The studio felt different on Thursday.

Not louder. Not quieter. Just… tighter, like everyone was breathing with a little more attention.

Aarohi walked in one minute late, coffee steady in her hand for once, drawings under her arm, face carefully blank.

Maya noticed immediately. “You’re never this quiet.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

Kabir leaned over. “You look like someone who heard bad news and is pretending she didn’t.”

Neha added, “Or like someone who heard a name she wasn’t supposed to hear.”

Aarohi set her things down a little too carefully. “You three should start a detective agency.”

Maya lowered her voice. “Did something happen after class on Monday?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar. You’re just nosy.”

The door opened.

The usual drop in sound followed, but this time a few glances moved between Aarohi and the front of the room faster than usual.

Arjun walked in, tablet in hand, expression unreadable.

She knows the name now, he thought. She heard it. And she is trying very hard to act as if she did not.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir.”

Aarohi lifted her coffee. “Morning, Professor.”

His eyes met hers for half a second longer than necessary. “Miss Sharma. One minute late.”

“Improvement.”

“Still late.”

“I’m leaving room for future growth.”

A soft laugh came from the back. Someone else whispered something that made two people turn their heads.

Arjun ignored it. “Today we finalise the material and joinery package. I want complete details — screens, counters, loft edges, floor junctions. No missing pieces. Begin.”

He started walking.

Maya whispered, “He’s looking at you differently.”

Aarohi whispered back, “He’s looking at everyone the same way. Like he’s already found three mistakes.”

Kabir muttered, “I’m hiding my worst sheet under the good one again.”

Neha shook her head. “He’ll still find it.”

Arjun moved through the room with the same calm precision. Corrections remained short. Silences after the corrections felt longer.

When he reached their table, Aarohi sat very straight.

He looked at the drawings. “The cover plate.”

“Added. Aligned with the shadow gap.”

“The drip edge.”

“Done.”

“The kitchen counter support.”

She slid the new sheet forward. “Concealed steel brackets, wooden cladding, and a service gap at the back for wiring.”

Arjun studied it in silence.

The work is clean, he thought. Cleaner than last week. She is distracted, but her hands are still honest.

He spoke. “The brackets are correctly placed. The service gap is useful. One change — increase the depth of the cladding by eight millimetres so the bracket is completely invisible from a standing height.”

Aarohi nodded. “Okay.”

He looked at her. “Still no argument?”

“Not today.”

“You are unusually agreeable.”

“I’m practising restraint.”

“That is new.”

“I’m full of new things this week.”

Maya made a small sound and pretended to cough.

Arjun’s gaze stayed on Aarohi a moment longer. “Keep the same clarity for the final submission. It will matter.”

Then he moved on.

Kabir waited until he was far enough. “He said ‘it will matter.’ That’s basically a pep talk coming from him.”

Neha whispered, “I’m concerned. First the umbrella, now soft assessments. The world is ending.”

Aarohi didn’t smile as easily as usual. “You’re all dramatic.”

Maya watched her face. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re quiet. You’re never fine when you’re quiet.”

Aarohi didn’t answer.

The morning continued. Rain threatened outside but never quite fell. The studio grew warmer. Whispers moved in small currents between tables — about the workshop selection, about the umbrella, about the way certain conversations seemed to last a little longer than necessary.

Near the end of class Arjun returned to the front.

“Listen. Final review for this project is next Thursday. After that I will finalise the two pairs for the Pune workshop. I will not be taking petitions, emotional speeches, or last-minute miracles. Only clear work. Class dismissed.”

Students began packing, talking in low, excited voices.

Maya stood. “Canteen?”

Aarohi shook her head. “In a bit. I want to correct the cladding depth while I still remember the number.”

Kabir sighed. “She’s staying again.”

Neha pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “Text us. And don’t disappear into another umbrella situation.”

“There is no umbrella situation.”

“There is always an umbrella situation with you.”

They left with the others.

The studio emptied slowly until only Aarohi remained, redrawing the cladding line with more concentration than the task required.

She heard the quiet sound of a chair at the front.

Arjun had not left.

She spoke without looking up. “You’re still here.”

“I have work.”

“You always have work.”

“Yes.”

A short silence.

Aarohi set her pencil down. “Professor.”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something that is not about the drawings?”

Arjun closed the folder under his hand. “You may ask.”

She turned on her stool to face him. “Do you know a family called the Sharmas?”

The air in the room changed.

Arjun’s expression remained calm, but something behind his eyes went very still.

She is asking directly, he thought. Of course she is. She does not leave questions lying around.

He answered evenly. “It is a common surname.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It is the only answer I can give you in this room.”

Aarohi watched him. “My mother called on Monday. She said we have a family dinner next Sunday with the Malhotras. She said it’s been pending for years.”

Arjun said nothing.

“I thought it was a coincidence,” Aarohi continued. “Until I saw your face when I said the name.”

Still silence.

She tilted her head. “You’re not denying it.”

“I am not required to discuss my family in a design studio.”

“That’s a very formal way of saying yes.”

“It is a formal way of saying this is not the place.”

A longer silence stretched between them.

Aarohi spoke more quietly. “Are we… connected somehow?”

Arjun’s voice remained low and controlled. “That is a conversation for another time and another setting.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It is not a yes either.”

She gave a small, humourless laugh. “You’re very good at not answering.”

“I am good at keeping things in their correct places.”

“And what place is this?”

“This,” he said, glancing once around the empty studio, “is a classroom. You are a student. I am a visiting professor. Everything else is outside this room.”

Aarohi looked at him for a long moment.

He’s not lying, she thought. But he’s also not telling the whole truth. And he knows that I know.

She stood and began gathering her sheets. “I’ll bring the corrected cladding on Monday.”

“On time.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do better than try.”

She almost smiled at the familiar line, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You always say that.”

“It remains relevant.”

She walked to the door, then stopped with her hand on the frame.

“Professor.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever this family dinner is… is it going to make things strange in here?”

Arjun met her gaze across the room.

“It does not have to,” he said.

“That’s not the same as ‘no.’”

“No,” he agreed quietly. “It is not.”

Aarohi nodded once, as if she had received an answer she both expected and did not want, and stepped out into the corridor.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Arjun remained standing at the front table, folder closed, the empty studio suddenly too large.

She asked, he thought.

She deserves a clearer answer.

But not here. Not yet.

And Sunday is already too close.

He picked up the tablet, turned off the lights one by one, and left the room.

Outside, the corridor was empty except for the faint sound of Aarohi’s footsteps already turning the corner, moving faster than usual, as if she could outwalk the questions that had just entered the space between them.

Some lines on a drawing could be corrected with a single note.

Some other lines, once drawn, were much harder to erase.