—VEDANT'S POV—
After the divorce from Simran, all I did was sleep, eat, and repeat.
I was too drained—mentally, emotionally, physically—to care about anything.
"Does it matter anymore?" I'd ask myself. And the answer was always the same—nothing does.
One evening over dinner, Mom said she'd spoken to the neighbors. They were looking for someone to tutor their daughters in math.
"You should do it," she urged, sliding salad across her plate. "It'll be a good distraction."
"I agree," Dad added, not even looking up.
And just like that, I'd been outvoted.
"What's the name of the girl across the street?" I asked, pretending I hadn't noticed her before.
But I had. Of course I had. The girl with the giant window. The one who woke up as early as I did, stayed up as late. Sometimes, I caught her just standing there, staring at the sky like she'd been grounded—not by punishment, but by life.
"Sohini Das," Mom said. "Yes, she'll be coming too."
"Sohini," I repeated under my breath.
—————
"Sohini, are you following?" I tapped on the table. She flinched, blinking out of whatever dream she'd slipped into again.
Every session was like this. She'd zone out mid-equation, drift off with her chin resting on her palm, staring on my lips like I was speaking mandarin.
She lacked focus. That much was obvious. But worse—she didn't try. I'd explained the same concept three times. She didn't ask a single question.
When I handed her the test and saw her answers, I snapped.
"You're not listening. You're not asking questions. You just sit here like a statue. Are you even trying?"
Her face crumpled, eyes wide and watery.
"I—I'm trying," she whispered, barely audible.
I sighed, running a hand down my face. I didn't have the patience for this.
"I don't think this is working. If you don't understand anything, then maybe—maybe you shouldn't come anymore."
The words were too harsh. Even I knew it the second they left my mouth. But it was too late.
Her lower lip trembled. She blinked fast, then stood up and rushed out without a word.
"Sohini!" I called, but she didn't stop. Maya—who had shown up midway, placed her hand on my shoulder.
"Don't worry, Vedant. She'll be okay," she said gently.
But I already felt terrible. The next day, it was Maya who showed up for tuition. Not Sohini.
I tried not to look at the empty chair beside her, but I did. Twice.
I don't know what I expected. That she'd show up late? That she'd walk in, eyes a little shy, voice trembling, and quietly sit down like nothing happened?
Maya sat down across from me, acting like everything was normal. But I could feel it—that strange energy she always brought with her.
The way her eyes lingered too long. The way her smile curled at the edges like she knew something I didn't. Her laugh, high-pitched and unnecessary, filled the room in waves I couldn't stand.
Even the way her knees bumped mine under the table—too often to be an accident—put me on edge.
And now, it was just her and me. Alone. Trouble.
I opened the textbook to Chapter 6 and asked, as casually as I could, "Why isn't Sohini coming?"
"She's not interested," Maya shrugged, eyes flicking to my face. "She told me herself."
Not interested?
No. That wasn't right. Sohini didn't lack interest. She lacked confidence. She got distracted. She daydreamed. But she always showed up. Always tried, even when she was fumbling.
Was I too harsh?
The memory of her eyes, glassy and full of unshed tears, burned at the back of my mind. I remembered the way she ran out, her ponytail swaying like a whip behind her.
"I'll talk to her," I said under my breath, almost unconsciously. "She's just across the street—"
Before I could finish that thought, Maya placed her hand on mine.
"Vedant," she said softly, her voice dipping into something she probably thought was seductive.
I froze. Then slowly—deliberately—I pulled my hand back.
"Maya," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Let's start Chapter 7."
I opened the book. But she reached forward and shut it.
My jaw clenched. "What are you doing?"
She didn't blink. "I want to confess something."
My stomach dropped. No. Not now. Not this.
I stood up. "No. Don't."
"I have to," she insisted, rising too. "I like you. I think about you all the time. I dream about you. You're the only reason I even come here."
I didn't say anything. Just looked at her. Not because I didn't know what to say.
But because she wasn't the one I wanted to think about. And this? This felt wrong.
I stepped back. "Then don't come anymore."
"What?" Her voice cracked. "You can't just—"
"You don't need tuition, Maya," I said, voice cool, distant. "You've finished the syllabus. You know every chapter. You're here for the wrong reasons."
Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lip trembled.
"I'll talk to your father," I added. "I'll tell him you're fully prepared. That you don't need any more classes."
She stared at me, stunned. Realising how serious I was.
And then, without another word, she turned and left—crying.
The door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell over the room again. But it wasn't peaceful.
A few minutes later, Mom walked in.
She took one look at me, then glanced at the door Maya had just walked out of.
"Why is everyone leaving your room in tears these days?" she asked, a half-joke lacing her tone.
I didn't answer.
I didn't know how to tell her what I was feeling—When I didn't even understand it myself. It was twisted. Tight. Off.
But I needed to talk to Sohini.
Because ever since I looked into her eyes, I genuinely wanted to help her.
And something told me—no, everything told me—she wasn't like Maya.
She didn't come to tuition just to see me.