❤️​5❤️​

Meera POV

The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, I felt it.

His eyes.

Burning. Watching. Undressing me without a single touch.

I didn't wear this skirt for the world.
I wore it because I knew he'd be in this room.
I wore it because I wanted him to suffer a little — the way I had been suffering in silence.

When I sat, I crossed my legs slowly, deliberately. Let my fingers toy with my pen. Let my hair fall over one shoulder. I wasn't loud. I didn't flirt. But I knew exactly what I was doing.

He tried to talk about Macbeth.

"Metaphor reflects guilt... the unraveling of one's conscience..." he said

But he fumbled.

His voice dropped. His gaze dipped.
For a second, he looked like a man fighting a war inside his own chest.

And I loved it.

After class – Canteen

I was eating alone. Like always. Until Yash came.

Confident. Annoyingly charming.
And loud enough to turn heads.

"You know what, Meera? You're the mystery every guy wants to solve."

I didn't even look up. "Maybe I don't want to be solved."

He laughed. "That's what makes you more fun."

I was about to shut him down when I felt a stare.

I turned — and there he was.

Professor Aarav.
Leaning by the coffee counter, his jaw tight. His eyes darker than usual.

He was watching. But not saying a word.

I smiled — just a little — then looked away.

Let him burn a little more.

"Anyway," Yash's voice cut in beside me, too cheerful, too loud. "You should check out that café near campus. I think you'd like it."

I nodded, polite. But something about his presence suddenly felt off — like noise interrupting a song I was starting to love.

I could still feel Aarav's gaze like static in the air, a heat that clung.

Then, thank god — Anya appeared beside me, her tray in hand, giving me the excuse I didn't realize I was waiting for.

"Hey!" she grinned. "Mind if I join?"

"Of course not," I said, too quickly. I turned to Yash with a polite smile. "See you around."

Without waiting for more small talk, I stepped away with Anya, letting his words fade behind us.

Aarav's POV

What the hell was he even saying to her?

I leaned by the coffee counter, arms crossed, pretending to scroll through my phone — but my eyes hadn't left her for even a second. Meera stood there, head tilted just a bit, listening to that idiot — Yash, wasn't it? — talk like he had a chance.

He didn't.

But it didn't stop the burn in my chest.

She smiled. Not fully — not the way she smiled when she teased me — but it was enough to make something twist inside me.

I clenched my jaw.

Possessive. That's what this was. I knew it. I felt it.

And I hated it.

Before I did something stupid, like walk over and plant a kiss on her just to shut everyone up, I turned and walked off. Back to my office. Back to a distance that felt safer.

From the window near my desk, I could still see them — smaller now, like framed figures in a movie. That Yash guy still blabbering. Meera's expression shifting — softening.

Then came Anya. She joined them casually, but something in Meera changed. She turned slightly, body angling toward the girl, her smile more real now. And then — she left Yash behind.

A smile tugged at my lips, slow and involuntary.

Smart girl.

But still — I'd remember how close he stood. How long he looked at her. How long she let him.

This wasn't over.

Meera POV

"So you really don't drink coffee?" Anya asked, faking a gasp

You should be arrested for that.

I like tea, okay?" I smirked. "Cardamom, strong, no sugar.

"So you're one of those."

We both laughed. I liked her already — easy to talk to, loud in a way that didn't hurt your ears.

You ever go out just... randomly?" she asked, tossing a biscuit to a crow near us.

I shrugged.

"I used to. Not anymore."

She paused.

"Parents strict?"

I hesitated. The smile faded, replaced with a blank expression.

"Something like that."

She caught the tone shift. She didn't push.

"Okay. But if you ever want to sneak out — I'm your girl," she said, nudging my shoulder playfully.

"Noted," I said, offering a soft smile.

Aarav POV

I should've been grading papers. Or preparing for the next lecture. But my mind — it wasn't with me anymore.

It was with her.

She sat near the far end of the campus, on the stone bench under the gulmohar tree — her hair tied messily, a few strands falling into her face. Beside her, Anya animatedly waved her hands as she spoke.

Meera listened, smiled, even laughed. But I knew better.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

I leaned slightly against the window frame, arms folded.

God, how does she do that?

Carry herself like she doesn't need anyone. Like the world doesn't touch her. But in moments like these — when no one's watching — she looks like she's breaking. Quietly.

She didn't flinch. She didn't cry. But something cracked in her.

"What happened to you, Meera?"

Later that evening, Meera stayed behind in the library, lost in a book, fingers tracing the paper but not reading a word. She looked up when she sensed him.

Aarav was there — leaning against the wooden shelf opposite her table, arms crossed, gaze fixed. She straightened.

"I saw you today," he said, voice low.

Her breath caught, fingers curling around the edge of the table.

"You smile when you talk to people," he continued, stepping closer. "But your eyes... they never smile."

Meera swallowed. "Maybe I just have quiet eyes."

He gave a humorless smile. "No. They're loud. Just... no one's listening."

The silence stretched. His eyes dropped for a second — to her lips, her collarbone. She wasn't doing anything seductive. Just sitting there. And yet his entire body responded like she was stripping him bare.

He stepped closer — now just inches away.

"Say something," he whispered.

"What?"

"Anything," he murmured, his eyes now locked to hers. "Because if you stay quiet like this..." His jaw clenched. "I might lose control."

Meera's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat was dry.

He didn't touch her. But his fingers rested on the table beside hers, so close, the back of his knuckles brushed her skin. That was all.

But it felt like fire.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm yours."

His breath hitched. His reply? Soft. Ragged.

"Aren't you?"

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