The studio was already buzzing when Aarohi walked in, two minutes late, coffee in one hand, drawings in the other, and a pencil already threatening to fall from behind her ear.

Maya looked up immediately. “People are talking.”

“People always talk.”

Kabir leaned forward. “People are talking about you and a certain black umbrella.”

Neha nodded. “I heard it in the corridor. Twice.”

Aarohi dropped her bag on the table. “It was a weather emergency. Not a scandal.”

Kabir grinned. “In this department, borrowing the professor’s umbrella is a scandal.”

“You’re all dramatic.”

“We’re observant,” Maya said. “There’s a difference.”

The door opened.

The volume dropped, but not as much as usual. A few heads turned faster. A few smiles were harder to hide.

Arjun walked in, tablet in hand, expression unchanged.

They are whispering, he thought. Of course they are. Students always need something to talk about. Preferably something that is none of their business.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir.”

Aarohi lifted her coffee. “Morning, Professor.”

His eyes moved to her. “Miss Sharma. Two minutes late.”

“Personal best.”

“Still late.”

“I’m consistent in my inconsistency.”

A soft laugh came from somewhere at the back.

Arjun ignored it. “Today we review joinery details and material junctions. I want clean, buildable drawings. No optimistic lines. Begin.”

He started walking between the tables.

Maya whispered, “He’s pretending nothing happened.”

Aarohi whispered back, “Nothing did happen.”

“You walked across campus with his umbrella.”

“I returned it like a responsible adult.”

Kabir muttered, “Responsible adults don’t become campus news.”

Arjun reached a group near the window and began his usual quiet corrections.

Aarohi tried to focus on her sheet, but she could feel occasional glances from other tables.

Great, she thought. One umbrella and suddenly I’m a plot twist.

When Arjun reached their table, the air felt slightly thicker than usual.

He looked at the drawings. “The drip edge.”

“Added.”

“The shadow gap.”

“Maintained.”

“The junction at the floor.”

Aarohi slid the detail forward. “Recessed channel, hidden fixing, and a small slope so water doesn’t sit against the wood.”

Arjun studied it for a long moment.

She is thinking about water, heat, expansion, and repair, he thought. The same student who once spilled coffee on a model is now detailing for longevity. The contrast is… noticeable.

He spoke. “The slope is correct. The recessed channel is clean. One improvement — add a removable cover plate so the channel can be cleaned without dismantling the screen.”

Aarohi nodded. “Okay.”

He looked at her. “Still no argument?”

“I’m choosing my battles.”

“That is new.”

“I’m full of new things lately.”

Maya made a small choking sound.

Arjun’s eyes stayed on Aarohi a second longer than necessary. “Keep this level of attention. It is useful.”

Then he moved on.

Kabir waited until he was three tables away. “He said ‘useful.’ That’s practically a standing ovation.”

Neha whispered, “I’m documenting everything. For history.”

Aarohi leaned back. “You’re all overreacting.”

Maya gave her a look. “You walked into class with his umbrella and now he’s calling your detailing ‘useful.’ We’re reacting the exact right amount.”

The morning continued. Arjun moved through the room with the same calm precision. Every correction was short. Every silence after a correction felt heavier than usual.

Near the end of the session he returned to the front.

“One reminder. The workshop selection will be decided after next week’s review. I will be looking at clarity of structure, honesty of materials, and whether your details can actually be built. Ambition is good. Fantasy is not. Class dismissed.”

Students began packing up, but the whispers started again almost immediately.

A girl from the next table leaned toward Maya. “So… is she his favourite now?”

Maya answered a little too loudly. “She’s his most frequent headache.”

Aarohi turned. “I can hear you.”

“You were meant to,” Maya replied.

Kabir stood. “Canteen. Now. Before this becomes a full department meeting.”

Most of them left.

Aarohi stayed, deliberately slow, rolling her drawings with more care than usual.

When the room was nearly empty, she walked to the front.

“Professor.”

Arjun looked up from the sheets. “Miss Sharma.”

“About the removable cover plate.”

“Yes.”

“If I make it removable, won’t it look less continuous?”

“Not if the joint is aligned with the shadow gap. The line will still read as intentional.”

“You already thought of that.”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head. “Do you ever get tired of having the answer before I finish the question?”

“No.”

“That’s annoying.”

“It is efficient.”

A small silence.

Aarohi rested her fingers on the edge of the table. “People are talking.”

Arjun’s expression did not change. “People often talk.”

“About the umbrella.”

“I am aware.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because their conversation does not change the work.”

She studied him. “You’re very good at separating things.”

“It is necessary.”

“Is it?”

Arjun closed the folder slowly. “In this room, yes.”

Another short silence stretched between them.

Aarohi spoke more quietly. “Last week at the gate… when you said feelings require more care…”

He waited.

“Did you mean in general, or from experience?”

Arjun’s eyes moved to the window for a moment, then back. “Both.”

She didn’t push further.

Instead she said, “I’ll bring the revised cover plate detail on Thursday.”

“On time.”

“Closer than last time.”

“That would be an improvement.”

She almost smiled. “You’re very hard to please.”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone ever managed it permanently?”

A longer pause.

“Permanently,” Arjun said, “is a difficult word.”

Aarohi looked at him for a second longer, then nodded and turned to leave.

She had just reached the door when her phone rang.

She answered without thinking. “Hello?”

Her mother’s voice came through, bright and clear. “Aarohi, beta. Are you still in college?”

“Just leaving.”

“Good. Listen, don’t make plans for next Sunday. We have a family dinner. Important one.”

“With whom?”

“Old family friends. The Malhotras. Your father says it’s been pending for years. Just be home on time and wear something presentable.”

Aarohi stopped walking. “The Malhotras?”

“Yes. Don’t be late. And don’t argue when you get home. We’ll explain properly.”

The call ended.

Aarohi stood frozen in the doorway for a full three seconds.

Behind her, still at the front table, Arjun had heard enough of the name to go completely still.

Their eyes met across the almost-empty studio.

Neither spoke.

The air between them shifted — not dramatically, not loudly, but enough to notice.

Aarohi recovered first. She gave a small, slightly confused nod, then stepped out into the corridor.

Arjun remained where he was, folder closed under his hand.

The Sharmas, he thought.

Next Sunday.

She doesn’t know yet.

And now she has heard the name.

He looked at the door she had just walked through.

For the first time since the semester began, the quiet of the studio felt different.

Not empty.

Waiting.