Author's PoV
The morning at Westbridge University was anything but ordinary, because after a long semester break, the “Bad Boys” of their campus had finally come back. Every pair of eyes in the room was on them—or to be more specific, the most famous, Reyansh Malhotra. He is a backbencher and always finds himself in the middle of trouble, but he is also rich enough to get away with it. From attendance shortages to mischief in class, he always gets away with it.
Reyansh’s PoV:
It felt strange being back on campus. Not unfamiliar—just… loud in ways I’d stopped enjoying. The attention came back instantly, like it always did. Eyes following, whispers starting, the same circle of girls gathering a little too close, laughing a little too easily. It used to feel normal. Now it just felt exhausting. My friends played into it, of course—they always did. The noise, the smiles, the constant need to be seen. I went along with it when I had to, but I’d stopped finding anything real in it a long time ago.
Talking about me, I do not like talking unnecessarily and prefer silence. My friends, on the other hand, like the constant attention. I also rarely attend parties and only go to the ones organized by me or my friends. I am actually going for my English class now.
As I walked through the corridor, I could already feel the shift. People noticed. They always did. A few nodded, some whispered, some just stared like they were waiting for something to happen. Maybe that’s what they expected from me—something unpredictable, something worth talking about later.
Well, I am the only one who attends this class because I have a backlog in English. As soon as I entered the class, I found all the pairs of eyes on me—but there was one pair of eyes that didn’t even bother glancing my way, forget about actually looking.
Interesting.
Her head was slightly bent over her notebook, her pen moving steadily, like the rest of the class didn’t exist. No distractions. No unnecessary movements. Just focus.
It was… different.
I found myself watching her for a second longer than I should have.
Then I looked away.
Didn’t matter.
She was just another student.
Another name I wouldn’t remember.
I went and sat at the last bench. The professor came and started teaching.
Bruh… the same boring lecture. Why didn’t I just pass this subject the previous semester? Ugh.
At some point, I stopped pretending to stay awake. I ended up dozing off in the lecture. I just knew the professor wouldn’t utter a word, and even if he did, it’s not like I would care.
As soon as the bell rang for lunch, I got up to leave the class when my professor called me. I went up to him with a disinterested look.
He said, “Reyansh, I feel it’s time you get serious about your studies. If you do not pass this subject this semester, then you will not graduate. And that is why, to help you out, I am assigning you a tutor.”
“Sir, I do not need a tutor. I will figure thi—” I told him.
“I am not listening to anything,” he cut me off. “I have had enough of you, and now you will be tutored by the class topper… Ananya.”
“Yes, sir,” I heard the softest, most polite voice.
I turned around. There she stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Our eyes met for a brief second before she turned back to the professor.
There was discipline in the way she moved, softness in the way she listened, and something about her that made you want to understand her.
“Ananya, would you please tutor your senior, Reyansh, this semester to help him pass the subject?” our professor said, forcing me to tear my gaze away from her.
She looked up hesitantly, her soft brown eyes meeting mine, and then reluctantly agreed.
“Okay, sir. I will do it.”
Those were her words before she walked out of the class—without giving me a second glance.
Her features were gentle, almost understated, as if they weren’t meant to demand attention. Soft curves, a calm expression that rarely shifted too quickly, and eyes that lingered quietly rather than searching. There was a slight hesitation in the way her lips parted before she spoke, like she measured her words even in silence. Nothing about her was loud—every expression came softly, every reaction a moment delayed, as though she felt things deeply but chose to show them carefully.
I talked to sir for a few more minutes before I too walked out.
And just like that, I was stuck in an arrangement I didn’t ask for—with a topper who didn’t even bother looking at me twice.
Chapter Aesthetics

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