---

The car hummed softly as it rolled down the rain-washed road.

The city lights blurred into streaks through the misted windows, like watercolor strokes on a wet canvas.

Anvi sat in the passenger seat, nervously clutching her bag on her lap. The smell of rain, wet earth, and his cologne was overwhelming her senses.

She stole a glance at him.

Professor Aarav Sen.

Eyes focused on the road. Hair slightly messy. One hand on the steering, other adjusting the wiper speed.

He looked... unreal in that moment.

She wondered if he ever noticed how intensely she watched him. Probably not.

Or maybe...

She clutched the seat tighter.

"Ghar door hai?" he asked, eyes still on the road.

"Thoda..." she said softly.

"Next time, aise baarish mein rukna mat. Tumhare parents pareshan hote honge."

She bit her lip and looked out.

"Papa nahi hain... aur maa hospital mein kaam karti hain. Aksar late ho jaati hain."

He paused. Something in his expression shifted, just for a second.

"I'm sorry," he said, gently.

"Sorry kyun, Sir?" she smiled faintly, "Life hai... sabke hisse mein thoda to khaali-pan aata hi hai."

He looked at her now. Properly.

For the first time, not like a teacher looking at a student.

But like a man seeing a girl he hadn't really noticed... until now.

And in that one second, she saw something flicker in his eyes.

Maybe it was sympathy.

Or maybe... something more dangerous.

---

Author's POV

Sometimes, the most dangerous feelings are the quietest ones.

They don't shout. They don't make a scene.

They just... sit inside your chest, like a question you're too afraid to ask.

And that's what Anvi felt in that moment.

Not a confession.

Just a possibility.

---

"Tum kaafi mature ho," he finally said, "Apni age ke students jaisi nahi lagti."

Anvi looked down.

She wanted to tell him why.

She wanted to tell him how loneliness forces people to grow up before time.

But she just nodded.

"I like physics," she lied, just to keep the conversation going.

He smiled a little, "Sach bolna. Pichhle test mein 9 number aaye the."

Anvi blushed and laughed, "Sir! Aap yaad rakhte hain sabke marks?"

"Nahi. Sirf kuch logon ke."

Her heart skipped.

Was she imagining that?

Or was that... real?

---

Author's POV

A single line from the right person can unravel everything you've tried to hold together.

Sometimes it's not what they say, but how they say your name... how they pause between words... how their eyes hesitate before looking away.

That's where the real meaning hides.

---

The car stopped in front of a small housing society.

"Yahan?" he asked.

She nodded. "Flat number 302."

She hesitated, fingers still resting on the door handle.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"Main kuch puchhu?"

"Of course."

She turned slightly toward him. Her eyes were brimming with unsaid things.

"Do you believe... ki ek student... ek teacher ke liye sirf student nahi ho sakti?"

He turned toward her slowly, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... kabhi kabhi... feelings boundaries nahi dekhti na, Sir?"

A long silence.

The only sound was the soft thumping of the rain on the roof.

He didn't answer immediately. Just stared at the steering wheel.

"Anvi... main tumse kuch kehna chahta hoon," he finally spoke, voice low.

"Ji?" she whispered.

"Tum... achhi ho. Bahut samajhdaar. Lekin tumhe samajhna hoga, main tumhara teacher hoon. Aur main chahta hoon ki tum life mein aage badho... bina kisi aise emotion ke jo tumhe confuse kare."

Her heart sank.

Every word was like a needle.

"But sir... agar woh feeling confuse nahi karti... sirf ek respect se zyada lagti hai... toh bhi?"

He looked at her - a little startled.

She was trembling now.

But she had said it.

Not directly. But enough to be understood.

And he had understood.

Clearly.

He sighed.

"Tum abhi chhoti ho, Anvi."

"Tay karne ki umar ka koi scale nahi hota, Sir."

"Lekin teacher aur student ke beech... kuch lines hoti hain jo cross nahi karni chahiye," he said, his voice firm now.

She nodded slowly.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

But she blinked them away.

"I understand," she whispered.

Without another word, she opened the door and stepped out into the light drizzle.

Before he could say anything more... she was gone.

---

Author's POV

There are exits that don't need doors.

Just like there are heartbreaks that don't need loud sobs.

Anvi didn't cry in front of him.

She just left.

But when someone leaves holding back their tears, they leave behind something much heavier than words.

---

That night, her pillow soaked more than just the rain from her clothes.

Her diary held her pain.

> "Main us gaadi se utar to gayi...

Magar mera dil us seat par reh gaya.

Jo usne kaha, sahi tha.

Par jo main mehsoos karti hoon...

Kya woh galat tha?"

---

Author's POV

Not all love stories are meant to be stories.

Some just remain as chapters that never got to turn the page.

---

At school, things changed.

Not outside.

But within.

She stopped staying after class.

She answered only when asked.

She smiled... less.

And he noticed.

Every time he looked at her seat - last bench, third from the window - and saw her staring blankly at the board, something twisted inside him.

He wasn't supposed to care.

But he did.

One day, after class, as she got up to leave, he said, "Anvi?"

She stopped, but didn't turn.

"Tum theek ho?"

She nodded without looking at him. "Bilkul."

And walked away.

---

That evening, he sat alone in the staffroom.

Flipping through her recent assignment.

She had written just one line on the last page, barely visible in pencil:

> "Sir, physics mein toh sab kuch explain hota hai...

Par jo aapki aankhon mein tha us din...

Uska koi formula kyun nahi hota?"

He shut the notebook.

And for the first time in years...

He felt something break inside him.

---

Author's POV

Some feelings don't need names.

They just need silence to grow in.

And some questions don't need answers.

They just need someone to feel them.

---

To Be Continued

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