Aanya's POV
The morning sun was warm, the breeze gentle, but inside Aanya, something felt… unsettled.
She entered the college gate alone, her bag slung lazily over her shoulder. Meher had texted again:
"Late as usual 😩 Save me a seat!"
Aanya just smiled softly and kept walking, her mind drifting in a quiet fog.
As she climbed the staircase toward the lecture building, focused on adjusting her notebook, it happened.
A brief touch.
A soft shoulder brush.
A second, maybe less.
But something inside her shifted—sharply.
Her heart gave a jolt, like it recognized something her eyes hadn't even seen yet.
She froze.
One step above her, a boy walked away without turning back. He wore a plain black hoodie, head slightly lowered, lost in the crowd.
She didn't see his face. She didn't hear his voice. But her chest tightened. A strange ache formed just beneath her ribs—as if her soul had been startled awake.
Was that… him?
Before she could even move, Meher's voice came from behind.
"Aanyaaa! Hurry up, we're late again!"
Still dazed, Aanya followed Meher quietly into the classroom. Her fingers subconsciously touched her shoulder where the boy had brushed past her. Her breath still felt uneven.
As they entered the lecture room, a low buzz of chatter filled the air—especially from the girls.
"Ugh, he didn't come again today?"
"Seriously? It's been three days!"
"I heard he's super rich. Like, next level."
"He's from Mumbai, right? They say he's a total heart-stealer."
"Maybe he's just not interested in classes," someone giggled.
Meher leaned close and whispered, "They're all talking about the new boy. He enrolled this week but hasn't shown up once. Some people are dying to see him. I heard he's a bit unpredictable."
Aanya slowly looked at the empty seat near the back—quiet and untouched.
But her mind wasn't on rumors.
It was stuck in that moment from earlier.
That one silent touch. That aching feeling in her chest.
She didn't know if it had been the new boy.
She didn't know if she was overthinking everything.
But something inside her had felt real. Deep. Familiar.
That night, with the stars scattered above her, she opened her old diary again—the one she hadn't touched since her dreams had faded.
She wrote slowly, her fingers trembling slightly:
"He brushed past me like a stranger. But my soul trembled like it had finally found home."