The next day, she sat there again.
Aarav noticed her before she spoke. Same chair. Same calm expression. Same quiet presence that did not demand attention.
He did not understand why that bothered him.
"You come here every day?" she asked, placing her books down carefully.
"Yes."
"That explains why the librarian looks at you like you pay rent."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"You talk a lot," he said instead.
"Only when the silence feels awkward."
"It doesn't."
"For you, maybe."
She did not sound offended. Just honest.
They studied for an hour without speaking. Aarav found himself aware of small details he should not have noticed. The way she tapped her pen lightly when thinking. The way she read lines twice when something confused her.
He hated that he was noticing.
When the rain started again, heavier this time, the power flickered slightly. A few students groaned.
Meera looked toward the window. "I love this weather."
"Why?"
"It makes everything slow down. People stop pretending they are in a hurry."
Aarav closed his book. "Not everyone is pretending."
She looked at him then. Directly. Not challenging. Not judging.
"Who left?" she asked quietly.
The question hit too precisely.
"No one," he replied.
She held his gaze for a second longer, as if deciding whether to push further.
She did not.
"Okay," she said simply.
That was new.
Most people were curious. Most people wanted stories. She did not chase answers.
And that unsettled him more than the question itself.
When the lights came back fully, she began packing her things.
"See you tomorrow, library rent payer," she said lightly.
Aarav watched her walk away.
He told himself it was nothing. Just a girl who liked his table.
But when he came the next day, he arrived five minutes earlier.
Just in case she came too.
Slowly, without realizing it, Aarav was no longer sitting alone.
And for someone who never stayed long enough to care, that should have been a warning.