Crescent Hill Academy – 11:15 AM

The sun filtered in through tall classroom windows, landing softly on rows of dark blue desks and perfectly lined chairs. The silence was thick, the kind that made even the ticking clock sound louder than necessary.

Except for the voice of one girl.

“...and I swear, ma’am, it wasn’t my fault the paint spilled all over the model. Riya dared me to twirl with the brush in my hand!” Meher Sharma’s voice chirped through the room like a bird that had no concept of volume control.

Laughter bubbled from the class. Miss Fernandez rolled her eyes and waved Meher off with an exhausted sigh. “Just sit down, Sharma, before you paint your words all over the room too.”

Meher grinned and walked to her seat—middle row, center column. Perfect for attention. She dropped her bag with a soft thud, leaned back in her chair, and immediately turned to whisper something to the girl beside her.

That’s when she noticed him.

In the very last row, near the window, sat a boy who looked like he belonged to a different world entirely.

Head down. Arms crossed. Eyes fixed out the window, unbothered by the class, the chatter, the teacher, or even the bell that had just rung.

Arav Malhotra.

The name came with stories. That he owned the company that sponsored the school’s new auditorium. That his family was richer than any Bollywood star. That he once broke a boy’s nose in eighth grade and didn’t flinch. That no girl ever dared talk to him.

They called him “The Monster.”

Cold eyes. No emotions. A walking iceberg.

Meher tilted her head, studying him like he was a math problem that didn’t make sense. “Is he always this… dramatically silent?” she whispered to Riya.

“He doesn’t talk,” Riya whispered back. “Like, ever. You could yell in his face, and he’ll still look at you like you’re dust.”

“Hmm,” Meher tapped her pen against her notebook. “Interesting. Emotionally constipated or mysterious?”

“Definitely scary.”

Meher grinned.

---

After Class – 1:00 PM

It was during lunch break when the twist came.

Miss Fernandez marched in, holding a clipboard like it was a sword. “Class, for the annual science exhibition, I’ve paired you up. And I don’t want complaints.”

Names were called. Students groaned or cheered.

Then:

“Meher Sharma and Arav Malhotra.”

The room froze.

Even Meher blinked in surprise.

All eyes turned to the last row. Arav didn’t react. He didn’t even lift his head.

Miss Fernandez tapped her foot. “Did you hear me, Malhotra?”

He raised his eyes—calm, unreadable, and colder than steel. “Yes, ma’am.”

Meher stood awkwardly. “Um… hello, partner?”

Arav’s eyes slid toward her. One second. Two. No smile. No nod. Just... a look. Then he picked up his notebook and walked out of the class.

“Wow,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s the rudest hello I’ve ever received.”

But something about him—his silence, his distance—didn’t scare her. It fascinated her.

For him, she was noise.

For her, he was mystery.

Neither of them knew it yet…

But that science project would be the beginning of something neither equations nor logic could ever solve.

The science lab was always Meher’s least favorite place. Not because of the experiments, but because of the cold smell of chemicals and the constant pressure to not break anything. But today, it wasn’t the glass beakers or burner flames that made her uneasy.

It was Arav Malhotra.

He stood at the far end of the lab, leaning against a desk, flipping through the project brief Miss Fernandez had distributed. Silent, unreadable—as usual. Meher took a deep breath and marched toward him, gripping her notebook like a shield.

“You know,” she began, forcing a smile, “most people say hello when they meet their project partner.”

Arav didn’t even glance at her. “We’re not here to talk. We’re here to work.”

Meher blinked. “Wow. Okay, ice king.”

That earned her a sharp glance. His eyes, grey like a raincloud about to burst, pinned her down for a split second.

“I’m not here to make friends,” he said coolly.

“Neither am I,” she replied, placing her notebook next to his. “But it wouldn’t hurt to be human.”

He said nothing. Just turned the page.

For ten painfully silent minutes, they worked. Meher scribbled down observations. Arav adjusted the circuit like a perfectionist. His hands were steady. Precise. Not a single wasted movement.

“I think you missed a connection there,” Meher said, pointing gently.

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, eyes still on the board.

She leaned in closer, inspecting it. “Pretty sure that resistor should go here. You’ll short the whole—”

There was a crack and a spark.

