The week had passed like a blur — quiet, tense, full of thoughts Elara couldn’t seem to silence.
Every night she told herself she’d decide tomorrow, but every morning came with the same uncertainty clinging to her heart like mist on glass.

And now tomorrow had run out.
The week was over. The day had come.

Her room was bright with morning light, the kind that didn’t feel kind at all — soft, but exposing. She sat before the mirror, comb in hand, staring at her own reflection as if it might offer her answers.

Her semester break had ended, and she had to return to university.
Back to the same campus, the same faces — and him.

Her fingers paused mid-stroke through her hair.
She hadn’t seen Lucen since that day at Café Lumere. He had given her exactly what she asked for — space — but that only made the thought of seeing him again more daunting.

He would be expecting an answer.
She didn’t even dare to meet his eyes, let alone give him one.

She sighed and made up her mind: I’ll just avoid him. Completely.

Her “avoidance strategy,” as she half-jokingly called it in her head, was absurdly detailed.
She’d leave home late, arrive after the lecture started, and vanish to the library as soon as it ended.
Simple. Foolproof.

Except for one small flaw — her reflection looked too prepared.

She had chosen her outfit more carefully than usual: a soft lavender kurta, a neatly draped white dupatta, and light earrings. Even her hair, usually tied back carelessly, fell loose over her shoulders today.

She frowned at her reflection. You’re not supposed to look this nice when you’re hiding.

Across the city, Lucen stood before his own mirror, buttoning his shirt for the third time.
His usually steady hands betrayed him — one cuff slightly uneven, the collar refusing to sit right.

He wasn’t nervous about seeing her.
He was terrified of not seeing her.

It had been seven long days since that quiet afternoon at Café Lumere — seven days of restrained patience, of not reaching out, of replaying every look, every pause, every breath.

He smiled faintly to himself, shaking his head. You’re hopeless.

He reached the university early, far earlier than usual. The hallways were still half-empty, the air thick with the smell of chalk and freshly mopped floors.
He sat in the lecture hall, pretending to check his notes while his gaze kept darting toward the door.

Elara, meanwhile, was running late — intentionally this time.
Her heart thudded as she hurried across campus, her bag bouncing lightly against her shoulder.

Through the narrow glass panel of the classroom door, she could see that the professor had already begun. Perfect.
She took a deep breath, straightened her dupatta, and quietly pushed the door open.

The faint scrape of the hinge made heads turn. Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she kept her eyes down, walking quickly toward her seat near the window.

Lucen’s gaze found her instantly.
He’d been waiting, but he hadn’t expected the sudden ache that came with simply seeing her again.

Her hair was slightly windblown, her cheeks flushed from rushing, her eyes darting nervously toward the floor.
She looked like she was trying to disappear into the air itself — and somehow, that only made her stand out more.

A small, helpless smile tugged at his lips.
Avoiding me, are you?

He didn’t look away once during the lecture. Not when she avoided glancing his way. Not when she pretended to take notes on an empty page.
Now and then, her fingers fidgeted with her pen or her sleeve, and he could almost feel the nerves humming off her.

When the lecture finally ended, she was the first to pack up, books clutched tight against her chest.
Lucen blinked once — and she was gone.

Elara darted across the corridor, heart hammering like she’d escaped something monumental.
Her plan was simple: go to the library, hide among the shelves, and stay there until it was safe.

By the time she reached her usual corner, she was breathless.
She dropped her bag on the table and sank into the chair, trying to look composed.

There was nothing to study today, nothing even to pretend to read. Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened a random book.

“Just one more day,” she muttered under her breath. “Then you’ll have to face it.”

Then she froze.

Through the open space between the tall shelves, she saw him — Lucen, walking through the library doors.

Even from this distance, she recognised him instantly. The easy, steady stride. The a quiet confidence in his posture.
Her pulse spiked.

Without thinking, she grabbed her bag and darted behind the nearest row of shelves.

He can’t see me. Not now.

Her sandals made almost no sound as she tiptoed deeper between the aisles, peeking through the small gaps between books.
Every glimpse of his silhouette made her heart skip.

Lucen paused near the entrance, scanning the room.
He had caught a flicker of movement — someone darting between the shelves — and he didn’t need to guess who it was.

