Sixteen.

Seventeen, in a few months.

Old enough to know how people work.

Smart enough to never let them know how he does.

Ayaan Mehta wasn’t the kind of person you noticed immediately.

Not because he blended in—

but because he didn’t need to stand out.

He just… existed differently.

There was something off about the way he carried himself.

Too composed.

Too still.

Too aware.

Like he was always watching—

even when he didn’t look like he was.

He didn’t speak much.

And when he did, it wasn’t to fill silence.

It was to end it.

Teachers liked him.

Of course they did.

He was everything they expected without ever trying to be—

consistent, precise, ahead of everyone else.

Marks came easy to him.

Not because he worked harder.

But because he understood faster.

People called him a topper.

A prodigy.

He never corrected them.

But he never agreed either.

Because none of that mattered.

Not really.

What mattered… was control.

Always had.

Things don’t fall apart when you’re in control.

People don’t leave when you don’t give them the chance to matter.

Nothing surprises you when you’ve already thought ten steps ahead.

Ayaan doesn’t like unpredictability.

He doesn’t like loose ends.

And he definitely doesn’t like people he can’t figure out.

Which is exactly why—

he notices her.

Myra Sharma.

Not because she’s loud.

Not because she’s trying to be seen.

But because she isn’t.

She sits straight.

Speaks only when necessary.

Keeps her expressions locked behind something almost perfect.

Almost.

Because Ayaan sees the cracks.

Small ones.

Quick ones.

The kind no one else pays attention to.

The way her jaw tightens before answering a question.

The way her pen presses just a little too hard against paper.

The way she goes completely still when she’s overwhelmed—

like movement itself would give something away.

She’s controlled.

But not naturally.

That kind of control?

It’s built under pressure.

And pressure leaves patterns.

He starts noticing them.

Without meaning to.

Without trying.

She studies like she’s running out of time.

Like there’s something chasing her.

Like stopping isn’t an option.

And the strangest part?

She doesn’t look at him the way everyone else does.

No curiosity.

No admiration.

No effort.

If anything—

she looks at him like he’s something she needs to be careful of.

Like she’s already decided he’s not to be trusted.

Ayaan doesn’t mind that.

In fact—

he finds it… interesting.

Because she doesn’t react the way people usually do.

And for the first time in a long time—

he doesn’t have a pattern for it.

So he watches.

Not obviously.

Not carelessly.

But enough.

Enough to notice when she skips lunch.

Enough to notice when she’s more tired than usual.

Enough to notice that whatever’s going on in her head—

she’s not letting anyone in.

Including him.

And maybe that should’ve been the end of it.

Just another observation.

Just another pattern to solve.

But it isn’t.

Because once Ayaan starts noticing something—

he doesn’t stop.

Not halfway.

Not when it gets complicated.

Not when it starts to matter more than it should.