Ansh didn’t understand his friends’ cryptic remarks, his brows furrowing slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. Yet he trusted he would eventually. Back home, his eyes softened, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as thoughts of Pakhi consumed him: her smile, her voice, the way she brushed hair from her face. Each memory made his chest tighten, his lips curve faintly, filling him with inexplicable joy.

A routine formed. Ansh’s eyes often wandered across corridors, his steps slowing whenever she passed. He watched her from afar, his fingers tightening around his books, his breath catching in quiet moments. He never spoke, never stepped closer—only observed, his gaze lingering with restrained longing.