The campus café was unusually quiet that evening. A soft drizzle tapped against the windows, and the scent of coffee and old books filled the air. Ahaana stirred her drink with a spoon, watching the swirls of chocolate slowly fade into the milk.
"I don't like people," she muttered.
Vikram looked up from his laptop. "Oh, I hadn't noticed."
She glanced at him with narrowed eyes, then gave a small smirk before taking a sip of her drink.
They had met in the library earlier that week to work on their project, but now, for the first time, they had chosen to sit together just to talk. No books. No deadlines.
Just them.
"I mean it," she said after a moment. "People are exhausting. Fake. They say things they don't mean and pretend they care. I'd rather be alone."
Vikram leaned back in his chair. His voice was soft. "You're not really alone though, are you?"
She looked up sharply.
"Because you're always surrounded by your anger," he said. "It keeps you company. It protects you."
Ahaana didn't respond. Her fingers clenched around the warm mug, knuckles pale.
"You don't know me," she finally said.
"I'd like to," Vikram replied quietly.
The words hung in the air. She stared at him, uncertain—confused, even. Most people either feared her or avoided her. He did neither.
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you even care?"
Vikram hesitated. Then he spoke, with rare honesty. "Because you wear your pain like armor. And I know what that feels like."
That silenced her.
Ahaana looked away, blinking fast. No one had ever said something like that to her. Not in a way that felt… real.
After a long pause, she said, "My mom died when I was a baby. I've only seen her in pictures. My dad… he was never really around. He was always angry or busy or somewhere else. I grew up alone, even when he was home."
Vikram said nothing. He listened.
"I had to fight for everything," she went on, her voice rougher now. "Respect. Peace. Even food sometimes. I got into fights. I got into trouble. Everyone just said I had 'issues.' No one ever asked why."
Vikram's expression softened. "I'm asking now."
She looked up at him, eyes wide and unsure. And something in her chest shifted—like a wall cracking, just a little.
Ahaana let out a dry laugh. "You're strange, Vikram. You act like an old man, but you're stuck in a college kid's body."
Vikram chuckled. "That's… not far from the truth."
She didn't press him. Not yet. But she noticed it—how he spoke like he had lived through too much, how his eyes sometimes looked like they were staring at memories far beyond this lifetime.
---
A few days later, they met again—this time in a quiet corner of the campus garden.
The sun had dipped low, casting orange and pink hues across the sky. Ahaana leaned back against a tree, arms crossed behind her head, eyes closed. Vikram sat beside her on the grass, legs stretched out, face turned toward the sunset.
"I don't remember the last time I just sat like this," she said.
"Feels nice, doesn't it?" he murmured.
She nodded.
Vikram turned to her, thoughtful. "You're changing."
"What do you mean?"
"You're softer now. Calmer."
Ahaana rolled her eyes. "You're imagining things."
He grinned. "Maybe. Or maybe someone's finally letting themselves be happy."
She didn't reply, but her silence said everything.
He continued, voice low. "You're stronger than you think, Ahaana. You've built your life with your own hands. You've survived."
"So have you," she said, surprising him.
Vikram blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"You don't talk much about yourself," she said, watching him closely. "But your eyes—they've seen too much. Like someone who lost everything but learned to smile anyway."
He was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, "You're not wrong."
They sat like that, side by side, two broken souls who had found comfort in each other's silence.
The sun disappeared behind the horizon, and with it, something new bloomed between them.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something close.
Something real.