The studio felt ordinary for exactly twelve seconds after Aarohi walked in.

Then Maya took one look at her face and said, “You look like someone who survived a family dinner and is still deciding whether to be angry or tired.”

Aarohi dropped her bag on the table. “Both. Simultaneously. It’s a skill.”

Kabir leaned forward. “How bad was it?”

“Bad enough that I’m here on time. That should tell you everything.”

Neha checked an imaginary watch. “You’re actually early. I’m concerned.”

“I’m channeling trauma into punctuality. Don’t get used to it.”

Maya lowered her voice. “Did you talk to him?”

“At the door. Briefly.”

“And?”

“And nothing is decided. Everything is complicated. His mother hates me. His father looks unwell. My parents are trying very hard to be supportive while also looking guilty. That’s the summary.”

Kabir sat back. “I’m never complaining about my family WhatsApp group again.”

The door opened.

The room did the usual quietening, but today it felt sharper, as if everyone somehow sensed that something outside the studio had shifted.

Arjun walked in.

Same black shirt. Same controlled posture. The only difference was the faint shadow under his eyes that most people would miss.

She came, he thought. Of course she came. And she looks like she slept as little as I did.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.”

Aarohi lifted her coffee. “Morning, Professor.”

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second longer than usual. “Miss Sharma. You’re early.”

“Don’t get emotionally attached to the idea.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

A few students smiled. Most were already watching them too closely.

Arjun set the tablet down. “Pune group — final logistics in the last fifteen minutes of class. The rest of you, continue the block exercise. I want structure diagrams on my desk before you leave. Begin.”

He started walking.

Maya whispered, “He’s being normal.”

Aarohi whispered back, “He’s always being normal. That’s the problem. The rest of us are collapsing and he’s still correcting margins.”

Kabir muttered, “I’m scared of both of you.”

Neha patted his shoulder. “Stay low. Survive.”

Arjun moved through the room with short comments. When he reached their table the air tightened the way it always did now.

He looked at the drawings. “Desire lines.”

Aarohi answered. “Added. And the service access for the future retail edge.”

“Good. The massing still fights the narrow approach. Soften the south corner or the ground floor will feel hostile.”

“I’ll adjust it.”

He paused. “How are you?”

The question was quiet, meant only for her.

Maya’s pencil stopped moving.

Aarohi kept her eyes on the sheet. “Functional.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only professional one I have in this room.”

A short silence.

Arjun’s voice remained low. “Understood. Soften the south corner. I’ll check before the end of class.”

He moved on.

Kabir waited until he was far enough. “He asked how you were. In the middle of a desk crit. I’m writing a book.”

Neha whispered, “Chapter one: The Umbrella. Chapter two: The Dinner. Chapter three: Emotional Margin Adjustments.”

Maya looked at Aarohi. “You’re both being extremely careful.”

“We have to be.”

“For how long?”

Aarohi didn’t answer.

The morning continued. Diagrams were corrected. Arguments about setbacks flared and died. The Pune group sat a little straighter every time Arjun passed.

Near the end of class he called the four of them to the front.

“Travel is confirmed. You leave next Tuesday at six in the morning. Accommodation is two double rooms. Work sessions run long. Keep your phones charged and your opinions honest. Questions?”

Kabir raised a hand. “Will the structural consultant be patient with second-years?”

“No,” Arjun said. “He will be accurate. Adjust.”

Neha asked, “Any advice beyond that?”

“Sleep before you go. You will not sleep enough once you arrive.”

Maya glanced at Aarohi, then back. “Will you be there the whole time, sir?”

“Final two days only. The rest is yours.”

Aarohi spoke. “And if something goes wrong before that?”

Arjun met her eyes. “Then you call. The number is on the brief.”

The way he said it made the sentence feel heavier than logistics.

“That’s all,” he finished. “Submit your structure diagrams before you leave. Class dismissed.”

Students began packing. The usual noise returned, slightly louder than before.

Maya touched Aarohi’s elbow. “We’re going to the canteen. Coming?”

“In a bit.”

Kabir sighed. “She’s staying. Of course she’s staying.”

Neha pulled her bag up. “We’ll save you a seat. Don’t disappear into another serious conversation without warning.”

They left.

The studio emptied slowly until only the two of them remained.

Aarohi walked to the front table where Arjun was closing the tablet.

“Professor.”

He looked up. “Miss Sharma.”

“That was very normal of you today.”

“I am trying to keep one room in my life from collapsing.”

“How’s that going?”

“Mixed results.”

A short silence.

Aarohi rested her fingers on the edge of the table. “Your mother.”

“Yes.”

“She is not going to let this rest.”

“No.”

“What did she say after we left?”

Arjun closed the tablet fully. “That I undermined her. That I am protecting you more than the family’s dignity. That if something happens to my father while this remains unresolved, I will carry it.”

Aarohi’s face tightened. “That’s cruel.”

“It is effective. Cruelty often is.”

“Are you okay?”

He looked at her for a moment. “I am functional.”

“That’s my line.”

“It is a useful line.”

Another silence stretched.

Aarohi spoke more quietly. “I meant what I said at the door. Don’t let them corner you when I’m not there.”

“I won’t.”

“And if they try to use your father’s health as leverage again—”

“I will recognise it for what it is.”

She studied his face. “You’re very calm about something that is not calm at all.”

“I have had practice.”

“I hate that you’ve had practice.”

A faint pause.

“I know,” he said.

Aarohi looked down at the table, then back up. “When we go to Pune… it’s going to be harder to pretend this is only a student-professor situation.”

“Yes.”

“Are you prepared for that?”

“No. But I will manage it.”

She almost smiled. “Honest. Refreshing.”

“I am trying.”

“Do better than try.”

This time both of them felt the weight of the old line landing in a new place.

Arjun’s voice was quieter when he answered. “I will.”

Aarohi picked up her bag. “I should go. My friends are probably creating conspiracy theories in the canteen.”

“They are not entirely wrong.”

“Don’t encourage them.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

She turned to leave, then stopped at the door.

“Arjun.”

He waited.

“Whatever happens next… don’t carry all of it alone. You’re very good at it. That doesn’t mean you should keep doing it.”

For a moment he had no polished answer ready.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said finally.

She left.

The corridor was empty. The sound of her footsteps faded toward the stairs.

Arjun remained standing at the front table, tablet closed under his hand, the quiet of the studio pressing in from all sides.

His phone vibrated once.

He looked at the screen.

Ma:

We need to talk this evening.

Properly.

No more public performances.

He stared at the message for a long time without replying.

Outside, the campus continued its ordinary Monday.

Inside the empty studio, the walls held the shape of every unfinished sentence that now had nowhere left to hide.

And somewhere between the canteen and the parking lot, Aarohi walked with her friends, answering their questions with half-truths, while the real weight of the coming days settled quietly behind her ribs —

not as a secret anymore,

but as a living thing that had begun to demand space.