Chapter 3: Unexpected Reunion
The campus didn't feel as overwhelming on the third day.
It felt familiar.
Almost.
Meera adjusted the strap of her bag as she walked through the college gate, sunlight warming the damp pathways that had dried after two days of unpredictable rain. The air smelled clean. New. Like something waiting to unfold.
She told herself she wasn't looking for him.
She told herself that twice.
But her eyes still searched.
Near the tree where he had leaned yesterday.
Near the window in Classroom 104.
Near the staircase that led to the library.
Nothing.
A strange, unnecessary disappointment tugged at her chest.
Why should it matter if he was late?
Why should it matter if he wasn't here at all?
It shouldn't.
And yet.
Inside the classroom, chatter filled the space. Pooja waved at her from the same middle-row seat.
"Morning!" Pooja grinned. "You're early today."
"Am I?" Meera asked, distracted.
"Yes. Someone seems enthusiastic."
Meera rolled her eyes lightly and sat down.
The room slowly filled. Groups laughed. Someone played music softly from their phone. Two boys argued about cricket near the back.
Still no sign of him.
Her gaze drifted to the empty seat near the window.
She shouldn't care.
She didn't care.
The professor entered, and the noise settled.
Halfway through the lecture, the classroom door opened quietly.
Every head turned.
Including hers.
Aarav stood at the entrance, slightly out of breath but composed. His hair looked wind-swept, as if he had rushed. He offered a short apology to the professor and slipped inside.
And for a brief second—
His eyes found hers instantly.
Like he had known exactly where she would be sitting.
The connection lasted barely two seconds.
But it was enough.
He walked toward the back and took his usual seat by the window.
Meera's pulse betrayed her again.
Focus.
The lecture continued, but she found herself hyper-aware of him.
The way he leaned back slightly, listening carefully.
The way he didn't interrupt.
The way he scribbled notes neatly, unlike the chaotic handwriting around him.
At one point, the professor asked a question about market equilibrium. Silence filled the room.
No one volunteered.
After a pause, Aarav raised his hand calmly and answered with surprising clarity.
Not showy.
Not arrogant.
Just precise.
The professor nodded approvingly.
"Good. Very good."
Meera couldn't help it.
She smiled.
And as if sensing it—
He glanced forward.
Their eyes met again.
This time, he held it for half a second longer before looking away.
During the break, Pooja leaned toward her.
"You know," she whispered, "I think he's smarter than he lets on."
"Who?" Meera asked, though she knew.
"Aarav."
"Oh."
"You do that every time," Pooja teased.
"Do what?"
"Pretend you don't know who I'm talking about."
Meera ignored the comment and opened her notebook.
Across the room, Aarav stood up. Two boys approached him—one tall and cheerful, the other slightly serious-looking.
The cheerful one clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're late today," he laughed.
"Bus," Aarav replied shortly.
Meera watched without meaning to.
He looked different when he was with them.
Not louder.
But lighter.
The serious-looking boy noticed her gaze and nudged Aarav subtly.
Aarav glanced toward her.
Not obvious.
Just quick.
She looked down immediately.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Why was she acting like this?
She wasn't twelve.
She was eighteen.
Confident. Independent.
So why did one silent boy disrupt her rhythm?
The next lecture was canceled unexpectedly.
"Self-study period," someone announced.
Instant chaos.
Students rushed toward the canteen.
Pooja grabbed Meera's hand. "Let's go! I'm starving."
They joined the crowd moving downstairs.
The canteen buzzed with energy. The smell of samosas and chai filled the air.
They found a small corner table.
"Two teas!" Pooja shouted toward the counter.
As Meera turned slightly—
She froze.
Aarav stood just a few feet away, waiting for his order.
He hadn't noticed her yet.
Or maybe he had.
He wore a simple black t-shirt today, sleeves slightly rolled up. His expression was neutral, eyes scanning the room casually.
Without thinking, she looked away quickly.
Too late.
He had already seen her.
Their eyes met across the noise.
He gave a small nod.
Not a wave.
Just acknowledgment.
She nodded back.
Pooja followed her gaze and grinned.
"Why don't you just say hi?"
"Why would I?" Meera replied too quickly.
"Because you want to."
Before she could argue, someone bumped into her chair from behind.
She lost balance slightly—
And this time—
A hand steadied the back of her chair before it tipped.
She looked up.
Him.
Again.
"You should consider walking lessons," he said calmly.
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"You almost fell on day one. Yesterday on the stairs. Just now again."
She stared.
"You've been observing me that closely?"
"Hard not to," he replied.
The simplicity of it stole her words.
Pooja cleared her throat dramatically.
"Hi, I'm Pooja," she said cheerfully.
"Aarav."
"Nice to finally meet the mysterious window boy."
Aarav raised an eyebrow faintly. "That's what I am?"
"It's what she calls you," Pooja teased.
Meera's eyes widened. "I do not!"
A flicker of amusement crossed Aarav's face.
"Window boy?" he repeated softly.
