It was one of those mid-week afternoons when the heat had mellowed just enough to tempt every student to the canteen. The central campus hub—sprawling, noisy, aromatic—was teeming with voices, trays clattering, the hiss of oil from the kitchen, and bursts of laughter echoing off the old stone arches. The sun filtered softly through the tall banyan trees that guarded the periphery, casting moving shadows over the paved floors.
Veer had arrived ahead of the others, already devouring his masala Maggi with the kind of dedication he usually reserved for science fiction novels. His body language was casual—legs splayed out on the chair, hoodie half off one shoulder—but his eyes carried mischief.
Agniveesh and Aadesh were walking in from the other side of the courtyard, locked in a debate over some lab mishap from the day before.
"Why the hell would anyone dip an aluminum strip in nitric acid without checking the label first?" Aadesh scoffed.
Agniveesh shrugged with a smirk. "Curiosity is the foundation of science."
"You're confusing curiosity with stupidity."
As they neared the canteen, a commotion was already building. Agniveesh slowed. "Where's Veer?"
The answer came in the form of a raised voice.
"Say that again?" Veer's tone sliced through the hum of background chatter.
They pushed their way in to find him standing, face-to-face with a stocky third-year student named Ranjeet, known more for his ego than academic prowess. Veer had apparently knocked over his tray, and Ranjeet wasn't letting it go.
"Apologize," Ranjeet snarled.
"For tripping over your bloated attitude?" Veer fired back.
"Veer!" Agniveesh hissed, rushing forward. "Stop it—"
Too late. A fist flew.
The tray hit the ground with a metallic crash as chaos erupted. Students screamed and jumped away. Ranjeet lunged again, grabbing Veer by the collar. Veer countered with a punch to the stomach. Chairs clattered, and food flew. Aadesh didn't hesitate—he jumped in, pulling Ranjeet back and shoving him hard enough that he stumbled over a chair.
Now three others from Ranjeet's group stepped forward, fists raised.
Agniveesh's instincts kicked in. He pushed through the growing circle. "Stop! STOP—"
Someone shoved him sideways.
In the scuffle, an elbow—sharp and unintentional—met his forehead near the brow.
Pain, white and immediate, exploded across his vision. A warm rush followed—blood, thick and sudden, spilling down the side of his face. Agniveesh staggered back, hand going to his eye.
The noise died as if a plug had been pulled.
Gasps broke the silence. "Shit, he's bleeding—"
A pool of red welled between Agniveesh's fingers. His shirt was blotched. He blinked, dazed, the cut stinging sharply. The once-lively canteen froze in horror.
Then, from the crowd, a figure moved forward.
She wasn't loud. She didn't scream or panic. She walked—calm, almost floating in that odd hush—with eyes that didn't flinch. Her dupatta was half-slipped off her shoulder, her white kurta crisp and simple, her presence quietly radiant. She could have been a first-year or a final-year student—he couldn't tell. Her face was beautiful, but not in a way he could articulate. It wasn't about features. It was… warmth.
"Sit," she said softly to Agniveesh.
He obeyed, dazed more by her than the pain.
She crouched beside him, pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief from her bag—sky blue with delicate embroidery—and gently pressed it against his wound. "Hold this tight."
He winced. "It's okay, I—"
"It's not. Hold it."
Agniveesh's fingers trembled as he did as told. Her touch was confident, like someone used to handling pressure.
Veer and Aadesh, bruised and breathing hard, stood behind, stunned into silence.
Someone ran to call the nurse. Others just watched, unsure whether to stay or flee.
Her eyes met his then—just briefly—and something wordless passed between them. Not sympathy. Not panic. Just... attention. She noticed him. All of him.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She smiled, small and brief. "You should try not to break up fights you can't stop."
"I wasn't—" he began to defend himself, then stopped. "You're right."
She rose, pulling the dupatta over her shoulder properly, nodded to the boys behind him, and walked off, vanishing into the sea of uniforms like a ghost of calm in a riot.
Agniveesh sat still, the handkerchief pressed to his brow, heart thudding not from pain—but something else.
Who was she?
She hadn't said her name. He hadn't asked. Somehow, it didn't matter right now.
"Dude," Veer said, squatting next to him, eyes wide. "You okay?"
Agniveesh nodded slowly.
"She was like…" Aadesh added, trailing off.
"An angel," Agniveesh muttered.
All three laughed—relief flooding their chests.
The nurse arrived moments later, ushering him to the infirmary. But Agniveesh kept the handkerchief. Later that night, he found himself tracing the embroidery on it absentmindedly. A swirl of sea-blue thread. A tiny rose in the corner. Her initials were stitched faintly in a corner, but the thread had frayed.
He didn't try to guess the name.
Not yet.