The cafeteria buzzed with the regular morning rush—chairs scraping, trays clattering, laughter erupting in corners.
He sat in the farthest corner, barely noticing the spoon in his hand as it stirred the coffee that had long gone cold. His phone lay face-down on the table. He didn't care for it. Not now.
All he could think of was her.
He hadn't meant for the morning to turn into that. When he'd thrown on his shirt—three shirts, if we're being honest—he just wanted to look decent in case she was around. Maybe catch her in the corridor, smile politely, make some silly comment to lighten things between them.
What he didn't expect… was to get pulled into her orbit again so effortlessly.
And yet—there he was.
Not just near her. Not just looking.
But touching her, tucking her hair behind her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. Holding her wrist like it meant something. Letting his eyes rest on hers like they were allowed to stay.
And she didn't pull away.
She let him.
That fact alone—was enough to mess with the rhythm of his entire day.
He didn't even remember what she'd said. Or what he had said back.
All he remembered was how her hand rested on his chest like it belonged there. How the world didn't interrupt them this time. How the silence between them had carried more weight than all the conversations he'd had in the last week combined.
He didn't know how to make sense of it.
He had been the one to reject her once. She should be the one walking the other way.
But she didn't.
And he—he didn't want her to.
For the first time in days, he wasn't busy trying to avoid her. He was busy replaying her.
Her messy bun. Her hazel eyes catching sunlight like glass stained in gold. The strands of hair that always refused to behave, falling over her cheek in the most annoyingly beautiful way.
He let out a sigh and finally took a sip of his now-bitter coffee. It didn't help. Nothing would. He wasn't hungry anymore. Not for food at least.
---
Aanya was staring at her ceiling fan, which creaked a little every time it turned. Aditi had gone out to pick up her notes, leaving her alone in the room, wrapped up in thoughts she didn't know how to unpack.
She hadn't even changed clothes yet. The breeze from the window fluttered the curtains slightly, and the sun streamed in. But none of it felt real.
What felt real was the way he looked at her.
Not just looked—saw her.
Like she mattered. Like something inside him shifted and couldn't be shoved back into place again.
She knew that look. She'd worn it herself once, when he wasn't looking.
But now that it was reflected back at her—it unsettled her more than she expected.
His fingers had lingered too long. His touch wasn't hesitant. His eyes didn't flinch. It was as if he wanted her to know. As if he had no intention of pretending anymore.
And yet—his words had been uncertain.
"I don't know what I'm feeling," he'd said.
How could he say something like that while holding her like that?
She wasn't sure whether she wanted to scream or smile.
So, she did neither.
She just lay still, blinking slowly, feeling the warmth of his palm still ghosting over her wrist.
---
Back in his room, he finally dropped his phone onto the bed and sat on the floor, legs stretched out, back resting against the wall. His guitar leaned against the shelf—dusty, untouched, like most things in his life lately.
He reached for it, fingers moving over the strings absently. He wasn't trying to play anything. He just… needed something to hold.
Something that didn't feel like her.
His head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, and for the first time in a long time—he allowed the thoughts to come. He didn't fight them. Didn't push them away.
The flutter in his chest, the ache in his palm, the way her smile kept interrupting his breathing pattern—it wasn't random. It wasn't a phase. It wasn't guilt or confusion anymore.
It was something else.
He still didn't know if he was ready to say it out loud.
He wasn't even ready to text her. Not yet. Not tonight.
But he was finally done pretending it wasn't there.
And that felt like a shift.
Not a confession. Not a promise.
Just a quiet shift.
One he couldn't ignore anymore.
The day ended between them, and there were no more exchanges between them for the day, she was resting after all. Thanks, to Aditi.
Both of them, just hoped that this night sets down pretty fast and they stand in front each other again, trying to talk, after this new revelation, both of them were eager to let this new dynamic fit in, between the previous dynamic which was quite dead.