Sagnik didn't say goodbye properly.
He peeled away near the staircase with a clipped nod, leaving Aanya standing there with a half-formed question on her lips. The moment her footsteps faded, the restraint snapped.
Jealousy wasn't loud.
It was sharp. Calculated. Persistent.
He stood near the washbasin, pretending to reread a page he'd already memorized, while his mind replayed the scene on loop—
the senior's easy lean,
the way his voice had dipped when he spoke to her.
The fact that he knew about her notes.
Of course he did.
Sagnik's fingers curled tighter around the paper. He hated how irrational it was. Aanya hadn't done anything wrong. She never did. That was the problem. She was open, kind—unaware of the way attention gravitated toward her like iron filings to a magnet.
And he hated that too.
Every laugh she gave someone else felt misplaced. Every smile not meant for him felt stolen. The kiss they'd shared—soft, hesitant, unfinished—burned now like a claim he hadn't had the courage to voice.
Mine, a traitorous part of him whispered.
The word startled him.
Since when had he started thinking like this?
As he walked down the corridor, he caught sight of the senior again—talking animatedly to a group, glancing once, casually, in Aanya's direction. That look wasn't innocent. Sagnik knew that look. He'd worn it himself once, before he'd learned what it cost to want something you couldn't control.
His chest tightened.
He imagined hands lingering too long when he wasn't around. Conversations slipping into familiarity. Aanya laughing, oblivious—trusting. The thought made something dark and uncomfortable rise in him, something that scared him more than the senior ever could.
He didn't want to share her attention.
He didn't want to compete for it.
He didn't even want to admit he wanted her.
Alas, it was already too late.
He had admitted it to himself. And there was no going back.
Jealousy didn't care about logic.
It followed him into the stairwell, into the canteen, into the quiet of his room later that evening. It sat heavy in his throat when he opened his phone, hovering over her name—wanting to ask who the senior was, why he'd been there, what they'd talked about.
He didn't text.
Instead, he stared at the ceiling and realized something unsettling.
This wasn't about the senior.
This was about the fact that if someone else stepped forward—confident, open, unafraid—Aanya might not wait for him forever.
And the thought of that?
That was unbearable.
He was already lost in his own world when his phone vibrated through the jealousy spiral and dragged him back to the present.
He unlocked the screen.
Aanya.
Hey… you went quiet after lab.
Just wanted to tell you—about earlier.
His chest tightened before he even read the rest.
Aanya:
The senior you saw? He just wanted my embryology notes from last year.
I thought you should know.
Sagnik stared at the screen.
The words echoed louder than they should have.
Relief should have come first. It didn't.
Instead, jealousy shifted shape.
So she'd noticed him watching.
So she'd cared enough to explain.
So she'd been thinking about him even after walking away.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
Because now this wasn't just something happening to him.
It was something happening between them.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. A dozen replies formed and died—casual ones, honest ones, dangerous ones.
He locked the phone instead.
If he answered now, he'd say too much.
And the jealousy—still coiled, still alive—wasn't ready to be named yet.