Author's note: Thank you so much for the love on the last chapter ❤️

Can we get 135 votes on this chapter? If we can get 135 votes by the 17th then the update will be on the 17th or else it'll be on the 20th as per usual

~An unwelcome change~
Varun Reddy

Mom: I really like Sanjana. Will she come to spend time with us next weekend too?

A sickening knot formed in my stomach as I trudged across the university campus, my steps heavy with dread. It was still too early and I wasn’t even sure if Sanjana would even bother to show up.

Last night before had been a blur of restless tossing and turning as my mind replayed the confrontation with her in the taxi. A toxic cocktail of guilt, shame, apprehension, and seething anger consumed me, each emotion vying for dominance.
I couldn’t shake off the memory of my outburst - a torrent of bitter words had spilled out from deep within me before I could stop myself. And now, as I made my way towards the cafeteria, I cringed inwardly at the thought of facing Sanjana again.

What if she demanded her money back? The mere possibility made my stomach twist with anxiety. I needed that extra income to support my mother’s medical bills, and now it could all come crashing down because of one weak moment of uncontrollable anger.

With a heavy sigh, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my worn jeans. Why did I let myself get so worked up? A small, rational part of me wanted to believe Sanjana was just an oblivious, privileged girl who had no understanding of financial struggles and really meant no harm, but another part seethed with resentment at her careless disregard for others’ struggles.

“Varun! Wait up!”

I froze, startled by the familiar voice piercing through my gloomy reverie. Turning, I saw Medha Ma’am hurrying towards me, her floral dress swaying and her curly hair bouncing with each step. Her warm smile was a stark contrast to my sullen mood.

“I’ve been calling your name for a while," she said, slightly out of breath. “Where were you lost, mister?”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” I mumbled, self-consciously adjusting my glasses. “I was just… thinking”
Her brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything okay, Varun? You seem troubled.”

I gave her a curt nod, not wanting to burden her with my problems. “I’m fine. Why were you looking for me?”

Her face lit up as she reached into her folder, pulling out a colorful pamphlet. “The inter-college competition that our drama club is participating in has introduced a new category for poetry,” she explained, handing me the paper. “I immediately thought of you.”

I shook my head vehemently, trying to return the flyer. “No, Ma’am, I can't-”
“Now, now,” she interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “I know it sounds daunting, but Varun, you have a gift. There’s magic in your words. Trust me on this.”

“But-”

“The dialogues you helped me write for the play are absolutely brilliant,” she continued, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “You’ve captured the essence of each character so beautifully. I just hope the students can do justice to your writing, and that I can direct them well enough.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “Ma’am, please,” I pleaded, lowering my voice. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about my involvement if I helped out.”

“Of course, of course,” she nodded quickly.

“My lips are sealed. But just know that the writing for the play is going to receive heaps of praise and I’m all for taking credit for something I didn’t do.”

Despite my mood, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upward at her light teasing.
“So, what do you think?” Medha Ma’am asked, clapping her hands excitedly. “Will you consider entering the competition?”

Before I could respond, someone cleared their throat behind us.

Kabir Sir strode towards us, his presence commanding immediate attention. His crisp charcoal gray shirt and perfectly pressed trousers exuded an air of authority. He definitely took care of himself both mentally and physically. I had heard girls around campus gushing over his looks and they claimed he easily grace the cover of any magazine and give models a run for their money.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration. This was the kind of man I aspired to be someday- respected, successful, and exuding quiet confidence. If I ever managed to climb out of my current circumstances, I hoped I could carry myself with even half of Kabir Sir’s poise.

“Good morning,” he greeted in his deep voice.

“Good morning, Sir,” I said with a nod.

“Morning, Sir,” Medha Ma’am greeted, her tone polite but cool.

Kabir Sir casually slipped a hand into his pocket, his gaze sweeping over us. “What’s the topic of discussion this early in the morning?”

Medha Ma’am straightened her posture slightly. “The upcoming inter-college competition. I was just informing Varun about the new poetry category. I believe he should participate.”

Kabir Sir’s eyebrow arched, his jaw visibly tightening. “Poetry? I wasn’t aware we were encouraging detours from core subjects.”

I shifted uncomfortably, pushing my glasses up nervously.

“It’s not a detour, Sir,” Medha Ma’am interjected firmly, cutting me off. “It’s an opportunity for Varun to explore his talents beyond the confines of the prescribed curriculum.”

Kabir Sir’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I suppose you think that’s more important than focusing on upcoming exams and future careers?”

“I think a well-rounded education is crucial for their futures,” she retorted, crossing her arms defensively. “Not everything is about job prospects and grades.”

