The library has quietly become our go-to meeting spot, the one place where we can exist in our own little bubble. And the aisle between the Philosophy and Classics sections? That's ours. It's where we sneak off, pretending to look for Sartre but always ending up finding each other instead. It's the place we sneak behind the rows of dusty hardbacks carrying the faint scent of aging paper and explore—let's say, more than just books.

The thing is, everyone already knows about Romil and me. It's not like we're fooling anyone. The whole school probably has a running tally of our interactions catalogued in group chats. But still, school premises—especially in front of students who seem to have their phones holstered like weapons, ready to pounce on the next whiff of drama—is practically a breeding ground for scandal.

So, no, we're not exactly reckless. A quick brush of fingers as we pass in the hallway? Maybe. A smile that lingers too long? Sure. But full-on PDA? Not here.

It's pre-lunch, and we've got a free period. Most students stay behind in class, but I gather the extra bag with the suit I finally made for Romil. Pretending I need to do some last-minute research for the projects in the library, I make my way out, feeling the weight of someone's gaze from the back row as I go.

As I step into the library, the familiar tap-tap-tap of shoes echoes behind me. I don't look back—I can't—but my pace quickens as I head straight for the back section. The moment I reach it, I'm caught—pinned between the bookshelf and the solid warmth of someone towering over me. And when I finally dare to look up, it's into a pair of deep, chocolate-brown eyes that seem to be relishing every inch of me with a kind of peculiar sharpness that sends shivers down my very core.

He whispers, 'Thank you,' and leans down to plant a hungry kiss on my lips.

The bag slips from my hand, landing with a soft thud at my feet, but I don't care. This time, there's no hesitation, no second-guessing. I pull him closer, my hands sliding over his back, greedy and unapologetic, like I'm trying to memorize the shape of him against me.

We take a pause for a draw of breath before he resumes to trail the kisses down my neck, unbuttoning the few collar buttons as he goes. In no time, his hands are inside my shirt, his fingers squeezing, drawing patterns on my skin. When his mouth finds the hollow of my collarbone, his kiss deepens, and I arch instinctively, tilting my head back to give him more space, my body buzzing with every touch.

'You are glowing,' he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm and featherlight, raising every hair at the nape of my neck like it's responding just to him.

Suddenly, a bolt of panic shoots through me, and I jerk back, my eyes darting around the aisle, fanatically searching for CCTVs.

'What are you doing?' Romil whispers, his voice low and amused, but his hands are anything but still—one cupping my breast through the fabric of my bra like it belongs there, the other lazily trailing down my spine as if mapping out constellations on my skin.

I hold my breath, scanning every corner, every possible angle for a blinking red light.

'Looking for cameras,' I hiss, still searching.

He chuckles softly, his breath grazing the side of my neck. 'Shh. There's nothing here. I've checked.'

'You've checked?' I snap my gaze back to him, half-mortified, half-impressed.

He grins, leaning in closer, his fingers now caressing, squeezing and pinching my nipples, making it hard to remember why I'm panicking in the first place. 'Yes, I've checked. And if there is one, it's getting a masterclass on how to worship a goddess.'

I smack his chest, not hard enough to mean it. 'You shut up! I'm practically naked, and here you are—'

'Wasting time, I know,' he interrupts, grinning as he tries to pull me closer, his hands already reaching for my waist.

I plant a firm hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. 'It's almost time,' I whisper, my eyes darting toward the library doors like they might swing open any second. 'Cover for me. I need to fix my clothes.'

His grin turns into a pout, but he doesn't resist when I grip his shoulders and spin him around. 'Fine,' he mutters dramatically.

When I'm done fixing my clothes, I say, 'Take the bag with you,' and walk away before he can say anything about "grand gestures."

*****

The lunch break is over, and I'm back in class, hunched over a xeroxed copy of my Business Management project, armed with a neon highlighter and a vague sense of dread about the upcoming viva and preboards.

