Sameera's POV
I didn't sleep.
Every time I shut my eyes, it was there—that slow, deliberate press of his lips against my cheek. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a thought I couldn't shake, a feeling that clung to me through the night like the warmth of a blanket I couldn't kick off.
By morning, I was still half-lost in it, brushing my fingers over the exact spot without meaning to. Pathetic.
I forced myself to get ready for college, pulling my hair into a loose braid—anything to distract myself. But the second I stepped into the living room, Janhvi was already sprawled on the couch with her coffee mug, looking way too awake for someone who'd "slept" through last night.
She didn't even wait. "So… are you gonna tell me, or do I have to use my imagination?"
I frowned. "Tell you what?"
Her grin was slow and knowing. "Don't play dumb, Sam. I wasn't fully asleep yesterday. I saw… snippets. The corridor. You two standing way too close. The look on your face." She took a sip of coffee. "Very not platonic."
Heat crept up my neck. "It wasn't—"
"Uh-huh," she cut me off. "You're terrible at lying. Come on, spill."
I tried. I really did. But the words kept tangling in my throat until they finally spilled out in a low rush. "I don't… I don't know what's happening, Jan. I didn't want to—he's—" I blew out a breath. "Saharsh is a distraction I don't need right now. This is my last year in engineering, I'm already behind on so much, and now he's just… in my head. All the time."
Janhvi's smile softened, losing the edge of teasing. "So you do feel something for him."
I stared at my hands. "I think… yeah. And that's the problem. I can't focus when he's around. It's like—" I hesitated, trying to find the right word. "It's like he's pulled a thread, and now the whole sweater's coming apart."
She set her mug down and leaned forward. "Sam, listen. It's okay to feel everything you're feeling. You've never dated anyone. You've never let yourself like anyone, and now here's this guy who's actually worth it. And besides…" Her grin returned, gentler this time. "You've known him since childhood. That's a kind of safety most people would kill for."
I didn't answer right away, but my mind flashed back to last night—his voice low in the corridor, the way he'd looked at me before kissing my cheek, like he was holding back something bigger.
And suddenly, I wasn't so sure I could keep pretending I didn't want to find out what that "something" was.
By the time my first lecture ended, I had convinced myself that today would be different.
I'd keep my head down, focus on assignments, and avoid Saharsh like he was an open-ended question in an exam—dangerous and time-consuming.
The canteen, however, had other plans.
I had just grabbed a plate of idli when I heard it—his laugh. That low, warm sound that somehow made the air heavier.
I froze mid-step.
He was at the far end, leaning against a table, his MBA friends scattered around him. His jacket was slung carelessly over the back of his chair, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, hair slightly messy like he'd run his hands through it.
And—of course—his eyes found me instantly.
"Sam!" Janhvi called out far too enthusiastically, patting the seat right next to her. Which—of course—was also right next to Saharsh.
I sat down, trying not to meet his gaze, but my pulse was a little too quick. Before I could even open my mouth, Janhvi smirked at me, then at him.
"So… did you two—uh—sleep well last night?" she asked, tone deliberately loaded.
My eyes widened. "Janhvi."
"What? I meant you were unpacking late, you must've been tired," she said with fake innocence, though her grin told another story.
Daksh caught on instantly. "Oho… something happened?"
Saharsh just chuckled under his breath, and I could feel the amusement rolling off him.
"Nothing happened," I said quickly.
"Yeah, sure," Janhvi muttered, clearly enjoying herself. I shot her a look that promised revenge, but she just sipped her coffee.
Saharsh's other classmates joined in, tossing harmless jabs.
"So this is the famous Sameera we've been hearing about?" one of them teased.
"Careful, bro, you're blushing," another added, nudging Saharsh.
I glanced at him then, catching the way his lips curved—not his usual smirk, but something softer, more dangerous.
That did it.
If I stayed here any longer, they'd all start planning our wedding before the samosas arrived.
I set down my plate and stood. "Saharsh, can I talk to you? Outside?"
The table erupted into exaggerated oooohs. Daksh actually whistled.