“Ms. Chauhan,” Kabir Sir’s tone grew clipped, “We’ve been through this. Our primary responsibility as instructors is to prepare them for their futures. Varun’s plate is already full. We can’t afford to distract him with… ridiculous extracurricular activities.”

Medha Ma’am’s eyes narrowed. “Ridiculous extracurricular activities, as you so dismissively call them, can be just as valuable as any coursework. They foster creativity, critical thinking, and self-expression.”

“Self-expression won't pay the bills,” he shot back. “We need to prepare these students for the real world, not indulge in frivolous pursuits.”

“Frivolous?” Medha Ma’am’s voice rose slightly, her cheeks flushing with indignation. “Literature and art have shaped civilizations, Sir. They’re hardly frivolous.”

I watched their verbal sparring match with growing discomfort, my gaze darting between them like a spectator at a particularly intense tennis match. I wondered if either would notice if I simply melted into the background.

“We aren’t shaping civilizations here, Ms. Chauhan,” Kabir Sir said, his patience clearly wearing thin. “This is about ensuring our students have the best possible chance at success in the competitive world out there.”

“And you think success is measured solely by one's job title?” Medha Ma'am challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What about personal growth? Emotional intelligence? The ability to think creatively? And I’ll have you know most universities consider extracurricular activities an important aspect of applications.”

“Yes, and if you remember, I shared an extensive list of activities that are more suitable to support students,” Kabir Sir countered. “I think you’re losing sight of what’s truly important here.”

“The most important thing should be expanding young minds, not narrowing them,” Medha Ma’am fired back.

Suddenly, both turned to me, as if remembering I was still there. I realized I had subtly shifted a few feet away, trying to escape the crossfire.

“Varun,” Kabir Sir’s stern gaze locked onto me. “I must stress the importance of focusing on your core subjects. Your academic performance and future prospects should be your primary concern.”
Medha Ma’am opened her mouth to protest, but Kabir Sir held up a hand. “That’s final. I won’t have our students distracted from their goals.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the finality in his tone.

“You can’t make that decision for him,” Medha Ma’am said, her voice tight with frustration. “Varun is capable of managing his own time and interests.”

Kabir Sir shot her a look of clear exasperation. “I’m looking out for his best interests, Ms. Chauhan. Something you might consider doing as well.”

“I am looking out for his interests,” Medha Ma’am retorted. “All of his interests, not just the ones that fit your narrow view of success.”

The tension between them was palpable. I felt like a mouse caught between two circling cats. “I’ll think about it,” I finally managed, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Good,” both Medha Ma’am and Kabir Sir said in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.

Seizing the moment, I began edging backwards. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…”

As I retreated, I overheard Kabir Sir asking Medha Ma’am, “Where’s your ID card?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see her rummaging through her purse before looking up sheepishly. “Shoot. I think I forgot it in my room.”

“Well, good thing you have half an hour before classes start,” he said curtly.

“Of course,” she replied with a saccharine smile. “I'll just pop back to the staff quarters - a mere 20-minute round trip - to grab my ID. Because heaven forbid anyone mistake me for an intruder after three years of teaching here.”

I hurriedly walked away before either of him caught me eavesdropping on their conversation.

My eyes swept across the nearly empty café, finally locking onto a lone figure hunched over a table at the center. Even with her face hidden beneath a curtain of dark hair, I recognized Sanjana instantly—not by her appearance, but by the unmistakable, garish orange purse resting on the table. Her arms were folded under her head, cushioning it from the hard surface.

She was here—on time—which was a good sign, or maybe not. “Just get it over with,” I muttered under my breath, pushing my glasses up nervously with the back of my hand as I made my way over.

A sense of relief flickered when I saw her open textbook and notebook tucked beneath her arms. “Sanjana,” I called softly, standing across from her, noting the untouched coffee beside her. No response. I cleared my throat. “Sanjana?” I repeated, louder this time, but still nothing.

I paused, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, before tapping my knuckles lightly against the wooden tabletop. When that failed, I hesitated, my hand hovering uncertainty before I leaned in and gave her shoulder the gentlest shake, my fingers barely grazing her arm.

Her head jerked up, and she blinked rapidly, eyes wild with confusion before she registered where she was. A soft blush crept across her cheeks as she hurriedly tucked her hair behind her ears. “Hi,” she blurted, voice tinged with embarrassment. Her gaze flitted nervously around the cafe before landing back on me. “I got here early to revise, but I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off, still catching her breath, a sheepish smile pulling at her lips.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, sliding into the seat opposite. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my books, my eyes occasionally flicking to her. “Let’s start?”

