the first thing anvika realized was that people were watching.
not openly. not obviously. but in the way glances lingered a second too long, in the pauses that slipped into conversations when she walked past. she noticed it in the subtle recalibration of spacehow seats beside her filled faster now, how whispers followed her name with a new inflection.
she had been visible before.
this was different.
she sensed it most clearly in the lecture hall, where aadvaith took his usual seat a few rows behind her. he hadn't changed his habits. still arrived quietly. still spoke only when necessary. still carried himself with that unshakeable calm.
but the space between them had shifted.
when the professor called on anvika, aadvaith looked upnot sharply, not possessively. just attentive. when aadvaith spoke, anvika didn't turn immediately, but her focus sharpened, listening past words to intention.
others noticed.
they always did.
"did you see that?" someone whispered behind her after class.
"see what?"
"the way they look at each other."
anvika didn't react. reactions gave people permission.
she gathered her things and stood, stepping into the aisle. as she did, she felt it againthat quiet presence aligning with hers. aadvaith fell into step beside her without discussion, their pace syncing effortlessly.
"you're becoming a topic," he said.
she glanced at him. "so are you."
"i always am."
"that's not what i meant."
he studied her profile for a moment. "does it bother you?"
"no," she said honestly. "but it complicates things."
"only if we let it."
she considered that. "you don't let much."
"i let what matters."
they reached the courtyard, sunlight breaking through the clouds in uneven patches. students clustered around benches, laughter carrying easily through the open space.
anvika slowed near the fountain, eyes tracking the water as it arced and fell.
"people assume things," she said.
"they always do."
"they'll assume you're leading," she continued. "that i'm following."
his jaw tightenedjust slightly.
"that won't happen," he said.
"i know," she replied. "but they won't."
he turned to face her fully now, his calm sharpening into something unmistakable. "you don't follow anyone."
the certainty in his voice grounded her.
"neither do you," she said.
a small, quiet smile ghosted his lips. gone as quickly as it appeared.
they moved on.
in the library later that evening, the tension was different. not sharperdeeper. their table felt like a fixed point in the room, something others navigated around instinctively.
anvika caught more than one glance directed their way. curiosity. speculation. some admiration. some resentment.
"your presence intimidates people," she murmured without looking up.
"so does yours."
"that wasn't always true."
"now it is."
she paused, fingers resting lightly on the page. "why?"
he didn't answer immediately. when he did, his voice was low. "because you don't ask permission to exist."
the words settled into her chest, warm and heavy.
she met his gaze. "neither do you."
they returned to work, but the awareness lingered. not romantic. not yet.
protective.
later, when anvika stood to stretch, a classmate approached their table, leaning in too close, voice casual but eyes sharp.
"didn't expect to see you two working together this often," he said.
aadvaith didn't look up from his notes.
anvika answered evenly. "we're assigned."
"seems… intense," the classmate added, smile thin.
aadvaith lifted his head then, gaze steady and unreadable. he didn't raise his voice. didn't shift his posture.
"it's efficient," he said.
the classmate hesitatedjust a fractionthen laughed it off and stepped away.
anvika exhaled quietly.
"you didn't have to do that," she said.
"i know."
"then why"
"i don't like interruptions."
she glanced at him, something flickering behind her eyes. "you don't like people misreading situations."
"no," he agreed. "especially when it involves you."
the words were simple. the implication was not.
they left the library together later, the sky deepening into dusk. the path outside was crowded, voices overlapping, footsteps hurried.
someone bumped into anvika from behind, jostling her forward.
before she could steady herself, aadvaith's hand hovered near her elbownot touching, not gripping. just there.
a warning.
the crowd shifted away instinctively.
anvika straightened, heart steady. "you really are protective."
"i'm attentive," he corrected.
she smiled faintly. "same thing."
they walked on.
at the edge of campus, where paths diverged, they slowed. the air was cooler here, quieter.
"you don't shrink," aadvaith said suddenly.
she turned to him. "from what?"
"attention," he replied. "pressure."
"i learned not to," she said. "shrinking invites erasure."
he nodded once. "i won't let that happen."
she studied himreally studied him now. the calm. the restraint. the way his protection didn't demand gratitude or loyalty.
"you don't fight for people loudly," she said.
"no."
"but you stand," she added.
"yes."
something in her chest loosened.
"this," she said carefully, "is changing."
he didn't deny it. "i know."
"does that worry you?"
"no."
"why not?"
"because it's honest."
they stood there, the space between them charged with something neither reached for, yet neither avoided.
"you don't offer reassurances you can't keep," she said.
"no."
"and you don't ask for what you can't give," he added.
she nodded. "we're dangerous."
the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "to assumptions."
they parted then, not reluctantly, not eagerly. just… certain.
as anvika walked away, she felt the weight of eyes on her againbut this time, it didn't bother her. the world could watch all it wanted.
she wasn't alone in the frame anymore.
and aadvaith, standing where she left him, felt the shift just as clearly. the world had noticed what was forming between them.
he didn't mind.
let it look.
some things didn't need defending.
they simply needed to exist.