The classroom door opened with a soft creak.
Almost immediately, conversations began dying one by one.
Students who had been leaning across desks hurried back to their seats. A few people near the back attempted to finish entire conversations in the span of three seconds before the professor fully entered.
One brave soul was still trying to eat a samosa hidden inside a notebook.
Aanya watched the chaos with mild amusement.
Then the professor stepped inside.
The amusement vanished.
Professor Rao carried himself with the calm confidence of a man who had spent decades watching medical students panic. He walked to the front desk, placed a thick stack of papers down, and adjusted his glasses.
The sound alone was enough to make half the room sit straighter.
"Good morning, sir," the class replied.
Professor Rao looked around.
"No."
The response was immediate confusion.
A few students exchanged glances.
"No?" someone repeated cautiously.
Professor Rao uncapped a marker.
"It is not a good morning."
The class collectively groaned.
"You're second-year MBBS students."
He turned toward the board.
"If it were a good morning, every single one of you would have revised today's topic before coming here."
More groans.
Professor Rao nodded.
"My point exactly."
The marker squeaked across the board.
IRON DEFICIENCY ANEMIA
The sight alone made Aanya want to sleep.
She slowly lowered her forehead onto the desk.
Aditi copied her immediately.
"We survived being late just to suffer."
"We should have kept running."
"Into traffic."
"Preferably."
Beside them, Sagnik quietly opened his notebook.
The crisp motion somehow irritated both girls.
Aanya lifted her head.
"Why do you always look prepared?"
"I am prepared."
"That's not normal."
"It's called studying."
Aditi looked genuinely offended.
"Don't use offensive language before nine in the morning."
Sagnik looked between them.
"I see neither of you revised."
"We revised emotionally."
"That isn't a thing."
"It is now."
Aanya nodded firmly.
"We prepared ourselves mentally."
"For anemia?"
"For disappointment."
That actually earned a tiny laugh from him.
Tiny.
Barely visible.
But visible.
Aanya immediately pointed at him.
"There."
"What?"
"You laughed."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I breathed."
"That was a laugh."
"It wasn't."
Aditi raised her hand dramatically.
"I would like the court to note that the accused is lying."
Before Sagnik could defend himself—
"AANYA."
The room froze.
Every medical student develops a sixth sense for when a professor says their name.
Aanya sat upright instantly.
"Yes, sir?"
Professor Rao stared at her over his glasses.
The man possessed a supernatural ability to make students feel guilty without saying anything.
"Since you appear deeply invested in whatever discussion is occurring over there..."
Several students immediately turned around.
Traitors.
"...perhaps you can tell me the most common cause of microcytic hypochromic anemia."
Silence.
Pure silence.
Aanya's heart performed several emergency procedures.
Beside her, Aditi slowly looked away, refusing involvement.
Sagnik remained annoyingly calm.
Aanya swallowed.
"Iron deficiency anemia, sir."
The pause that followed felt endless.
Professor Rao stared at her.
Then nodded.
"Correct."
Relief hit her so hard she nearly laughed.
The professor turned back toward the board.
"At least one person has opened a textbook this month."
The class laughed.
Aanya dropped back into her chair.
Aditi grabbed her arm dramatically.
"You were seconds away from becoming a cautionary tale."
"I know."
"I saw my life flash before my eyes."
"It wasn't your question."
"We're a community."
Sagnik quietly continued writing.
Aanya narrowed her eyes.
"You could have helped."
"You knew the answer."
"That's not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
She considered throwing her pen at him.
Only years of maturity prevented it.
And the possibility of getting caught.
Mostly the second thing.
The lecture continued.
Professor Rao moved through the topic methodically, drawing diagrams, explaining mechanisms, occasionally destroying someone's confidence with a single question.
Around the room, the familiar rhythm of medical college settled into place.
Pens scratched against paper.
Pages turned.
Someone yawned.
Someone else fought desperately to stay awake.
Near the window, sunlight spilled across several desks, creating warm patches of gold that looked far more inviting than pathology.
Aanya tried focusing.
She really did.
For almost seven entire minutes.
Then her attention drifted.
The morning replayed itself unexpectedly.
Pancakes.
Coffee.
Running across campus.
Aditi's teasing.
The thought made her groan internally.
Beside her, Sagnik was still taking notes.
His handwriting looked irritatingly neat.
Who had neat handwriting in medical school?
That alone should have been illegal.
As if sensing her stare, he glanced sideways.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"Intensely?"
A smile threatened.
She hated that he remembered everything.
Before she could respond, Professor Rao's voice echoed through the room.
"Mr. Sharma."
A student near the back looked up in panic.
"Yes, sir?"
"Would you like to share the joke with the entire class?"
"No, sir."
"I didn't think so."
The room dissolved into laughter.
Even Professor Rao looked faintly amused.
The tension broke.
For a few moments, the lecture felt lighter.
Normal.
Comfortable.
The way college often did between examinations and disasters.
Aanya looked around.
Groups settled into their usual patterns.
Friends sharing notes.
People whispering.
Students bargaining with sleep.
Nothing unusual.
At least, that's what she thought.
What she didn't notice was the glance from two students across the room.
A quick look toward her.
Then toward Sagnik.
A whisper.
A grin.
Another whisper.
The kind that vanished the moment someone looked back.
Aanya never saw it.
Aditi didn't either.
But Sagnik did.
His eyes lingered there for barely a second.
Just long enough.
Then he returned his attention to the lecture.
Expression unchanged.
Pen moving steadily across paper.
As though nothing had happened at all.
The classroom continued around them.
Professor Rao explained iron metabolism.
Students took notes.
The clock ticked steadily toward the next hour.
And somewhere beneath the routine of lectures and notebooks and ordinary college life, something small had begun to shift.
Not enough for anyone to confront.
Not enough for anyone to acknowledge.
But enough to be noticed.
Enough to grow.