The notice board in the main hall glowed with fresh announcements: cultural week, guest lectures, the art exhibit. Meera was halfway down the corridor when Priya squealed and caught her sleeve.
"Meera! Look."
Across the top of the poster, in bold black letters:FEATURED PHOTOGRAPHER – MEERA JOSHI.
Her heart skipped.She hadn't applied.
"I didn't—" she began.
Priya was already bubbling. "You didn't need to! The art council said someone nominated you. They said the dean approved it himself."
Meera's stomach sank. She didn't need to ask who.
She found Aarav later in the faculty corridor, talking with a professor. The moment he saw her, that small, composed smile appeared — the one that made every word feel premeditated.
"Congratulations," he said before she could speak. "You deserved the spot."
"I didn't submit anything."
He nodded, completely calm. "So I did. I only gave them your file. The rest was their decision."
"You can't keep doing things for me," she said, voice low.
"I didn't," he replied. "I only made sure they saw what you're capable of."
It should have sounded generous. It didn't.
That night, in the empty gallery where exhibits were being prepared, Meera walked between blank panels and folding lights. The quiet buzz of the wiring filled the air. Her name on the printed list mocked her — Featured Photographer.
On one of the panels lay a single envelope.No name. Just the words: Always watching.
Her breath caught.
She turned the envelope over — empty.
Her first instinct was to storm to Aarav again, but the message felt… different. The handwriting wasn't his precise, even script. It was hurried, almost shaking. For the first time, a thought crossed her mind: what if it wasn't him this time?
When she left the gallery, he was waiting outside, leaning against the doorframe.
"Working late again," he said softly.
"You shouldn't be here."
His brow furrowed. "You sound afraid."
"I'm tired," she answered. "That's not the same thing."
He stepped aside to let her pass, but his gaze followed, quiet, unreadable. "Tomorrow," he said, "I'll help you hang the first set of prints."
"I don't need—"
"I know," he interrupted. "But I'll still be there."
She didn't argue. She couldn't. Some part of her already expected him to be.