The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting broken shadows on the tiled path that led to the lecture halls. The day had begun like any other—but it wasn't.
Not for him.
He had barely slept. The kiss had replayed in his mind over and over, not as a fantasy, but like a film scene he was trying to understand frame by frame. It had been real. Her lips. The startled softness in her breath. The way she hadn't pulled away.
Now, walking into campus with his bag slung over one shoulder, he was unsure—of how to look at her, of what he should say. But also, a little excited. The kind of nervous excitement that made his stomach turn in loops.
He saw her first near the stairwell—she was standing next to Aditi, laughing at something, her head thrown back the way it only did when she wasn't trying to hide how tired she was.
His chest tightened.
And then—her eyes met his.
It wasn't dramatic, just a second that stretched too long to be casual.
Her laughter stopped, not awkwardly, but like she had remembered something private. Her smile didn't fade completely—it just softened. Tilted. A little cautious, a little knowing.
He lifted his hand slightly in a half-wave. She nodded once, subtle. The others didn't notice.
Later, in the lecture hall, they ended up sitting next to each other again. Not because they planned to—but because the seat was there. Familiar.
She didn't speak at first. Just pulled out her notebook, scribbled the date in the margin, and underlined it twice.
He glanced sideways at her, heart thudding. She looked the same. And yet she didn't.
"Hey," he murmured, just loud enough.
She paused, pen hovering mid-air. Then turned her face to him slowly.
"Hi."
A breath. That was all. No accusation. No demand for clarity. Just a greeting. Like she was giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.
He smiled, gently. "You okay?"
She studied him for a beat, like she was trying to read beneath the question. But then she just nodded. "Yeah."
He nodded back. "Okay."
The professor entered. Notes began. The world moved forward.
But beneath the desk, their knees bumped.
She didn't move hers away.
Neither did he.
It was silent electricity. Not frantic. Just… aware.
They didn't talk about the kiss.
Not yet.
But both of them were thinking about it.
And sometimes, that's more intimate than speaking.
The class droned on in the background—slides flipping, pens scratching, murmured explanations about nerve pathways and histological sections—but none of it landed fully for either of them.
He stole glances.
She seemed to be genuinely paying attention, but he noticed how often she tapped her pen, a small, restless rhythm against her notes. Like her thoughts were elsewhere. Like they kept looping back to last night, the same way his were.
At one point, her elbow brushed his. Again. This time, it lingered.
His skin tightened, a ripple passing up his arm and straight into his chest. He didn't look at her. He didn't dare.
Instead, he just let his hand rest on the desk, unmoving, close—but not quite touching hers.
Minutes later, her fingers shifted, slow. They grazed the edge of his palm. Deliberate, delicate.
He turned slightly—just his eyes.
She was still staring straight ahead, lashes lowered, face calm.
But the corner of her mouth?
It had the faintest quirk. Not a smile. Not a smirk.
Just… warmth.
And in that moment, his breath hitched. Quietly. Only once.
She's not pretending it didn't happen.
A strange mix of relief and something heavier—want, maybe, or gratitude—settled low in his chest.
When the class ended, the spell didn't break. They stood up slowly, not in a rush to join the rest of the room's chaos. No words yet. Just that tension, pulsing soft and steady like a background heartbeat.
Outside the lecture hall, she finally turned to him. Her voice was calm, her tone neutral, but her eyes—God, her eyes—they looked right into him.
"I have two hours before the next class," she said simply.
He nodded. "Me too."
And that was it.
No planning. No where-should-we-go.
They just walked. Side by side. Their steps falling in sync like they had always meant to do this. Not toward a specific place, but toward something.
The wind picked up slightly. Leaves swirled along the path.
She hugged her arms for warmth, and without thinking, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled it off, and draped it over her shoulders in one smooth motion.
She looked at him—this time fully.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
He shrugged, as if it was nothing.
But inside?
Inside he was crumbling a little.
Why does this feel like more than anything I've ever done before?
They reached a stone bench under a neem tree. They sat. Not too close. But not far either.
A few students passed by, laughing loudly. But it felt like they were in a bubble—untouched, unbothered.
She leaned back, resting her head against the bark.
"I didn't sleep much," she said, softly.
He turned to her, brows pulling in. "Why?"
She smiled faintly, eyes still on the sky. "Because of… you."
It wasn't flirty. It wasn't dramatic.
It was a simple confession.
And it rooted him to the spot.
His voice was lower than he intended when he replied, "Same."
And there it was again.
The almost.
The nearly something.
A brushstroke of closeness, layered onto a canvas that neither of them was ready to sign—but both had already begun to paint.