Next Morning – Arush’s POV
The next morning, Arush woke up before his alarm.
For a moment, he lay still, listening to the soft little snores around him. Ruhi was half on his arm, hair a wild mess, mouth slightly open. Rian was sideways at the foot of the bed, one tiny foot pressed against Arush’s stomach like he’d been mid‑kick before sleep claimed him.
He carefully untangled himself, gently lifting Ruhi’s head onto the pillow and straightening Rian so he wouldn’t roll off. Both of them grumbled in their sleep but didn’t wake.
He got ready quietly—quick shower, simple clothes, bag packed with notes he’d already organized the night before. By the time he stepped out of the room, his mother was in the kitchen, his father at the dining table with the newspaper.
“Good morning,” his father said, looking up. “Day two. Still going?”
Arush snorted lightly. “I can’t drop out on day two, Papa.”
“You could,” his father said. “But then who will buy toys for those two menaces in there?”
“True,” Arush admitted, grabbing a piece of toast.
His mother watched him with a look that was half pride, half concern. “Come back early if you can,” she said. “They were asking for you as soon as they woke up yesterday.”
“I’ll try,” he replied.
He started moving towards the door after giving his mom a quick hug. He left home a little earlier than the day before, the morning traffic already thick. On the way, he answered a voice note from Ritik and ignored three memes Adwait had sent at 7:30 am for no reason.
By the time he reached campus, he was calmer. He walked through the gate with the same steady stride, ignoring the usual stares.
Today, he had a loose plan: attend, write, leave. No extra interactions. No unnecessary conversations.
Just get through the day.
****************************************************************************
In the apartment, chaos looked a little different.
Rhea was sprawled on the bed, one arm thrown over her face. “Five more minutes,” she begged the universe.
“It’s already 8:15,” Anaya said, trying to tie her hair while shoving a cookie into her mouth. “We’re going to be late again.”
“We were born late,” Rhea argued. “It’s our destiny.”
Anaya threw a scrunchie at her. “Move. I’m not getting yelled at on day two.”
That got her moving—slowly. Somehow, between complaining, half‑sleep walking, and Anaya shoving a bottle of water into her hand, they made it out the door.
Their first lecture of the day hadn’t started yet, so students were still scattered in the corridor, some standing in groups, some rushing, some pretending to read notes.
Rhea pulled Anaya to the side near a notice board. “Look,” she said, pointing at a printed circular. “Seminar next month. Internal marks for participation. They’ll definitely force some people to present.”
Anaya made a face. “Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to drop out?”
“I’m mentally preparing you,” Rhea said. “Fear hates surprises.”
As they stood there, Rhea still talking about “strategic exposure therapy” like she was a psychologist instead of just a supportive menace, someone walked past behind them.
Anaya didn’t notice.
Rhea, mid‑rant, did.
She caught a familiar silhouette from the corner of her eye—tall frame, steady stride, bag over one shoulder, earphones in. Arush walked down the corridor, eyes fixed ahead, moving past small clusters of students like he didn’t even see them.
For a second, Rhea’s eyes flicked between him and Anaya.
She smirked to herself.
“Also,” she added casually, “if Professor Sharma does group activities again like last year, you know he likes to randomly mix roll numbers. Odds are we’ll be thrown with new people. Maybe even Mr. Pen Picker.”
Anaya rolled her eyes. “Can you stop calling him that?”
“Then call him Arush,” Rhea said. “Everyone else does. He is not your to-be-husband and you are not a sanskari bahu like in the Tv serials where you are not allowed to say your hunsband's name"”
Anaya looked away, pretending to study the notice board more closely. “Shut up yaar! We don’t even know him.”
“Exactly,” Rhea replied. “and also, this is why group work exists. Forced socialization with strangers so you suffer and learn.”
Anaya huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.
Behind them, Arush had already passed, unaware they were talking about him in stupid nicknames. He headed straight for the classroom, choosing his usual spot without looking around much.
He opened his notebook, flipped to a clean page, and checked the time.
Two minutes left for class.
As the room slowly filled, he registered people in that half‑aware way he’d trained himself into. Background noise. Background faces.
