❤️9❤️

It had been a week.

Seven days since Meera last met Aarav’s eyes. Since she let her smile soften in his presence. Since she let anything slip — not the flicker in her gaze, not the way her breath hitched when he walked by.

She had mastered the art of pretending.

Aarav, on the other hand, had not.

He noticed. Every time. Every second. How she carefully stayed in groups, especially with Anya. How she entered the class late, sat at the far end, and left before he could even look up. How her lips no longer curled into that teasing smirk he secretly waited for.

It gnawed at him.

And what made it worse? He couldn’t ask. Not directly. Not without crossing a line neither of them had named — but both had danced around.

On Wednesday afternoon, Anya sat with her boyfriend, Rishi, on the college lawn under a neem tree, sipping juice packs and soaking in the last of the sun before evening classes.

“You’ve been distracted all week,” Rishi teased, nudging her with his shoulder.

Anya sighed. “It’s Meera.”

Rishi raised an eyebrow. “Queen Ice? You two are besties now?”

“She’s not what people say, Rishi,” Anya said softly. “She’s not rude. Or arrogant. She’s... guarded.”

“She lives alone in that huge house. Her parents are abroad half the time. She doesn’t even wait for them to call. She doesn’t expect it.”

Rishi frowned. “That’s... kind of sad.”

Anya nodded. “And she hides it so well. You’d never guess unless you sit close enough to notice the silences.”

Unbeknownst to them, Aarav was passing by the lawn, some documents in hand. He didn’t stop. But he heard enough.

Enough to make something twist in his gut.

Later that day, in the corridor, Aarav spotted Meera near the vending machine, her hand outstretched for a cold bottle of juice. A flicker of hesitation passed through him — should he go to her? Should he say something?

But just then, Yash walked in from the opposite side, unmistakably from the Psychology department — a familiar face known for being a little too confident.

“There you are,” Yash said, slowing his steps as he reached her. “Literature’s rebel queen. Still too cool to say hi?”

Meera glanced sideways, her tone flat but polite. “Hello, Yash.”

“You disappeared last week,” he said, casually leaning against the vending machine beside her. “Thought the Lit building swallowed you up.”

“I was around,” she said, eyes scanning the digital display on the vending machine, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, our departments should really collaborate more. A Lit mind and a Psych brain? Dangerous combo.”

Meera gave a small smile. “Maybe. But I’m not looking for collaborations.”

Yash chuckled. “Ouch. That was a soft rejection.”

“It wasn’t meant to sting.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head playfully. “I mean that as a compliment.”

“Thanks,” Meera replied curtly, stepping aside with her drink. “See you around.”

Aarav, standing just at the turn of the corridor, witnessed the entire exchange. Meera’s composed indifference. Yash’s casual attempts. And the way Meera turned away, not noticing the storm slowly building behind Aarav’s steady gaze.

He didn’t like it.

Not Yash.

Not the way Meera let her guard down — even slightly — for someone else.

He walked away, his footsteps heavier than he’d admit.

That night, while Meera scrolled absently through her phone on her bed, a new notification flashed across the student portal:

"Annual College Fest: All departments. Parents welcome. Celebrating student talents and family support!"

Meera stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the notification but didn’t click it.

She sat back, head resting on the headboard, eyes unfocused.

Family support.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she sat between her parents for dinner. Or heard a “we’re proud of you.” Maybe they were proud. Maybe they weren’t. But they never said it.

And now a fest? With families?

Of course she wasn’t going to tell them.

She tossed the phone aside and pulled the blanket over her head — not because it was cold. But because it was easier to hide than feel anything at all.

AARAV's POV 

He hadn't meant to hurt her.

But he had.

And now, Meera moved through campus like a shadow he could never quite reach.

She was there — in class, in the corridors, sitting quietly with Anya in the courtyard — but she wasn't really there. Her eyes never met his. Her expression gave nothing away. She didn't glare, she didn't pout, she didn't do anything he expected her to.

She just... disappeared from his orbit. Without leaving.

And it was driving him insane.

He sat at his desk, hand clenching around a pen he wasn't using. The stack of essays before him remained untouched. Every time he tried to focus, his mind drifted back to her. Not the version of her that sat quietly now, but the version from a week ago.

Bold. Unapologetic. Alive with something sharp and teasing.

He remembered the way her lips had parted — not with fear, but with something like disbelief — when he said those words to her near the staff block.

"You're not special........Flirting? Playing games? "

He had said that.

Harsh. Dismissive. A lie wrapped in fear.

And the worst part?

He had seen it — the exact moment her spark dimmed. She didn't cry. She didn't fight. She just looked at him for a second too long. And then turned and walked away.

Since then, she hadn't spoken a single word to him.

Aarav leaned back in his chair, fingers pressing against his temple.

What the hell was happening to him?

This wasn't how he was. He had always kept boundaries clear. Professional. Detached. He'd built walls high enough that even his closest colleagues didn't know much beyond his coffee preference.

And then she walked in — a student with a fire she didn't try to hide and eyes that saw far too much.

He should have been smarter. Should have stayed colder.

But now... he couldn't unsee her.

The way she smiled when she thought no one was watching. The way she tilted her head as if daring him to look. The way her silence now felt like a punishment far more brutal than any shouting could have been.

He saw her with Anya every day now. Close. Laughing sometimes. But only a little. Meera's laugh never quite reached her eyes anymore.

And when Yash from the psychology department started hovering nearby, he felt something bitter rise in his chest. Yash would crack a joke, and Meera would smile — polite, distant. But it still made Aarav's fists clench under the table.

He hadn't earned the right to be jealous. He knew that.

But he was jealous.

Pathetic, isn't it? A grown man, a professor no less, bothered by the idea of a girl — no, a woman — speaking to someone else.

But Meera wasn't just someone else.

He didn't know what she was to him.

All he knew was... he'd hurt her. And now she was slipping away, inch by inch.

And maybe — just maybe — he wasn't ready to let her go.

Not yet.

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