I pushed the door open and stepped into the classroom, the usual Monday buzz hitting my ears. My eyes swept the middle row out of habit, landing exactly where they always did — third-last bench, middle row. Empty. Iman's bag wasn't there, her scarf wasn't draped lazily over the backrest like it usually was.
She had already told me last night not to wait for her. Said she wasn't coming today. Said she wanted to spend time with Ali.
Ali.
The name alone had been enough to make my jaw clench since morning.
I dropped into my seat, second-last bench, middle row. Zaffar was already there, leaning back with that lazy grin of his.
"Miss Romeo's not here?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence.
I ignored him and pulled out my pen, chewing the end before I even realized I was doing it.
"You're gonna chew that thing into powder one day," he chuckled.
"Better that than breaking it on someone's head," I muttered.
He laughed, loud enough for the backbenchers to notice. Sara, now sitting directly behind me with Zara, leaned forward.
"What's wrong with you? You look like you could bite someone."
"Maybe I could," I shot back without turning.
And then my eyes caught movement. Suhail. The guy was craning his neck toward Sara. "Where's Iman? She's not here?" he asked her.
The pen stilled in my mouth.
Sara began answering, but I didn't hear her. My stare was fixed on him, sharp enough to slice through his curiosity. He must've felt it, because he glanced at me and immediately looked away, suddenly very interested in adjusting his notebook.
It was always like this. Always Iman stuck with boys as benchmates. Mrs. Briganza had an entire class to rearrange — if she wanted someone sitting with Iman, she could've chosen me. But no. Suhail had that spot.
I let my gaze drift around the room, and the sight didn't help my mood. Rahil was passing a folded note to Tanya, grinning like an idiot. Arjun was leaning way too close to Anika, whispering something that made her laugh. Even Dev and Krisha were locked in some kind of slow-motion staring contest. Googly eyes everywhere.
My jaw tightened again.
And then, as if the thought had been lurking all along, Ali's face surfaced in my mind. The way he looked at Iman. Calm, composed, kind — that's what everyone saw. I saw something else. I saw the way his eyes softened when she spoke, the way his voice dipped just slightly around her. It made something heavy settle in my chest.
I wasn't the jealous type. At least, that's what I told myself. But when it came to her… it wasn't jealousy. It was something far more dangerous.
I leaned back in my chair, the pen still between my teeth, but it wasn't the pen I wanted to crush.
Zaffar nudged me with his elbow. "You're acting like a guy whose fiancée just ran away with his tailor."
I gave him a side look. "Keep talking, and I'll make sure you become that tailor."
He grinned, loving every second of my irritation. That was Zaffar for you — the more you burned, the more he poured fuel.
Sara decided to join in. She tapped my shoulder from behind. "So… how's your Monday without Iman?"
I didn't turn around. "Peaceful. Should be peaceful."
"But it's not," she said, her voice dripping with that teasing smile I didn't need to see to imagine.
I didn't reply.
Instead, my eyes went back to Suhail. The guy was now pretending to write something, but his neck had been twisting toward Iman's bench enough for me to consider if it needed fixing. One look from me earlier had shut him up, but I knew his type — curiosity would bring him back.
It always irritated me how Mrs. Briganza managed to arrange the seating so Iman ended up with a male benchmate every single time. There were other girls, plenty of them, who could've sat there. If she wanted mixed benches so badly, why not just put me with Iman? But no, somehow the universe loved testing my patience.
I glanced around, my irritation swelling at the sight of the little "love market" that the classroom had become.
Googly eyes, everywhere. Everyone flirting, everyone finding their moment. Everyone except me and Iman.
And then there was Ali.
I could see his face in my head without trying — he looked like he understood her. Like he could read her in a way that wasn't allowed.
I hated it.
Zaffar must've noticed the way my jaw was working, because he smirked. "Thinking about Ali?"
I turned to him slowly. "Do you want to go home with a limp?"
He laughed. "Man, you're way too predictable. I don't even need Iman in the class to see you getting territorial."
"Territorial?" I repeated, my voice low. "No. I'm protective. Big difference."
Sara snorted from behind me. "Protective? You? That's just a nice word for jealous."
I turned halfway in my seat, meeting her eyes. "If I was jealous, Sara, Suhail wouldn't be sitting here breathing right now."
That shut her up for a second.
But the truth was… maybe she wasn't entirely wrong. It wasn't just protectiveness. It was that constant, gnawing awareness that Iman wasn't mine in the way I wanted her to be — and that other people, other boys, got to be close to her without the weight of history between them.
And that thought alone had me gripping the pen so hard the cap cracked.
Zaffar whistled softly when he saw it. "Careful, man. That pen didn't do anything to you."
I dropped it on the desk, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. My eyes found Suhail again, and I let them stay there long enough for him to glance up and then away just as fast.
The class was noisy with chatter, laughter, the thud of bags, the shuffle of feet. But in my head, it was just one name. Iman.
I wondered what she was doing right now. Wondered if she was smiling at Ali. Talking to him the way she talked to me.
And the thought made my blood hum.
Because there were two things I knew for certain — she might've been spending the day with him, but at the end of it, she was mine to watch over.
Mine to protect.
Mine.