(Aarohi Sharma POV)

......

The school corridors were eerily tranquil, a stark contrast to the usual morning chaos. Most students had already trickled into their respective classrooms, leaving the long, locker-lined hallways wrapped in a hushed silence. There was no bustling crowd, just the quiet hum of a school day ticking into motion.

After dropping me off, Siddharth had immediately driven away, heading straight to the corporate office to dive into his endless mountain of paperwork.

I walked with slow, deliberate steps, my loafers clicking softly against the polished floor. Just as I approached the entrance of my homeroom, I spotted a familiar figure leaning against the side wall. It was Ishika, absorbed in her phone.

A mischievous spark lit up inside me. I crept closer, entirely silent, before lunging forward. "Hey, Ishika!"

She gasped, her shoulders jumping as she nearly dropped her phone. She whipped her head around, her eyes wide with indignation. "Aarohi! Seriously?"

I offered her a bright, unapologetic grin as I swept past her into the classroom.

Ishika let out a dramatic, centering breath, trailing closely behind me. "You know I scare easily, yet you do this every single morning. I swear, one of these days your total lack of maturity is going to give me an actual heart attack."

"Oh, please," I scoffed playfully, navigating the rows of desks and sliding into my favorite spot right next to the window. "Drop the theatrics, Ish. You are such a drama queen."

She dropped onto the seat right next to mine, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes in a mock glare. "I am not a drama queen. You're the one who lives for the drama."

I looked at her, wide-eyed, channeling the most innocent, naive expression I could muster. "Who, me? Do I really do drama?"

Ishika stared at me for a beat before dramatically slapping a hand against her forehead. "Stop it, Aarohi. Do not give me the puppy-dog eyes. I know exactly how cute you are, and I am highly immune to it today."

I giggled, leaning over to wrap my arms around her in a brief, pacifying hug. She rolled her eyes but hugged me back, before pulling away with a sudden gleam of curiosity in her eyes. "So, what are you thinking?"

I blinked, settling back into my chair. "About what?"

She lightly tapped the side of my head. "Earth to the scatterbrain. I’m talking about the new teacher. Have you thought about who we're getting for math?"

I glanced around the classroom, watching our classmates chatter in small groups, completely unbothered. "Honestly? It’s probably going to be another strict, uptight professor who takes life way too seriously. It's always the same."

Ishika let out a dreamy sigh, propping her chin on her hand. "Statistically, yes. But... what if he's actually young? And handsome?"

A playful, wicked smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Nudging her elbow with mine, I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hmm. Young and handsome, you say?"

Ishika batted my hand away, swatting at me. "Okay, cut it out! I know you watch just as many romance dramas as I do, so don't act all innocent."

I gave her a mock pout, looking out the window. "Still less than you, though."

"Right," she shot back dryly.

Before I could retort, the loud, resonant chime of the first-period bell echoed through the PA system. The ambient noise in the room instantly shifted as everyone scrambled to their designated seats. The air practically vibrated with speculation. Whispers floated across the desks, everyone debating the mystery of the new faculty member. Would he be a tyrant? An old, dull academic? Or maybe, just maybe, someone interesting?

Ishika unzipped her backpack, pulling out her binders and textbooks for the morning lecture. I, however, leaned slightly to the side, cracking the window open just a fraction. A sharp, icy gust of December air immediately drifted through the gap, biting into the warmth of my cheeks.

Suddenly, the heavy click of the front door echoing open cut through the room.

The freezing winter draft poured into the classroom from the hallway, instantly drawing every single pair of eyes toward the entrance. I turned my head toward the doorway, my gaze tracking the movement along with everyone else.

A tall silhouette—easily six feet of sheer, commanding presence—stepped across the threshold. He wore a perfectly tailored black trousers and a matching coat over a stark white button-down, looking effortlessly sophisticated. He held a neat stack of textbooks in his grip as he strode purposefully toward the teacher's podium.

At first, I couldn't make out his face; his back was turned to the class as he placed his books down on the desk and reached for a piece of chalk.

But then, he turned around to face us.

The moment his face came into view, the entire universe seemed to ground to a violent halt. The blood turned to ice in my veins, and my heart began to hammer erratically against my ribs, a deafening roar echoing in my ears.

