Main Characters:

Arjun Mehta (Student, 19)

A quiet literature student with a love for poetry.

Lost his mother young; lives with his grandparents who have strict family values.

Smart, sensitive, emotionally guarded.

His family has a deep grudge against the teacher’s family.

Rayan Kapoor (Teacher, 28)

New English Literature professor at Arjun’s college.

Calm, composed, with a gentle but mysterious aura.

Carries emotional scars from his past — especially a broken family relationship.

His family’s history is entangled with Arjun’s grandparents’ past feud.

Supporting Characters:

Dev — Rayan’s colleague at the college (assistant professor or fellow literature teacher). Calm, observant, slightly teasing personality.

Kia — Arjun’s best friend and classmate. Outgoing, funny, and protective of Arjun.

Mr. Mehta (Grandfather) – Cold and controlling; despises the Kapoor family.

Mrs. Kapoor (Rayan’s mother) – Warm but hiding painful truths.

Story begins

Arjun Mehta hurried across the college courtyard, his backpack bouncing against his shoulder with every step. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of old books from the library and the tang of wet leaves after a morning drizzle. He had overslept, as usual, and now he was late for the first lecture with the new literature professor. His stomach twisted with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

Great. Just great, he muttered under his breath. Another teacher to judge me before I even open my mouth.

Kia’s message buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his anxious thoughts.

Dude, hurry up! First class with the new prof starts in ten minutes!

Arjun groaned. “I know, I know,” he typed quickly, barely able to focus on the words. Kia was always the punctual one, the eternal organizer, while he thrived in chaos.

The lecture hall doors loomed ahead. Arjun paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous thrum in his chest. Pushing them open, he froze. The room was quiet, every student already seated, eyes forward, attention fixed on the front. And then he saw him.

Rayan Kapoor.

Tall, composed, with an air of authority that seemed to command the room without effort. His dark eyes scanned the students, calm and precise, yet intense in a way that made Arjun’s stomach twist. Rayan’s presence was magnetic—an invisible force pulling Arjun’s attention toward him.

“Arjun Mehta?” Rayan’s voice broke through the silence, smooth but commanding.

“Yes, sir,” Arjun replied, his voice smaller than he intended.

Rayan’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t casual either. It was as if he was seeing Arjun for the first time, peeling away layers that no one else cared to notice.

“I’ve noticed your essays,” Rayan said, stepping closer, his voice low but certain. “You have talent. But you tend to hide behind your words. There’s depth in your writing that rarely reaches the surface. I want to help you bring out your true voice.”

Arjun blinked, taken aback. Compliments like this were rare. Most teachers only noticed mistakes, spelling errors, or late submissions. Rarely, if ever, did someone acknowledge the person behind the work.

“I… I don’t write for people,” he said cautiously, unsure how much to reveal.

Rayan’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Maybe some people are worth reading anyway,” he replied softly, almost like a secret meant just for Arjun.

Arjun felt warmth creep into his chest, spreading to his fingers, his toes, even his thoughts. His mind spun, trying to focus on the lecture notes, but he couldn’t. Every glance toward Rayan made his heart flutter.

The lecture began, and Arjun mechanically took notes, though most of them were nonsense scribbles. He was too distracted by the subtle way Rayan moved, the way he explained complex ideas with a calm patience, the way his eyes seemed to linger on Arjun’s essays.

During the short break, his phone buzzed. Kia’s message lit up the screen.

OMG, Arjun. He’s… different. Calm, intense… like he sees right through you.

Arjun rolled his eyes, typing back quickly. Kia, stop exaggerating.

Sure, whatever you say. Just… maybe be careful. Some teachers…

Arjun slid the phone into his pocket. Kia would never let him live this down, but she wasn’t wrong. There was something about Rayan Kapoor that made him feel exposed, vulnerable, yet oddly exhilarated.

By the end of the lecture, Arjun walked out into the crisp afternoon air, heart pounding. He replayed every word, every glance, every small gesture. For the first time, he wondered if maybe someone could truly see him—not just the student everyone expected him to be, but Arjun Mehta, the real one hidden beneath years of routine and caution.

A part of him wanted to ignore it, to pretend it was just admiration for his essays. But deep down, a spark had been lit, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this semester would change everything.

Arjun Mehta pushed open the heavy wooden door of the literature classroom, feeling the familiar weight of anxiety settle over him. The room smelled faintly of old books and chalk dust, a comforting scent he had always associated with knowledge, though today it did little to calm his nerves. His backpack dug into his shoulder as he stepped inside, his gaze immediately drawn to the front of the room.

The new professor stood there, calm and composed, exuding an aura of quiet authority. Arjun had expected someone stiff, intimidating, the kind of teacher who demanded obedience without offering warmth. But Rayan Kapoor was different. His posture was relaxed, yet his eyes were sharp, perceptive, and impossibly intense, as if he could read everything Arjun thought before he even had a chance to process it.

“Arjun Mehta?” Rayan’s voice was calm, yet there was a subtle weight to it, a kind of expectation that made Arjun’s stomach tighten.

Arjun froze in place, his mouth dry. He swallowed, forcing out a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

Rayan’s eyes didn’t leave him. There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed. Arjun’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Nobody had ever looked at him like this before—like he mattered in ways that weren’t tied to grades or performance.

“I’ve noticed your essays,” Rayan said, taking a step closer. “You have talent. But you tend to hide behind your words. There’s a depth in your writing that rarely reaches the surface. I want to help you bring out your true voice.”

