Aanya sat cross-legged on her bed, her notes sprawled in front of her like a battlefield. Biochemistry, pathology, pharmacology—words she usually devoured like second nature—looked alien tonight. Her pen hovered mid-air, ink threatening to blot the page.
But her mind was nowhere near those pages.
It was still under that old banyan tree.
Still on the sound of his voice when he said it scared me.
Still on the way his eyes softened right after—like letting her see that fear was harder than anything else he'd done.
And then there was the kiss.
God, that kiss.
She pressed her lips together, not because they ached, but because the memory still burned. It wasn't a sloppy accident. It wasn't impulsive, not really. It was raw. Heavy. Like he'd been holding something in for too long, and for that brief second, he let it out.
And she let him.
She wasn't proud of how easily she gave in.
She wasn't ashamed either.
What scared her was how much she wanted to give in again.
Her phone vibrated against the sheets.
She grabbed it quickly, like she already knew who it was.
Saurin: Yeah. Just tired.
She stared at the text, thumb hovering.
Liar.
Not because of the words, but because of the weight behind them. Saurin wasn't tired. Saurin didn't do tired in texts. He was distant tonight, clipped. And she hated that she noticed.
She typed, erased, typed again.
Aanya: Sure?
A second passed. Then two. Then three.
Saurin: Yeah.
That was all.
And somehow, it felt louder than any paragraph he could've sent.
She set the phone down, frustration curling inside her like smoke. She hated how much power he had without even trying. How a simple yes could tangle her thoughts for hours.
But it wasn't just the kiss anymore.
It was what came after.
The way he looked at her in class today—like he was holding back something fierce. The way he instinctively stepped closer when that senior appeared.
That senior.
Aanya chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't know his name. Didn't care to know, really. But she'd noticed the glance. Not leering. Not creepy. Just… there. Intentional. And Saurin had noticed too. She'd felt it in the way his body shifted, the silent line he drew without saying a word.
The thought made something flutter in her chest—a dangerous mix of fear and warmth.
She sighed, shutting her books with a soft thud. Sleep wasn't coming tonight. Not with her head full of him. Not with this strange, fragile thing between them stretching thinner and thinner every day.
For the first time in weeks, she let herself whisper it.
Into the empty room, soft as breath.
"I like you."
And somehow, it sounded like a confession and a curse all at once.