Divya

"I’m waiting for an answer, Sir..." I keep my tone firm, my eyes narrowing as I watch him squirm under the weight of my stare.

He doesn’t exactly look like a pervert—at least not yet—but I need a solid explanation for why he was glancing at me like that.

He clears his throat, stumbling over his words. "I... I couldn’t find any books of my liking, so I thought I’d ask you for help. But I was hesitating because...well, I wasn’t exactly polite the last time we met."

I raise an eyebrow, lips pressing into a thin line as I study him.

His explanation sounds genuine—awkward, but genuine. There’s a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, and I can tell he’s not used to being this vulnerable. Huh. Maybe he’s not as cocky as he first seemed.

"So you decided to stare instead of just asking? Interesting approach."

I watch as he shifts, guilt written all over his face. 

I sigh, brushing off the lingering irritation. "Step aside," I say firmly.

I carefully climb down the steel ladder, making sure my footing is steady. Once on the ground, I glance at him. "Let's go."

His face twists into a confused expression. "Ah...what?"

I raise an eyebrow. "To find you a book."

"Oh...yeah, please."

I start scanning the shelves, my fingers brushing over the spines as I search for a suitable book.

But deep down, I know his intentions for coming here are different. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it’s definitely not just about finding a book.

He trails behind me like an obedient big puppy, eyes flicking around nervously.

It’s almost amusing how someone with his intimidating appearance can seem so... harmless.

There’s something familiar about him, a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I can’t shake off.

His big frame towers behind me, casting a long shadow in front of me. I don’t even reach his shoulder.

Wtf .. why I am thinking this. Let's just focus on my work.

My gaze lands on a book on the top row—Good Omens. A classic. Perfect. I point up at it.

“Bring it down,”

I nod toward the shelf. "The black spine one in the middle of the yellow books."

He blinks. "Me?"

"Who else? God didn’t make you a giraffe for nothing."

Shit... Did I just talk to him like that? So casually, like he’s someone I’ve known forever. Damn it.

I glance around, feeling embarrassment creeping up my neck. He’s much older than me—moreover, he’s a professor. A freaking Sir.

He looks a little taken aback too, a slight pause in his expression.

Then ,He smirks and reaches up, easily grabbing the book. “Good Omens...” he murmurs, eyes tracing the title. Curiosity flickers in his gaze as he flips through the pages, a hint of a smile forming before fading into a thoughtful expression.

“Nice book. Buy this one,” I say, arms crossed.

He snaps the book shut and shrugs casually. “Alright. I’ll take it,” he replies, but the appreciation in his tone lingers.

I hadn’t noticed before—he’s wearing glasses. Black, thin-framed, and square, they accentuate his striking green eyes—emerald and vivid.

His lashes are long, the kind that would make girls jealous, framing almond-shaped eyes that don’t quite look Indian. The contrast is captivating, a subtle sharpness that softens when he glances my way.

My way....Shit. I didn’t even realize I was staring into his eyes.  Am I becoming a creep?

But he feels so familiar, but I can’t quite place the name or the memory.

It bothers me—this strange pull toward him. Why do I feel like I need to know more? Why does my heart say I can trust him when I barely know him? I don’t have any answers, but I know I need to find them.

Should I ask him if we’ve met before? Should I tell him he looks a bit like someone I can’t even remember the name of? Ugh, this is so embarrassing.

He turns to leave the library, but I stop him. "Sir... which college do you teach at?"

He slowly turns back to me. "Delhi University, Department of Physics and Astrophysics, Main Campus."

"Oh... okay, sir. Have a nice day."

He nods gently and exits .
                                       ★★★
Result day.

I’m sweating like I'm stranded in the Sahara Desert. My stomach feels twisted in knots, and the pain is unreal.

The screen on my laptop keeps buffering—because, of course, every student in the country is trying to check their result at the same time.

It feels like an eternity. My heart’s racing so fast I’m convinced a cardiac arrest is imminent. Damn NTA! Their website always crashes when it matters most.

And then—

It pops up!

220/300.

“Yessss!” I scream at the top of my lungs, jumping onto my bed—until a loud creak stops me cold.

Feels like this old bed’s about to give up on me. I tone it down, throwing my hands in the air instead.

Maa would be so proud. Baba? Well, he probably wouldn’t care.

I flop onto the bed, arms splayed out on either side. Should I call Sam or Kristin? Maybe messaging would be better—less chance of getting detected. Or should I just call?

I glance at my phone. It’s 11:30 p.m. here in India, which means it’s probably...what, around 7 p.m. in London.

I grin wide and hit the call button.

Me: "Hello... Sam?"

Sam: "Yes?"

Me: "220 out of 300! I'm getting into college!"

Sam: "WHAT! Crazy shit, brooooooo! Congratulations!"

Me: "Yes!!! Tell Kristin about this, okay? Bye!"

Sam: "Yes! I will. Stay safe! And don’t forget—the party is due!"

