The first day of college always comes with a strange mix of fear and hope.
You don't know anyone.
You don't know where anything is.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny voice whispers—maybe something important begins today.
That was exactly how it felt as I walked through the wide gates of my new college.
Everything looked unfamiliar. The tall buildings, the pathways lined with trees, students laughing in groups as if they had known each other forever. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and took a slow breath.
A new place. A new beginning.
I had promised myself something very clearly—
I was here to study.
To focus.
To build a future that didn't depend on anyone else.
As I wandered deeper into the campus, still trying to memorize directions, my ears caught something unusual.
Noise.
Not the regular chatter of students—but loud cheers. Whistles. Claps. Shouts that echoed in the air with raw excitement.
Curiosity tugged at me before logic could stop it.
I followed the sound.
Soon, a massive building stood in front of me—glass panels reflecting the afternoon sun, banners hanging outside. The college stadium. From inside came waves of energy, like the heartbeat of something alive.
I hesitated for a second.
Just five minutes, I told myself.
Inside, the atmosphere hit me instantly.
The air was charged. The stands were packed. Most of the crowd—girls—leaning forward, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"Viaan!"
"Viaan pass!"
"Viaan, you're the best!"
The name echoed again and again, bouncing off the walls like a chant.
Viaan.
I quietly slipped into an empty corner seat, not wanting attention, my eyes trying to follow the game. Basketball wasn't something I understood well—fast movements, sharp passes, sneakers squeaking against the floor.
But soon, I stopped watching the game.
Because my eyes had found him.
He stood out without trying.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong arms moving with effortless precision. Every time he jumped, the crowd held its breath. Every time the ball left his hands, cheers erupted even before it hit the basket.
And yet—
There was no smile on his face.
No excitement. No acknowledgment of the crowd going crazy for him.
His eyes were sharp. Focused. Almost… distant.
Cold.
He didn't celebrate after scoring. Didn't look at the stands. Didn't bask in the attention that any other guy would have drowned in.
It was as if the entire stadium existed only as a background noise to him.
He spoke only to two or three teammates, short words, clipped expressions. No laughter. No warmth.
For the first time since entering the stadium, my heart slowed.
Strange, I thought.
Someone so admired… yet so detached.
The final whistle blew. The crowd exploded. Girls stood up, waving, screaming his name again.
Viaan didn't look back even once.
He simply walked off the court.
And somehow, without knowing why, I felt like I had just seen a storm wrapped in silence.
The classroom smelled faintly of books and fresh paint.
Rows of benches filled with students who already seemed settled, comfortable, as if this place belonged to them. I stood near the door, clutching my file, waiting.
Then he entered.
Professor Kim Namjoon.
Calm. Composed. Sharp eyes behind glasses that missed nothing.
"Good morning, everyone," he said, his voice carrying authority without effort.
The room quieted instantly.
He glanced at me, then turned to the class.
"Class, we have a new student joining us today. She's transferred from Wisdom University."
A ripple of curiosity passed through the room.
"Please welcome… Kanchan."
All eyes turned to me.
I stepped forward.
Simple black t-shirt. Blue jeans. Hair tied loosely. No makeup. No intention to impress.
I had never believed confidence came from appearance—it came from knowing who you were.
"Hi," I said, offering a small, polite smile.
"I'm Kanchan."
Some students smiled back. Some whispered. A few assessed me silently.
I scanned the room briefly.
And that's when I saw him again.
Viaan.
Seated near the window. One arm resting lazily on the desk, posture relaxed but guarded. He looked at me for exactly one second.
Not with interest.
Not with curiosity.
Not even with judgment.
Then he looked away.
As if I were invisible.
As if I was just another passing detail in his life.
For a moment—just a moment—something inside me paused.
Then I smiled inwardly.
Good.
I didn't need attention.
I didn't need validation.
And I definitely didn't need to be noticed by someone who treated the world like background noise.
I took my seat, opened my notebook, and focused on the board as Professor Namjoon began the lecture.
Biology. Cells. Systems. Life.
Funny how life works.
Two people sitting in the same room—
One surrounded by admiration yet untouched by it.
The other unnoticed, yet completely at peace with herself.
I was here for my dreams.
For my future.
For me.
I had no idea that this quiet beginning was laying the foundation for something that would shake everything I believed I was prepared for.
And Viaan?
He had no idea that the girl he didn't bother to notice…
would someday become the one thing he couldn't ignore.
---
Biology Lab — first Practical Class
The smell of disinfectant and formalin lingered in the air, sharp and unmistakable.
The biology lab felt different from any classroom I had stepped into before—less forgiving, more honest. Glass jars lined the shelves, microscopes sat neatly arranged on long black tables, and charts of the human body stared back with quiet authority.
This was not a place for pretence.
I adjusted my white lab coat, clutching my notebook and pen a little tighter as I stepped inside. The room was already full. Students stood in pairs, murmuring, flipping pages, some pretending to revise while others were clearly more interested in who was standing next to whom.
Professor Kim Namjoon stood at the center of the lab, calm as ever. His presence had a grounding effect—soft voice, serious eyes, no unnecessary drama.
"Today," he said evenly, "we will be covering basic anatomy of the female body, comparative morphology of the male body, pollination mechanisms, and an overview of the influenza virus."
A pause.
"Please pair up for observations."
