Mudit's POV
I don't speak unless I have to.
Not because I don't have things to say.
Because most people don't know how to listen.
But tonight, Riya did.
We were paired for monologue work.
Not by choice.
By Meher's enthusiasm and Aryan's chaos.
"Riya and Mudit," Meher said, handing us a sheet. "You two have the quietest energy. Let's see what happens when you write together."
I wanted to protest.
Not because of Riya.
Because I didn't want to be seen.
But she just smiled and sat beside me.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just enough.
We didn't speak for the first ten minutes.
She was sketching something—lines, shadows, maybe a face.
I was writing.
Not a monologue.
Just fragments.
"She looked at me like I was a poem."
"She's too beautiful."
"Not in the way people say it. In the way that makes you forget what you were angry about."
I didn't mean to let her read it.
But I didn't hide it either.
She leaned in, eyes scanning the page.
Then she smirked. "Wow. So you do have feelings."
I raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
She laughed. "Too late. I'm already drafting your emotional expose."
I rolled my eyes. "Make sure you spell my name right."
She tapped her pen against the table. "Mudit Agrawal. Secret romantic. Writes like he's bleeding ink."
I blinked. "That's disturbingly accurate."
She grinned. "I'm disturbingly observant."
We started writing together.
Not a scene.
A rhythm.
She'd sketch a moment. I'd write a line.
She'd hum a melody. I'd scribble a silence.
At one point, she asked, "Do you think people ever fall in love with the way someone listens?"
I said, "I think that's the only way."
She smiled.
Not the kind you show the world.
The kind that escapes before you can stop it.
And I felt it.
Not a rush.
Not a spark.
A stillness.
Like something inside me had just… settled.
Like I'd been circling something for weeks, and now I'd found the center.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't loud.
It was just this:
I wanted her to read everything I'd never said.
I wanted her to sketch the parts of me I didn't know how to name.
I wanted her to stay.
And I realized—
I'd fallen for her.
Not because she listened.
But because she saw.