A chuckle escaped him. “You’re really trying, aren’t you? Never thought you were this energetic!!”

He moved toward her section, his steps slow, deliberate.
He didn’t want to startle her — only to see how far she’d go to avoid him.

Elara, meanwhile, peeked through a narrow space between two books, trying to spot him.
When she didn’t see him, she leaned forward, fingers brushing the spines — and a voice came softly from behind her.

“Are you looking for me?”

She spun around so fast her dupatta nearly slipped from her shoulder.
Lucen stood there, a teasing smile playing at his lips, trying very hard not to laugh.

“I... I was just looking for a book!” she blurted out, her voice slightly too high.

“Oh?” His brows lifted, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Which one?”

Panic made her turn abruptly to the nearest shelf. Without even glancing, she grabbed a random volume and held it out. “This one.”

Lucen took it, glanced at the cover, and froze.
Then his lips pressed together as he struggled not to laugh aloud.

It was a thick, vividly illustrated medical textbook on human reproductive systems.

Her eyes widened as realisation struck. “Oh no…”

Lucen coughed, failing to hide his grin. “A bold choice,” he murmured. “Didn’t take you for a biology enthusiast.”

She glared — or tried to — but her ears burned crimson. “It’s research,” she managed weakly.

“Of course,” he said, straight-faced. “For… academic growth.”

She snatched the book back and turned sharply. “Let’s just put this back.”

He followed, biting back a laugh. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s put the book back.”

Her shoulders stiffened. She shoved it back into place, refusing to look at him, and stormed out from between the shelves, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Lucen couldn’t hold it in anymore — he laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

The corridors were crowded when Elara emerged, clutching her bag.
She walked quickly, eyes fixed on the floor, weaving through the students — but even without turning around, she could feel him behind her.

He wasn’t close, but his presence trailed hers like a quiet echo.

Finally, she sighed under her breath, “Why is he always this calm?”

She reached the campus gate, relief blooming in her chest — until someone turned the corner too sharply and collided with her.
The impact sent her stumbling, her books scattering across the floor.

“I’m so sorry—” she began, but the boy who had bumped into her only frowned.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snapped.

She blinked, stunned. “You ran into me.”

He stepped closer, his voice turning sharper. “Maybe if you weren’t running around, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Something inside her froze — that old, buried fear that always surfaced when voices turned harsh.
She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t.

And then, calm and certain, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“That’s enough.”

Lucen stepped forward, placing himself between them with an ease that didn’t need aggression.
“Accidents happen,” he said quietly, his tone firm but controlled. “Apologise, and let’s end it here.”

The boy faltered under his steady gaze, muttered a half-hearted apology, and walked away.

Elara stood still, her pulse racing — not from fear anymore, but from the sudden, startling sense of safety.

Lucen turned to her, his voice softening instantly. “Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes… Thank you.”

They walked side by side toward the gate, neither speaking.
The wind carried the faint scent of rain-damp leaves, and somewhere behind them, the campus chatter faded into the distance.

At the parking lot, he looked at her, calm as ever. “Can I drop you home?”

She hesitated, then nodded — wordless.

The drive was quiet, the world passing in soft shades of gold and green outside the windows.
For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable — like both were trying to listen to the sound of their own thoughts.

Halfway through, her voice broke softly through the hum of the engine.
“Thank you.”

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, eyes warm. “You don’t have to.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “For what happened back there.”

He smiled faintly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was angry. I just… I still don’t feel ready.”

Lucen’s hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel, but his expression stayed calm.
“I told you,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s fine.”

And though he said it easily, deep down, it wasn’t fine at all.
He was scared — but he wouldn’t let her see that.

When the car stopped outside her house, she turned to him once more.
“Thank you,” she said again, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

She stepped out, turned once to meet his gaze through the window, then disappeared behind the gate.

Lucen waited until she went inside before driving away, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

That night, Elara sat on her bed, replaying everything — his calm voice, his steady eyes, the way he had stepped forward without hesitation.

The feeling of being protected — of being seen — was foreign to her.
And yet, it felt right.

For the first time, she understood that safety wasn’t always loud or promised.
Sometimes, it was simply someone standing in front of you and saying, It’s fine.

And somewhere in that thought, her decision finally found its shape.