The first time Tara saw Professor Raghav Mehra, he was late to class.
He wasn't supposed to be there at all—just a substitute for their regular Literature professor, who was on sudden medical leave. Tara sat in the third row of the dimly lit lecture hall, twirling the cap of her pen nervously. Her friends whispered beside her, laughing about weekend plans and hostel gossip, but she barely listened. This wasn't home. This wasn't her small town of Ujjain with narrow lanes and sweet shops. This was Delhi—noisy, grand, and full of strangers.
When the door opened, and the man walked in, the air shifted.
He wore a plain white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark trousers, a faded brown messenger bag slung across his shoulder. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run his hands through it one too many times. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose.
"Apologies," he said, setting his bag on the desk. "Got a little lost finding this room."
