(Ayaan Malhotra POV)

...

I retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the faculty lounge before my next lecture. With twenty minutes to spare, I unzipped my leather briefcase and pulled out the stack of student notebooks I’d spent the previous night grading.

Sinking into a leather armchair, I set my phone face-down on the coffee table and opened my laptop to clear a mountain of unread school emails.

When the first-period bell chimed down the hallway, I stood up, gathered the heavy stack of assignments against my chest, and headed straight for my homeroom. Pushing open the door, I stepped into the room as the entire class rose in unison.

"Good morning, Professor Malhotra," they chorused.

"Good morning. Sit," I commanded gently, offering a curt nod as I strodin to the podium and placed the notebooks down.

The room fell into an immediate, respectful silence, every pair of eyes fixed on me.

I offered a rare, encouraging smile, scanning the room. "Overall, I was pleased with the effort on yesterday’s diagnostic equations. Most of you demonstrated a solid grasp of the core concepts."

I pulled up a chair behind the desk. "I’ll call you up individually to return your work and go over specific notes."

"Rose," I called out first.

A quiet girl in the back row stood up, nervously walking to the podium. I flipped her notebook open, double-checking my red ink margin notes, before closing it and handing it back. "Solid application of the chain rule, Rose. Good work."

A soft, relieved flush hit her cheeks. "Thank you, Sir."

I continued down the line, pulling students up one by one to highlight where their logic held up—and where their calculations stumbled.

Finally, I reached the last notebook in the pile. I read the name on the cover, my eyes automatically scanning the rows until they landed on her.

"Aarohi Sharma."

She froze for a split second before pushing her chair back and stepping into the aisle. Her posture was rigid, her loafers clicking softly against the floor as she approached the teacher's desk.

I opened her assignment, looking up at her as she came to a halt on the other side of the podium. "Do you not understand basic mathematics, Miss Sharma?"

The question came out sharper than I intended, but the work was baffling. She had butchered even the most straightforward, single-variable equations.

Aarohi dropped her head immediately, her fingers twisting together nervously in front of her skirt. She looked fragile, her shoulders trembling slightly—whether from the biting draft near the window or sheer academic anxiety, I couldn't tell.

"Did you find the initial set difficult?" I tried again, softening my tone.

She didn't look up, but she offered a tiny, hesitant nod.

I closed the notebook with a quiet sigh, leaning my forearms onto the desk to bring myself closer to her eye level. "Do you just find the subject completely unapproachable?"

That made her lift her gaze. Her wide, expressive eyes locked onto mine, burning with a complex mix of frustration and restraint. "It’s not that I don't understand the concepts, Sir... It’s just..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping back to the wooden floorboards.

I knew how intimidating high school math could be, especially for students who had already convinced themselves they were failing.

"What's the actual hurdle, Miss Sharma?" I asked, gently sliding the notebook across the desk toward her. "Talk to me."

She pulled the notebook into her chest, wrapping her arms around it like a shield.

"Tell me what you're struggling with," I offered, giving her an encouraging nod. "I can't help you adjust your approach if you don't give me something to work with."

A faint flicker of hope glinted in her eyes as she searched my face. "Will you... actually help me with the material, Sir?"

"It’s my job to ensure every student in this room succeeds, Miss Sharma," I replied firmly. "So tell me where the break happens."

She swallowed hard, taking a slow breath. "It's not the theory... I just get completely lost when it comes to execution. I don't know how to approach solving the problems once they're laid out."

I nodded slowly, understanding the wall she had hit. "That's completely normal. Problem-solving isn't an innate talent; it's a mechanical skill. If you practice the fundamental steps every single day, the patterns become second nature."

She gave a small, attentive nod.

"Start with the simple variables," I added, holding her gaze. "Once you master the base steps, the complex proofs fall into place. You can step back to your seat, Miss Sharma."

"Thank you, Sir," she murmured, turning on her heel and returning to her desk by the window.

I tracked her with my eyes until she sat down. There was an underlying tension in her posture that went beyond standard math anxiety—a guardedness that felt oddly heavy for a seventeen-year-old. Is something going on at home? I wondered briefly. I made a mental note to check in with her family down the line if her scores didn't improve.

Turning back to the board, I picked up a piece of chalk and began writing out the afternoon's main equation.

"Alright, class. Let's look at variable isolation..."

For the rest of the period, I walked them through the multi-step proofs, breaking down the values step by step. "So, isolating x leaves us with 25," I explained, turning back to face the room. "Is everyone following the logic here?"

"Yes, Sir," the room chimed.

My eyes drifted back to the window row. "Did that step make sense to you as well, Miss Sharma?"

Aarohi blinked, startled by the direct check-in, before offering a polite nod.

"Good. Solve the remaining three problems on the board using the same methodology."

The room descended into the quiet scratch of pens. I sat back at my desk, pulling up supplemental problem sets for their evening homework until the final chime echoed through the building.

