equations and egos

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.

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