An Unwritten Promise

She heard a knock on the door but couldn’t respond.

“What are you doing here? It’s the men’s washroom.”

A soft yet concerned voice entered her ears.

“I... I have a bad cramp,” she fumbled, her voice laced with pain. “I rushed in to avoid stains.”

He remained silent for a moment, processing her discomfort. Then, in a voice even softer than before, he reassured, “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in five minutes. Just stay here.”

She didn’t know who he was yet—only that he sounded gentle, considerate.

Minutes later, another knock.

“Listen,” he said from the other side, “I got you a sanitary napkin.”

Surprised and hesitant, she slowly unlocked the door and peeked out. He handed her the packet, waiting patiently while she took it. The moment their fingers brushed briefly, she felt an odd warmth—not from embarrassment, but from an unfamiliar comfort.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, he was still standing there. His eyes, full of silent concern, scanned her face.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Hmm. Thank you.”

He smiled, reaching into his pocket. “Here, take this.”

She looked down to see a small packet of chocolates in his outstretched hand. Her lips parted in surprise, but the sincerity in his eyes made her take it. A faint smile graced her lips, and for a moment, their eyes locked—comfortable, lingering, saying things words could not.

As she adjusted her dupatta and turned to leave, he suddenly took off his blazer and gently circled it around her waist. She looked up at him, startled.

“Just in case,” he murmured.

Understanding the thoughtfulness behind his gesture, she tightened the knot of his blazer around herself.

“Where did you get that napkin?” she asked, curiosity replacing her hesitation.

He smiled. “From the women’s washroom—via a girl standing outside it.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Your students might misunderstand.”

“That’s their perspective. I’m not accountable for that,” he said simply, holding the door open for her.

She stepped forward, pausing at the exit gate. Something in the way he looked at her—without blinking, without hesitation—made her heart skip a beat. As if emotions were swelling inside him, unspoken yet unmistakable.

Just as she reached the doorway, she turned back and, before she could overthink it, asked, “Can I take you for coffee someday soon?”

His brows lifted slightly, caught off guard. He stared at her, his lips parting in a mixture of delight and disbelief. A few seconds passed. Then, with a soft chuckle, he replied, “What about a tea date?”

Their smiles met in the air, and in that moment, unsaid feelings spoke for themselves.

From that day onward, something changed between them.

She learned his name—Akash Sharma. The newly appointed professor of English Literature. He wasn’t much older than her, yet he carried an air of depth, of quiet intellect that made him seem wiser beyond his years.

The next day in class, when Akash walked in, his gaze unintentionally searched for her. She was seated by the window, lost in thought, tapping her pen against her notebook. When their eyes met, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before offering a soft smile. He nodded in acknowledgment before beginning the lecture.

Naina found herself drawn to his words—his passion for literature was intoxicating. She had always loved poetry, but in his voice, the verses carried new life. He, too, noticed her attentiveness. Unlike the others who focused merely on the syllabus, she immersed herself in the essence of every poem and prose he taught.

One evening, she found him in the library, deeply engrossed in a book. Without much thought, she picked up a poetry collection and sat across from him.

When he looked up, she met his eyes and asked,

“Do you believe words can change a person’s fate?”

He closed his book, contemplating her question.

“Words have the power to heal, to destroy, to create, and to confess. So yes, they can change a person’s fate.”

That was the beginning of something unnamed—a series of accidental meetings at the library, casual conversations over literature, and an unspoken companionship that needed no validation. 

For the next few days, they acted as if nothing had happened. He taught his lectures as usual. She attended them like any other student. But between the lines of poetry and prose, there were stolen glances, subtle smiles, and an awareness that neither addressed.

It wasn’t until the weekend that she gathered the courage to send him a text.

Naina: So, tea date?

He took a while to respond.

Akash: Sunday evening? Near the library?

Her lips curled into a smile.

That evening, under the mellow hues of dusk, they met at a small tea stall outside campus. The tea was warm, the breeze cool, but the tension between them was something else entirely—an unspoken understanding that what they were building was fragile, delicate, and yet undeniably real.

“You were serious about that coffee,” he mused, stirring his tea.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she countered, watching him.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and she felt something stir within her.

They talked for hours—not as professor and student, but as two people discovering each other in the most unexpected way. She told him about her love for poetry, how words felt like home. He spoke about his dreams, his responsibilities, and how teaching was never the plan, but somehow, it felt right.