"Forget she said that," Meera muttered.
Too late.
He seemed… entertained.
A rare thing.
"Anyway," Pooja continued, "we were just discussing how boring self-study periods are."
"They're peaceful," Aarav said.
"Peaceful is boring."
"Only if you're uncomfortable with silence."
The statement hung there.
Not directed at anyone.
But meaningful.
Meera found herself asking quietly, "And you're not?"
He looked at her.
"No."
For a brief second, the noise of the canteen faded in her ears.
There was something in the way he said it.
Not pride.
Not superiority.
Just fact.
His order was called.
He stepped back slightly.
"See you in class," he said.
And walked away.
Pooja leaned forward immediately.
"Oh, he's interesting."
Meera sipped her tea to hide her expression.
Interesting wasn't the word.
He felt…
Layered.
That afternoon, something unexpected happened.
The class representative entered holding a list.
"Project groups for Economics," she announced.
Groans filled the room.
"Groups of two."
Meera's stomach tightened.
Random pairing.
Please don't be awkward. Please don't be awkward.
Names were called out one by one.
When she heard her name—
She braced herself.
"Meera Sen…"
A pause.
"…with Aarav Malhotra."
Silence lasted half a second longer than necessary.
Her heart pounded.
Pooja gasped dramatically beside her.
Across the room, Aarav didn't react outwardly.
He simply nodded once.
As if this was expected.
The representative continued reading names, but Meera barely heard them.
Group partners.
Which meant—
Meetings.
Discussions.
Time alone.
Her pulse quickened.
This was dangerous.
Why did it feel dangerous?
After class ended, she gathered her books slowly.
He approached her desk calmly.
"Looks like we're partners."
"Yes," she replied, trying to sound normal.
"We should plan early."
"Agreed."
Awkward pause.
"When are you free?" he asked.
"Tomorrow after class?"
"That works."
Another silence.
She hated silence.
He didn't seem to.
"Library?" he suggested.
"Okay."
He nodded once.
"Tomorrow."
And walked away.
No unnecessary small talk.
No flirting.
Just decision.
She stood there for a moment.
Tomorrow.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Why did being paired with him feel like stepping into something unknown?
It was just a project.
Just academic work.
But her mind replayed every small moment.
The canteen.
The window.
The way he said peaceful.
The way he looked at her when she challenged him.
Somewhere across town, Aarav sat at his desk, notebook open.
He wasn't writing.
He was thinking.
About how she argued without fear.
About how she blushed but didn't back down.
About how she looked at him like she was trying to understand something deeper.
He closed his notebook slowly.
"This is complicated," he murmured quietly.
But complicated didn't mean unwelcome.
The next afternoon, the library felt quieter than usual.
Sunlight filtered through tall windows.
Dust particles floated lazily in the air.
Meera arrived five minutes early.
Of course she did.
She chose a table near the far corner and opened her notebook, pretending to read.
Her heart beat faster with each passing second.
Then—
Footsteps.
She didn't need to look up to know.
He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi."
Silence again.
But not uncomfortable this time.
Different.
He opened his notebook.
"So. Topic allocation is on market behavior analysis."
She nodded.
They began discussing seriously.
And something unexpected happened.
They worked well together.
Really well.
Ideas flowed naturally.
When she explained something, he listened fully.
When he disagreed, he did so calmly.
No ego.
No competition.
Just collaboration.
At one point, their hands reached for the same page at the same time.
Fingers brushed.
Electric.
Both pulled back instantly.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks.
He cleared his throat softly.
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
Silence.
Not peaceful now.
Charged.
She decided to break it.
"Why do you like sitting near windows?"
He paused.
"I didn't say I liked it."
"You always sit there."
He considered the question.
Then answered quietly, "I prefer observing."
"Observing what?"
"People."
Her heart skipped.
"And what have you observed?"
A faint shadow passed over his expression.
"That most people speak to fill silence. Not because they have something to say."
She held his gaze.
"And me?"
The question escaped before she could stop it.
For a long second, he didn't answer.
Then—
"You don't speak unnecessarily."
Her breath caught.
"You choose words carefully. But when you feel strongly, you forget to filter."
Her pulse thundered.
"You've analyzed me too much."
"Maybe."
"And what do you conclude?"
He leaned back slightly.
"That you're braver than you think."
The library felt smaller suddenly.
Warmer.
Her heart beat louder.
"Why does it matter to you?" she whispered.
Another pause.
His eyes softened slightly.
"It doesn't," he said.
But something in his voice contradicted it.
Outside, clouds began gathering again.
Not a storm yet.
But close.
Inside that quiet library—
Something invisible had shifted.
They weren't strangers anymore.
They weren't just classmates.
They weren't even just project partners.
They were two people standing at the edge of something unspoken.
Neither willing to step forward fully.
Neither willing to step back.
And as thunder rolled faintly in the distance—
Meera realized something terrifying.
This wasn't just curiosity anymore.
This was the beginning of attachment.
And attachment—
Scared her more than any storm ever could.