The school felt colder that morning - not because of the weather, but because of the silence that clung to Anvi like a second skin.

She walked through the corridor, eyes downcast, heart heavy. Her footsteps were soundless, and her presence barely noticeable, just the way she wanted it to be.

The conversation from yesterday echoed in her ears:

> "Ab tum sirf meri student nahi rahi ho..."

And yet, he had walked away.

Again.

Left her with half a truth and a promise he never returned to finish.

That sentence - it was everything and nothing.

It was the line she had dreamed of hearing. But also the silence that followed it... the cruelest kind of emptiness.

She didn't ask for declarations. She didn't need dramatic choices.

She just wanted honesty.

And he... had turned his back before giving her that.

---

Inside the classroom, the usual chatter filled the air. Anvi took her seat - back bench, third from the window. She had stopped sitting in the front ever since that rainy evening.

Now, she liked watching from a distance.

Observing.

Feeling without being seen.

Professor Aarav entered five minutes late, slightly breathless, carrying a stack of answer sheets.

He didn't look at her.

She didn't look at him.

But something in the air shifted the moment they were in the same space - like the gravity between them refused to let go.

"Your physics assignments," he announced, placing the stack on the desk, "I've checked them. Feedback is marked inside."

He called out names, one by one.

"Riya."

"Mohit."

"Tanya."

And then - a pause.

His fingers hovered over the last file.

"Anvi," he finally said.

She got up, walked down the aisle slowly, and took the notebook from his hand without making eye contact.

Their fingers brushed.

Neither flinched.

But both felt it - the sting of a thousand words unsaid.

---

In her notebook, right at the end, in his neat handwriting, a message was scribbled:

> "Good work.

Physics is easier when the mind is focused.

I hope yours finds its peace soon."

She stared at the words for a long time.

What was this supposed to mean?

That he noticed?

That he cared?

That he wanted to say more but couldn't?

Frustration burned inside her. Because caring in silence wasn't the same as standing beside someone when it mattered.

---

The day passed like a blur.

During lunch break, Tanya nudged her with a whisper. "He looked at you three times during class."

Anvi didn't respond.

"And you looked at him zero times," Tanya added, smirking. "Trying reverse psychology?"

"I'm trying indifference," Anvi replied dryly, shutting her tiffin box.

"Doesn't seem to be working for either of you," Tanya whispered again.

---

After school, Anvi didn't go home straight.

She went to the rooftop.

The one place where the wind didn't judge, and the sky didn't ask questions.

She sat there, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the grey clouds rolling across the horizon.

Everything inside her felt cloudy too.

That moment yesterday... when he said those words. It wasn't imagined. It wasn't one-sided.

He had felt something.

And yet, he walked away.

Was it cowardice?

Or something deeper?

Maybe... guilt?

Did guilt overpower feelings?

She didn't know.

But she was tired of second-guessing.

---

Downstairs, Professor Aarav was in the staffroom, sipping lukewarm tea, flipping through a pile of test sheets - but his mind was somewhere else.

It had been almost 24 hours since he had said it.

> "Ab tum sirf meri student nahi rahi ho..."

And he had meant it.

Every word.

But then the voice had come - the one that echoed in every adult mind raised on rules and reputations.

"You're her teacher."

"She's just seventeen."

"This could destroy your career."

"What if she regrets this later?"

He wanted to protect her.

From himself.

But in trying to protect her, had he hurt her even more?

He rubbed his eyes.

He hadn't slept all night.

He kept replaying the look on her face when she whispered:

> "Baad mein kaun milta hai, Sir..."

That line had hit him like a bullet.

Because he knew she was right.

---

Evening.

Anvi reached home, changed out of her uniform, and sat with her diary.

Her words flowed like a wound finally bleeding.

> "Aaj bhi woh kuch keh kar chala gaya.

Aur main... wahi ki wahi reh gayi.

Kya sach mein feelings ke age restrictions hote hain?

Kya kisi ko chahna galat hota hai sirf kyunki tumhara school ID card tumhari age bata deta hai?"

She paused.

Stared at the blank space.

Then scribbled one final line.

> "Kal agar woh phir kuch adhoora keh kar chala gaya...

Toh main poora kuch keh jaungi.

Kya hoga... dekha jaayega."

---

Author's POV

Some silences are louder than confessions.

Some words - when left unfinished - scream louder than the ones spoken out loud.

Anvi and Aarav stood on either side of a line drawn by society, time, and consequences. But emotions don't wait for the right time, nor do they come with permission slips.

He feared what the world would say.

She feared what his silence was already saying.

And in between that fear - something beautiful was dying.

But this is not the end.

Because sometimes... when one person walks away, the other must walk forward.

Even if it means breaking the silence.

Even if it means saying the truth -

Loud enough to be heard... even by a heart too scared to listen.

To Be Continued...