"Alright, time's up," I announced, snapping my textbook shut. "For tomorrow, complete all problems on page 32. If anyone runs into a wall with the proofs, my office door is open during advisory hours."

Gathering my papers, I headed out into the crowded corridor—only to nearly collide with someone turning the corner.

"Ah, I'm so sorry!" I apologized, taking a step back.

The woman stumbled slightly, clutching her phone to her chest before looking up with an easy smile. "No, entirely my fault! I was completely absorbed in a text."

She didn't look like a student. She was dressed in sharp, professional attire.

"I'm Claire," she introduced herself, extending a hand. "I teach AP Literature."

"Ayaan Malhotra. I just took over the advanced mathematics section."

Claire lifted an eyebrow, scanning me with an amused, appreciative look. "So you're the new math professor everyone's been whispering about. I didn't expect you to be so young."

I rubbed the back of my neck, letting out a dry chuckle. "Not that young, Professor. But thank you."

She laughed softly. "Where are you headed in such a hurry?"

"The principal's office for the new faculty briefing."

"Perfect. I'm headed to the same meeting—let's walk together."

By late afternoon, after finishing my administrative duties and wrapping up my final lecture, I returned to my office to review the cumulative student performance metrics.

I scrolled down the digital roster until my eyes caught her name again: Aarohi Sharma.

I paused, expanding her academic file.

Her transcript was practically spotless. Straight A's in Literature, History, and Chemistry. Her written work was sophisticated, her comprehension scores exceptionally high. But her mathematics column was a disaster—a string of dangerously low marks dragging down an otherwise brilliant record.

"She isn't unmotivated," I muttered to myself, resting my chin in my hand. "She's just completely blocked in this one subject."

I closed the file. A parent-teacher conference was definitely going to be necessary if we wanted to get her ready for university applications.

Checking my watch, I realized the campus had officially closed for the day. I threw on my dark tailored coat, grabbed my car keys, and headed out toward the faculty parking lot.

As I unlocked my sedan, a familiar sight across the empty courtyard caught my eye.

Sitting alone on the playground swings, framed by the deep amber hue of the setting sun, was Aarohi.

I checked my watch again. It was far too late for a student to be lingering on school grounds alone.

Locking the car back up, I cut across the manicured lawn, stopping a few feet from the swing set. "Why are you still on campus at this hour, Miss Sharma?"

Aarohi gasped softly, snapping her head up before scrambling to her feet. "P-Professor!"

"You can stay seated," I said calmly, gesturing to the swing.

She swallowed hard, slowly lowering herself back onto the rubber seat.

"Are your parents running late?" I asked.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to her loafers. "No, Sir. My big brother is on his way to pick me up."

I studied her quiet demeanor, a thought striking me. "Was that your brother who picked you up yesterday afternoon?"

Aarohi froze, looking up at me as if I had just uncovered a hidden secret. "Did... did you see him yesterday, Sir?"

"Only from a distance," I replied casually. "His back was turned to the building, so I didn't catch his face."

A visible wave of relief washed over her shoulders, her posture relaxing just a fraction.

I found her reaction strange, but didn't press further. "Alright. Well, I'm heading out. Are you sure you don't want to wait inside the main lobby where it's warm?"

"I'm fine here, Sir. Thank you."

"Go straight home once he arrives, Miss Sharma. And don't forget page 32."

"Goodnight, Sir," she murmured.

I turned around, walking back toward the parking lot. But halfway to my car, a realization hit me. I forgot to ask her for her brother's contact info to set up the academic review meeting.

Turning back around, I retraced my steps toward the playground.

As I rounded the high brick wall surrounding the play area, I spotted a tall man in a tailored charcoal suit walking up to the swings. He was laughing, reaching down to unceremoniously pull Aarohi off the swing and into a playful side-hug.

"Miss Sharma," I called out softly, stepping into the open.

Aarohi peeked out from behind the man's broad shoulder, her eyes widening in panic. "Yes, Sir?"

"I forgot to mention—I'd like to schedule a conference with your family regarding your math performance—"

Before I could finish my sentence, the man turned around to face me.

The words died in my throat. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Standing in front of me, holding Aarohi’s school bag over his shoulder, was my childhood best friend.

"Siddharth?" I breathed out, completely stunned.

Siddharth stared back at me, his jaw dropping in absolute shock. "Ayaan? What on earth are you doing here?"

My gaze slowly shifted from Siddharth's bewildered face down to the teenage girl standing frozen beside him—the girl who had been sitting in my math class all morning, avoiding my eyes, pretending she was a complete stranger.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, shattering every assumption I'd made over the last two days.

Miss Sharma.

Aarohi.

My mind spun as the final piece of the puzzle slammed into place.

"Then... she's..." My voice trailed off, my dark eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, intense sharpness. "...Buttercup?"