Shruti and Pragathi entered their classroom together, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm, the soft jingle of Shruti's bangles adding a gentle, almost musical undercurrent to the buzz of the room. The classroom smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings — crisp notebooks, sharpened pencils, the faint trace of cleaning solution that hadn't quite aired out. Sunlight spilled through the windows, casting warm patches onto the speckled floor tiles.
Students chattered in clusters, dragging chairs noisily, calling out to familiar faces, sharing hurried introductions with strangers who would soon become friends. The room had that first-day energy — a mix of nerves and curiosity that clung to the walls like static.
Pragathi let out a relieved sigh as they claimed two desks by the window. "Same class!" she whispered, throwing an arm around Shruti's shoulders for a quick squeeze. "Lucky me. We're stuck together again."
Shruti grinned, tension easing from her shoulders. "If we were separated, I swear I would've cried before the first bell."
Pragathi laughed. "Please! Like I would've let that happen. I would've barged into your class and sat next to you like a stalker."
Shruti giggled, setting down her bag. She glanced out the window, watching the stragglers making their way across the courtyard — some with that too-cool-to-hurry walk, some clearly lost, their eyes darting around for clues.
Pragathi leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Okay, spill. I barely got to talk to Arjun properly at the wedding. And now I see him swooping in like some cinema hero at the gate. What's it been like? You and him... the first week. Tell me everything."
Shruti hesitated, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming at the memory. "It's been... good. Different. We're figuring it out."
Pragathi made a face. "That's not everything. Details, madam. Or I'll tickle it out of you."
Shruti laughed. "Okay, okay! We did some shopping. I dragged him all over the place for books, bags… we even bought a gaming console."
Pragathi blinked. "Gaming console? You? Since when do you play games?"
Shruti smiled sheepishly. "Since I married a guy who sulks adorably if he loses at Fruit Ninja."
"No way!" Pragathi covered her mouth to stop from giggling too loudly. "I need to see this. Arjun — sulking over a game?"
Shruti nodded, eyes twinkling. "And we spent an entire day at the gaming plaza. Basketball, racing games, air hockey, horror VR that made him scream louder than me…"
Pragathi burst out laughing. "This is gold. This is better than I imagined. What else?"
Shruti sobered slightly, the memory of Arjun's quiet sadness from earlier in the week flickering in her mind. "His dad left for Mumbai. For work. That morning was hard for him. He tried to act normal, but… I could see it bothered him."
Pragathi's smile softened. "And you were there for him."
Shruti nodded quietly. "We talked. We distracted ourselves with games. And… he's been sweet. Joking, teasing, making sure I'm okay."
Pragathi sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. "You got lucky, Shruti. Hero looks, gaming partner, protective at the gate — where can I order one?"
Shruti rolled her eyes, laughing. "Stop. He's impossible sometimes. You should see how dramatic he is about waking up early. I had to threaten him with blackmail to get him out of bed this morning."
"Oh, I'll help you collect the blackmail material. We'll build a file." Pragathi winked. "Honestly though… you seem happy. Like, genuinely."
Shruti's smile turned softer, more thoughtful. "I think I am. It's early, and we're still figuring things out… but yeah. I think I'm happy."
Pragathi grinned and bumped her shoulder. "That's all that matters."
Just then, a few more students tumbled into the classroom, breathless and laughing about some last-minute dash. The professor's voice echoed faintly from the corridor — the signal that class was about to begin.
But as Shruti opened her notebook and smoothed the first page, she stole one last glance out the window, half-expecting to see Arjun somewhere, leaning against his bike, smirking up at the building. Just the thought made her heart flutter — warm, light, and filled with promise.
Back outside, in the second-year building, Arjun dropped his bag on the last bench and stretched his arms wide, letting out a satisfied groan. The windows rattled lightly with the morning breeze, carrying in the sounds of bustling campus life — bike horns, seniors shouting across the yard, and the occasional bark of a stray dog chasing a snack wrapper.
Kiran twisted around from the bench ahead, resting his elbows on the backrest, smirking like he'd been waiting all morning. "Oye. That girl with Shruti — your maradalu's friend... she is exactly my type. Fire, attitude, and killer aim."
Arjun leaned back lazily, crossing his legs at the ankle. He raised a brow, eyes glinting. "Really? Getting kicked between the thighs is your idea of romance? You need help, bro."
The boys around them burst into laughter, some doubling over, others slapping their desks.
Kiran groaned dramatically, clutching his stomach like the memory physically hurt. "Bro, don't remind me. I still feel phantom pain. Uske joothe ka nishaan sapno mein bhi dikhta hai. (I see the imprint of her shoe even in my dreams.)"
Ramesh wiped a tear of laughter. "Hero banne gaya, hospital ka case ban gaya."
