The teacher announced the group project, and before I could even process it, I found myself following Akayy like a shadow. I didn't know where the lab was. I didn't even know what the project was. But there he was, walking ahead, not sparing me a single glance as if I were invisible.

Inside the lab, Sir explained the assignment, his words tangling into a blur I couldn't untangle. I raised my hand, hoping for clarity."Sir, could you explain it once again?"

He didn't even look at me. "Akayy, explain it to her," he said casually, already bending back over his work.

My stomach dropped. Why him? Why not me directly? Was I really invisible?But Akayy didn't glance up either. He worked silently, his face a mask of indifference.

For two hours, I sat there, fumbling through the mess of wires and glue, trying to figure things out. The air between us felt heavy, colder than the AC running above. Then—because my clumsy self couldn't stay quiet forever—zzzt! I burnt my finger on the hot glue gun.

"Ow!" I hissed, shaking my hand.

He didn't look. Not even once.

By lunch, my brain was spinning in circles. Does he hate me? Did I do something? Why won't he just… talk? For a yapper like me, staying silent this long was suffocating.

And then, like she was sent for pure distraction, Di—the principal's daughter—sashayed into the room."Are you going to be Sita in the Diwali play?" she asked suddenly, her tone conspiratorial.

"What? No!" I blinked. "Who's Ram?"

"Not decided," she shrugged. "But you know who's Ravan?"

I tilted my head.

Her smirk said it all. "Him."

I almost choked. "Mr. Popular as Ravan?"

(Quick FYI for anyone outside India: this is straight from the Ramayana—an epic in Hindu mythology. Ram is the god-hero, Sita is his wife and considered the goddess of virtue, and Ravan is the ten-headed villain who kidnaps her. Basically, the ultimate good-vs-evil casting call.)

"Yep. And he'll have to hold Sita's hand and run across the stage."

"No way. I'm not playing."

"Why not? You're beautiful, Kriti. Nobody would refuse you as Sita. But me? Everyone's saying no."

I laughed. "Isn't he an atheist?"

We both giggled, but even as the moment passed, my mind kept circling back to him—his silence, his avoidance, his absolute indifference to my burnt finger.

Later, I asked my classmates, half-desperate: "Is he like this with everyone? Or is this just… special treatment for me?"

By the last period, frustration boiled inside me. I was ready to explode. And then—finally—he spoke."Kriti, let's go."

I froze. My name in his voice—it was too soft, too casual. Hadn't he been ignoring me all day?

We ended up in the computer lab, just the two of us. He pulled up some code, his fingers tapping fast as if the keyboard was his second language. Strange symbols and words flashed on the screen—alien hieroglyphics to me.

I couldn't take it anymore."Are you ignoring me since morning?" I blurted.

His hands stilled. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Because I don't know! Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?"

He turned, his expression unreadable. "Did you?"

"No!" I rushed. "Then why are you making me feel like this? You're confusing me."

The bell rang, slicing the tension like a knife. He shut the computer, stood up, and said quietly, "You didn't do anything. I wasn't ignoring you."

And just like that, it ended. No explanation. No drama. He walked out, leaving me with my thoughts screaming louder than any bell.

Then why did it feel like you were ignoring me?

The more I watched him, the more I realized he was impossible to pin down. One day, he'd speak about women's rights with a fire in his voice. Next, he'd criticize and sneak photos of girls—including me. I had called him out, but he hadn't stopped.

He talked like he believed in patriarchy, yet still insisted girls should study. What did he even want?

I didn't know. But here's the worst part—

The more I tried to understand him, the more I realized something terrifying.

I wasn't just confused.I was… curious.

And that curiosity? That's the most dangerous thing of all.