, she surprised me.
"What about you?" she asked.
I exhaled a small laugh. "You think I spend a lot of time in libraries?"
"No," she admitted. "But you're alone a lot."
That threw me off more than it should have.
I smirked, masking whatever passed through my chest at that moment. "What, you keeping tabs on me?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're not exactly subtle."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Fair enough."
I could've left it there, let the conversation slip back into easy banter. But something about the way she was watching me—steady, thoughtful—made me say something else.
"Being alone isn't so bad," I said, more serious than I intended. "At least you know where you stand."
Seerat studied me for a second longer, like she was trying to see past the words.
Then, she did something I didn't expect.
She nodded, slow and understanding, like she got it.
That did something to me, too.
I let out a breath, leaning back in my chair. "Okay, your turn. Name a book you've read more than once."
The corners of her lips lifted slightly. "That's easy. Pride and Prejudice."
I snorted. "Of course."
She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that it makes sense." I smirked. "The quiet girl with a sharp tongue? Yeah, I can see it."
Seerat shook her head, muttering something under her breath.
I grinned. "Don't tell me you're a hopeless romantic, Seerat."
She raised a brow, her voice dry. "Big words for someone with the exact aesthetic of a tortured Bollywood hero."
I had no comeback for that.
She held my gaze, waiting, and for the first time since I sat down, I realized something—
I didn't want to leave.
She was still watching me, an amused glint in her eyes, waiting to see if I'd try to dig myself out of the hole she'd just thrown me into.
I didn't bother.
Instead, I leaned back, stretching my legs under the table. "Alright, since you're so good at reading people, let me guess—psychology major?"
Seerat tilted her head slightly, curious. "How'd you figure?"
I smirked. "You overanalyze everything."
She gave me a flat look. "That's a lazy assumption."
"Maybe." I shrugged. "But I'm not wrong, am I?"
She sighed, closing her book. "No, you're not."
I grinned, victorious. "See? I'm observant."
Seerat hummed, tapping her fingers against the cover of her book. "And you? Let me guess… law?"
I blinked, caught off guard.
"Okay, that's actually impressive," I admitted.
She gave a small, satisfied smile. "It wasn't that hard. You have the energy of someone who enjoys arguing."
I let out a laugh. "I win arguments. There's a difference."
She rolled her eyes. "Same thing."
I shook my head, amused. "So, psychology, huh? What's the goal?"
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I just… like understanding people."
Something about the way she said it made me pause. There was nothing showy about it, no rehearsed speech about changing the world. Just a simple truth.
I considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Makes sense."
She raised a brow. "That's it?"
I smirked. "What, you expected me to make fun of it?"
"Yes."
I chuckled. "Fair enough."
Seerat glanced at me, thoughtful. "And you? Why law?"
That was a question I didn't love answering.
I exhaled, dragging my fingers along the table's surface, and decided to give her a more generic answer. "Because I like knowing how things work. And I like knowing how to win."
She didn't react right away, just let the words sit between us.
Then—"That's a very law student answer."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well. You expected something else?"
She shrugged. "Maybe."
I tapped my knuckles against the table. "Alright, tell me. What did you think I'd say?"
She studied me for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe something about protecting your loved ones? Getting people justice?"
Her first guess caught me off guard. How did she know?
I exhaled slowly. I could deflect, play it off like a joke. But her gaze was steady, unassuming. She wasn't looking for a performance—just an answer.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "Sounds nice. But not everything's about justice, Seerat. Sometimes, it's just about survival."
Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Then, finally, she nodded, like she understood more than she was saying.
The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't light, either. It was something else.
Something I wasn't sure I wanted to name yet.
Seerat shifted, turning a page absentmindedly. "You should read more," she said, almost like an afterthought.
I raised a brow. "Yeah?"
She hummed. "It might make you a little less… impossible."
I smirked. "You mean it might make me more like you?"
Her lips twitched. "Now that would be impossible."
I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. She was something else.
And for reasons I didn't fully understand, I wanted to know more.
She tapped her fingers lightly against her book, her nails barely making a sound against the worn cover. "So, do you actually enjoy it? Studying law?"
The question shouldn't have caught me off guard, but it did. People usually asked if I wanted to be a lawyer, if I planned to argue in court, if I wanted to make a difference. No one ever just asked if I liked it.
I shrugged, tilting my head. "Some parts. The strategy, the debate. The way words can be used as weapons or shields."
Seerat studied me, her eyes dark and knowing. "That's an interesting way to put it."
I smirked. "You analyze everything, don't you?"
She arched a brow. "Says the guy who just compared law to a battlefield."
Fair point.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "Alright, so what about you? Psychology major—what's your favorite part?"
She hesitated, her fingers skimming the pages again. Then, softly, "I like figuring out why people do what they do. What makes them the way they are."
I hummed, resting my chin on my hand. "Dangerous skill."
Her lips quirked. "Only if you have something to hide."
I met her gaze, my smirk fading just slightly. "Everyone has something to hide."
For a second, she just looked at me, and I could tell she wasn't sure if I was joking.
Then, she closed her book with a quiet thud. "Well, that's a very law student thing to say."
I laughed under my breath. "Guilty."
She rolled her eyes but didn't hide her small smile.
The library had gone even quieter; students around us were lost in their own worlds. But I was aware of her, of every shift in her expression, every flicker of thought behind her eyes. She was watching me too—like she was still deciding what to make of me.
I tapped my knuckles against the table again. "So, Seerat," I said, voice lighter now, "what's your verdict?"
She raised a brow. "On?"
"Me," I smirked. "Good guy or bad guy?"
Seerat tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Jury's still out."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Figures."
But something about the way she said it—soft, deliberate—made me pause.
For a second, her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Like she was waiting for something—an argument, maybe, or a denial.
But I only smirked. "Fair enough."
Seerat gave a small nod, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "I should go."
I fought the urge to ask her to stay.
Instead, I just watched her walk away.
Leaving behind the scent of books and something unspoken in her wake.