Chapter Four: Protective Glare

The rain hadn’t stopped since that afternoon near the hideout. By the next morning, puddles had gathered like little lakes across the school courtyard, and the air smelled like damp notebooks and muddy shoes.

Maya walked into the classroom, her braids slightly damp and a frown on her face.

She didn’t know why she was frowning. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the fact that Kian had walked ahead of her today without waiting, like he usually did. Or maybe it was what he’d said yesterday—“You’re not just any girl.”

Ugh. Her cheeks still burned just thinking about it.

She slumped into her seat beside Ananya and didn’t even bother with her usual chatter. Across from her, Vivaan was already unwrapping his tiffin and stuffing a paratha into his mouth like it was a speed-eating competition.

"You look like a sad dosa," Ananya whispered, leaning sideways.

Maya glared at her.

"Even sadder now," Ananya grinned.

Before Maya could respond with a snarky comeback, Kian walked in. His uniform was a little crumpled, his hair slightly messy. He scanned the room like he didn’t care who was where—but his eyes paused on Maya for exactly one second. No smile. No wave. Just a glance.

Then he went to his desk behind hers and dropped into the chair without a word.

Maya huffed under her breath.

Boys.

---

Library period arrived like a relief.

The storm outside had calmed for a bit, and the scent of wet earth drifted in through the half-open windows. The fans whirred lazily above them, and the classroom had that quiet hum—the one that only came with book spines, wooden desks, and the occasional flutter of turning pages.

Mrs. D’Souza clapped once. “You’ll be in pairs. Boys and girls.”

The class groaned in unison.

“I know, I know—don’t panic,” she added, laughing. “It’s just for one period.”

Maya’s heart skipped. Please not Vivaan. Please not Vivaan.

"Maya... and Vivaan."

Ugh. Fate has no mercy.

Behind her, there was a faint crack.

Maya turned just enough to see Kian staring at the pencil he’d just snapped in half. The clean break, the tension in his shoulders. No words. No reaction. Just that small, silent fracture.

Vivaan leaned in. “Looks like destiny ships us.”

“Looks like destiny needs a reality check,” Maya muttered.

As they moved to the back reading tables, Vivaan kept talking.

“So, how are your grades? Do you like reading or just pretending you do?”

“I liked reading. Until now.”

“Do you always insult your partners?”

“Only the ones who talk more than the narrator.”

Meanwhile, Kian sat two tables behind. A book open in front of him, eyes not on the pages but on them. Watching. Not blinking much.

Maya could feel the weight of that stare.

---

When Maya reached for a book on the shelf, Vivaan was suddenly too close—his hand brushing hers.

“Whoa,” he said, “you’ve got strong fingers for a girl.”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “I will use them to slap you if you keep standing this close.”

Vivaan laughed, clearly thinking she was joking.

From across the room, Kian stood up.

“Ma’am,” he said, calm and even, “May I go get another pencil?”

Mrs. D’Souza waved him off with a nod.

As he walked past their table, Maya didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed at Vivaan for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even threatening. But it was sharp. Like a silent warning written in a language only she could read.

Vivaan didn’t notice.

But Maya did.

And that look stayed with her.

---

Later that afternoon, while the last bell echoed across the muddy fields, Maya rushed to the school gate.

No sign of Kian.

Usually, he’d be leaning against the red gatepole, arms folded, tossing a pebble or pulling at the straps of his bag. But not today.

She spotted him halfway down the lane, already walking. His backpack bounced slightly with every step.

She ran to catch up, dodging puddles. “Hey!”

He didn’t stop.

“Kian!”

He slowed, but still didn’t turn.

“You broke your pencil.”

He shrugged. “It was old.”

“You broke it because of Vivaan, didn’t you?”

No answer.

“You stared at him like he was a mosquito in your soup.”

Now he turned, just slightly. “He talks too much.”

“You talk too little.”

Kian stopped walking.

Rain began again—soft and slow, soaking the gravel under their feet.

Maya stood beside him, arms folded. “You’re acting weird again.”

"You smiled when he said that line about fate."

"It was a cringe smile. Not a real smile."

"Oh."

She narrowed her eyes. "Wait... are you jealous?"

Kian’s ears went red. “What? No!”

“You are!”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are. You get this glare-y face every time someone talks to me for more than five seconds—”

“I do not.”

“You even glared at Ananya last week when we laughed too hard.”

“That was because she threw a wrapper at me.”

Maya burst into laughter, loud and real. The kind that made her nose crinkle. It cracked something in the awkward silence between them.

Kian sighed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Then what?”

He kicked a rock near his foot. “I just don’t like people thinking they know you. Like it’s easy. Like you’re just... normal.”

Maya blinked. “So I’m not normal now?”

“No. You’re not. You’re you.”

She turned away, blinking fast.

“And I’ve been around for two years, Maya. I know how your nose scrunches when you’re mad. I know you hide snacks in your math book. I know you cry quietly when you lose your pencils.”

“Hey!!,I do not cry for pencils.”

“You sniff.”

“Only once!”

He grinned.

Then quiet again. A pause. Rain filling the gaps.

“I just... I don’t want people thinking they can be part of your world without earning it.”

Her stomach did that weird flip again.

Something warm. Something annoying.

Something she couldn’t name.

“I don’t like when you glare like that,” she said softly.

“Why?”

“It makes me feel like... like something’s going to change.”