Two weeks. Fourteen days. Roughly three hundred hours of him pretending he wasn’t losing his mind over someone who didn’t even realize she’d broken something inside him just by existing.
Aariz Zaman had never been this pathetic in his entire, chaos-stained life. And trust me, the bar was already low.
The afternoon heat pressed over the campus courtyard, the kind that made everyone look exhausted and mildly offended at the sun. Aariz leaned against his bike, pretending he wasn’t waiting for her like some desperate cinematic extra. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, jaw clenched, hair pushed back like he didn’t spend the last eight minutes fixing it because she once said he “looked less like a criminal when he combed it.”
Thanks for that, by the way. His entire personality was now in shambles.
He spotted her the second she stepped out of the library. Loose ponytail, kurta fluttering in the breeze, that same calm expression that made him want to punch a wall because why was she so peaceful while he was over here drowning?
She walked like she wasn’t the center of gravity he’d reorganized his entire schedule around.
He pushed off the bike and moved toward her. Not too fast. Not too desperate. Just the right amount of “I’m pretending I didn’t see you but of course I did.”
She noticed him halfway. “You’re here again?”
He shrugged, grabbing onto his usual cool-boy arrogance like a life raft. “Haan toh? Public place hai.”
“But you don’t even have a class here today.”
“My friend does,” he lied, because he had no shame left.
She gave him her usual soft frown, the one that felt like a scolding but also like a blessing. “You could’ve gone home.”
“And miss this view?” He flashed the lazy grin he used on everyone else, except it always felt real only with her.
She rolled her eyes. “You flirt too much.”
“You handle it too well.”
He walked beside her, matching her pace even though she walked like a normal human and he walked like a storm. She held a stack of books close to her chest, accidentally brushing his arm once. Just once.
And the idiot nearly tripped.
She didn’t notice. Of course she didn’t.
“So,” she said, glancing up at him, “are you actually going to your friend now or just… lingering?”
He scoffed. “Tum mujhe linger karne wala banda lagti ho?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
His mouth twitched. “Rude.”
She shrugged. “Accurate.”
They reached the gate, and he hated that he only had this tiny walk with her every day. Two minutes thirty seconds. He’d timed it. Not proud of it. But here we are.
“You need a ride?” he asked casually, even though his pulse jumped like it owed him money.
“I don’t take lifts from boys I barely know.”
“It’s been two weeks,” he said. “That’s practically childhood friends.”
She laughed, finally, and the sound hit him like someone yanked open all the dusty windows inside him.
“Nice try,” she said. “But no. I’m fine walking.”
He nodded like that didn’t stab him directly in the chest. “Cool. Your choice. Terrible choice, but choice.”
She hid a smile. “Bye, Aariz.”
He watched her walk away, angered at the distance growing with every step, craving it back like some addict. He didn’t understand this version of himself. The guy who waited. The guy who cared. The guy who was already imagining tomorrow’s two-minute walk like it was some luxury date.
Pathetic. Tragic. Fully deserved, probably.
As she neared the street, she turned her head slightly. Only slightly.
And she found him still looking.
Her brows lifted. “Why are you still standing there?”
He smirked, masking the chaos. “Bas. Dekh raha hoon.”
“Kya?”
He didn’t blink. “Tumhe.”
She inhaled quietly, eyes flickering for a split second. Something shifted between them in that tiny gap of silence.
Then she turned away again, maybe pretending she didn’t feel anything.
Aariz finally exhaled, mumbling to himself as he dragged a hand through his hair.
“Great. Fantastic. I’m gone.”
He climbed onto his bike, the engine growling beneath him, matching the mess inside his chest. He looked once more toward the road.