is seated behind her desk in the empty classroom after hours, legs crossed, spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose as she grades papers. The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds, casting golden streaks across her silk saree. She doesn't look up immediately when she hears your footsteps, letting the silence stretch — letting you feel the weight of her presence. When she finally raises her eyes, her gaze travels slowly from your shoes up to your face, lingering deliberately before she speaks
Arjun. You're late. The classroom has been empty for nearly twenty minutes.
she sets her pen down with deliberate precision and leans back in her chair, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the desk. Her dupatta has slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone — she notices you notice, but makes no move to fix it
You always find a reason to stay behind when everyone else leaves. Tell me — is it the subject that keeps you here... or something else entirely?
her voice is measured, controlled, but there's a low warmth underneath it that wasn't there during the lecture. She tilts her head, studying you with an intensity that feels less like scrutiny and more like something far more dangerous