No.

My mind spun into a chaotic, dizzying vortex. How is this possible? How is he here?

No, no, no. I have to be dreaming. This is a hallucination.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a full second, silently praying that when I opened them, the illusion would dissolve, replaced by some stranger. But when my eyelids fluttered open, he was still standing there. Unyielding. Real.

I screamed silently in the confines of my mind. Aarohi, wake up. This isn't a dream. He’s actually there.

His calm, sweeping gaze moved over the sea of students, entirely unbothered by the heavy, suffocating silence that had fallen over the room. Then, his deep, resonant baritone broke the quiet.

"Good morning, everyone. I am your new mathematics professor."

I stared at him, my jaw practically dropping. What? A professor? Not just a faculty member, but my specific math professor? My mind went entirely blank, completely paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

As his eyes scanned the rows one more time, his gaze paused. For one fraction of a terrifying second, our eyes locked. A direct, undeniable line of eye contact. With my new professor. With him.

I forced myself to break the connection, my internal alarms blaring. Stop thinking about it. Stop it right now, Aarohi, or you are going to completely lose your mind for the rest of the term.

A sudden tremor rippled through my body. The shivering was so pronounced that Ishika noticed, turning toward me with a deep, worried furrow in her brow. "Hey, are you okay?"

I forced a stiff, robotic nod, unable to vocalize a single word.

She gave a slow, lingering nod before turning her attention back to the front of the room. When I finally gathered the courage to look back up, he was already at the board, the chalk moving in neat, authoritative strokes.

I traced the letters as they formed against the dark surface, and my breath caught painfully in my throat.

Professor Ayaan Malhotra.

The cylinder of chalk I had been mindlessly gripping in my hand slipped from my numb fingers, dropping to the floor and shattering into tiny, powdery white fragments.

There was absolutely no way.

Ayaan Malhotra.

My big brother’s childhood best friend.

The guy who held the title of my first, only, and most fiercely guarded secret crush.

He was standing at the front of my classroom, officially operating as my professor.

I shook my head violently, mentally slapping myself. This is a nightmare. I’ve finally lost it. Wake up, Aarohi, you’re just trapped in a really vivid daydream. I kept desperately repeating the mantra, but deep down, the heavy reality settled into my chest. This was real.

Ishika leaned in close, her shoulder brushing mine as she whispered excitedly into my ear, "See? What did I tell you? Young, handsome, and absolutely gorgeous. I told you so!"

I stared blankly at Ayaan as he opened his syllabus. "Yeah. Brilliant."

Ishika frowned, studying my rigid posture with genuine concern. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost? Aren't you thrilled we don't have a boring old lecturer?"

I shook my head, desperately trying to construct a mask of normalcy. "No, I am happy. It's just..." I trailed off, locking the words behind my teeth. I couldn't possibly tell her the truth. I couldn't confess that the gorgeous new professor was the guy who used to hang out in my living room, the one I had spent the last few years trying to erase from my heart.

Ishika reached over, her fingers gently lifting the corners of my mouth into a forced smile. "Well, change that expression, because you look absolutely terrified. Smile a little! We struck gold with this one."

I offered a weak, tight-lipped smile. "Right. Good call."

Satisfied, she turned back to the podium. I sank lower into my chair, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow me whole. Why is he here? Why now?

My spiraling thoughts were abruptly severed by the sound of his commanding voice.

"Moving forward, I will be handling your advanced mathematics curriculum," Ayaan announced, his tone perfectly professional, devoid of a single trace of emotion. He paused, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "If you experience any difficulties or have questions regarding the coursework, my office hours are posted on the syllabus. I expect you to utilize them if you fall behind."

He paused, his gaze anchoring the room. "I trust I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," the class responded in a synchronized, respectful chorus.

He gave a single, curt nod. "Good."

Believing the danger had passed, I finally ventured to lift my head, planning to just stare at my notebook. But the universe had other plans. It wasn't just a mistake; it felt like an absolute crime.

My eyes lifted at the exact moment his gaze shifted to my row.

This time, it wasn't a fleeting coincidence. It wasn't a random sweep of the room.

Ayaan Malhotra was looking directly at me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. What am I supposed to do now? There is absolutely no way I am going to survive this semester.