Vedant's POV
The projector dimmed. The list of themes faded from the screen, but the tension in the room lingered like static.
I closed my notebook slowly. No rush. No excitement. Just focus.
AI-powered mental health solutions.
It was a good theme. Complex. Relevant. Demanding.
Exactly the kind of challenge I preferred—one that didn't rely on charm or theatrics. Just clarity. Precision. Depth.
Nihal was already talking beside me, voice low and fast. "We could build something diagnostic. Like early detection using sentiment analysis. Or maybe a chatbot that adapts to emotional tone?"
I nodded, half-listening. My mind was already moving—mapping out the architecture, the data sources, the ethical constraints. I didn't need noise. I needed structure.
Across the room, I saw Arohi.
She hadn't looked at me. Not once. But I felt her attention like a pulse—brief, sharp, and gone before it could settle.
Her theme was sustainable fashion for Gen Z.
She'd do well with it. She understood nuance. She knew how to build things that spoke to emotion without losing logic.
I respected that.
But I also knew she saw me as competition.
Not openly. Not dramatically.
Quietly. Sharply. Like a blade tucked into a sleeve.
I didn't mind.
Let her build her story.
I'd build my system.
This wasn't about winning. Not for me.
It was about solving something real.
Mental health wasn't a buzzword—it was a fracture line running through every conversation we avoided. If I could build something that made even a small dent in that silence, it would be worth it.
Nihal was still talking. "We should look into anonymized journaling features. Maybe integrate with wearable data?"
"Good idea," I said. "But we'll need to define boundaries. No overreach. No false promises."
He nodded, finally slowing down.
I glanced at the board again. Seven teams. Seven themes.
Some would chase aesthetics. Some would chase applause.
I wasn't chasing either.
I was building something that could hold weight.
And if Arohi happened to be watching—
Let her.
I wasn't here to impress her.
But I wasn't going to disappear either.
Nihal leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. "Honestly," he said, half-smiling, "I'm hoping Meher notices our pitch. She's into all that wellness stuff. If we nail this, maybe she'll actually talk to me outside class."
I glanced at him, then back at my notes.
Meher was smart. Warm. The kind of person who made people feel seen. I understood the appeal.
But I didn't have space for that kind of distraction.
"I don't have time for relationships," I said quietly.
Nihal raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a rule."
"It is," I replied. "For me."
He didn't argue. Just nodded, like he understood—even if he didn't agree.
I turned back to the screen, the theme still glowing faintly in my mind.
Mental health. AI. Precision. Purpose.
Let others chase connection.
I was here to build something that lasted.