The next morning, Ananya found herself staring at her reflection longer than usual. Not at her clothes, not at her messy braid—but at the way her lips tingled, phantom heat still lingering from the almost. She shook her head, muttering, Don't be ridiculous.
But when she walked into the library later, he was already there—slouched in his chair, earbuds in, pretending to scroll on his phone. And for the first time, he didn't feel like the untouchable campus star. He just looked… tired.
She slid into her seat across from him, the scrape of the chair startling him. Their eyes met, and silence stretched, fragile, tentative.
No quips. No smirks.
Just a quiet that pressed closer than words.
Finally, he spoke, voice low. "About last night…"
Her chest tightened. "It was nothing."
But his crooked half-smile said he didn't believe her. "Right. Nothing." He leaned back, studying her in a way that made her want to fidget. "Funny how nothing feels like the only thing I've been thinking about."
Her pulse skittered. She forced herself to keep her gaze steady, even as her cheeks warmed. "We have work to do."
"Sure." He opened his notebook, but didn't write. Instead, his hand drummed lightly against the table, until it stilled… and brushed hers again.
Neither moved away this time.
Her breath caught. She let the touch linger, small and dangerous, a test neither admitted to taking.
The library was hushed, only the sound of pages turning and pencils scratching around them. It should have been ordinary. But in the quiet, every glance became loaded, every brush of fingers electric.
"Ananya," he said softly, almost reverently, like he wasn't used to saying her name out loud.
She looked up, and there it was again—that pull, impossible to ignore.
This time, she didn't run. She held his gaze. And for the first time, she saw not the hotshot everyone else worshipped, but a boy who was just as unsure, just as restless as she was.
The tension didn't explode like before. It simmered, low and steady, wrapping around them like a secret neither wanted to break.
And in that fragile quiet, they both knew—They couldn't go back.