No one stood out.
Until, just before the professor walked in, he heard the scrape of chairs and the quiet, familiar sound of a soft voice saying, “Sorry, sorry, excuse me,” as she and Rhea squeezed into their usual seats near the window.
He didn’t turn.
But some small part of him registered the sequence: bump in canteen, pen drop, answer in class, same row again.
Not important, he told himself.
Just coincidence.
The professor for this lecture, Mr Sharma, was the type who liked “interactive sessions” more than just dictating notes.
“Alright,” he said after the initial 15 minutes of talking about the course plan, “this semester, we’ll be doing more group‑based activities. Discussions, small presentations, peer evaluations.”
A collective groan went up.
He smiled. “You’ll survive. For now, I’m not assigning groups yet. I want to see how you all interact first. But be prepared. Next week, we’ll form teams for your first internal assessment.”
Rhea immediately wrote on Anaya’s notebook: “War is coming.”
Anaya sighed and circled the word “group.”
Two rows behind, Arush underlined “group‑based activities” once, expression unreadable.
Group meant people.
People meant talking.
Talking meant more chances of being noticed, of being asked questions that didn’t have anything to do with marks.
He didn’t like that.
But he also didn’t have the luxury to fail.
So he just wrote: “Group – 20% internal” and moved on.
From where she sat, Anaya’s curiosity nudged her again.
He was always so focused.
She wondered briefly—what does someone like him think about during these moments? Is he annoyed like everyone else? Is he secretly confident? Is he the type who takes over group work, or the type who does everything quietly and lets others take credit?
Then she shook herself.
Stop.
Curious was okay. Obsessing was not.
She went back to her notes.
When the lecture finally ended, the room exploded into its usual end‑of‑class chaos—zipping bags, scraping chairs, half‑shouted plans.
“Let’s leave before we get trapped,” Rhea muttered, already stuffing her notebook into her bag with zero regard for neatness.
Anaya slid her pen into her pouch carefully this time, double‑checking it didn’t roll off again. “You act like they’re wild animals, not classmates.”
“Same thing,” Rhea said. “One yells and calls it 'politely speaking', one copies notes, one screams randomly. Wildlife.”
They waited for the first wave of students to rush out. Once the doorway was less crowded, they stood and made their way toward the exit, walking side by side.
Just as they stepped into the corridor, two boys peeled away from the wall and blocked part of their path.
“Arrey, Rhea madam,” one of them drawled, leaning a little too casually against the side. “Topper ji. Second day and already ahead in notes, haan?”
Rhea’s jaw tightened for half a second. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes,” she said smoothly. “It’s easy when you use your brain sometimes.”
The guy chuckled, either missing the jab or ignoring it. His friend’s eyes flicked between Rhea and Anaya, lingering on Anaya a little longer.
“And Anaya, right?” the second one said, tilting his head. “You both always sit together. Good pair. Beauty and brains.”
Rhea’s eyebrow arched. “Which one do you think is missing brains?”
“Arre, don’t be like that,” the first one laughed. “We’re just talking. Friendly only.”
Anaya stayed quiet, sliding slightly closer to Rhea, hands tightening around the strap of her bag. Her instinct in moments like these was always the same: shrink, avoid, escape.
The second guy leaned a bit closer than necessary, grin widening. “You know, we have a free period now. We could all go to the canteen together. My treat. Coffee, samosa, whatever you girls would like.”
Rhea’s smile vanished.
“Wow,” she said, voice sugar‑sweet in a way that was dangerous. “What an offer. Truly life‑changing.”
He grinned, thinking he was making progress. “So? wanna join?”
Rhea shifted her weight, blocking Anaya more fully behind her with the slightest movement.
“No,” she said flatly.
“Arre, why so rude?” the first one jumped in, ego poked. “We’re just being friendly. Canteen hi toh—”
“You think you’re the first ones to try this line?” Rhea cut in, eyes sharp now. “Newsflash: you’re not. At least be original if you want to waste my time.”