Sakshi and Gargi arrive next, dropping into the seats beside me mid-conversation. They're in their usual Sakshi-and-Gargi bubble, the kind of chatter that moves a hundred miles a minute and leaves no survivors.

'I'm telling you,' Sakshi says, practically vibrating with excitement. 'He's got the portrait—you know, the writer pose? Chin resting on his hands? Totally smouldering. And those lips—ugh, those lips. He looks like a model. I'll send you his picture the second I get my phone back. Gah! Of all days to forget my phone, it had to be today!'

'Did you reverse-image search him?' Gargi asks sceptically, her eyebrows practically touching her hairline. 'Pinterest, Google? He could be fake.'

'I know! He's too good-looking to actually exist, right? But I checked, and nada. No shady internet doubles. We've only just started talking, but I asked for his Insta this morning.' Sakshi leans in, eyes wide. 'Do you think that was okay? Asking first?'

Gargi recoils, as if the very idea offends her. 'Sakshi,' she says, her tone scandalized, 'how could you? I would never.'

'What was I supposed to do?' Sakshi flings her hands up. 'Wait for him to telepathically offer it?'

'Yes,' Gargi says solemnly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

'What do you think, Maithi?' Sakshi asks, her cheeks tinged with red.

'What?' I blink up from my project, realizing I've been trying—and failing—to read the same sentence for the past five minutes.

'Did you make the first move, or did Romil?' Gargi asks, swiveling toward me with this intense expression like I'm some sort of love oracle who can unlock the mysteries of modern romance.

'Nobody did, actually,' I say, tucking my pen into the crease of the file. But when their faces contort into identical masks of exasperation, I add, 'I mean, we kinda flirted. Both of us. It wasn't one-sided or anything. And then the evening of the charity event, I asked him, what are we? And he—'

'And he...?' Gargi prods, leaning in so close she's practically in my lap, that maddening Cheshire-cat grin plastered on her face.

I roll my eyes and turn back to my work, trying to look very busy with my highlighter, but Gargi is already finishing my story for me. 'And he replied with not so many words but so many kisses!'

'Stop teasing me!' I protest, scrunching my nose, though my cheeks are heating up like I've just swallowed a spoonful of chili oil.

That's when the Fantastic Four saunter into the classroom, in all their usual glory, and I'm suddenly very glad I have a stack of photocopies to hide behind.

Arjun slips into Shlok's usual role of indifference, striding right past our tables without so much as a glance. Shlok and Romil trail behind him, their steps lazy and deliberate. Shlok catches my eye, his grin curling into something I can only describe as wicked, and Romil... well, Romil smiles at Sakshi and me, but it's one of those smiles that gets lost somewhere before it reaches his eyes.

It's strange how different he is when he's with them—like he's been swapped out for someone else entirely. Someone harder to reach.

Vatsal brings up the rear, walking at half-speed behind a cluster of boys. His face is drawn, his focus somewhere far away, but when his gaze lands on me, there's something sharp in it. Angry, even.

What is with these people?

When the final bell rings, I grab my books and make my way to the library, determined to actually study this time.

Lately, my thoughts have been consumed by Romil—too consumed. It's like he's taken up permanent residence in my head, and my focus is paying the price. I need to catch up before I fall too far behind. I don't even want to think about what would happen if I let that happen.

College still feels like a lifeline, and now, with one lakh in my account, I finally have a fighting chance. And I can't let go of it.

I'm almost at the library entrance when it hits me—I've left the books I need to return in the desk drawer back in the classroom. Cursing under my breath, I spin around and head back.

The classroom is empty when I get there. I open the desk drawer, grab the books, and am about to leave when something slams into me.

The impact is so hard it throws me against the board. My head nearly cracks against it, and before I can even gasp, a hand clamps over my mouth.

I blink in shock, my pulse spiking, and then I see him. Vatsal.

His face is inches from mine, and there's nothing kind in his expression.