The morning air at Starlight College was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-soaked grass and the soft rustle of leaves. Sunlight filtered through towering gulmohar trees, casting delicate patterns on the brick pathways. The campus always seemed most alive early in the day - students milling around with steaming cups of chai, sleepy-eyed laughter echoing across the courtyard, and hurried steps chasing the elusive 'first bench' spot in class.
Rhea Sharma clutched her diary tighter to her chest as she crossed the main quad. Anaya walked beside her, animatedly talking about a new series she'd started watching, but Rhea's mind was far from the conversation. Last night's poetry event replayed in fragments - the applause, the sudden courage she'd mustered, and most of all... him.
Kabir Malhotra.
His words, his teasing smirk by the tea stall, and the message that arrived like a secret just for her.
It was maddening how one person's presence could linger like a scent you couldn't shake off.
---
Rhea barely registered the chatter around her as she made her way to the Literature block. The path ahead was dotted with clusters of students - some revising hurriedly for their morning quizzes, others sitting lazily on the stone benches, savoring the coolness of the early hour before the sun grew cruel.
"Earth to Rhea," Anaya nudged her, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
Rhea blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "Huh?"
"I swear, you've been zoning out since last night. And don't try to tell me it's about your assignment," Anaya smirked knowingly. "Is this about a certain tall, broody basketball boy?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rhea mumbled, heat creeping up her neck.
"Right. And I'm secretly the Vice Chancellor," Anaya snorted, looping her arm through Rhea's. "C'mon, class is starting."
They made their way to the Literature hall - an old, ivy-clad building that smelled of worn-out books and nostalgia. The classroom was already half full, students sprawled on benches, some scribbling last-minute notes, others scrolling through Instagram. The day's topic was Keats, but for Rhea, every word of the lecture blurred at the edges.
Two rows behind her sat Kabir.
Not that she had turned to check.
Okay, maybe she had. Once. Or twice.
Kabir leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in the lazy, confident way only he could pull off, his fingers twirling a pen. He wasn't paying much attention either, exchanging quiet jokes with his friend Arjun.
But every so often, Rhea could feel his gaze flickering toward her. She didn't dare turn. Her heart thudded loud enough she was sure Aanya could hear it.
---
The lecture dragged on, Professor Mukherjee droning about Romanticism and the metaphor of transient beauty. Rhea tried to focus, scribbling random notes in the margins of her notebook, but her concentration splintered when a folded paper landed on her desk.
She glanced down.
Neat, bold handwriting.
"Poet girl, still writing about strangers or finally found some inspiration?"
Her eyes widened. She twisted in her seat just enough to spot Kabir leaning lazily on his desk, a smug grin on his face. He raised an eyebrow, daring her to respond.
Rhea's pulse skipped.
Without missing a beat, she scribbled back:
"Depends. Some strangers don't stay strangers forever."
She tossed the paper back when the professor turned toward the blackboard. Kabir unfolded it, read her reply, and chuckled softly.
Anaya nudged Rhea, mouthing 'what's going on?', but Rhea just shook her head, cheeks flushed.
Another minute later, a pen tapped against her notebook. She looked down to find another line scrawled on the paper:
"Are you always this cryptic or just with me?"
She bit back a smile.
Beneath it, she added:
"Maybe you just haven't earned the right answers yet."
The game continued through the lecture - teasing remarks, half-smiles, and stolen glances. Neither fully acknowledging what was happening but neither willing to stop.
By the time the bell rang, Rhea's stomach fluttered like she'd run a marathon.
As everyone shuffled out, Kabir brushed past her, voice low enough only she could hear.
"Careful, Sharma. I might just stick around long enough to earn those answers."
And with that, he was gone - leaving Rhea rooted to the spot, heart pounding like a drum.
---
After two back-to-back lectures and a surprise quiz, the canteen was a welcome escape. It was always the most chaotic place on campus - students shouting orders, chairs scraping the floor, the mingled scent of masala Maggi, strong coffee, and buttered paranthas hanging thick in the air.
Rhea and Anaya grabbed a corner table by the window. The canteen was packed, noise bouncing off the tiled walls. Rhea barely had time to settle before Anaya asked, "Okay, spill. What's up with Kabir?"
"Nothing," Rhea said too quickly, unwrapping a straw for her cold coffee.
"Please. The two of you practically invented a new language with those notes in class. And don't think I didn't see you blushing like a lovesick poet."
Rhea groaned. "You're impossible."
Before Anaya could needle her further, a voice cut in.
"Mind if we join?"
Kabir, with Arjun in tow, stood beside their table.
Anaya grinned. "Well, well, if it isn't the college heartthrob and his loyal sidekick."
"Careful, Anaya," Arjun shot back. "I'm more popular than this guy on good hair days."
They all laughed, and to Rhea's surprise, it wasn't awkward. Kabir pulled up a chair across from her, his signature grin in place.
"Cold coffee?" he asked, nodding toward her glass. "Didn't peg you for the cold caffeine type."
