Naina
A few days later, I woke to the smell of something warm and sweet curling through the walls—cookie dough, maybe cinnamon too. For a second, I let the scent cradle me, half-dreaming still, wrapped in the illusion of time. But when I turned over and saw the clock, everything shattered.
7:30 a.m.
I sat up with a gasp.
“Crap,” I muttered, voice hoarse, eyes stinging.
From the hallway, right on cue, Akshay Bhai strolled in, dressed like he hadn’t hit snooze even once. He held my books under one arm, casually judgmental. “Wake up, sleepyhead. At this rate, you’ll miss your first lecture. And trust me,” he added, tossing the books on my desk, “Being late in your first month? Terrible idea. Don’t repeat my mistakes. Some of us have reputation damage to recover from.”
I groaned, dragging a hand through my mess of hair. “Okay, okay, I’m up. Can you drop me?”
He was already heading out. “Twenty minutes. Helmet’s on the table.”
Twenty minutes later, we were zipping through town, the wind biting at my cheeks. I clutched his shoulders tighter every time we turned. “Bhai, hurry up. I really don’t want to miss this class.”
He just laughed, barely slowing. “You sound like you’re running from the cops.”
“Not the cops—worse. Attendance.”
We reached campus in record time. I hopped off mid-roll, slinging my bag and bolting through the gates, half-winded already. Trees blurred into green shadows, the tiles underfoot rattled with my footsteps, and I swear I passed a professor who gave me a look somewhere between pity and confusion.
Then—I hit something. Hard.
Or rather, someone.
There was a low groan. “Are you serious?”
Atharva.
I stumbled back, blinking up at him. His curly brown hair was damp from the humidity, sticking to his forehead in loose, unruly strands. Fair skin flushed with surprise. His light brown eyes narrowed, not exactly in anger—more in exhausted confusion.
“Why are you running at eight in the morning?” he asked, one hand rubbing his side.
“I’m late,” I panted. “Aren’t you?”
He blinked. “What?”
“I really can’t miss this lecture—”
He raised both arms over his head in dramatic despair. “Naina. Class starts at nine. Didn’t you read the notice?”
I stopped mid-sentence. My feet paused in motion. “What?”
“There was a notice yesterday. Late start. I thought—” he broke off, watching realisation hit me.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, heat blooming in my cheeks. “I feel so stupid.”
The hallway was empty. Embarrassingly so. My panic echoing into nothingness.
Turning back, I walked toward him, dragging my feet as if they were made of lead. Atharva smirked. “So, you almost killed me at eight in the morning… for no reason?”
“Pretty much.”
He chuckled, dusting his sleeves. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to complain properly.”
“Want coffee?” I asked, still half-mortified. “To make up for the… body slam?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Depends. You’re paying?”
I sighed. “You nearly lost your spine. Fine. My treat.”
We walked side by side to the canteen, the hallway still quiet, warm sunlight filtering through the windows, catching the dust in the air. Something about walking next to him felt strange. Easy. Unexpectedly comfortable.
At the corner table, I ordered two cappuccinos, and a shared plate of toast for us, thinking that since I was already embarrassed, I might as well be generous.
"So,” he said, stirring his coffee slowly. “Still got any of those notes you promised? You know, I’m quite grateful to Shalini ma’am, Because of her, I don’t have to write notes. I can read yours.”
I blinked. “Yeah, she really wants your team to win this year. That is the only reason that she’s assigned me to give you notes. Oh, crap. I left them at home. Can I send them to you later? Give me you number later, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, taking a sip. “Are you always this chaotic in the morning?”
“Only when the universe is laughing at me.”
He smiled, a soft sound escaping him. “Fair.”
The light poured in through wide windows, casting a soft, amber glow on the white marble floor. The chairs were half-pulled out, the counters still being restocked, and the sleepy staff moved around like the day hadn’t quite begun yet.
Atharva took the seat across from me, resting his elbows on the table, his curly hair messier than usual. His eyes drifted to the window, then back to me.
“Can I tell you something stupid?” he asked, unwrapping a sugar packet with exaggerated care.
“Sure,” I said, leaning forward.
“I kinda love this time of day,” he admitted. “Like, before everyone shows up. Before the noise and the running around and group projects and attendance fights. It’s like—” he paused, trying to find the words, “—like the building’s still stretching its limbs, waking up.”
I smiled. “That’s not stupid. You speak like a poet.”
He looked at me again, more directly this time. “You get it, don’t you? You look like the kind of person who pays attention to things most people miss.”
I blinked. It was unexpected, coming from him. We weren’t exactly close—just classmates who occasionally exchanged notes, shared a few laughs in passing. But there was something different in the way he said it now. He wasn’t flirting. He meant it.
I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth slip through me. “I think I do.”
There was a small silence. Not awkward—just unhurried.
“So what brings you here this early, other than the panic sprint?” he asked, smirking again.
“Apparently? My inability to read a notice.”
He laughed under his breath. “Classic. For what it’s worth, I actually am here on purpose. Debate team prep. Our next round’s coming up soon.”
“You’re still on that?” I asked, remembering Reyansh’s words and the video we watched of his debate, he was speaking with fire in his voice and measured intensity in every word.
“Yeah. They didn’t kick me off yet,” he said, pretending to flip his invisible hair.
I chuckled. “You’re good at it.”
“Thanks.” His tone softened. “I think it’s the only place where I don’t have to shrink myself. You know what I mean?”
I nodded, surprised at how easily the conversation turned inward.
“Do you ever feel like that?” he added. “Like you’re constantly trying to be less or more of something?”
“Every day,” I blurted. It came out quieter than I intended.
