18-06-2025, 05:13 PM
Part 1: The New Semester
The new semester had just begun at KV College of Arts & Science, nestled in a lush corner of Tamil Nadu. The air was thick with monsoon humidity and fresh ambition. Swathi adjusted the pallu of her light blue cotton saree as she walked into her class — poised, confident, and radiant without even trying.
At 29, she was already known across the campus as the lecturer who was “too graceful to be real.” Her students called her “Swathi Ma’am” with a little too much affection. And her husband, Rahul, teaching in the Psychology department just a floor above, was well aware of the attention she drew.
Today, her class included three final-year boys who had developed a bit of a reputation — Sai, Ajay, and Aditya. Sharp-tongued, playful, and always testing boundaries. But they were brilliant, too — the kind of students who charmed their way through life, and often through Swathi’s patience.
During her lecture, Swathi noticed them whispering and smirking. Her eyes caught Ajay’s just a moment too long — he didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled, slow and knowing. Swathi felt a subtle heat rise in her chest.
She kept teaching, but something had shifted.
After class, Swathi was gathering her books when Sai walked up.
“Ma’am, your handwriting on the board is so beautiful. Do you give special coaching outside class? For… select students?” His voice was laced with a playful sarcasm, but his eyes were bold.
She tilted her head, smiling. “Only if those select students stop talking during my lectures.”
Ajay and Aditya joined in, laughing.
“Then we’ll have to be very obedient,” Aditya said, with mock innocence.
Swathi chuckled, locking her drawer. “We’ll see how obedient you can really be. Come to the staff room after 4. We can discuss the syllabus if you’re serious.”
Their eyes lit up.
Later that evening, Swathi found herself in the quiet of the staff room, seated opposite the three boys. The college was nearly empty. Her saree clung to her in the muggy air, a drop of sweat tracing down her neck.
She leaned forward to explain a concept from their syllabus, the blouse of her saree stretching just enough to draw attention. She noticed Sai’s gaze dip, Ajay biting his lip, Aditya shifting in his seat — none of them hiding it well.
And yet, she didn’t cover herself or scold them.
Instead, her voice dropped a little, softer now. “Focus. I hope you’re here for the right reasons.”
“We are, Ma’am,” Ajay murmured. “But it’s hard to focus sometimes.”
Swathi arched an eyebrow. “Why? Am I distracting you?”
No answer. Just looks.
From the window outside the staff room, someone was watching — Rahul, looking down from the floor above, hidden behind a pillar. He had come looking for Swathi but paused when he saw her with the boys — leaning close, laughing softly, and them sitting like disciples in worship.
Something twisted in him. Curiosity. Insecurity. And something darker he hadn’t felt before.
The new semester had just begun at KV College of Arts & Science, nestled in a lush corner of Tamil Nadu. The air was thick with monsoon humidity and fresh ambition. Swathi adjusted the pallu of her light blue cotton saree as she walked into her class — poised, confident, and radiant without even trying.
At 29, she was already known across the campus as the lecturer who was “too graceful to be real.” Her students called her “Swathi Ma’am” with a little too much affection. And her husband, Rahul, teaching in the Psychology department just a floor above, was well aware of the attention she drew.
Today, her class included three final-year boys who had developed a bit of a reputation — Sai, Ajay, and Aditya. Sharp-tongued, playful, and always testing boundaries. But they were brilliant, too — the kind of students who charmed their way through life, and often through Swathi’s patience.
During her lecture, Swathi noticed them whispering and smirking. Her eyes caught Ajay’s just a moment too long — he didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled, slow and knowing. Swathi felt a subtle heat rise in her chest.
She kept teaching, but something had shifted.
After class, Swathi was gathering her books when Sai walked up.
“Ma’am, your handwriting on the board is so beautiful. Do you give special coaching outside class? For… select students?” His voice was laced with a playful sarcasm, but his eyes were bold.
She tilted her head, smiling. “Only if those select students stop talking during my lectures.”
Ajay and Aditya joined in, laughing.
“Then we’ll have to be very obedient,” Aditya said, with mock innocence.
Swathi chuckled, locking her drawer. “We’ll see how obedient you can really be. Come to the staff room after 4. We can discuss the syllabus if you’re serious.”
Their eyes lit up.
Later that evening, Swathi found herself in the quiet of the staff room, seated opposite the three boys. The college was nearly empty. Her saree clung to her in the muggy air, a drop of sweat tracing down her neck.
She leaned forward to explain a concept from their syllabus, the blouse of her saree stretching just enough to draw attention. She noticed Sai’s gaze dip, Ajay biting his lip, Aditya shifting in his seat — none of them hiding it well.
And yet, she didn’t cover herself or scold them.
Instead, her voice dropped a little, softer now. “Focus. I hope you’re here for the right reasons.”
“We are, Ma’am,” Ajay murmured. “But it’s hard to focus sometimes.”
Swathi arched an eyebrow. “Why? Am I distracting you?”
No answer. Just looks.
From the window outside the staff room, someone was watching — Rahul, looking down from the floor above, hidden behind a pillar. He had come looking for Swathi but paused when he saw her with the boys — leaning close, laughing softly, and them sitting like disciples in worship.
Something twisted in him. Curiosity. Insecurity. And something darker he hadn’t felt before.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)