Nihal's POV
I wasn't nervous. Not exactly.
But when I saw Meher sitting alone in the library courtyard, sketching something in her notebook, I felt that familiar shift in my chest—the one that made words feel heavier than usual.
She looked calm. Focused. The kind of person who didn't need noise to feel present.
I walked over slowly, holding my coffee like it was a shield. "Hey," I said, casual. "Mind if I sit?"
She glanced up. Her eyes were soft, but unreadable. "Sure."
I sat. Not too close. Not too far.
She didn't speak. Just kept sketching. Her pencil moved with quiet confidence—no hesitation, no second-guessing. I leaned slightly to peek.
It was a layout. A wellness retreat, maybe. Open spaces, soft curves, handwritten notes in the margins.
"You're working on the project?" I asked.
She nodded. "Arohi's handling the pitch. I'm designing the experience."
I smiled. "Of course you are."
And then I noticed her outfit. A soft pink kurta, simple but elegant, with silver thread tracing the cuffs like whispers. Her hair was tied back loosely, strands falling around her face like they belonged there. She wasn't trying to be beautiful. She just was. The kind of beauty that didn't ask for attention—it earned it quietly, like a well-written sentence.
There was something about the way she sat—spine straight, gaze steady—that made her seem older than the rest of us. Not in years, but in clarity. Like she'd already sorted through the noise and chosen what mattered.
"You always dress like this?" I asked, before I could stop myself.
She looked up, one brow raised. "Like what?"
"Like you know exactly who you are."
She blinked, then gave a small smile. "I dress for silence. And comfort."
I nodded, unsure how to respond. "It suits you."
She returned to her sketch, but I saw the corner of her mouth lift again. A second smile. Smaller. Quieter. But real.
I sipped my coffee, letting the silence stretch. It wasn't awkward. It was... spacious.
"You're not sketching just for the project," I said. "You do this often?"
She nodded. "It helps me think. I like designing spaces where people feel safe."
I watched her pencil move again. "Do you feel safe here?"
She paused. "With you?"
I swallowed. "Yeah."
She looked at me then. Fully. "You don't talk like the others."
"I don't think like them either."
She tilted her head. "That's not a bad thing."
I took a breath. "I'm hoping you'll be impressed."
She blinked. "By what?"
"Our pitch. The idea. Us."
She tilted her head slightly. "Why?"
I hesitated. "Because I think you're... impressive. And I guess I want to matter to someone who sees things clearly."
She didn't smile. But she didn't look away.
"You already matter," she said softly. "You just don't know where yet."
I stared at her, unsure what to say.
She returned to her sketch.
And I sat there, coffee cooling in my hand, heart warming in my chest.