“Varun,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain. I looked up to see her fingers twisting her pen in tight, anxious circles, her knuckles white with tension. Gone was her usual vibrant energy—she looked almost… distraught.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she continued, her voice cracking. “I got carried away. Your mother is so sweet and I just wanted her to like me and I went overboard in my efforts.” Her words tumbled out faster and faster, like a dam breaking. “I promise it wasn’t because I was trying to be malicious or anything I was just trying to be nice to her and… I ruined everything with my stupidity…”

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. She hurriedly tried to wipe them away, but they fell relentlessly. Reaching for the tissues with shaking hands, she dabbed at her face, her movements frantic and uncoordinated.

“Now my makeup is going to be ruined too,” she hiccupped between sobs. “You hate me, your mother hates me. Everyone hates me because I’m so dumb.” Tears continued to stream down her face, accompanied by nonsensical statements. She rambled on, from worrying about the smudged brown eyeliner around her eyes to apologizing for ruining my mother-son dinner date. She even complained about the poor quality of the food at the restaurant despite charging so much money. It was hard to keep up with her emotional outpouring.

“Don’t cry,” I mumbled, awkwardly handing her more tissues when she started blowing her nose. I opened my mouth to speak but quickly closed it, at a loss for words. My eyes darted around the cafeteria, acutely aware of the curious glances from the cafeteria ladies. One of them even threw a dirty glare at me.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You did offer to pay, but my mother refused.”

She shook her head frantically. “You kept giving me dirty looks throughout the dinner but I just ignored them. I was so stupid.”
“I didn’t give you dirty looks,” I protested weakly, scratching the back of my neck.

“You so did,” she mumbled, now hiccuping, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

My fingers hovered near her shoulder for a moment before I reached to pat it awkwardly. “D-don’t cry” I repeated, feeling utterly out of my depth.

“You are supposed to rub my back,” she said through her hiccups, a hint of her usual self peeking through. “Not hit me.”

I immediately pulled my hand away.  “Sorry,” I muttered, my face flushing with embarrassment.

“Do you forgive me?” she asked, her wide hazel eyes glassy as she looked at me expectantly, her lower lip trembling slightly.

“Yes,” I mumbled, relief washing over me at the chance to change the subject. “Let’s study now.”

She sniffled, wiping the tears on her chin with the back of her hand. “Wait….” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope, her movements hesitant.

“What’s this?” I asked, even though I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what it was.
“I don’t want to offend you, but I just want to do the right thing,” she said, licking her lips nervously. “If it makes you angry then I can take it back.”

“Yes, take it back,” I said quickly, pushing it back to her, my pride winning out over practicality.

“But–”

“I don’t need your money,” I said, shaking my head firmly, even as a part of me screamed to reconsider.

“Sorry,” she said, stuffing the envelope back in her purse, her shoulders slumping slightly .“Also, are we still fake dating?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain. “Or if you want you could tell your mother that we broke up and date Tabassum.”

“I wish I could. It would make it so much easier,” I said out loud before I could stop myself. Her face fell, and she avoided eye contact, tears pooling in her eyes again. Panic rose in my chest. “My mom really likes you,” I blurted out, desperate to prevent another crying session.

“I like her too,” Sanjana said, with a small, genuine smile that made my heart clench unexpectedly.

“She won’t be very happy if she found out that we broke up,” I confessed, tapping my pen against the textbook, a nervous rhythm filling the silence between us. “So would it be okay if we continued dating for a bit longer?”

She nodded, a hint of her usual brightness returning to her eyes. “Maybe we can come up with some rules. You know, like the one you made for study sessions?”

I noticed my hands were clammy, and I wiped them surreptitiously on my jeans. “We can do that later. It’s not really important right now,” I interrupted, eager to retreat to a familiar territory of business studies.

“Okay,” she mumbled, looking slightly deflated, but she didn’t argue.

For the next hour, we tackled marketing. Surprisingly, Sanjana refrained from her usual interruptions and antics. Even during our nightly session, she remained uncharacteristically quiet. It was strange—unnerving, almost—to see her so subdued.

And for the first time since I’d met her, Sanjana was wearing the same shade of nail polish two days in a row. She sat there, completely focused, hanging onto every word I said, her pen moving swiftly across the page as she took notes. Gone were the stupid wide-eyed animal themed notebooks and the sparkly stationery she usually brought with her. They were replaced by plain lined paper. It was all... so normal, so adult.

As I glanced at her, hunched over her work, something tugged at me—a small part of me, a part I quickly shut down, almost wondered if her quirky charm would return. The silence, the seriousness—it just didn’t feel like her.