Me: "Yes, yes!"

I hang up, a stupidly big smile plastered on my face. The excitement thrums through me, and I can’t help but pump my fist in the air. College, here I come!
                                        ★★★
It takes about 20 minutes to reach the North Campus of Delhi University from where I live.

The campus is vast and lively, even in the early morning. The Physics and Astrophysics department is housed in a striking white building—modern yet aged, with clean lines and large windows reflecting the sunlight.

I walk through the main gate, navigating around groups of students chatting or hurrying to their classes.

The scent of freshly brewed tea drifts from a nearby stall, blending with the earthy aroma of the campus lawns. The building stands tall ahead, its white walls gleaming under the sun, with the words "Department of Physics and Astrophysics" displayed prominently on a polished plaque.

As I approach, the flutter of nervousness in my stomach intensifies. This is it—the place where my journey truly begins.

People might think I asked Praveer Sir where he works just so I could show up here.

But come on, I’m not stalking him! I just happened to score a badass mark, so why not aim for one of the best universities? It’s called seizing opportunities, not stalking !

Today is my document verification day. No classes yet, but they’ll probably tell us when to start—maybe in a week or two.

I arrived right on time, surrounded by all new faces. My Hindi has improved a lot, which is a win. The entire admission process took almost two months, but here I am.

The real problem? Once classes begin, I won’t be able to work at the bookstore regularly—maybe just a few days a week. I need to talk to Mr. Chaturvedi about that.

All the students file into the room—a massive, impressive space that makes me feel a surge of pride. An older professor, probably in his late 50s, stands at the front with an air of authority.

“Sit down, everyone. Take your seats,” he commands.

I slide into a seat beside two girls. We exchange polite, tight-lipped smiles—an awkward gesture of friendliness.

Damn, I’m nervous.

At the bookstore, I socialized a lot, which helped. But new faces still make me nervous. Thankfully, my 70% extroverted nature helps me push through it.

One by one, all the verifications are happening. Now, it’s my turn.

The professor calls out my name, his voice booming through the room, "Divya Chatterjee!"

The file containing my documents rests on the table. With slow, hesitant steps, I walk up to him and hand it over. "Sir," I say, my voice steady despite my nerves.

He inspects each document—my results, admission receipt, migration certificate—one by one. I watch as he checks and verifies them, my heart thudding louder with every passing second.

It’s not like my documents aren’t real, but now my name is officially registered. A part of me feels proud, yet fear coils around my thoughts. What if they come looking for me? What if they try to snatch away this opportunity?

I refuse to be caged. I won’t let anyone control me anymore.

All done. Verification ended.

“So, all the verification is complete. And I realized I forgot to introduce myself,” the professor says, adjusting his glasses. “I am Anand Vashist, Professor of Classical Mechanics and Mathematical Physics.”

"Students, you can leave for now. Next week, on Monday at 11 a.m. onwards, your classes will start," Professor Vashist announces.

"Your routine will be provided in the WhatsApp group. Make sure to check the group daily for upcoming updates."

The room fills with the rustle of papers and murmurs as everyone gets up to leave. A mix of relief and anticipation settles over us—it's finally official.

I’m almost out of the room, walking down the corridor when my phone buzzes.

A message from Sam. I glance down, fingers tapping quickly as I navigate my way out of the main building.

Then—bam!

I’m on the floor, dazed and confused, blinking at a mess of scattered books around me. A hand appears in front of my face, stretching out.

“While walking, eyes should be on the way, not on your mobile,” a voice remarks dryly.

“Sorry,” I mumble, ignoring his outstretched hand as I push myself up.

“Sorry,” I repeat, kneeling to gather the books scattered around us. He kneels too, helping me.

I glance at him briefly, a flicker of disappointment curling in my chest. Who was I hoping to bump into? I stack the books hastily, mumble another apology, and walk off.

My phone is still in my hand. I glance down, ready to read Sam’s message—then freeze. My eyes widen as recognition crashes over me.

The memories—blurred and forgotten, buried under the dust of time—come rushing back.

The face I couldn't recall. The connection I felt but couldn’t explain. I know who he is now. The answer is clear.

Sam: "I was sorting out some files... well, you could say sneaking around. I found a name on a bunch of fake passports—'Praveer Malhotra.' Turns out, he changed his name from 'Rayan Martinez.' Maybe I’m a dumbass for even thinking this, but the guy in the picture kinda resembles the one we met last time—the one who helped you. And these documents are over ten years old."

My heart flutters—why? It’s like a tiny flicker of hope igniting inside me. The face in the picture definitely matches. Sam sent me the passport photo, and it’s him. Rayan. That’s why I felt that weird warmth from him. It all makes sense now.

But .. Does he remember me ?
        ─────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────────

Hey guys, don’t just read silently—please leave a comment so I know you’re finding it interesting. One comment isn’t going to hurt you!

This is my last update for the month, obviously, duh! The next update will come after April 10th.

Bye, guys! Take care!

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