There was a quiet corner in the college library that few students visited. Tall wooden shelves stood like silent guards, and in the middle row, near the old window, Dr. Aryan Mehra had his usual seat. Every evening, after classes ended, he would sit there with books on black magic, ancient rituals, and forgotten spells.
It was strange for a philosophy professor — but for him, it was just a private fascination.
One day, as he turned the yellowed pages of a book filled with mysterious symbols, he sensed someone standing nearby.
It was Shrawani.
She looked at the book in his hands and raised an eyebrow.
Shrawani :- “Sir… this looks like a magic book. And you teach philosophy.”
There was curiosity in her voice, not fear.
Dr. Mehra closed the book gently.
Dr. Mehra :- “Don’t worry. I only read these as a hobby. I don’t practice anything.”
She smiled faintly.
Shrawani :- “Honestly, sir, I don’t believe in all this. I believe only in hard work. If someone wants to move ahead in life, effort is the only real magic.”
Her words were simple. But the confidence behind them caught him off guard.
For a moment, he just looked at her.
No hesitation. No superstition. Just clarity.
Something about that impressed him deeply.
After that day, their meetings in the library became frequent. Not planned — just coincidental. Or maybe not so coincidental. Shrawani would sit at the opposite table, surrounded by neatly arranged notebooks. Sometimes she asked about philosophical theories. Sometimes she simply studied in silence.
And every time she spoke, Dr. Mehra felt an unusual calm.
He began noticing small things.
The way she tied her hair loosely when she was concentrating.
The way she underlined important lines with precision.
The way she frowned slightly when she didn’t understand something — but never gave up until she did.
These little details stayed in his mind longer than they should have.
When he talked to her, a rare softness appeared on his face. A smile that even he didn’t realize was there.
One afternoon, Mr. Datta happened to pass by the library and noticed them speaking.
Later, in the staff room, he said casually,
Mr. Datta :- “Dr. Mehra, ever since that new student came… Shrawani, right? You seem happier these days.”
Dr. Mehra adjusted his glasses quickly.
Dr. Mehra :- “No, sir. It’s nothing like that.”
He dismissed it. But inside, the words echoed.
Happier?
Was he?
He tried to ignore it.
Days passed.
He kept observing her dedication, her maturity, her discipline. She was not loud like Riya. Not attention-seeking. Not careless. There was depth in her silence.
And slowly… feelings began forming in his heart.
He didn’t name them.
Every time his thoughts went in that direction, he stopped himself.
“She’s much younger.”
“There’s an age gap.”
“She’s my student.”
These sentences became his shield.
Yet, whenever she walked into the library and greeted him with a respectful “Good evening, sir,” his heart reacted before his mind could control it.
He began waiting for those evenings.
Waiting for her footsteps near the shelf.
Waiting for her questions.
Waiting for her smile.
He told himself it was admiration for a bright student. Nothing more.
But deep down, he knew the truth was growing stronger than logic.
And no matter how many times he reminded himself about the age gap, about boundaries, about right and wrong…
His heart refused to listen.
Write a comment ...