The sky outside hung heavy, a blanket of gray clouds stretched across the horizon as a soft drizzle tapped rhythmically against the windows. The school, usually alive with chatter and footsteps, had fallen into a rare hush; most students had taken the gloomy weather as permission to skip class. The hallways, once bustling, now echoed with a kind of stillness that made every sound linger just a little too long.

You sat in the corner of the teacher’s lounge, lazily twirling your pen between your fingers, the pages of your notebook filling with half-hearted scribbles. The dim light overhead cast a warm glow over your face, softening your delicate features. You had always drawn people in, not just with your gentle beauty, but with your warmth, the way you turned every lesson into a conversation rather than a lecture. Students gravitated toward you, eager to learn in the effortless way you made possible.

Across the room, Karan sat, a quiet contrast to your softness. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was folded over his notes, the crisp white shirt he wore clinging to him in all the right places. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong, tanned forearms. His dark eyes were sharp with focus, his jaw set in a hard line. There was an air of quiet authority about him, the kind that made people hesitate before speaking, that made rooms fall still when he entered. Aloof. Serious. Untouchable.

And yet he was yours.

You watched him from across the table, unable to help the fond curve of your lips. Even after months of marriage, you still marveled at the two sides of him. In public, he was all cool precision and sternness, but at home, he was the man who made sure you ate on time, who checked the weather before handing you a scarf, who reached for your hand when no one was looking.

But today, something was off. His mood was sharp, his focus brittle. You felt the tension rolling off him in waves, but you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering.

Without lifting his head, Karan’s voice cut through the quiet. “Focus on your work, not me,” he said, the words clipped, almost cold. His eyes flicked up, pinning you with a look that sent a small jolt through your chest. “Don’t you have things to do?” he added, the same rough edge in his voice.

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected sharpness. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His dark gaze stayed locked on you, the muscle in his jaw ticking, and you knew whatever he was about to say next would only sting.

Quickly, you pushed back your chair, rising with quiet grace. Without a word, you crossed the room to where the other teachers were gathered, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You let out a soft laugh at something one of them said, ignoring the prickling heat of Karan’s gaze still burning against your skin.

Then his voice came again, quiet but unmistakable.

“Come back.”

The room stilled. Conversations faltered. Even the sound of the rain seemed to hush for a breath.