The library in Sara's house was a place of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the scratching of Akash's pen. But for Akash, the silence felt heavy. Every time he looked at the gold-rimmed clock on the wall or the silk curtains, he was reminded of the world he came from—a world of cracked walls and kerosene lamps.
"You're staring at the clock again," Sara said, leaning back in her velvet chair. She hadn't touched her math book in twenty minutes.
Akash snapped back to reality. "I have a bus to catch, Sara. If I miss the last one, I'll have to walk five miles to the hostel."
Sara frowned, her brow furrowing in genuine concern. "Why don't you let my driver drop you? We have three cars sitting idle in the garage."
"No," Akash said, perhaps a bit too sharply. "I prefer the bus."
He saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes and instantly regretted his tone. To her, it was a simple offer of help. To him, it was a reminder of the gap between them—a gap he was desperately trying to bridge with education.
"I'm sorry," he softened his voice. "I just... I'm not used to being taken care of."
Sara watched him for a long moment. "You're very proud, aren't you, Akash?"
"In my world, pride is the only thing that's free," he replied, packing his worn-out bag.
As the weeks turned into months, the 'Law of Diminishing Returns' was replaced by long conversations that had nothing to do with economics. Sara began to notice the frayed cuffs of his shirt, and Akash began to notice the loneliness hidden behind her privilege. Her parents were always away at galas or business meetings, leaving her in a golden cage.
One rainy evening, the power went out in the mansion. The backup generator failed to kick in immediately. In the sudden darkness, Sara gasped and instinctively reached for Akash's hand.
His hand was rough, calloused from years of hard work, while hers was soft as silk. For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The rain lashed against the large glass windows, creating a wall between them and the rest of the world.
"Akash," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you ever feel like you don't belong anywhere?"
Akash felt his heart race. He knew he should pull away. He knew the unwritten rules of society—tutors don't fall for their students, and poor boys don't dream of princesses.
But as he felt her grip tighten on his hand, the barriers he had built around his heart began to crumble.
"I used to feel that way," he murmured in the dark. "Until I started coming here."
The lights flickered back on, blinding them both. They quickly pulled their hands apart, faces flushed. But the air in the room had changed. The lessons were no longer just about books; they were about a dangerous, beautiful feeling that neither of them could afford.