Over time, they developed a routine—casual yet meaningful. Their library encounters turned into deep discussions, their tea dates became weekly rituals. They never crossed any boundaries, never put a name to what they shared, yet they found solace in the rhythm of each other’s presence.

One day, before class, she left a note on his desk.

"Some connections defy definitions,

Some emotions exist beyond confessions.

And if silence could speak,

You would hear my heart in every moment we share."

When he read it, his fingers lingered over the paper for a long time. He didn’t need to ask if it was from her. He already knew.

But instead of responding, he tucked the note inside his book—a silent acknowledgment of something beautiful, something real.

Something that didn’t need words to exist.

As the months passed, their bond deepened in ways that neither of them spoke about, yet both felt with every glance, every shared silence. They continued meeting at the library, exchanging poetry, and indulging in unplanned tea breaks. It was an equation that remained unlabelled, yet it held a warmth that neither of them wanted to let go of.

But with time came the inevitable.

It started subtly—whispers in the hallways about final projects, discussions about job placements, and students making farewell plans. The air of the college carried an undertone of parting, and Akash found himself unable to ignore the weight settling in his chest.

She was leaving soon.

For the first time since they met, the certainty of her presence in his daily routine began to waver.

At first, he brushed it off as a natural transition. He had been a teacher long enough to know that students came and went. But this was different. She was different.

One afternoon, as he sat in the empty classroom after lectures, he found himself staring at the seat she usually occupied—second row, near the window. He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling deeply.

This shouldn’t be affecting him this much.

And yet, it was.

A week before the final exams, Naina found him sitting alone in the library. He was reading, or at least pretending to. His fingers were idle on the page, his eyes staring at words but not absorbing them.

She pulled out the chair across from him. “Lost in thought, Professor?”

His eyes lifted, and there was something unguarded in them—something she had never seen before. He let out a small chuckle. “Something like that.”

She hesitated before speaking again. “I’ll be gone soon.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

A moment of silence.

“You don’t seem happy about it,” she observed.

He sighed, closing his book. “Would you be, if you were in my place?”

His words, soft yet piercing, settled in the air between them. For the first time, she saw the restlessness in his demeanor, the slight crease in his forehead, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the book as if trying to steady something within.

He wasn’t just her professor anymore. He was someone who had grown used to her presence. Someone who felt something—perhaps not in the conventional sense of romance, but something deeper, purer.

“You’ll be fine,” she said with a small smile, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I will,” he admitted. Then, after a pause, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

Her breath hitched slightly at the quiet confession.

The day before her final paper, they met at their usual tea stall. The evening sun cast golden hues over the sky, the scent of fresh rain lingering in the air. She stirred her tea absentmindedly, stealing glances at him.

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

He leaned back slightly. “You tell me. What happens now?”

“I graduate, get a job somewhere, move to a different city, and... life goes on, I suppose.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his voice remained composed. “And us?”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Us?”

“I mean…” He exhaled, choosing his words carefully. “Do we just let go of what we have?”

She looked down at her cup, a strange heaviness settling in her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, he did something unexpected. He reached into his bag and pulled out a book. “Here,” he said, sliding it toward her.

She frowned, picking it up. It was an old poetry collection, well-worn, with pages marked.

“Open the first page,” he instructed.

She did.

Inside, in his familiar handwriting, was a short note:

"Some chapters end, but that doesn’t mean the story does. If you ever need a tea break, a book recommendation, or someone to remind you how brilliant your words are, you know where to find me."

Her throat tightened. “Akash…”

“I don’t want this to be a goodbye, Naina.” His voice was steady, sincere. “I know I can’t be in your life the same way anymore. But I want to be there, beyond this teacher-student dynamic. As someone you can always reach out to.”

She traced the words on the page, emotions swirling within her.

“You will be,” she whispered.

On the day of her last exam, he stood by the library window, watching as students walked out of the gates, carrying their dreams, their ambitions, and their goodbyes. His heart felt oddly heavy, yet there was also a quiet assurance.

His phone buzzed.

Naina: So, how long do I have to wait before I can call you Akash without feeling weird?

A slow smile tugged at his lips.

Akash: How about over a tea date, once you're officially no longer my student?

A pause.

Naina: You’re on.

He exhaled, looking out at the open sky, knowing one thing for certain—

This wasn’t an end. It was simply a new beginning."