Arohi's POV
Riya Malhotra was already there when I walked in.
Perched on the edge of Professor Mehra's desk like it was her personal stage, legs crossed, phone in hand, voice pitched just loud enough to be overheard. Her laugh was engineered—sharp, deliberate, the kind that made people turn even if they didn't want to.
"Vedant," she said, flipping her hair with theatrical precision, "You really need to stop being so humble. Everyone knows you're the smartest guy here. Even the professors are obsessed."
He gave a neutral nod, eyes scanning the room. His expression was unreadable, as always—calm, composed, frustratingly unbothered.
She didn't notice.
Or pretended not to.
"I mean, I saw your model," she continued, tapping her manicured nails against her phone. "It was... genius. Like, I don't even understand half of it, but I know brilliance when I see it."
I took my seat quietly, trying to tune her out.
But she was designed to be untunable.
"I told my dad about you," she added, voice rising. "He runs a VC firm. Said if you ever pitch something, he'd consider investing. Not that you need help—you're basically a walking startup."
Vedant didn't respond.
She didn't care.
She was performing.
For him. For the room. For herself.
Professor Mehra entered, and the class settled. But Riya remained standing, still talking.
"Oh, and don't forget the E-Cell meeting," she said, loud enough for half the class to hear. "You're the face of the whole thing now. Honestly, they should just rename it Vedant Cell."
A few students chuckled.
I didn't.
Professor Mehra smiled. "Actually, Riya's right. Vedant's leadership in the E-Cell has been exemplary. His proposal for the startup showcase is one of the best I've seen in years."
Applause.
Again.
Not for me.
Never for me.
Professor Sharma added, "And his behavioral logic model—absolutely brilliant. I've shared it with two colleagues already. The layering of decision nodes was subtle, elegant. It's rare to see that kind of restraint and clarity in a first-year student."
Riya beamed, as if the praise was hers by association. "Told you. He's basically a prodigy."
Vedant finally spoke, voice low. "It's a team effort."
She laughed. "Sure. But let's be honest—without you, the team's just... average."
I stared at my notebook.
Still blank.
Still unseen.
Still not the one they quoted.
Still not the one they applauded.
After class, I lingered near the window, pretending to scroll through my phone, though the screen had long gone dark. The ache in my chest wasn't sharp anymore—it was dull, persistent, like a bruise that wouldn't fade.
Vedant walked past, file tucked under his arm, expression unreadable.
Riya called after him. "Vedant, are you coming to the committee meeting?"
He paused. "Maybe."
She smiled. "You should. We need someone who actually knows what they're doing."
He nodded once, then kept walking.
I didn't say anything.
Didn't look at him.
But I felt the ache.
Not because I wanted the praise.
But because I wanted him to see me.
Not as competition.
Not as noise.
Just as someone who was trying.
And maybe, just maybe, worth noticing.