Vedant's POV
I saw her.
Before my name was called, before I stepped up to present, before I even opened my file—I saw Arohi.
She was standing near the back, arms folded, blazer sharp, expression unreadable. But her eyes gave her away. She was watching me.
Not critically. Not casually.
Appreciating.
And that unsettled me more than I expected.
I delivered my presentation like I always do—clean, precise, no wasted words. The model was solid. The logic held. People nodded. A few even smiled.
But I kept feeling her gaze.
Not heavy. Not demanding. Just... there.
And when I finished, when the applause came and I stepped down, I let myself glance once—just once.
She was still watching.
She didn't smile. But her eyes did.
And that's when I knew I couldn't look at her during her presentation.
Not even once.
Because I knew what would happen.
She'd speak—clear, confident, the way she always does when she's prepared. She'd explain the model with that quiet authority that doesn't ask for attention but earns it anyway. And I'd look at her. And I'd feel something shift.
And I didn't want that.
I didn't want to fall for her.
Not because she wasn't worth it.
But because I wasn't ready to be seen by someone who looks that closely.
So when her name was called, I kept my eyes on the chart paper. On the projector. On anything but her.
Even when I heard her voice—steady, deliberate, just a little softer than usual—I didn't look.
Even when the room quieted, even when Nihal leaned forward slightly, even when I felt the air change—I didn't look.
Because if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop.
And I don't know what she'd do with that.
So I stayed still.
And afterward, when she passed me in the corridor, I nodded at Meher. Complimented her. Said nothing to Arohi.
Not because I didn't notice her.
But because I did.
Too much.
The results were announced just before lunch.
Nihal and I won.
Best model. Best execution. Best pitch.
And then the final line:
"Best Speaker: Vedant Kapoor."
Applause. A few cheers. A pat on the back from someone I barely knew.
I walked up, accepted the certificate, nodded at Professor Mehra. He smiled—tight, approving, the way he does when someone meets his expectations but doesn't surprise him.
I turned toward the crowd.
And I saw her.
Arohi.
She was clapping. Controlled. Composed. But her eyes met mine for a second too long.
I didn't smile.
I couldn't.
Because I knew what she was thinking.
And I knew what I wasn't ready to feel.
Then I caught something else.
Meher—standing just behind Arohi—was smiling. Brightly. At Nihal.
Not the polite kind. Not the academic kind.
The kind that lingers.
The kind that says, I saw you. I liked what I saw.
Nihal didn't notice. Or maybe he did and pretended not to.
But I saw it.
And for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to be looked at like that.
Not for how well I spoke.
But for who I was when I wasn't performing.