Meher jumped back. Arav didn't flinch.

“See?” she whispered, trying not to laugh.

He gave her a withering look. “You were distracting me.”

“I was helping you.”

“You were talking.”

“I always talk. Get used to it.”

His lips tightened, almost like he was holding back a sigh. “This is going to be a long project.”

Meher tilted her head. “You know what’s funny? Everyone thinks you’re a robot. But I think you’re just lonely.”

His eyes snapped to hers then. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… surprised.

And for a moment, the air changed.

She looked away first, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I brought snacks.” She pulled out a tiffin from her bag and popped it open. The smell of aloo paratha filled the room.

“I don’t eat street food,” he said.

“It’s not street food. It’s Sharma-made-with-love food,” she replied, grinning.

Arav stared at the paratha like it was a biological specimen.

“You're impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re frozen,” she said, waving the piece in front of him. “Come on, one bite won’t melt you.”

He didn’t take it. But when she looked away to check her notes, the tiniest sound reached her ears.

A soft crunch.

When she turned back, the piece was gone.

Her eyes widened. “Did you just—”

“I didn’t say I hated it,” he muttered.

Meher smiled wide, a little victory ballooning in her chest. He was cold, quiet, distant—but she had found a crack. And cracks meant something was inside.

Maybe not a monster.

Maybe a boy with too many walls, and no one who’d ever tried to climb them.

For someone who was supposedly the “monster” of Crescent Hill Academy, Arav Malhotra worked with the precision of a machine and the silence of a monk.

He didn’t ask Meher about her weekend.

He didn’t laugh at her terrible jokes.

And he absolutely did not smile.

But something had changed since that paratha incident.

Because now, when she spoke, he listened—quietly, without interrupting.

And that was enough for her to keep going.

---

Library – Two Days Later

“I think I figured out the circuit issue,” Meher said, sliding into the chair across from him.

Arav barely glanced up from his notebook. “Doubt it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wow, Mr. Encouragement. I’ll take that as a challenge.”

She opened her file, pulling out a scribbled diagram. “This bypass here? If we link it directly to the main power source instead of the delay node, we reduce the lag.”

Arav finally looked up.

She could see the moment it clicked for him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her drawing, then back at her. And then, softly—

“…That might actually work.”

Meher grinned, triumphant. “See? Told you I have one brain cell left, and sometimes it shines.”

“You talk too much,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“You feel too little,” she shot back.

Arav’s hand paused mid-page.

For a second, it looked like he might say something… but he didn’t. He returned to writing in silence.

---

That Evening – School Terrace

The sun was setting in golden streaks across the rooftops as Meher sat on the school terrace, munching on a packet of chips, alone.

Or so she thought.

“Junk food again?” came a voice behind her.

She turned, half-jumping. “God, you walk like a ghost!”

Arav leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t be up here alone.”

“I come here to think. Or escape judgmental rich boys.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“You’re silently judging me. That’s worse.”

He stepped closer, the sky behind him glowing orange. “Why are you always… this way?”

She tilted her head. “What way?”

“Loud. Honest. Happy.”

Meher blinked. No one had ever asked her that—not like that.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Maybe because my life’s too short and messy to pretend. And yours? Yours looks like it’s never been touched by anything real.”

He looked away at that. His jaw tightened.

And then, for the first time, he said something that wasn’t cold or calculated.

“My mom left when I was ten. My father only talks through his assistant. I grew up with money, yes. But never love. So maybe you’re right. I don’t feel much. Or maybe… I just don’t know how to show it.”

Meher’s heart softened.

Silence stretched between them, but this time, it didn’t feel empty.

She scooted over and offered him the packet of chips. “Here. Let’s be emotionally damaged together.”

Arav stared at the chips like they were some alien artifact. Then, slowly, he took one.

And ate it.

Without a word.

---

Later That Night – Arav’s Perspective

Arav sat at his desk at home, the city glowing below his glass walls. His phone screen lit up with a single message:

Meher:

"Hey Ice Monster. That chip you stole from me? You owe me one tomorrow. :)"

For the first time in years, he smiled.

Just a little.

Just enough.