Arjun chuckled, shaking his head, his gaze wandering to the corridor where the sunlight poured in. For a second, his mind drifted — he imagined Shruti in her classroom, probably tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, chewing the corner of her notebook absentmindedly as she listened. The thought softened his face without him realizing it.
A guy from the front row turned, curiosity all over his face. "By the way, who was that girl with you this morning? The one who didn't even blink before nearly committing murder?"
Arjun straightened, his posture still relaxed but his tone carrying a quiet edge. "My cousin. Maradalu."
Another boy near the window gave a loud, exaggerated sigh and clutched his chest. "Lucky, man. If I had a maradalu like that, I would've dropped out of college, married her, and opened a tiffin center in her name."
The group howled at that, but Arjun's smile didn't reach his eyes. His voice was calm but firm, slicing through their amusement. "Shut up."
Kiran raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Aiyo, see the possessiveness! Don't worry, boss. No one's trying to steal your maradalu. We value our limbs."
Ramesh nodded solemnly. "Especially certain sensitive areas."
Another boy piped up from the corner. "Arey Arjun, how come you didn't introduce her properly to us? You always act like we're strangers or something."
Arjun smirked, his tone turning playful. "Because I like watching you all dig your own graves before I save you."
The bell rang then, sharp and shrill, signaling the start of class. The lecturer walked in, adjusting his glasses and carrying a stack of files that threatened to topple.
As the class settled, Kiran leaned back one last time and whispered, "Bro... if by any chance that Pragathi ever wants to kick someone again, send her my way. I'll take it like a man."
Arjun rolled his eyes, pulling out his notebook. "You'll take it like an idiot."
And as the first lecture droned on about supply and demand curves, the teasing faded into scribbles of pens, but the grin lingered on Arjun's lips — because somewhere in the next building, his maradalu was safe, and that was all that mattered.
Meanwhile, in Shruti's classroom, the buzz was no less exciting. The first lecture hadn't even properly begun, but the energy was all around — new bags rustling open, pens clicking, a chorus of muted giggles and whispered gossip filling the gaps between instructions on attendance and timetables.
"So, who was that guy you came with this morning?" one of the girls from her row — a petite girl with round glasses — leaned in, her eyes wide with curiosity and mischief. Her name, Shruti remembered, was Anjali.
Shruti tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and said lightly, keeping her tone casual, "My cousin. Bava."
"That was your bava?" Anjali exclaimed, earning glances from a few benches away.
Another girl, tall and sharp-eyed — Ayesha — let out a dramatic groan, plopping her chin onto her palm. "Seriously? That guy looked like he stepped straight out of some hero introduction scene! Is your whole family recruited from film auditions or what?"
Shruti giggled, her cheeks turning pink, her eyes lowering shyly. "Don't exaggerate. He's just normal."
"Normal?!" Anjali gaped, grabbing Ayesha's arm for support. "Girl, if that's normal, what does handsome look like in your family?"
A third girl — Meena, sitting by the window — sighed dreamily. "I swear, if I had a bava like that, I'd never let him out of my sight. I'd marry him before someone else does."
"Same," chimed another, joining the chorus. "Or at least convince him to drop me to college every day. What luck you have!"
Shruti laughed softly, though inside, her heart bloomed with a quiet, proud delight. He's already mine, she thought, but kept it hidden, tucked safely like a treasured secret no one else could touch.
Pragathi, sitting beside Shruti, smirked and whispered so only she could hear, "See? I told you. Hero vibes. These girls will be writing his name in their notebooks by tomorrow."
Shruti nudged her gently. "Stop it."
Pragathi raised a brow. "What? It's true. And you're just sitting here like, 'Oh, he's my cousin,' while he's out there looking like he owns the campus."
Shruti shook her head, biting back a smile. "You're worse than them."
Their little group's chatter shifted after that — complaints about how the timetable looked overloaded, wild guesses about which professor would be the strictest, and debates about where to have lunch that day. But even as Shruti joined in, a part of her stayed caught in that earlier memory — the way Arjun had stood before her that morning outside the college gates, steady and strong.
His stance had been effortless, his voice calm, yet it carried weight that made even those seniors think twice. Like he didn't need to raise his hand or shout. He was the storm and the shelter, all in one.
Her bava. Her husband. Her secret — the one everyone admired, and the one who belonged only to her.
Just then, Anjali leaned over again, mischief still glinting in her eyes. "So tell us the truth, Shruti. Is he single?"
Shruti fought the grin that threatened to give too much away. "I wouldn't know. Bava, remember?"
Ayesha groaned. "Ugh! Fate is so unfair. I need to find myself a Guntur bava."
Pragathi coughed into her notebook, clearly trying to stifle her laughter, while Shruti kept her face calm, but inside? Inside, she felt like she was glowing.
To be continued...