Movement erupted instantly. Chairs scraped. Names were called. Laughter followed. Within seconds, the lab had neatly formed pairs.
I stood still.
Alone.
My eyes scanned the room again, hoping I had missed someone. But no—everybody was paired.
That's when I saw him.
Viaan.
Standing at the last bench, slightly away from the rest. One hand resting on the microscope, eyes unfocused, expression unreadable. He wasn't talking to anyone. He didn't look bothered by the fact that he was alone.
Almost like solitude was his natural state.
Professor Namjoon noticed my hesitation. His gaze moved from me to Viaan.
"Kanchan," he said gently, "since you're new, you can pair with Viaan."
For a second, the lab went strangely quiet.
I felt a few curious glances slide my way.
"Okay, sir," I replied simply.
No drama. No hesitation.
I walked toward Viaan and stopped beside him.
He didn't look up.
Didn't acknowledge my presence.
As if I didn't exist.
I waited a beat, then spoke calmly.
"Microscope mujhe de do. Main observe kar leti hoon."
He finally spoke—but without turning his head.
"Do what you want," he said flatly.
"Just don't disturb me."
There it was.
The wall.
If someone else had spoken to me like that, maybe it would have stung. But with Viaan, it felt… expected. Predictable. Almost boring.
I didn't react.
I simply pulled the microscope closer and began my work.
The slide showed the female reproductive anatomy—complex, layered, precise. Each structure served a purpose. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing random.
I leaned in, adjusting the focus, sketching neat diagrams in my notebook. Labels. Notes. Observations.
Time disappeared.
The chatter around me faded. The fact that Viaan stood inches away from me didn't matter. The crowd didn't matter.
Knowledge did.
Soon, Professor Namjoon announced a topic shift.
"Next—pollination mechanisms and viral infections, specifically influenza."
I straightened, flipping to a fresh page.
After a moment, without looking at him, I asked—
"Do you know how cross-pollination differs from self-pollination?"
Silence.
Then—movement.
Viaan lifted his head and looked at me.
Actually looked at me.
For the first time, his eyes weren't cold. They were… surprised.
"Yeah," he said slowly.
"Cross-pollination requires an external agent—wind, insects. Self-pollination doesn't."
A pause.
"Influenza is viral. RNA virus. High mutation rate."
I nodded, unfazed.
"Hm. Sahi bola."
No praise.
No impressed tone.
No attempt to extend the conversation.
I went back to writing.
For several seconds, I could feel his gaze on me.
Not the usual kind—the kind that weighs, judges, undresses with curiosity.
This was different.
Confused.
Unsettled.
Maybe—intrigued.
Perhaps it was the first time a girl had spoken to him without wanting something. Without admiration. Without expectation.
To me, he wasn't Viaan the basketball star.
He was just my lab partner.
And that… seemed to bother him more than my silence ever could.
Next Biology Class — Reproductive Health
Professor Lee
The atmosphere the next day was different.
Heavier.
More aware.
The topic alone carried weight.
The lab was quieter than usual, students seated, notebooks open—but nervous energy crackled beneath the surface.
Professor Lee walked in precisely on time.
Tall. Rigid posture. Sharp eyes. The kind of man who made people sit straighter without saying a word.
He wrote on the board in clean, precise letters:
REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH IN HUMANS
Underneath:
Male & Female Reproductive Systems
Menstrual Cycle
STDs
Safe Practices
Emotional Maturity
A few students exchanged awkward glances. Someone suppressed a laugh.
Professor Lee turned slowly.
"This is not a joke," he said in calm, accented English.
"If anyone finds this topic funny, you may leave now."
Silence.
No one moved.
He nodded, satisfied.
"Reproductive health is not only about biology," he continued.
"It is about responsibility. Awareness. Respect."
A 3D diagram lit up the screen—female reproductive system.
His eyes scanned the room.
"Kanchan," he said suddenly, "can you explain the menstrual cycle phases?"
I stood up instantly.
"Sure, sir."
My heartbeat was steady.
No hesitation. No embarrassment.
"The menstrual cycle has four main phases," I began.
"Menstrual, follicular, ovulation, and luteal. The average cycle is 28 days, regulated by hormones like estrogen and progesterone."
I explained clearly. Clinically. Without flinching.
This wasn't taboo.
This was science.
The room was silent.
Even the girls who had giggled earlier sat still, listening.
And Viaan?
He was staring at me.
Not with attraction.
With disbelief.
As if something he thought he understood about the world… had just cracked.
I finished and sat down.
Professor Lee gave a brief nod.
"Well done, Kanchan."
Then he turned.
"Viaan. Explain male reproductive hormones."
Viaan exhaled quietly, then spoke.
"Testosterone is the primary hormone," he said evenly.
"It regulates sperm production, secondary sexual characteristics… and emotional changes as well."
"Good," Professor Lee replied.
And then—
Our eyes met.
Just once.
No smile.
No flirtation.
Just recognition.
Mutual.
Respectful.
In that moment, something shifted.
Not attraction.
Not love.
But awareness.
Viaan realized something important.
This girl wasn't trying to stand out.
She already did—by simply being herself.
And I?
I realized something too.
Behind his coldness wasn't arrogance.
It was distance.
And distance, I knew well.
Because sometimes, the most guarded people are just protecting something fragile.
Something not yet ready to be seen.