"Law doesn't tolerate interuption so do I.yet she unknowingly weaved in like distraction and I....paused a breath longer than necessary"
...
Law is not a friend.
It does not soften its words, nor bend for your tears.
It is the cold figure standing at the edge of the room, arms folded, watching as you stumble and plead.
Break a promise? It remembers.
Cross a line? It waits, patient, until the weight of your choices drags you to its feet.
Law does not chase you. It lets you run, lets you think you're free—until the silence tightens like a noose.
Then, in its cutting voice, it reminds you: "I am not here to love you. I am here to bind you."
Yet, there's something intoxicating in that cruelty.
Because even in its frost, law is constant. It will not betray you with favoritism, nor waver with mood.
It gives you boundaries, harsh but steady—the kind that keeps the world from tearing itself apart.
And so is Aarav S Raichand. For him college was a part of routine cycle that occurred after every 24 hours. His day to day visits, meetups, lectures, meals were scheduled down to the last decimal. He preferred planning, scheduling taking it as for control. And aarav thrived in control and certainnity.
If a colour could describe him it would be muted shades, dull pastels. Not because he attributed with gloominess because he preferred modesty.
But oh lord bless modesty, Aarav's only presence was nothing sort of modest. Being from an influential family of lawyers with grades topping charts, his personality was almost magnetic. There wasn't a time when his calm certain presence rattled acquaintances focus out of there place. Females preferred him, man envied him but he stayed above this unaffected. True to his principles, his goals in life.
And then came along one interruption, that didn't irritate him. Uncharacteristically he paid attention more than necessary.
Because he doesn't believe in coincidences and when the same girl appeared at least thrice in the last two weeks—once in the library, once outside the cafeteria, and once at the notice board—it felt less like chance and more like something trying to disrupt his well-arranged world.
...
"Careful,Don't run so far love!!" He shouted while running behind her half warning, half laughter, as her giggles rang in the garden.
"Catch me if you can looser, let's see if you do more than reading those files" she teased back running ahead panting and squealing as she saw him approach.
He speed up feeling challenged taking three quick clean strides catching up and wrapping arms around and picking her in air making her squeal.....
...
For someone who claimed not to notice people, Aarav was beginning to notice aradhya far too often.
She was always humming. Not a full song, never loud enough to disturb, just a string of notes under her breath while flipping pages or scribbling something down. It wasn't rehearsed—more like an absent habit. Almost every time he passed by the science block, he could hear it before he saw her.
She dressed the way most people in his world didn't. Oversized hoodies, loose T-shirts tucked into baggy pants, or full-length dresses that looked borrowed from an old trunk. Nothing was body-fit, nothing designed to catch an eye. Yet, strangely, she did. Maybe because she didn't seem to care.
He watched once as her friends teased her about not "getting ready" for a department fest. She just laughed—loud, unrestrained, a laugh that tumbled out without worrying about how it sounded. Aarav was used to laughter that came measured, polished, meant to charm. Hers wasn't that. It was messy. Real.
And then there was food. Always food. He'd seen her barter notes for someone's leftover fries, argue playfully over the last samosa, and once—this had made him look twice—she had marched up to a senior trying to snatch a pastry from a shy fresher.
"Touch it and I'll write a full thesis on your primitive feeding behavior," she'd said sweetly, smile intact, eyes sharp. The senior had backed off, embarrassed. Aradhya had handed the pastry back to the fresher with a grin, then sat cross-legged on the bench munching her own chocolate bar like nothing had happened.
Science was her obsession, that much was obvious. Aarav overheard her once in the library explaining a complex reaction to a junior using Harry Potter references. Her explanations made no sense to him—but her excitement did. She lit up when she spoke, hands moving, eyes bright, as though the whole world could be rebuilt with equations and metaphors if only people paid enough attention.
And somehow, without meaning to, Aarav had started paying attention.
Not in the way others did—laughing with her, sharing jokes, pulling her into conversations. No. He stayed where he always was: the corner of the library, the last bench in lecture halls, the silent watcher in crowded corridors.
But every laugh, every quip, every careless note she hummed lodged itself somewhere in his mind.
And for a man who had trained himself to stay detached, Aradhya was proving dangerously difficult to ignore.