Janhvi covered her mouth like she was hiding a laugh, but I could see her eyes gleaming with I told you so.
Saharsh didn't even hesitate—just stood and followed me out, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.
We didn't speak until we were far from the noise of the canteen, my steps quick and his slower, deliberate, like he was letting me set the pace.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I slipped into an empty classroom. He followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
The sudden quiet made my heart thud harder.
He leaned against one of the desks, arms folded. "So… you dragged me out here. What's on your mind, Sameera?"
I crossed my arms, trying to look casual, failing miserably. "About last night…"
His gaze sharpened, but he didn't move. "Last night?"
I swallowed. "That kiss."
His brows lifted slightly. "The one on your cheek?"
My voice dropped. "…Yes."
His lips curved slowly, the kind of smile that made my stomach tighten. "Couldn't stop thinking about it?"
Heat climbed up my neck. "I— It's not that." I took a step back when he pushed off the desk and closed the distance between us, the air shifting instantly.
"So it is that," he murmured, his tone low enough to feel like it brushed against my skin.
I exhaled shakily. "I don't know what's happening, Saharsh. I'm… feeling things. And I'm not sure. We barely know each other—"
"We've known each other since childhood," he cut in gently.
I shook my head. "Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that we're adults now, with completely different personalities. I appreciate that you like me, but… I don't know if I'm good enough for you. I've never—this has never—" My voice cracked, the panic rising in my chest.
In an instant, he was in front of me, his hand finding mine. His fingers slid between mine, locking them together like he wasn't going to let me pull away. His other hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.
The contact made my breath hitch. Every nerve felt alive.
"Hey…" his voice was softer now, coaxing, steady. "Shh… breathe."
I tried, but my pulse was everywhere—my neck, my ears, my fingertips tangled in his.
"It's okay to feel like this," he said, eyes holding mine without wavering. "Confused. Unsure. We don't have to rush anything. We can take our sweet little time. I just… want to get to know you again."
The weight of his words settled in my chest.
He smiled faintly, almost self-conscious. "I fell for you when you were nine. And again the moment I saw you after all these years. I'd like to fall for you all over again, one piece at a time."
My throat tightened. I had no fight left. No deflection. No denial.
"I… kinda like you," I admitted, the words tumbling out in a whisper. "I like it when you're close. So maybe… I should stop fighting it. And we can… really get to know each other again."
Saharsh froze—not the stillness of hesitation, but the kind where every muscle tightens at once because your body is trying to contain something too big. His eyes widened a fraction, that usual teasing light replaced by something far more vulnerable.
"You… kinda like me?" His voice was so low it almost didn't make it across the small space between us.
I swallowed, nodding once. My fingers, still laced with his, tightened instinctively.
For a heartbeat, he just looked at me—really looked—like he was trying to burn this moment into memory. His gaze lingered on my face, slow, deliberate, as though committing every detail to some private archive: the way my lashes trembled, the unevenness of my breathing, the curve of my mouth when I bit my lip.
Then came the shift. His lips parted, his jaw tensed, and the corners of his mouth pulled into the faintest, softest smile I had ever seen on him. Not cocky. Not playful. Just… undone.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly, "what that does to me."
Before I could respond, he leaned in, until our foreheads touched.
The heat of him was immediate—his breath mingling with mine, steady at first, then quicker, heavier. I felt the slight brush of his nose against mine, the warmth of his skin under my palm when my free hand rose without thinking to rest on his chest.
I could feel the rhythm of his heart—solid, unhurried, but strong. The kind of beat you could lose yourself to.
His eyes closed for just a moment, and a quiet exhale escaped him—like he'd been holding it in all this time. His thumb skimmed along my cheekbone in a slow, reverent stroke, sending a pulse of heat through me.
I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, suspended in some delicate balance where one small move would tip us over the edge. But in that golden sliver of time, it didn't matter.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was a whisper that curled right into my chest. "We'll take it slow. But I need you to know… I'm not letting go this time."
The muffled sound of footsteps outside barely reached me. He lingered for one last heartbeat, his forehead still pressed to mine, before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. That smile—soft, sure, and entirely for me—was still there when he let go.