"You don't know everything about me," Rhea challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"Working on it," he shot back, leaning forward.
The conversation flowed easily - Anaya and Arjun arguing over their favorite street food stalls, Kabir teasing Rhea every chance he got.
"So, Sharma," he said, taking a sip of his coffee, "any new poems brewing? Or still stuck on mysterious strangers and broken hearts?"
"Maybe I'm writing one about a certain cocky basketball player who talks too much," she fired back.
Kabir laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made the air around them feel lighter.
"I'd read that," he said, meeting her eyes.
And in that fleeting second, the rest of the canteen seemed to fade. The noise dulled, the crowd blurred, and it was just them - two people pretending not to care, while every glance, every word betrayed exactly how much they did.
---
As the sky began to melt into shades of orange and dusky pink, the college campus settled into a calmer rhythm. The last lectures had ended, and most students spilled into the open grounds, some heading to the hostel, others gathered in little clusters by the main gate.
Rhea and Anaya walked slowly toward the parking area where Aanya's scooter was parked.
"I swear," Anaya grumbled, scrolling through her phone, "another assignment like today and I'm dropping out. Running away to the hills. Selling momos for a living."
Rhea laughed, the tension in her chest easing a little.
A group of football players jogged past them, and trailing a little behind was Kabir, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp from practice. He caught sight of them and jogged up.
"Leaving already?" he asked, slightly breathless.
"Some of us have actual work to do," Rhea teased, a playful spark in her eyes.
"Sure, poet girl," Kabir grinned. "Avoid me all you want, but one day you'll have to admit you enjoy our conversations."
"I don't avoid you," Rhea said, trying to sound nonchalant, though her heart betrayed her with its traitorous pace.
Kabir leaned in, his voice low, carrying only to her. "Good. Because I kinda like having you around."
Anaya, grinning at the obvious tension, decided to be merciful. "Rhea, I'm gonna grab samosas for home. You two... take your time."
And with that, she was gone.
Kabir and Rhea stood there for a moment, the orange sky painting their silhouettes.
"So," Kabir said softly, "see you tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Rhea replied, pretending to think. "Depends if you stop being annoying."
He smirked. "No promises."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Neither wanting to leave, yet neither knowing how to stay.
Finally, Rhea took a step back. "Good night, Kabir."
"Night, Sharma."
And as she turned to go, his voice called out once more. "Hey, Rhea?"
She glanced back.
"I meant what I said. About liking you around."
Rhea felt a smile she couldn't fight, and with a quiet nod, she walked away.
---
Later that night...
The clock on Rhea's bedside table blinked 11:42 PM in soft blue digits. The world outside her window had quieted, with only the occasional whoosh of a passing car and the distant bark of a street dog breaking the silence. The fairy lights strung around her room glowed faintly, washing the walls in a warm, gentle hue.
Rhea lay curled on her bed, phone in hand, mind still replaying the day's moments. The way Kabir had teased her in class. The easy conversation in the canteen. The parting words at sunset that still clung to the edges of her thoughts like a lingering warmth.
Her phone buzzed.
Kabir Malhotra:
Still thinking about me, Sharma?
Rhea's lips twitched into a smile despite herself. Typical Kabir.
She hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the screen before she typed:
Rhea Sharma:
In your dreams, Malhotra.
The reply came instantly.
Kabir:
Knew it. You're obsessed.
She scoffed, the laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. She pulled her pillow closer, propping herself up.
Rhea:
Don't flatter yourself. I have better things to think about.
Kabir:
Name one.
She bit her lip, pretending to think, and then sent:
Rhea:
Maggi. Cold coffee. And peace.
Kabir:
Harsh. And here I was thinking we had a moment today.
Rhea's stomach flipped. Stupid boy and his stupid timing.
Rhea:
You imagine a lot of things, don't you?
Kabir:
Only the ones that involve you, poet girl.
Her breath caught.
It was ridiculous, really - how a few typed words could make her heart stutter, make the night feel a little warmer.
She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she tossed her phone onto the bed and reached for her diary. The leather cover was worn, pages filled with half-finished poems, doodles, and words she could never say aloud.
She flipped to a fresh page and stared out the window. The moon hung low, its pale glow brushing against the curtains.
And then, pen in hand, she began to write:
"Some people arrive
like sunsets -
quietly beautiful,
leaving behind colors
you never knew
you needed."
She stared at the words, a soft ache blooming in her chest.
Her phone buzzed again.
Kabir:
Gone silent? Did I win?
Rhea smiled.
Rhea:
Go to sleep, Kabir.
Kabir:
Sweet dreams, Sharma. Dream of me, okay?
She didn't respond, just turned her phone face-down, the glow of the screen dimming.
But her smile lingered.
And somewhere deep down, Rhea knew - some people were meant to arrive like sunsets, painting unnoticed spaces in your heart in colors you'd never imagined.
And Kabir Malhotra was starting to become one of them.
---
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