They walked for a while, weaving through the easy noise of the campus - students calling out to each other, bicycles rattling past, the occasional bark of a stray dog chasing the late afternoon light.
The sun hung low in the sky, painting the concrete paths and faded notice boards in a golden haze.
Pradeep wasn't in a hurry.
He matched Aanya's pace without needing to be asked, hands tucked loosely in his jacket pockets, occasionally shifting the paper bag of books from one hand to the other like it weighed more than it did - or maybe just to have something to do with his hands.
Aanya hugged the books to her chest, feeling their quiet weight - and his quiet presence - grounding her more than she wanted to admit.
It was funny, in a way. She had carried bigger piles of books before, survived harder days, but today, walking like this, it all felt lighter somehow.
She peeked up at him when he wasn't looking, stealing a glance the way someone might steal a forbidden sweet.
The sun caught the edges of his hair, turning the dark strands almost bronze, and there was something so steady about his profile - something still and certain in a world that so often felt anything but.
She wasn't even sure when that had started - noticing things like this.
Maybe it had always been there, hiding under layers of casual teasing and everyday moments, waiting for a day like this to quietly reveal itself.
She dropped her gaze quickly, heart tapping an uneven rhythm against her ribs.
"Pradeep," she said suddenly, the words slipping out before she could think too much, "I just realized... I'm still missing one book."
He turned his head slightly, one brow lifting in that way he had - like he already knew but was humoring her anyway.
"You serious?"
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, a little sheepish. "Yeah. It's for that optional paper. I completely forgot to pick it up."
Pradeep let out a soft huff of amusement, not annoyed, just... resigned.
Like he was used to this kind of forgetfulness from her.
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth - one of those rare, unguarded smiles she was learning to treasure.
"You want me to wait?" he asked, easy, no edge in his voice.
Aanya hesitated.
It would've been so simple to say no, to tell him he could go, to not burden him with another detour.
He probably had things to do. People to meet.
Better things than tagging along with a girl who forgot her own book list.
But the thought of him walking away, of this afternoon ending just like that, made her stomach knot in a way she didn't like - a way that felt too close to loneliness.
She clutched her books tighter for a second, then looked up at him with a small, tentative smile.
"...Would you mind coming with me?" she asked, the words tumbling out quicker than she intended, like she was afraid she might lose the chance if she waited even a second longer.
Pradeep didn't make a show of thinking it over.
He didn't sigh or glance at his watch or hesitate.
He just shrugged - easy, uncomplicated, the kind of person who didn't make simple things complicated - and said,
"Sure."
And just like that, something warm loosened inside her chest.
They turned off the main campus road together, stepping onto the narrower side lane that led toward the market street where the small bookstores and stationery shops huddled together like old friends.
The golden light stretched their shadows long and thin across the cracked pavement.
Pradeep shifted the bag again with an exaggerated sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching in mock complaint.
"You're lucky I'm too tired to argue," he said.
Aanya grinned, bumping her shoulder lightly against his.
"Please, you live for arguing."
He made a face, pretending to consider it. "Maybe. But only when I'm winning."
"You wish," she shot back.
Their easy bickering faded into the warm hum of the street as they walked side by side, the city breathing around them, the distance between them filled with something that felt suspiciously like belonging.
"You ever think," she said thoughtfully, "about how weird it is that we pretend to be adults but still mess up like kids?"
Pradeep thought for a second.
"I think real adults just get better at hiding it," he said simply.
Aanya grinned. "Good point. So... you're saying we'll still be idiots at forty, just... fancier idiots?"
"Pretty much," he said, deadpan.
She laughed - a real laugh this time, light and warm, spilling into the open air between them.
It felt good - easy - like she didn't have to pretend to be cooler or smarter or less messy than she really was.
For a few minutes, they just kept walking, the city humming quietly around them.
No rush. No pressure to fill the spaces with anything clever.
Aanya watched him out of the corner of her eye - the way he walked, slightly stiff like he was silently counting every step, his old baseball cap pulled low to shield himself from the late afternoon sun.
Sunlight caught the edges of his hair where it peeked out from under the cap, turning it the color of wheat fields.
Every so often, he adjusted the brim irritably, muttering under his breath about how he hated both walking and sunlight.
Aanya hid a smile.
He didn't have to be here, dragging himself through the heat and the noise with her.
And yet - he was.
Not because he loved walking.
Not because he loved sunshine.
But because he was trying.
And somehow, that simple, stubborn presence said everything Aanya needed to hear.
Aanya glanced sideways at him, feeling a quiet kind of happiness bloom in her chest - one that didn't demand anything, didn't rush forward trying to define itself.
Just being here was enough.
For today, at least, it was enough.
---
To be continued...