Arjun blinked, caught off guard. Compliments like this were rare in his life. Most adults either overlooked him or treated him as if he were just another name on a roll call. But this… this was different. Personal. Honest. And strangely intimate.

“I… I don’t write for people,” Arjun said cautiously, unsure how much to reveal.

Rayan’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, the kind that seemed to see straight through the walls Arjun had built around himself. “Maybe some people are worth reading anyway,” he replied softly.

Arjun felt warmth creep into his chest, spreading to his hands, his toes, even his thoughts. He wanted to respond, to say something clever, something that would make Rayan see him in return, but the words tangled in his throat. He settled for a quiet, almost imperceptible nod.

The lecture began, and Arjun tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to those words. Each glance toward the front of the classroom made his heart flutter. He scribbled notes, though they made little sense to him. The world had shrunk to the space between him and the professor, and he felt an unfamiliar pull in his chest—something he wasn’t ready to name.

During a brief break, his phone buzzed with a message from Kia, his ever-vigilant best friend.

OMG, Arjun. He’s… different. Calm, intense… somehow makes you feel like he sees right through you.

Arjun rolled his eyes and typed back quickly. Kia, stop exaggerating.

Sure, whatever you say. Just… maybe be careful. Some teachers…

Arjun sighed, sliding the phone back into his pocket. Kia would never let him live this down, and he didn’t blame her. But it wasn’t exaggeration. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Rayan Kapoor had seen something in him that nobody else ever had, and that thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

By the time the class ended, Arjun walked out slowly, a strange mixture of dread and anticipation churning in his stomach. He couldn’t stop replaying Rayan’s gaze, the quiet intensity of his smile, the way he had seemed to notice every detail in Arjun’s essay.

For the first time in a long while, Arjun wondered if maybe someone could truly see him—not just the surface, not just the student everyone expected him to be, but the real Arjun hiding inside.

And as he stepped into the cool afternoon sunlight, his heart continued to beat a little faster, caught between fear, hope, and a curiosity he couldn’t quite name.

The library smelled faintly of old pages and polished wood, a comforting scent that usually put Arjun at ease. But today, the familiar environment only heightened his nerves. He had stayed late, determined to finish his essay on Romantic literature before the next lecture, yet his thoughts kept drifting toward Rayan Kapoor.

Arjun sank into a chair by the large window, his notebook open, pen hovering over the page. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked toward the door, half-expecting Rayan to appear at any moment. His heart skipped when he remembered their brief conversation in class yesterday—the way Rayan’s eyes had lingered on his essay, the soft smile that seemed meant only for him.

“Still here, Arjun?”

Arjun jumped at the voice. Aarav, a senior student known for his teasing nature, leaned against the bookshelf, smirking. “You’re really working late? Must be nice to have all this free time.”

“I… I have a deadline,” Arjun muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Aarav chuckled but left, leaving Arjun’s chest still racing. He returned his attention to his essay, trying to force the words to make sense on paper. But his thoughts were interrupted again by the soft echo of footsteps on the wooden floor.

Rayan Kapoor.

Arjun’s breath caught in his throat. The professor appeared silently, holding a few books and a stack of papers. “Mind if I sit?” Rayan asked, voice low, almost conspiratorial.

“Uh… sure,” Arjun managed, sliding his notebook slightly toward him.

Rayan settled across from him, placing the papers neatly on the table. He glanced at Arjun’s notes, then back at him, his dark eyes intense but not intimidating. “You have a good understanding of symbolism, but your analysis could go deeper. You’re holding back something… something that could make your writing unforgettable.”

Arjun felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I… I guess I’m not used to someone noticing that.”

“Noticing is the first step,” Rayan said, a faint smile playing at his lips. “But it takes courage to put it into words.”

The closeness, the attention—it made Arjun’s pulse quicken. He wanted to speak, to confess something he hadn’t admitted to anyone, yet the words lodged themselves stubbornly in his throat. Instead, he nodded, trying to appear calm while his heart betrayed him with every beat.

Rayan reached across the table, lightly adjusting a page in Arjun’s notebook. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through Arjun’s body. He looked up, catching Rayan’s gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the library seemed to vanish.

“I… I wrote something,” Arjun said finally, almost whispering. “A… poem. But I didn’t send it. It’s… private.”

Rayan raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. “Would you like me to read it?”

Arjun shook his head quickly. “No. Not yet.” His cheeks burned, and he felt suddenly exposed, as if Rayan could see his very thoughts laid bare.

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken words. The soft ticking of the wall clock and the distant rustle of pages were the only sounds in the quiet library. Arjun felt a pang of jealousy rise unexpectedly. Aarav’s earlier presence, harmless as it might have been, had left a strange residue. Rayan noticed the tension but didn’t comment, simply observing him with a quiet patience that both comforted and unnerved Arjun.

As the evening sun cast long shadows across the wooden floor, Rayan finally spoke. “You’re afraid of revealing too much. I get it. But trust is built slowly. And sometimes, it starts with one small step.”

Arjun nodded, unable to respond verbally. He felt the pull of something he couldn’t name—fear, desire, curiosity, all tangled together. And for the first time, he realized that this semester might not just be about essays and literature. It could be about something far more complicated… far more dangerous to his carefully ordered world.

He didn’t know if he was ready for it. But as he watched Rayan gather his books and rise, a strange, thrilling certainty settled over him: he wanted to be.