By the time they reached the college gates, the campus had already begun its usual morning performance.
Students clustered near the entrance in uneven circles. Some leaned against bikes. Some clutched notebooks like shields. A few simply stood there for the sake of being seen. The sun was brighter now, cutting sharp lines across the concrete, warming the edges of everything it touched.
Aanya adjusted the strap of her bag and slowed just a fraction as the gate came into view.
They had started walking from his place casually, almost lazily — fingers brushing occasionally, shoulders nudging without apology. Somewhere along the halfway mark, their hands had intertwined naturally. Not dramatic. Not deliberate.
Just easy.
Now, as they stepped inside campus together, she felt it — the shift in air.
Eyes.
Not hostile. Not scandalized.
Just curious.
A boy near the parking lot elbowed his friend subtly. Two girls near the notice board leaned toward each other. Someone smirked. Someone raised a brow.
Aanya caught a fragment of a whisper.
"See? I told you."
"They look… comfortable."
"Too comfortable."
Her grip tightened slightly around his fingers.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Without looking at her, he leaned closer and murmured quietly,
"Background noise."
She tried not to smile.
"Main character energy only."
She exhaled through her nose, suppressing laughter.
"Shut up," she muttered.
"Make me."
She rolled her eyes but didn't let go of his hand.
They didn't make a spectacle of themselves. They didn't slow down. They didn't flaunt anything.
But they didn't separate either.
And that was enough.
The morning lectures passed in an almost pleasant blur.
They sat beside each other, not overly attached, not dramatically distant. Aanya answered a question confidently in the second period, and he tapped his pen lightly against the desk twice — their silent code for good job..
She didn't look at him, but the corner of her lips curved.
By the time the period before lunch began, though, the exhaustion hit her.
It crept in quietly at first.
A longer blink.
A slower note.
Her chin resting briefly on her palm.
Then her head tipped forward for a second too long.
Sagnik didn't turn to look at her immediately. He simply extended his hand without glancing.
And nudged her elbow.
She blinked upright.
"I'm alive," she whispered.
"Debatable."
She frowned.
He kept writing.
Three minutes later, her head was nearly on the desk.
"Don't," he said quietly.
She groaned dramatically.
"Five minutes."
"You'll wake up disoriented and blame me."
"I always blame you."
"That's true."
She lightly smacked his back.
He didn't react.
"Was that an attack or a suggestion?" he murmured.
She glared at him.
"I am suffering."
"You are sleepy."
"Same thing."
He finally turned to look at her properly.
Her eyes were half-lidded. Hair slightly messy from the fan's breeze. She looked soft in a way that made something warm flicker in his chest.
"Lunch in ten," he said quietly.
"I refuse."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
She slumped lower in her chair.
"Carry me."
"Tempting. But I don't feel like meeting the principal today."
She huffed, but when the bell rang, he didn't ask.
He simply stood up, picked up her bag before she could stop him, and started walking.
She stared at him in betrayal.
"Give it back."
"No."
"I can walk."
"I'm aware."
"Then?"
"You're eating."
She smacked his back again as they exited.
A few classmates saw.
One of the girls near the door smirked.
"He's domesticated."
"He looks proud about it."
Aanya heard that.
Her ears warmed.
She quickened her pace to match his.
The canteen was noisy, chaotic, alive.
She tried to sit down without ordering anything.
He blocked her path.
"Food."
"No appetite."
"Lie."
"I'm tired."
"Which is why you need food."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He didn't blink.
He placed a plate in front of her.
"Eat."
She folded her arms.
He leaned closer and whispered,
"Your punches are losing impact. I'm concerned for my safety."
Her lips twitched.
"I will escalate."
"After carbs."
She took one bite just to prove a point.
He didn't look away until she took a second.
Then a third.
Only then did he start eating.
Across the table, two girls were definitely watching.
"See how he waits?"
"She lets him."
"They look like they've been married for a decade."
Aanya's foot nudged his under the table.
He glanced up.
She mouthed, "They're talking."
He shrugged lazily.
"Let them."
Then softer, only for her:
"You're eating. That's what matters."
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
Not heavy.
Just warm.
After lunch, she was better — but dramatic about it.
As they walked back toward class, she leaned her head on his shoulder for exactly three seconds.
"If I fail internals someday," she said lazily, "it'll be your fault."
"For feeding you?"
"For existing."
"That's unfair. I exist very responsibly."
She laughed into his shoulder.
He smiled without even trying to hide it.
People noticed that too.
Not the gesture.
The ease.
The final lecture of the day arrived with the slow drag of late afternoon.
The class was restless. Bags were half-zipped already. Someone behind them was whispering about weekend plans.
Aanya was doodling absentmindedly in the margin of her notebook.
Sagnik tapped her pen twice again.
She looked up.
He nodded toward the board.
She straightened.
The professor cleared his throat.
"Before you all disappear for the day," he began, adjusting his spectacles, "a small reminder."
The room groaned preemptively.
"Internals begin in two weeks."
Silence.
Then chaos.
"What?"
"Already?"
"No way—"
Aanya froze.
Two weeks.
Her brain shifted gears instantly.
Schedules. Syllabus. Revision. Weak areas.
The playful warmth that had followed her all day tightened into focus.
Beside her, Sagnik didn't react immediately.
He didn't groan.
Didn't sigh.
He simply turned slightly.
And watched her.
He saw the way her shoulders straightened.
The way her jaw set.
The way her fingers gripped her pen tighter.
He recognized that shift.
He'd seen it before.
The girl who laughed at whispers.
Who smacked his back in public.
Who leaned on his shoulder without hesitation.
Now replaced by the girl who would forget to eat.
Forget to sleep.
Forget herself.
The bell rang.
Students poured out complaining loudly.
She remained seated for a second longer.
Calculating.
He nudged her knee gently under the desk.
"Hey."
She blinked.
"Hm?"
"We'll handle it."
Simple.
Not dramatic.
Not heavy.
She nodded.
"Yeah."
But he could already see it.
The softness of the day hadn't disappeared.
It had just been folded neatly and placed aside.
And as they stood to leave together — fingers brushing again, effortlessly —
he knew something had shifted.
Not between them.
Around them.
And he was already preparing for it.
The campus noise swallowed them as they stepped outside.
But this time, the whispers weren't about how close they looked.
They were about internals.
And the season of chaos had just begun.