By the end of the week, it was no longer an accident.
They sat together every day.
No one announced it. No one planned it. It just happened.
Meera would arrive with two coffees sometimes, placing one near him without asking.
"You look like someone who didn't sleep," she said once.
"I slept."
"You stared at the ceiling and called it sleeping."
He did not respond.
She was starting to read him too easily.
That bothered him.
But he still drank the coffee.
One afternoon, the library was unusually crowded. A group of students searched for seats, their voices louder than usual. Aarav felt the familiar urge to leave.
He did not like noise. He did not like sharing space.
He began gathering his things.
"Are you leaving?" Meera asked.
"Yes."
She looked around. "Because of them?"
He did not answer.
She hesitated, then shifted her chair slightly closer to his side of the table. Not too close. Just enough to block the empty seat beside him.
"You can stay," she said softly. "We'll just ignore them."
We.
The word felt unfamiliar.
Aarav sat back down.
He did not know why.
Maybe it was easier than walking away. Maybe it was the way she said it, like staying was simple.
They worked in silence again, but this time it felt different. Not distant. Not careful.
Comfortable.
At one point, her pen rolled off the table. He picked it up before she could.
Their fingers brushed for half a second.
It was nothing.
But it was not nothing.
She looked at him, surprised by how quickly he had reacted.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded.
He told himself it meant nothing. That this was temporary. That people always leave.
But when she laughed quietly at something she was reading, and then leaned forward to show him the page, he did not move away.
He read it.
He listened.
He stayed.
And without realizing it, Aarav had stopped guarding the space between them.
He had no idea that one day, that same space would feel unbearable.
But for now, it felt like something warm.
And he was not ready to admit that he liked it. đź’™