❤️8❤️

The campus felt... strange. Quieter in a way only Aarav could understand.

The corridors still echoed with chatter. Laughter still spilled from stairwells. But something essential — something warm, unpredictable, and maddeningly magnetic — had gone missing.

Meera didn't show up, Aarav pretended not to notice.

He had a lecture to handle, a meeting with the dean, and a syllabus to wrap. But somewhere between the second and third class, his eyes flicked toward the usual hallway — the one she'd casually strut through, late and unapologetic. Hair slightly messy. That air of quiet mischief hanging around her like a perfume.

Today, it was silent.

No sign of her.

Maybe she was just late. Maybe she was stuck in traffic. Maybe he was being ridiculous.

He didn't even know when he'd started watching for her.

But as the day went on and the halls remained still, something unexplainable started to weigh on him.

The second day was harder to ignore.

He walked in early — earlier than usual. Not because he was hoping to see her, but because he just wanted to... be prepared. Prepared for her teasing eyes, that smug smirk she wore like armor whenever she caught him glancing at her.

Except, she didn't come.

He waited longer near the stairwell. He stayed five minutes extra in the cafeteria. He stood beside the window in the staff room, eyes roaming for a glimpse of her through the courtyard.

Nothing.

When he passed by Anya in the corridor, chatting with a few students, he slowed. His throat tightened. Just ask, a part of him said.

Just ask where she is.

But how could he? What was he supposed to say?

"I yelled at your best friend and now I can't breathe properly because she's not here"?

So, he didn't ask. He turned away, carrying the guilt like a coat he couldn't shrug off.

The third morning, he barely slept.

He opened his wardrobe three times before settling on a shirt. His nerves were a mess, and he didn't even understand why. He told himself that her absence meant nothing.

But deep down, he knew better.

She was everywhere. In the chair across his desk during those awkward library meetings. In the hallway, where her footsteps used to echo late between classes. In the space between his thoughts — filling them, distracting them, mocking him with her absence.

When he entered the lecture hall, he didn't bother scanning the crowd.

He already knew.

That seat near the edge — always half-turned toward him — was empty again.

His hands tightened around the marker. His voice dipped a little when he addressed the class, but he covered it with a cough. Nobody noticed. Except him.

Meera POV

She hadn't stepped outside her room in three days.

The fever wasn't unbearable. Just enough to make her weak and annoyed. But it wasn't the fever that weighed her down — it was something deeper, heavier, sitting in her chest like silence that refused to lift.

The help had told her parents.

She hadn't expected it. But that evening, her phone rang with a name she hadn't seen in days — Amma.

Meera stared at it for a long second before picking up.

"Meera!" her mother's voice came sharp, anxious. "Why didn't you tell us you were sick?"

Meera blinked, adjusting the blanket around her. Her voice was scratchy. "It's nothing. Just a low fever."

"Why did I have to hear it from the maid? What if it was worse?" her mother continued, concern mixing with frustration.

Appa's voice came from the background. "Is she eating well? Did she take medicines? Meera, kanna, tell us."

Meera pressed her eyes shut, the unexpected warmth of their voices tugging at her. "Yes, Appa. I took the tablets. Anya's helping me too. I'm fine."

There was a beat of silence.

"We'll try to come next week," her mother said, softer this time. "I'm sorry we're not there, ma."

Meera didn't know what to say. The hurt was still there — old and familiar — but so was the comfort. So she only replied, "It's okay. I'm fine now."

They talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. And just like that, the room was quiet again.

Until the knock came.

Anya.

Meera opened the door slowly, and Anya entered with two juice boxes and a glare.

"You could've told me you were sick, idiot."

"I didn't want you to fuss."

"Well, too bad. I'm fussing." Anya sat cross-legged on the bed like it was hers and handed her a pack. "And you're drinking this."

Meera smiled faintly, her first in hours. "Thanks."

Every evening, Anya came — with food, juice, gossip from college, even memes. She didn't ask too many questions, didn't poke too hard about why Meera looked like very dull and sad.

Anya would talk, Meera would listen. Nod. Smile occasionally. But her eyes... they gave her away.

"Why don't you just come back to class?" Anya said softly, pushing back a strand of Meera's hair.

Meera looked out the window. "I will. Tomorrow."

"Promise?"

She nodded.

And so, on the fourth day, Meera walked back into college.

She wasn't the same.

The boldness was gone. Her eyeliner was softer. The confident strut replaced with quiet steps. She stuck beside Anya like glue, attending classes but avoiding the blocks Aarav usually occupied. When his class was scheduled, she deliberately stayed in the canteen.

Aarav noticed.

Of course he did.

The moment she stepped onto campus, his chest constricted with relief — until he saw her from afar and realized something had changed.

She didn't look at him.

Not once.

She didn't go near the library.

She didn't walk past the staff corridor.

She didn't even glance in his direction when they crossed paths.

He tried catching her gaze. Once, in the corridor. Once, in the common area. She looked past him every time.

She wasn't ignoring him like before. This time, she was... unreachable.

And that terrified him more than anything.

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