Library Night — The Question He Won't Stop Asking
The library had its own heartbeat at night—soft lamp pools, the hush of pages, the distant tick of an old wall clock. I tucked myself into my familiar corner behind the Kannada shelves, a fortress of reference books around me, ink smudged on my fingers, hair slipping from its braid. I told myself I was here for Maxwell's equations and nothing else.
"Still hiding," a low voice said, close enough to make me flinch.
I looked up so fast my pen rolled off the table. Siddharth stood there—shirt sleeves pushed up, tie loose, that composed face I could never read in class somehow more dangerous in the warm light. He didn't belong to libraries. He belonged to storms.
"I'm not hiding," I said, too quickly. "Just... revising, sir."
He didn't correct me this time. He stepped around the table and stood at my shoulder, gaze brushing over my messy derivation. "You are revising," he said, and picked up my pen. "But you're not here for that."
My throat went dry. "I—"
He wrote a single neat line under my work, then set the pen down. He didn't move away. The space between us turned to static.
"Still no answer, Vidhanya?" His voice dropped, steady and quiet. "I've been patient." A beat. "I am trying to be."
Every part of me jolted back to that night—his confession coiled in the dark, the way his breath had trembled against my cheek, the almost-kiss that was still burning my mouth. I swallowed.
"We... we come from two different worlds," I whispered, eyes fixed on the page even as my pulse surged. "You're my professor. I'm your student. People talk. Rules exist. How—how can this ever work?"
Silence pressed in. He didn't argue. He didn't reach for me. He only leaned in the smallest fraction so his words could find me and only me.
"Then why," he asked softly, "does your heartbeat run with mine every time I'm near?"
My fingers curled against the table. "It doesn't."
He gave the kind of smile that wasn't a smile at all—pained, stubborn, a little wild around the edges. "Don't lie to me," he said, even gentler. "And don't lie to yourself."
I stood too fast, the chair scraping. "I should go. It's late."
I reached for my books; he reached too, and our hands collided. Heat shot up my arm. He closed his eyes once, like he was arresting himself, then released the book as though it had burned him.
"I'm not asking for an answer tonight," he said. "I am asking you to stop running from the one you already carry."
I couldn't breathe. "Please," I said, a whisper that wasn't a word, "don't make this harder."
"Harder?" He huffed once, the sound almost a laugh. "Do you think I don't know what this will cost me? I know." His voice steadied. "I also know what I feel, and it isn't going away." He held my gaze, unblinking. "I can wait, Vidhu."
He called me Vidhu like a promise. I didn't realize I was shaking until I pressed my palm flat to the desk to stop it.
"And I won't touch you," he added, the words almost raw, "until the day you want me to."
The clock ticked. A breath. Another. I gathered my books with hands that didn't feel like mine, nodded without nodding, and walked past him. I was almost at the aisle when his voice followed, quiet and wrecked.
"I'll wait as long as it takes."
I didn't turn back. If I did, I knew I wouldn't leave.
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YOU ARE READING
Between the Classes(Two different worlds)
RomanceShe was supposed to be just another student. He was supposed to be just another professor. Vidhu never believed in early mornings, strict rules, or the idea of love waiting inside a classroom. But when Siddharth Rai walked into her college as the ne...
