chapter 2 : First Interaction

Akhila’s classroom was on the fifth floor.

Which meant stairs.

Which meant effort.

Which meant absolutely not happening.

So she walked straight to the lift.

There was a bold sign in front of it: “For Lecturers Only.”

Akhila read it.

Paused.

Nodded.

And pressed the button anyway.

“Rules are more like… optional guidelines,” she muttered, stepping in like she owned the building.

By the time she reached the fifth floor, she walked out with confidence she did not deserve.

The physics class had already started.

Every bench was filled.

Except the first one.

Of course.

Akhila stared at it like it personally insulted her.

First bench \= danger.

But survival had no ego.

She walked over and sat beside the only other student there.

“Hi,” Akhila whispered.

“Megha,” the girl replied.

“Akhila.”

Within minutes, they were already exchanging looks like yes, we will survive this together.

Akhila opened her white notebook dramatically, ready to become a “serious student.”

On the board:

sin, cos, tan

Math, she thought confidently.

For the first time in her life, she started writing like her future depended on it.

Five minutes later—

“Velocity… force… motion…”

Akhila blinked.

Why is math moving?

She slowly turned to Megha.

“This… is math, right?” she whispered.

Megha looked at her like she had just asked if water was optional.

“…Physics.”

Akhila closed her notebook.

Opened it again.

“Okay… betrayal noted.”

Finally, the class ended.

Akhila stretched like she had completed emotional labor.

Then came mathematics.

The atmosphere shifted.

Even the fans seemed to rotate with discipline.

And then he walked in.

Not fast. Not slow.

Just… exact.

“Good morning, sir,” the class stood in unison.

Akhila stood too, her eyes immediately finding him.

Okay… wow.

Pause.

Why does he look like life personally offended him?

He didn’t introduce himself.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t waste time.

He picked up the chalk and began.

Numbers flowed. Steps aligned. Logic built itself like a structure only he could fully see.

Students rushed to keep up.

Akhila stared for a moment.

He’s explaining like we all understand. Sir, some of us are fighting for survival here.

After solving a few problems, he stepped aside, allowing them to copy.

But he wasn’t idle.

He was observing.

Carefully.

Who understood.

Who pretended.

Who had already given up on life.

Akhila finished writing and looked up.

At that exact moment—

He was looking at her watch.

“Time?” he asked.

She blinked once, then checked. “12:30, sir.”

His gaze shifted from the watch… to her face.

Eye contact.

His eyes—calm, cold, unreadable.

Hers—curious, unfiltered, slightly chaotic behind pink glasses.

For a brief second, it felt like he was solving something.

And she was the problem.

“Your 10th marks?” he asked.

“409 out of 500.”

A pause.

He adjusted his glasses slightly.

“Hmm.”

Akhila waited.

Say something nice. Encourage. Inspire. Be human.

“Let’s see,” he said finally, voice dry,

“if those marks were yours… or just good luck.”

Akhila blinked.

Wow. Motivation left the chat.

She leaned slightly toward Megha and muttered under her breath—

“Why does he sound like a retired old man who majored in sarcasm?”

Megha almost choked.

Akhila, gaining confidence, added softly,

“Like sir didn’t wake up today… he logged in just to judge people.”

And then—

“What?”

The voice came from right in front of her.

Akhila froze.

Slowly… very slowly… she looked up.

He was already looking at her.

Not cold this time.

Not neutral.

Slightly narrowed eyes.

Aware.

Her brain shut down.

“…Nothing, sir.”

A pause.

He held her gaze for a second longer.

Then turned back to the board.

“Good,” he said calmly.

“Focus on mathematics. It speaks more sense than… commentary.”

Akhila sat still.

I almost died. First day itself. Amazing.

Megha leaned closer and whispered,

“You’re brave.”

Akhila exhaled.

“No… I’m unemployed after this period.”

The class continued.

Chalk moved. Numbers formed. Logic flowed.

As if nothing had happened.

But something had.

Ankith continued writing, expression unchanged, movements precise.

But his focus—

wasn’t entirely on the equations anymore.

For a brief moment, his gaze shifted again.

Not random.

Her.

The girl in the front row.

Pink glasses. Unfiltered expressions. Zero hesitation in speaking.

He had seen hundreds of students.

Most followed patterns—predictable effort, predictable mistakes, predictable outcomes.

Some tried. Some didn’t.

Some understood. Some copied.

But all of them… fit somewhere.

She didn’t.

She spoke without thinking.

Reacted without filtering.

Looked at him like she was observing him—not fearing him.

Unstructured.

Unmeasured.

Unpredictable.

His grip on the chalk tightened slightly before relaxing again.

Strange.

Why does she feel… unpredictable… while the rest are so easy to read?

He turned back to the board, finishing the equation with the same precision as always.

Because in his world—

everything followed rules.

Everything made sense.

Everything could be calculated.

But for the first time in a long while—

something didn’t.

And he wasn’t sure if that was a problem.

Or a distraction.

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