The classroom hummed with morning lethargy, papers shuffling, chairs creaking, and that faint scent of whiteboard marker and worn-out books. It was routine for most — familiar, forgettable. But not for Devansh.
Not today.
He entered the classroom a few minutes early, which was unusual for someone who never had to care about punctuality. His friends weren’t there yet — Rian probably stuck flirting at the canteen, and Kiara and Yash always made an entrance. But Devansh liked it this way today. Quiet. Less noise. More space for his thoughts to stretch and settle.
And there she was.
Adah.
The seat by the window, her usual corner — where the sunlight spilled like warm gold across her table. She sat hunched over her notebook, hair loosely tied, a soft blue ribbon holding it up. Her brows were furrowed as she scribbled notes. And every few seconds, as if caught in a cycle of unconscious thought, she brought the end of her pen to her lips.
Tap
Touch.
Pause.
She didn’t even know she was doing it.
Her brows were furrowed in focus, lips softly parted, and then—she did it again. Absent-mindedly, she brought the pen to her mouth and pressed it against her lips. Not biting it. Not chewing it. Just… resting it there.
And Devansh. Lost it.
He had no right to feel this way. No logic behind the sudden heat that pooled in his stomach or the inexplicable rage at an inanimate object. But all he could think about was replacing that pen with his fingers. And for some godforsaken reason, Devansh couldn't look away.
He sank into his seat — third row, right behind her. It wasn't intentional, not the first time. But lately, he'd been arriving just early enough to claim that specific desk. Always the same angle. Always the same view.
He hated how predictable he was becoming. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate it enough.
Adah hadn’t looked at him. Not once.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know he was there. Everyone noticed Devansh Rathore. Especially when he walked in like he owned the place — which, technically, his family did. The school belonged to the Rathores, a fact whispered through marble corridors and scrawled into golden plaques at the entrance.
But she… she didn’t care.
Or pretended not to.
And that — that gnawed at something in him.
Her lips pressed together as she tried solving a problem on the page, her fingers drumming lightly. The pen found her lips again. Devansh swallowed, his jaw tightening.
Was she always like this? So unaware and yet so maddeningly captivating?
What the hell was this?
He’d been around girls all his life. Kiara, Natasha, random admirers — he’d seen perfect nails, expensive perfume, short skirts, and practiced seduction. He wasn’t immune to attention. But this girl… with her unbothered silence and fraying notebook edges — she was dangerous in a way none of them were.
Because she didn’t try. She didn’t even want him to look.
And still, he couldn’t stop.
___
The day drifted on like a poem unraveling in slow motion.
Adah sat in the second row of their English class, her notebook open, pen twirling absently between her fingers as she stared out the window. The teacher’s voice faded into the background, just a hum beneath the rhythm of her thoughts. She tried to focus, but she couldn’t stop the occasional pull toward the pair of eyes burning holes into the back of her head.
Devansh.
He hadn’t spoken a word since that morning. He had taken the seat right behind her, and while she pretended to ignore it, she felt every shift, every breath he took. She felt his presence like a storm brewing quietly behind her.
From Devansh’s perspective, it was chaos masked in control. He hadn’t looked away from her for more than a few seconds since the class began. There was something mesmerizing about her posture—poised but guarded. Her fingers trembled slightly when she wrote, but her eyes held a calm sadness. She rarely spoke, never raised her hand, and yet... she was the loudest presence in the room for him.
He noticed the way she tapped her pen on the paper when she was thinking. The way she pressed the tip of it to her lower lip when stuck on a word—it drove him crazy.
A slow burn ignited in his chest every time that pen touched her lips. It wasn’t lust. Not exactly. It was an obsession, a compulsion, a hunger to understand what she was thinking when she did that. Did she even know what it did to people—what it was doing to him?
It was dangerous.
He leaned forward ever so slightly, catching the scent of her—something floral, delicate, like jasmine after rain. She shifted in her seat, and her shoulder barely brushed against his desk. That stupid brush felt like an earthquake under his skin.
What was she doing to him?
Adah’s inner world was a mess too. She could feel his gaze, the weight of it, the heat of it. But she didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was just another boy. Rich, probably spoiled. Probably thought the world revolved around him.
But the way he looked at her...
She tried not to let it get to her, but the goosebumps on her skin betrayed her resolve. She hated how aware she had become of him in just one day. That wasn’t her. She was here to study, to keep her head down. To make her parents proud.
Not to fall into the orbit of a boy with a crooked smile and a hurricane in his eyes
"Ms. Verma?" the teacher called.
Adah jumped slightly, then stood up quickly. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Your thoughts on the theme of sacrifice in the story?"
Her mind scrambled. She didn’t even know which paragraph they were on.
Before she could open her mouth, Devansh’s voice came from behind.
"She said earlier that sacrifice is when you give up something you love for someone you love even more."
Adah turned around slowly, her eyes meeting his.
Devansh stared at her, not the teacher, and there was something in his gaze that made her forget the question entirely.
The teacher nodded, surprised. "That’s... actually quite beautiful. Thank you."
Adah sat back down, her heart hammering in her chest.
She hadn’t said that.
Not out loud.
Devansh smirked behind her, satisfied.
He had just made it up. But he wondered if he had guessed right. If that’s what she truly thought. Something about her said she knew pain. She knew what it meant to let go of something you held close.
He wanted to know everything about her.
She wanted to stay invisible.
Fate had other plans.
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