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Cafeteria
Jealousy Alert — Viaan's First Move Toward Kanchan
Lunch break at the college cafeteria was always loud.
Too loud.
Laughter bounced off the walls, trays clattered, chairs scraped against the floor. Groups had already claimed their territories—athletes in one corner, the so-called "popular crowd" in another, first-years trying hard to look like they belonged.
It was chaos wrapped in comfort.
I entered quietly, my tray balanced in my hands. Nothing fancy—just a sandwich, fruit, and a glass of juice. Food was fuel. Lunch was a pause, not a performance.
My eyes went instinctively toward my usual place.
The table near the window.
Sunlight slipped in gently from there, warming the surface just enough to feel alive. Outside, trees swayed lazily, untouched by deadlines, gossip, or unspoken rivalries.
I sat down, placed my tray aside, and pulled out my notes.
Biology revision. Habit, not pressure.
While the world around me buzzed, I stayed still—pen moving, mind focused, breathing steady.
Then the air shifted.
It wasn't sudden.
It was… aware.
A subtle ripple moved through the cafeteria, like the first warning of a storm no one had predicted.
Whispers.
"Wait… is that—"
"He's here."
"Viaan."
I didn't look up.
I didn't need to.
I felt him before I saw him.
His presence had a strange gravity—quiet, heavy, undeniable.
Viaan walked in.
Black hoodie slung casually over his shoulders, basketball shorts, sneakers that carried him with practiced confidence. Headphones rested around his neck, messy hair falling into his eyes like he didn't care enough to push it back.
Every girl in the room noticed.
Some straightened.
Some whispered.
Some pretended not to look—while looking anyway.
"Why does he never smile?"
"He's so hot it's unfair."
"Does he even know we exist?"
Viaan didn't react.
He never did.
But today—something was different.
His eyes didn't scan the room aimlessly.
They didn't avoid faces.
They didn't stay distant.
They came straight to me.
Direct. Intentional.
I stirred my spoon absent-mindedly, still focused on my notes, when a shadow fell across my table.
A tall shadow.
I paused.
Slowly, I looked up.
Viaan stood there.
Close.
Too close for coincidence.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were alert—watching me, studying me, like he was trying to understand something that refused to make sense.
"Anyone sitting here?" he asked.
The question landed like thunder.
For half a second, the cafeteria forgot how to breathe.
Forks froze mid-air.
A spoon clattered loudly onto a plate somewhere.
Someone actually gasped.
Viaan—the Viaan—asking to sit with someone?
I blinked once, surprised—but not flustered.
"No," I said casually.
"You can sit."
No excitement.
No hesitation.
No performance.
Just a statement.
Viaan nodded and took the seat opposite me.
Just like that.
The unthinkable happened.
For the first time ever, Viaan chose a girl.
Not the popular table.
Not his teammates.
Not solitude.
Me.
Silence settled between us—not awkward, not forced.
Comfortable.
I picked up my sandwich and took a bite, eyes drifting back to my notebook. Across from me, Viaan leaned back slightly, elbows resting on the table, gaze fixed on my face like he was watching a scene unfold.
Not staring.
Observing.
Minutes passed.
Then—
"Why do you always sit here?" he asked.
His voice was lower than I expected. Not cold. Just controlled.
"I like the light," I replied without looking up.
"And I don't like noise."
A pause.
"You don't seem bothered by attention either," he said.
That made me glance at him.
"Because it doesn't define me," I answered simply.
"Does it define you?"
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not irritation.
Not amusement.
Recognition.
Before he could reply, heels clicked against the floor.
Sharp. Deliberate.
Anjali.
She entered like she always did—perfect posture, flawless hair, confidence wrapped in entitlement. The kind of girl who never doubted her place in any room.
Until now.
She saw Viaan.
Then she saw where he was sitting.
And then—
She saw me.
Her steps slowed.
Her smile faltered.
Her eyes hardened—just for a split second—before the mask slid back on.
She approached our table with practiced elegance.
"Oh—hey Viaan," she said lightly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"You're here?"
Viaan looked at her.
Then looked back at me.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Just wanted a quiet seat."
Then, still looking at me, his tone shifted—softer, almost curious.
"You sit here every day, don't you?"
The cafeteria exploded—silently.
Every girl knew what that meant.
Anjali's smile froze.
"Yes," I answered calmly.
"I like routine."
I smiled—small, unthreatening.
"Besides," I added, glancing at him,
"you're usually alone. New mood today?"
A tease.
Gentle.
Controlled.
Viaan's lips twitched.
A corner smile.
His first.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't obvious.
But it was real.
Anjali stiffened.
"Viaan," she cut in quickly,
"you remember we were supposed to discuss the assignment?"
Viaan leaned back, eyes never leaving mine.
"Later," he said casually.
"I'm busy right now."
Busy.
With me.
The word echoed like a slap.
Anjali stood there for a moment, smile glued to her face, eyes burning with disbelief.
"Sure," she said finally.
"No problem."
She turned and walked away.
But the way her fingers curled into fists said everything.
I picked up my spoon again, unbothered on the surface.
Inside?
I knew.
This wasn't just lunch.
This was a line crossed.
Viaan hadn't just sat with me.
He had chosen me.
And in doing so, he had ignited something far bigger than either of us had planned.
