Arjun was always late. Not dramatically late, just the kind of late where he'd slip in during the first slide and hope nobody noticed. The back bench—third from the last, the one that wobbled if you leaned too hard—was perfect for that. Nobody else ever sat there anyway. It smelled faintly of old wood and someone's forgotten lunch.
Meera started sitting there too, maybe week three or four. She didn't look at him. She just opened her notebook, started drawing little people in the corners, and ignored the lecture like it personally offended her. Arjun liked that. He hated people who pretended to care.
They didn't talk. Not once. He knew her name only because the attendance sheet got passed around and he saw "Meera Nair" written in sharp, slanted letters. She probably knew his because he always answered "present" too quietly and the prof would yell "Arjun Sharma?" like he was confirming a crime scene.
Then the stupid project happened.
Professor said, "Pairs. Alphabetical. No arguments."
Arjun Sharma + Meera Nair.
Of course.
After class he waited outside like an idiot, hands in pockets, pretending to read his phone. She walked out, saw him, and stopped.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she said back. Then nothing.
"I'm… not great at group stuff," he tried.
"Same," she said. "I mostly just do my part and disappear."
They ended up in the library basement because it was cold and nobody went there. First day they barely spoke. He read PDFs. She drew. Their chairs were close enough that their elbows touched once when they both reached for the charger. Both of them yanked back like they'd been electrocuted, then pretended it didn't happen.
Next time she brought coffee. Two paper cups.
"Didn't know what you like," she mumbled, sliding one over.
"Anything's fine. Thanks." He took a sip. "This is sweet."
"Yeah. I like sweet things." She paused. "You don't?"
"I do. Just… wasn't expecting it."
After that they started talking. Not deep stuff. Just dumb things.
She hated the new attendance app.
He hated people who chewed gum with their mouth open.
She once drew a tiny cartoon of the professor as a disappointed potato. He laughed so loud the security guy glared.
One night it poured. Like, stupid rain. They finished at 10:30 and stood under the tiny awning outside the library. Water was coming sideways.
"I'm gonna get soaked," she said.
He looked at her, then at the rain, then pulled his hoodie off over his head.
"Come here."
He held it up like a tent. She hesitated half a second, then ducked under. They ran—half laughing, half swearing—across the open ground to the girls' hostel gate. By the time they got there they were both drenched anyway. The hoodie was useless. They stood under the security cabin light, breathing hard.
She looked up at him. Hair plastered to her face. Mascara smudged.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"Yeah," he said. "But you're dry… ish."
She laughed—real, ugly, snorty laugh—and then she just leaned in and kissed him. Quick. Surprised. Like she hadn't planned it. He froze for one heartbeat, then kissed her back. Properly. Messy. Rain dripping off both their noses. The security uncle coughed loudly. Twice.
They pulled apart. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Sorry," she said.
"Don't be."
After that they were just… together. Not in a big announced way. They still sat on the shitty bench. Still came late. But now she rested her head on his shoulder when she was tired. He stole her earphones and played songs she pretended to hate. They fought over who paid for chai. They fought over who got the window side of the bench. They made up fast.
Exams came. They studied badly. Ate Maggi at 3 a.m. in the canteen. She fell asleep on his lap once and he didn't move for two hours even though his leg went numb.
When results came out they both passed. Barely.
That last day before summer break they went back to the bench. Empty lecture hall. Just them.
He pulled out his pocket knife.
"Wanna?"
She grinned. "Do it."
They carved A + M under the desk. Small. Crooked. A little heart that looked more like a potato.
Years later they still argue about whose idea it was.
She says it was his.
He says she dared him.
But every time they visit the old campus, they end up there. Same bench. Same creak. They sit. They don't talk much. Just lean into each other like they're still nineteen and scared and stupid in love.