Chapter 1

Eshan had always thought the library was the safest place on campus. A sanctuary where the world grew quiet, where time moved slower, where no one looked too closely at anyone else.

But that evening, it felt different.

He sat at his usual corner desk, the golden light of sunset spilling through the tall windows and bathing the wooden tables in warmth. His notes on economics sat untouched, the pen in his hand twirling idly. He wasn’t in the mood for studying—but the library was familiar, and familiarity was comforting.

That’s when he noticed him.

At first, Eshan only caught a glimpse: a figure moving between the shelves. Tall, lean, his posture effortlessly straight. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, veins running along his forearm as he traced a finger across the rows of spines. His movements weren’t rushed like most students scrambling for references. No—he moved with a calmness, as though the books were bowing to his time, not the other way around.

Eshan tried not to stare, but the more he glanced, the harder it became to look away.

His face came into view when he stepped out from behind the shelf. The fading light caught the angles of his jaw, the sharp curve of his nose, and the quiet intensity of his eyes. He looked… different. Like someone who didn’t quite belong here but commanded the space anyway.

And then, as if fate was teasing, their eyes met.

Eshan’s breath caught.

It wasn’t just a glance—it was a hold. Those dark eyes locked onto him, unwavering, curious in a way that made his stomach flip. The silence between them felt heavy, charged, as though the rest of the library had melted into nothingness.

Eshan dropped his gaze immediately, pretending to scribble something on his paper. His heart pounded, loud enough he was sure someone could hear it. He scolded himself—Why are you reacting like this? He just looked at you.

But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept circling back.

When he finally dared to look up again, the boy wasn’t by the shelf anymore. Instead, he was at the table two rows away, seated casually with a book open in front of him. Not reading. Just… there. His posture relaxed, but his gaze flicked up every so often, like he wasn’t actually interested in the pages.

Eshan tried to ignore it. He really did. He buried his nose in his notes, forced himself to write, erased it all, and wrote again. But he could feel the weight of those eyes on him. It wasn’t invasive exactly, but it wasn’t light either. It lingered, steady and patient, like the boy had all the time in the world to just sit there and wait.

By the time Eshan packed his things and left, dusk had deepened into night. He stepped out into the cool air, relief washing over him—only to feel his skin prickle.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw him again.

The boy was at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching quietly as Eshan walked away.

No smile. No words. Just eyes that followed him until the streetlights swallowed his figure.

Eshan’s heart raced, but he couldn’t decide if it was fear or fascination.

All he knew was one thing—

This wasn’t the last time.

Chapter 2 –

Reyan had never been the type to get distracted.

His world was usually neat lines and controlled rhythms—study, practice, sleep, repeat. People blurred past him like background noise. He could meet a hundred faces in a day and not remember a single one by night.

But that evening… Eshan broke the pattern.

At first it was just the pen. Reyan noticed the way it twirled in his hand, restless, like a secret trying to escape. Then the eyes—dark, cautious, the kind that carried questions they’d never dare to ask aloud.

Reyan found himself leaning against the shelf longer than intended, watching. Not staring, no—studying. Measuring the small details: the way Eshan’s lips pressed together when he erased something, the faint crease between his brows, the nervous tap of his foot against the floor.

When their eyes met across the golden spill of sunlight, something inside Reyan shifted.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sudden. It was quiet and precise, like a lock clicking open.

He waited for Eshan to hold it. To meet the moment.

But Eshan broke first, gaze falling back to his paper, cheeks tinted with the faintest warmth.

A smile ghosted across Reyan’s lips. Shy.

It wasn’t disappointment—if anything, it intrigued him more.

He moved then, taking the seat two rows away, opening a random book just for appearance. He didn’t read. He didn’t need to. His attention was elsewhere.

It wasn’t only Eshan’s face—it was the way he existed. Almost too carefully, like he was trying to shrink into his chair, like the world hadn’t yet learned to see him properly. Reyan wanted to. He wanted to look until Eshan had no choice but to be seen.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. He didn’t count. He only noticed how Eshan’s shoulders tensed every time their eyes almost met again.

When Eshan finally gathered his books and left, Reyan closed his own with deliberate calmness.

He didn’t rush, didn’t hide. Instead, he leaned against the library’s doorframe, hands in his pockets, waiting as if this was always meant to happen.

Eshan walked faster, almost hurried, but not without a glance back. And Reyan made sure he was there, steady, his gaze unwavering.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. Words weren’t necessary. Not yet.

But his eyes said enough—I see you.

And for the first time in a long time, Reyan felt something new coil inside him. Not just curiosity. Not just interest. Something heavier. Something that told him this was not a moment to be forgotten.

The next day, Eshan promised himself he wouldn’t go back to the library.

He told himself he could study in the cafeteria, in his dorm, anywhere but there. The memory of those dark eyes watching him all evening still lingered, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel that… unsettled again.

But habits are stubborn. And by late afternoon, his feet carried him there anyway.

The library was quieter than usual, sunlight stretching across the polished floors. Eshan slipped into his usual corner, setting his bag down carefully. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened his notebook. He told himself it was just the coffee.

And then—

He looked up.

Reyan was already there.

Seated by the shelves this time, a book in his hand, posture relaxed, head tilted just enough to catch the light. It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be.

Their eyes met. Again.

Not fleeting. Not by accident. This time, Reyan held it—steady, deliberate.

Eshan’s throat went dry. He looked down quickly, pen scratching nonsense into the margins of his notes. His chest ached with the effort of pretending he wasn’t aware.

Minutes passed. Pages turned. Silence stretched.

Until it broke.

A voice—low, smooth, careful—cut through the air.

“You always sit there.”

Eshan froze. The pen slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk. Slowly, he turned his head. Reyan was closer now, standing by the edge of his table, one hand resting on the back of a chair.

Eshan blinked. Words refused to form. “Uh… I—I guess,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up even though they hadn’t slipped.

Reyan studied him for a beat too long, then sat down across from him as if the seat had always belonged to him. His presence was steady, filling the quiet space between them.

Eshan’s heart hammered in his ears. He forced himself to breathe.

“Do you… need this table?”

Reyan’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but close.

“No. I need you to stop pretending you don’t notice me.”

Eshan’s breath caught. His pen tapped nervously against the paper. “I—I don’t—”

“You do.” Reyan’s voice was calm, unshaken. His eyes never wavered, like they were stripping away every flimsy excuse Eshan tried to build.

For a moment, neither moved. The world around them blurred into silence again—books, desks, distant whispers—all fading into irrelevance.

Finally, Reyan leaned back, crossing his arms with casual ease.

“Relax. I’m not going to bite.”

Eshan swallowed, cheeks burning. “You… talk like you know me.”

“Not yet,” Reyan said simply. His tone wasn’t teasing. It was a promise.

And just like that, the silence returned. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was expectant. Like the first page of a story that had finally begun.