The second boy’s face fell a little. He straightened, trying to recover. “Attitude toh dekho,” he muttered, loud enough for them to hear. “Topper ho toh kya hua—”
Rhea’s laugh was short and cold. “Yes, I have attitude. You have…what, exactly? Bad perfume and recycled compliments?”
A couple of passing students snorted.
Color crept up the guy’s neck. His friend put a hand on his shoulder, murmuring something like, “Chhod na yaar,” but his ego was already bruised.
He tried one last time, looking at Anaya instead. “Kuch toh bolo,” he said, as if she owed him a response. “Your friend is too much, yaar.”
Anaya’s fingers itched to just say “We’re getting late” and walk away, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat. She hated this type of attention. Unwanted. Cornering. Fake sweet.
Rhea sensed it instantly.
“She is not interested,” Rhea said, voice crisp. “And neither am I. So move.”
The way she said it, calm, controlled, firm—left no space for argument.
The first guy scoffed. “You think you’re some queen or what?”
“No,” Rhea said. “I just think ‘no’ means ‘no’. A simple concept, but clearly too advanced for you.”
The second one opened his mouth like he wanted to add something, then caught the looks they were getting from nearby students—some amused, some unimpressed, a couple outright judging him. His bravado flickered.
“Whatever,” he muttered, stepping aside. “Chal.”
They walked off with forced laughter, pretending they didn’t care.
Rhea exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders once. “Idiots,” she said under her breath.
Anaya touched her arm lightly. “You okay?”
“I should be asking you that,” Rhea replied, looking at her. “You’re the one they were staring at like a menu.”
Anaya made a face. “I hate this,” she admitted quietly. “The random…commenting. Like they’re allowed to just…block the way and act like we owe them a response.”
Rhea nodded. “I know,” she said, softer now. “It’s not your job to respond. It’s my job to roast.”
That pulled a small, reluctant smile from Anaya. “You roasted them well.”
“Obviously,” Rhea sniffed. “It’s a talent.”
They started walking again, this time side by side, a little closer than before.
A few steps away, near the classroom door, Arush stood with his back partially against the wall, notebook in hand, waiting for the crowd at the stairs to thin before heading down.
He hadn’t moved during the entire exchange.
He hadn’t said anything.
He hadn’t even changed his expression.
But he had seen.
The moment the guys stepped in front of the girls, the way Anaya’s body went smaller, the way Rhea’s shoulders squared. The fake joking tone, the too‑familiar lines, the casual disrespect.
He watched Rhea tear them apart with a few sharp sentences. Watched Anaya stay quiet but close, eyes down, jaw tight.
Interesting.
He didn’t feel outrage or a sudden heroic urge to jump in. Rhea clearly didn’t need help. She knew exactly how to handle herself and her friend.
Still, as the two boys walked away, laughing too loudly to prove something, his gaze lingered on their backs for a second longer than necessary.
Old instincts stirred. The kind that assessed people—threat level, pattern, likelihood of repeating behavior.
He shelved it.
College was full of this kind of nonsense.
He shifted his attention back to his notebook, flipping it open as if the pages could erase the small irritation that remained.
As Anaya and Rhea walked past him, Rhea didn’t notice him.
Anaya did.
Just a flicker—a half‑second glance.
He looked like he always did on campus: calm, distant, self‑contained. No sign that he’d seen anything. No acknowledgment. No concern.
She didn’t expect any.
She wasn’t the type to.
Her eyes dropped, and she walked on.
Behind them, Arush straightened, closed his notebook, and headed toward the stairs.
He had lectures to attend, notes to write, twins to get back to.
He filed the moment away without consciously meaning to.
Girl by the window.
Scared of crowds.
Has a savage bodyguard best friend.
Nothing more.
Not yet.
****************************************************************************
hello!
Your dear author here!!!!!
so girlsss I just wanted all of you to know this...that now both Arush's and Anaya's behaviour is very uhhh. Yes I know. He is too withdrawn and she is shy, doesn't even like to speak much. But as I said earlier that you guys will see their character development with time, as they both grow comfortable with each other and as their feelings become strong for each other, which btw, is gonna happen very soon...so don't leave just yet.
Mwah!
vote and comment kardooooo
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