Something's off.
Ever since their last few study sessions, Pradeep has been quieter. Still present, still helping her with formulas and questions, still replying to her silly banter with those calm, unhurried one-liners. But there's a silence in between now-an invisible shift. A flicker of distance. He's not avoiding her, but he's not entirely there either.
It's not like him.
Pradeep was never the loudest in the room, but his silences had always felt comfortable, familiar-like sitting beside a steady river. Now, though, it feels like standing beside a deep well whose bottom she can't quite see.
Maybe it's just in her head. Maybe she's reading too much into it.
[Clock ticking faintly in the background]
But Anaya's overthinking doesn't know how to keep things half-read. Her mind, like a stubborn detective, keeps digging even when there's no case.
She notices everything-the slight way he zones out after explaining a concept, the extra second he takes before answering a question, the distracted smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
It bothers her.
A lot more than she's willing to admit, even to herself.
[Soft scribbling of pen on paper, occasional page flipping]
During classes, she catches herself drifting. Instead of focusing on lectures, she's glancing at the seat he usually occupies two rooms away. Instead of paying attention to her own notes, she's wondering if he's laughing with someone else, if he's still feeling distant, if maybe-just maybe-something bigger is wrong.
"You're zoning out again," her seatmate Nisha whispers during economics class, nudging her playfully with an elbow. [Soft rustle of fabric]
"Huh? No, I'm not," Anaya mumbles defensively, even as her pen hovers uselessly over the page.
"You so are. You've written the same heading three times."
Nisha leans closer, smirking. "Let me guess. Pradeep problems?"
Anaya shoots her a half-hearted glare. "I don't have Pradeep problems."
But her cheeks betray her, warming up immediately.
Nisha chuckles, low and teasing. "If you say so. But maybe you should just talk to him? Before you turn into a tragic heroine."
Anaya rolls her eyes and tries to smile it off, but inside, her heart feels heavy.
She knows Nisha means well.
But it's not that easy.
It never is.
[School bell ringing in the background, faint chatter of students]
After class, while the campus is buzzing with students spilling into the corridors, Anaya checks her phone almost reflexively. No new messages. Not that she was expecting one, she tells herself.
Still, her fingers hover over Pradeep's name in her call list for a second longer than necessary.
Instead, she dials another familiar name-her older sister, Meera.
[Dial tone, click of call connecting]
"Hellooo, little dumpling!" Meera's voice is loud and dramatic as always. Anaya smiles despite herself.
"Hey, Meera. Busy?"
"Never too busy for my favourite overthinker. What's up?"
Anaya hesitates, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Nothing much. Just... you know... normal day."
"Liar. You only call me during 'normal days' when you're low-key spiralling."
Meera's voice softens a little. "Tell me."
Anaya lets out a sigh. "It's just... Pradeep. He's been kind of... distant lately. Not exactly ignoring me, but... different. I don't know how to explain it."
[Soft background hum of traffic on Meera's side of the call]
"Hmm. Did you fight?"
"No."
"Did you say something that could've upset him?"
"I don't think so..." Anaya trails off, chewing her lip. "We've been normal. Mostly. He just feels... off."
Meera hums thoughtfully. "Maybe he's going through something, Anu. Boys aren't the best at saying when something's wrong. Especially the quiet ones."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Listen," Meera says, her voice firm now. "Don't jump to worst-case scenarios. If you're worried, just check on him. That's all you can do."
Anaya nods, even though her sister can't see her. "Thanks, Meera."
"Anytime, dumpling. Now go study, or I'm telling Mom you're turning into a lovesick poet."
Anaya laughs weakly. "You're the worst."
"Love you too! Bye!"
[Click of call ending]
Pocketing her phone, Anaya draws in a long breath. She tells herself she'll give it time. She'll focus on her studies. She won't read into every little thing.
And yet, when the clock ticks toward library hour, she finds herself unable to sit still.
Her feet carry her before her mind even catches up.
One afternoon, about twenty minutes before their usual library meet-up, she finds herself walking past his class. No reason. Just... a passing glance. Maybe he'll be there. Maybe she'll wave, flash one of her stupid little jokes, and everything will fall back into place.
Maybe seeing him will put her restless heart at ease.
[Footsteps echoing faintly in a quiet corridor]
But the bench where he usually sits-the second row by the window, where the sunlight slants perfectly onto his messy notebook-is empty.
She slows down, her hand brushing the cold metal of the doorframe without realizing it.
Her stomach twists, uneasy.
One of his classmates, half-asleep and chewing gum, notices her hovering awkwardly at the door. [Snap of gum]
"Looking for Pradeep?" he mumbles around the gum, voice thick with boredom.
She blinks, caught off-guard. "Uh-not really. I was just passing by-"
"He went to the nursing room. With Deepak. Fever or something."
The boy yawns, stretching lazily like a cat.
"Oh." Her voice is light, almost airy. Her face remains neutral, casual, the perfect mask.
But inside, her heartbeat is doing jumping jacks. [Fast thudding heartbeat sound]
Fever?
Without even thinking it through, she turns on her heel and starts walking toward the nursing room. Her steps are brisk, automatic, almost mechanical-driven by something deeper than logic.
She shouldn't be worried. People get fevers. It's normal.
But Pradeep-the idea of him lying there, pale and unwell-sets her nerves on fire.
[Sound of hurried footsteps echoing down a hallway]
The corridors are mostly empty, save for a few juniors dragging their backpacks and a teacher muttering to himself with a sheaf of papers. Every footstep sounds louder than it should, hammering in her ears.
As she nears the nursing room, she slows down, her hand hovering just a few inches from the door. From inside, she hears muffled voices.
---
To be continued...