10-04-2025, 01:38 AM
Episode 11: Between the Shelves
Friday afternoon. The final period had ended early due to a teacher meeting, and most students had already left campus. But Arjun stayed behind.
He told Rahul he had to finish a math worksheet.
That wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the full truth either.
The real reason he was still there sat two rooms away, in the staff corridor—probably gathering files or walking toward the library like she did some Fridays.
He had noticed the pattern. Of course he had.
---
In the Library
The college library was mostly empty. A few seniors were lounging at the back table pretending to study. The lights were dim, the air cooler than the classrooms. It had that hushed, sacred feel of old books and lazy fans.
Arjun sat at a table in the corner with a math textbook open in front of him. But he wasn’t reading.
He was waiting.
And then—there she was.
Meera Ma’am, walking in with a stack of papers tucked into her arm. She wore a soft mauve saree today, dbangd neatly, the blouse full-sleeved with a row of tiny buttons along the wrist. Her hair was tied up in a high bun, a few strands falling around her ears.
She looked tired, but she looked beautiful.
She walked right past him, not noticing. Sat two tables away, close to the window. Opened her file. Started marking papers.
And for the next few minutes, Arjun didn’t move.
He just watched—quietly, discreetly, absorbing every detail.
The way she leaned over her papers. How her back curved when she reached for a pen. The soft press of her arm against the table as she scribbled notes.
Then something unexpected happened.
She looked up. Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Her expression flickered—not surprised, but slightly curious.
“You’re still here?” she asked, her voice calm.
“Yeah,” Arjun said, keeping his tone neutral. “Just finishing up some work. The math worksheet.”
She nodded. “Good. It shows. Your improvement’s been steady.”
He felt his chest warm up—not from the praise, but from the way she said it. Direct, confident, like she meant it. Like she’d been watching.
She went back to marking.
Arjun looked down at his book, pretending to work, but his mind was racing.
The silence between them stretched, heavy but comfortable. Just the sound of her pen. The fan overhead. The rustle of pages.
And then, her voice again.
“You know,” she said without looking up, “most students can’t wait to run out the gate when they’re done for the day. You’re different.”
Arjun paused. Then answered slowly, “Maybe I just like quiet places.”
She glanced up again, eyes steady. “Quiet places teach you to pay attention to things you miss in the noise.”
Arjun met her gaze.
“Exactly,” he said.
There was something between them in that moment—not spoken, not obvious. But it lingered.
She smiled faintly, then returned to her papers.
And Arjun—he didn’t move for the next twenty minutes.
He wasn’t in a rush to leave anymore.
To be continued…
Friday afternoon. The final period had ended early due to a teacher meeting, and most students had already left campus. But Arjun stayed behind.
He told Rahul he had to finish a math worksheet.
That wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the full truth either.
The real reason he was still there sat two rooms away, in the staff corridor—probably gathering files or walking toward the library like she did some Fridays.
He had noticed the pattern. Of course he had.
---
In the Library
The college library was mostly empty. A few seniors were lounging at the back table pretending to study. The lights were dim, the air cooler than the classrooms. It had that hushed, sacred feel of old books and lazy fans.
Arjun sat at a table in the corner with a math textbook open in front of him. But he wasn’t reading.
He was waiting.
And then—there she was.
Meera Ma’am, walking in with a stack of papers tucked into her arm. She wore a soft mauve saree today, dbangd neatly, the blouse full-sleeved with a row of tiny buttons along the wrist. Her hair was tied up in a high bun, a few strands falling around her ears.
She looked tired, but she looked beautiful.
She walked right past him, not noticing. Sat two tables away, close to the window. Opened her file. Started marking papers.
And for the next few minutes, Arjun didn’t move.
He just watched—quietly, discreetly, absorbing every detail.
The way she leaned over her papers. How her back curved when she reached for a pen. The soft press of her arm against the table as she scribbled notes.
Then something unexpected happened.
She looked up. Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Her expression flickered—not surprised, but slightly curious.
“You’re still here?” she asked, her voice calm.
“Yeah,” Arjun said, keeping his tone neutral. “Just finishing up some work. The math worksheet.”
She nodded. “Good. It shows. Your improvement’s been steady.”
He felt his chest warm up—not from the praise, but from the way she said it. Direct, confident, like she meant it. Like she’d been watching.
She went back to marking.
Arjun looked down at his book, pretending to work, but his mind was racing.
The silence between them stretched, heavy but comfortable. Just the sound of her pen. The fan overhead. The rustle of pages.
And then, her voice again.
“You know,” she said without looking up, “most students can’t wait to run out the gate when they’re done for the day. You’re different.”
Arjun paused. Then answered slowly, “Maybe I just like quiet places.”
She glanced up again, eyes steady. “Quiet places teach you to pay attention to things you miss in the noise.”
Arjun met her gaze.
“Exactly,” he said.
There was something between them in that moment—not spoken, not obvious. But it lingered.
She smiled faintly, then returned to her papers.
And Arjun—he didn’t move for the next twenty minutes.
He wasn’t in a rush to leave anymore.
To be continued…
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