He looked at me again, his gaze lingering on the edges of my face. That’s when I noticed someone else standing near the canteen entrance. Someone very still. Someone whose presence shifted the air around me even without saying a word.
Abhay.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were locked onto us. Or maybe just me. Abhay’s jaw clenched. He blinked once, and then slowly turned toward an empty table in the far corner, where Ira, Reyansh, and Avani were already sitting. Veer leaned back on the chair beside them, fiddling with a spoon, but even he paused mid-motion, his gaze flicking from Abhay to me.
Wonderful.
Abhay’s eyes met mine for a fraction too long before he turned and walked over to the far side of the canteen, joining the others. Veer had arrived in the middle of everything, lounging in a chair like he owned the morning. Ira and Reyansh snuggled together, their knees bumping on purpose. Avani waved when she saw me.
I stood, half-stirred by something I couldn’t name, and told Atharva, “I should probably go.”
He gave a small nod. “Thanks for the coffee. And… the crash. I’ll see you later, Naina.”
I rolled my eyes, chuckling, and made my way over to my group. The familiar noise of them wrapped around me instantly—half-banter, half-chaos. It was like walking into warmth.
“You survived,” Veer said, lifting a brow. “And with Atharva, no less.” “Don’t start,” I muttered, sliding into the seat beside Avani.
“Why not? You two looked pretty cozy from where I was standing,” he added, nudging Reyansh for backup. Reyansh smirked but said nothing. His arm was already slung across the back of Ira’s chair, fingers absentmindedly brushing her shoulder. She leaned into it like it was home, safe and familiar.
I tried not to look at Abhay, but that made it worse. I could feel his silence, cool and sharp beside Veer’s warmth. He was looking down at his tea, the biscuit untouched on his tray.
Alana, on the other hand, was in full-volume frustration mode, flipping through her notebook with a dramatic sigh every two seconds. “I swear to God, if this professor gives us one more assignment without context, I’m going to move to another continent. Or become a tree.”
“You’d be a very pretty tree,” Avani offered helpfully. “Shut up,” Alana said, but her laugh cracked through, anyway.
“What happened now?” I asked, grateful for the distraction. “She’s annoyed because she thinks she’s the only single one here,” Veer said, eyes glinting.
Alana narrowed hers. “I’m annoyed because I have standards, and unlike some people—” her eyes flicked to Ira and Reyansh—“I don’t fall in love over shared notes and library books.”
“Excuse you,” Ira said, mock-offended. “Our love is built on sarcasm and trauma bonding.” Reyansh smiled lazily. “And mango candies.”
“See?” Ira sighed, dreamy. “He remembers.”
The entire table groaned and booed them good-naturedly. I smiled, but quietly.
Avani leaned toward me. “You good?” I nodded. “Just… morning chaos.” “Hmm,” she said, eyes flicking between me and Abhay, who still hadn’t said a word.
Veer looked around, stretching. “You know what we need?” “Emotional stability?” Alana offered.
“A vacation,” Veer said, ignoring her. “I vote Fort. Kala Ghoda. Maybe Marine Drive if we want to cry afterward.”
Ira lit up instantly. “I’m in.”
Reyansh nodded. “Same.”
Alana sighed. “Only if there’s air-conditioning.” Avani clapped her hands. “Yes! A proper hangout. We haven’t done one since orientation.”
Everyone turned to me. “Naina?” I blinked, surprised. “Yeah… sounds good.”
“Abhay? You in?” Veer asks, glancing at me.
He nods slightly. “I hope your new friend isn’t coming with us as well.”
My voice gets caught in my throat slightly. Abhay was watching me now, finally, like he’d been holding it in for too long.
The plan was set before lunch ended.
Veer had pulled out his phone, already googling cafes and galleries, while Ira texted her cousin in Colaba to check timings for a rooftop exhibit. Alana, half-pretending she wasn’t interested, quietly noted down places with clean bathrooms. Avani was in charge of logistics—naturally. Trains, timings, ticket prices. All the pieces of the plan came together like they’d been waiting for it all along.
I watched them, letting the current of the group sweep over me, letting it hide the quiet ache inside my chest. I didn’t speak unless someone asked me something directly. It was easier that way.
Abhay stayed mostly silent. His gaze only met mine once—when Veer, with his usual lack of subtlety, suggested that “Naina and Abhay could share a seat on the train, for old-time’s sake.” I laughed it off too quickly. He didn’t laugh at all.
Instead, he stood up, mumbled something about class prep, and walked away.
I didn’t follow.
The next day was a blur of messages. “Wear comfy shoes.” “Don’t forget sunscreen.” “Ira, bring snacks or I’ll cry.” We were meeting at Churchgate at 9 a.m., and from there, we’d figure it out. Maybe start at Jehangir Art Gallery, wander around Kala Ghoda, eat something sinful near Fort. The idea of a plan that wasn’t too planned was freeing.
That night, I stood in front of my wardrobe, staring blankly at my clothes, until Akshay Bhai passed by the door.
“You going out tomorrow?” he asked, poking his head in.
I nodded. “Fort, with college friends.”
He smiled. “Finally acting your age.” I made a face. “I always act my age.” “You act like a 40-year-old intern who’s scared of emotional vulnerability.”
“Wow. I’m never sharing my snacks again.”
He laughed and disappeared down the hall, leaving me to stand in the doorway, chewing my lip. Because he was right, wasn’t he?
Something about tomorrow felt heavier than it should’ve. Like it wasn’t just a hangout. Like everything I’d been avoiding—Abhay’s stare, my heartbeat, that lingering conversation we never had—was quietly threading its way into the hours ahead.
If you liked this chapter, show me some love and support:)
Word count: 2090
Love,
Adi<3
(Spicyvixen)
Write a comment ...