Ananya never thought the sound of whispers could feel louder than a stadium cheer. Yet the moment she walked into the lecture hall Monday morning, heads turned. Conversations dipped, then picked up again with that unmistakable rhythm of people trying to talk without being caught.
She knew it before she even heard the words.
"Did you hear? The class rep and Riyan Khan… library, midnight."
Ananya's stomach flipped. She pressed her books closer to her chest and tried to slide into her usual corner seat. Too late. A pair of girls at the next row leaned in with wide eyes and badly-hidden grins.
"Group project, huh?" one of them sing-songed.
Her cheeks burned. She opened her notebook like a shield. Ignore them. Focus. But the more she pretended not to care, the hotter her face grew.
And then, of course, he walked in.
Riyan strolled into the hall with that careless swagger, tossing his bag onto a chair and running a hand through his messy hair like he owned the place. He was late, as usual, but somehow even the professor's frown melted into weary indulgence. The campus heartthrob could get away with murder—and Ananya could already feel every eye darting between him and her.
He caught it too. She saw the twitch of his jaw, the way his gaze swept the room before landing squarely on her. For a split second, he smirked like he found it amusing. Then, just as quickly, the smirk faded.
Riyan slid into the seat behind her, leaning forward until his breath tickled her ear."So, bookworm," he murmured low enough for only her to hear. "Looks like we're the talk of the day."
Ananya's pen froze mid-word. "This is your fault."
"My fault?" He chuckled under his breath. "I didn't ask the entire library to spy on us."
"You were laughing so loud someone probably heard you from the parking lot," she hissed.
"Maybe." He stretched back lazily, voice smooth. "Or maybe they just can't believe the ice queen cracked open long enough to spend a night with me."
Her heart gave an unwelcome lurch. She wanted to snap back, but his words lodged somewhere too close to the truth. Instead, she forced her eyes on her notes. "People are exaggerating. It was just studying. That's all."
"Sure," he said, in a tone that made "just studying" sound like the biggest lie she'd ever told.
The lecture droned on, but Ananya barely absorbed a word. Every whisper, every giggle from the back row, every sidelong glance felt like spotlight beams burning holes in her resolve. She wasn't used to attention—especially not the kind that linked her name with his.
By the time class ended, her nerves were frayed. She stuffed her books into her bag, eager to bolt. But when she stood, Riyan was already at the door, waiting. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, daring anyone to pass without noticing him.
"Relax," he said when she approached, low enough so only she could hear. "Let them talk. They always do."
"That's easy for you," she shot back. "You like the attention."
His smile faltered, just for an instant. "Not this kind of attention."
And then, softer, with a flicker of something she couldn't read—"Not when it drags you into it."
For the first time, she wondered if the rumors bothered him too. And that thought was somehow more dangerous than all the whispers in the hall combined.