As sunlight warmed the table and the cafeteria slowly returned to its noise, one thought echoed clearly in my mind—
> The storm has arrived.
And the game has officially begun.
---
Next Day
English Class — When Words Set the Room on Fire
The next morning didn't feel like a regular college day.
It felt like aftermath.
The cafeteria incident had travelled faster than Wi-Fi. By the time students entered the English Literature classroom, the story had already been edited, exaggerated, and replayed a hundred times in whispers.
Viaan sat with Kanchan.
He ignored Anjali.
He smiled—actually smiled.
The classroom buzzed with anticipation, not noise. The kind of silence that waits for something to explode.
Viaan sat in his usual seat near the middle rows, posture relaxed, book open in front of him—but his mind wasn't on the page.
The moment Kanchan walked in, he looked up.
Not subconsciously.
Not casually.
Deliberately.
She entered with her usual calm—hair tied back, minimal effort, maximum presence. No attempt to scan the room. No interest in who was watching.
But everyone was.
She walked straight to the front bench and sat down, placing her book on the desk with quiet certainty.
No drama.
No reaction.
That alone unsettled people.
Viaan's gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he forced himself to look back at his book—except the words blurred now.
She doesn't even try, he thought.
And that's exactly why everyone notices.
Professor Williams entered shortly after, placing her notes on the desk.
"Good morning, everyone."
A lazy chorus followed.
"Today, we continue with Pride and Prejudice," she announced.
"Our focus will be on characters—ego, emotional intelligence, and what truly defines strength."
Somewhere in the room, Anjali straightened in her seat.
She looked flawless, as always—perfect hair, coordinated outfit, expression carefully neutral. But underneath, something was restless.
The previous day had bruised her pride.
And Anjali never let bruises go unanswered.
Professor Williams continued, "Let's begin with Elizabeth Bennet. What makes her a strong female character?"
A few hands lifted hesitantly.
Then—
Anjali raised hers.
Slow. Intentional.
Professor Williams nodded. "Yes, Anjali?"
Anjali smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that hid sharpened edges.
"I think," she began, voice smooth,
"Elizabeth is admired because she appears strong. But sometimes, girls mistake attention-seeking behavior for confidence."
A subtle shift rippled through the class.
Anjali continued, eyes briefly flicking toward Kanchan before returning to the professor.
"They speak boldly, act independent—but deep down, it's just a need to be noticed."
The room held its breath.
Viaan's jaw tightened.
He didn't look at Anjali.
He looked at Kanchan.
She hadn't reacted.
Not yet.
Professor Williams tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Interesting perspective," she said.
"Does anyone want to respond?"
For a second, nothing happened.
Then—
Kanchan slowly closed her book.
The sound was soft.
But it landed loud.
She turned around in her seat—not rushed, not aggressive—and looked directly at Anjali.
Her expression was calm.
Dangerously calm.
"You know, Anjali," she said evenly,
"there's a difference between acting strong and being strong without acting."
The room froze.
Viaan leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening.
Kanchan continued, her voice steady, unshaken.
"Girls who are actually strong don't need to cling to someone to be noticed."
A pause.
"They become noticeable without trying."
A murmur stirred—but she wasn't done.
"And anyway…"
her lips curved into a faint, composed smile,
"real strength doesn't cry for validation."
Her eyes didn't leave Anjali's.
"It naturally threatens insecure people."
Silence.
Pure. Absolute. Crushing silence.
Somewhere in the back, a boy whispered, barely audible—
"Ouch… that burn though."
Professor Williams looked down at her notes, clearly suppressing a smile.
"Very well said, Kanchan," she said finally.
"That interpretation aligns perfectly with Jane Austen's portrayal."
Anjali's face flushed—red creeping up from her neck to her cheeks. Her friends leaned in, whispering hurried comfort, hands rubbing her shoulders as if she'd taken a physical hit.
But the damage was already done.
Across the room, Viaan leaned back in his chair.
A slow smirk spread across his face—not mocking, not cruel.
Proud.
Impressed.
Something warm flickered in his chest.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't insult.
She dismantled.
He shut his notebook quietly.
"Nice shot," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
Kanchan didn't look at him.
Didn't smile.
Didn't acknowledge the effect she'd had on him—or the room.
"Thanks," she replied calmly.
"It wasn't aimed."
A pause.
"Just landed."
Viaan let out a low breath, something close to a laugh.
Attraction wasn't sudden.
It was tightening.
Slowly. Inevitably.
He realized something in that moment—something unsettling.
Kanchan didn't fight for attention.
She commanded space simply by existing.
And that?
That was dangerous.
For Anjali, it was humiliation.
For Viaan—
It was the beginning of interest he hadn't planned for.
Interest that didn't ask permission.
Interest that wasn't about looks or popularity.
It was about presence.
As the lecture continued, Viaan found himself watching Kanchan—not openly, but attentively. The way she listened. The way she wrote notes. The way she didn't once look back to see who was watching.
And Kanchan?
She felt it.
That pull.
That awareness.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
Because some connections don't require eye contact.
They announce themselves in silence.
And somewhere between Jane Austen's words and the unspoken tension filling the room, one truth settled firmly between them—
This wasn't a passing spark.
This was the kind of fire that burns slow…
…and refuses to go out.