Campus Love 4

Final Year, Final Choices
Early February | Campus Placement Season
The noticeboards were overflowing.

Company logos, package details, interview slots. Students walking around with resumes clutched like passports to a new life. Mess tables were buzzing with mock interviews and exaggerated claims.

But in one corner of the library’s silent zone, Arjun sat cross-legged on Kavita’s lap, cradled like always—his quiet place in the world untouched by the chaos outside. His 5’3”/ 64 kg plug fit snugly in her 6’ / 102 kg socket.

Her shawl was wrapped around both of them. One hand supported his waist. The other slowly turned the pages of a placement prep book.

He wasn't even reading anymore. His head rested under her chin, eyes half-closed, his breath syncing with the soft rise and fall of her chest.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

That Evening: Arjun’s Room
He had just come back from a phone call with his mother. He looked drained—his shoulders slumped, his voice low.

Kavita had come over immediately, sensing something was off.

She didn’t ask. She just stood near his desk, waiting.

Arjun walked to her slowly.

And then—like a child seeking shelter in a storm, he leaned forward, and she understood.

She bent slightly and lifted him into her arms—a strong front carry, her palms under his bottom, holding him high, his body pressed to hers.

He wrapped his arms around her neck without a word.

His legs circled her waist, ankles locked.

He buried his face into the crook of her wide neck, his nose touching her bare skin where her kurta dipped at the collar.

She carried him gently to the bed, sat down slowly, and kept him in her lap, his face still hidden in her neck.

Only then did he whisper:

“She called you a coconut tree again.”

Kavita’s body went still.

His voice broke. “She said… ‘Can’t you find someone normal? Someone you wouldn’t have to climb like a pole to kiss?’”

Kavita’s eyes stung—but she didn't flinch.

She only held him tighter. Her big arms wrapped around him, caging him gently against her bosom, like she could shield him from words that weren’t even said to her.

After a long silence, Arjun whispered, “She’s scared. Scared I’ll disappear into your shadow.”

He looked up now, his face framed by her arms, voice soft but steady.

“But I want to. I want to disappear into you. Into this. Into the way I fit in your arms like I was born for them.”

Kavita closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“Then stay,” she whispered. “Even if the world doesn’t get it. Stay in my shadow. It’s wide enough for both of us.”

Kavita’s Parents – A Different Response
A few days later, Kavita had a long video call with her parents. Arjun wasn’t present—but she told him what happened afterward.

“They didn’t say much at first,” she said, sitting cross-legged on her bed while Arjun lay across her lap sideways, his head resting on her thigh.

Her hand brushed through his hair as she continued.

“They asked me if you treat me well. If you respect me. If you... hold me without flinching.”

Arjun turned his face, looking up at her.

“I told them—you hold me. In ways no one ever has. You make me feel soft when I thought I could only be strong.”

He smiled faintly.

“And?” he asked.

She bent slightly and kissed his forehead.

“My mother cried. She said, ‘If a man can love your size instead of tolerating it... then that’s a man worth keeping.’”



Placements: A New Hope
They both did well.

Kavita got shortlisted for a top analytics firm in Hyderabad. Arjun landed an interview for a product role in a start-up headquartered in the same city.

They met after their interviews in Kavita’s room—his tie loosened, her formal kurta slightly creased, both barefoot now.

He smiled as he walked in.

And without a word, she reached forward, scooped him up in a front carry, his legs wrapping instinctively around her waist.

They both laughed, silently.

She spun once, playfully.

“Same city?” she asked.

He nodded against her shoulder. “Same street, if I get the job.”

She chuckled, still holding him.

Then slowly walked over to the bed and sat down with him still across her chest, her sari-soft hips a perfect seat.

He curled in tighter. Her arms rocked him gently.

The sun dipped behind the window.

And their hearts stayed steady.

Their Private Decision
Later that night, Arjun whispered into her neck:

“Even if no one stands with us... would you still marry me?”

She didn’t respond with words.

She stood up again with him still in her arms, carried him across the room, and looked at the mirror—the one that once showed her shame.

Now it showed a small, sweet man nestled into a tall woman’s powerful embrace. His fingers curled at her nape. His cheek on her chest. Her arms full of him.

She whispered:

“I already said yes the first time I carried you.”


 The Last Lift on Campus
Convocation Day | Early July
The lawns were flooded with colour. Flashing cameras, garlands, pressed kurtas, proud parents. Faculty moved around in black robes, herding students into group photographs.

Kavita stood quietly under a neem tree near the corner of the auditorium. Her golden and maroon sari shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, draped flawlessly over her broad frame. Her hair was tied back in a long braid, her glasses perched just above her kajal-lined eyes.

She looked taller than ever.

And strangely—at peace.

Arjun approached her from the crowd, dodging cheerful classmates, his kurta slightly wrinkled already. He was carrying both their certificates and water bottles. As always, a bit overloaded for his size.

She saw him and smiled.

He looked up and said softly, “Everyone wants a photo with you now.”

She shrugged. “A little too late.”

He stepped closer.

“May I have mine?”

She didn’t answer. Just took the files from his hands, set them on the bench behind her, and then—gently, without a word—bent down, slid her strong arm beneath his thighs and back, and lifted him up in a slow, deliberate front carry.

Arjun let out the tiniest gasp. “Kavita! Right here?”

She smiled faintly. “Behind the tree. Hidden enough.”

His legs circled around her waist. His arms wrapped tightly around her neck.
His face went instinctively to her shoulder, nestling into the familiar, warm curve of her neck, his nose brushing her bare skin between the pleats.

No one could see them behind the thick tree trunk and flowering bushes. Just the soft hush of leaves, and the way their bodies melted into each other like ritual.

She whispered, “One last lift... as students.”

He murmured, “Feels like the first one, all over again.”

She didn’t put him down for a while.

Later That Night: Her Room, One Last Time
The walls were bare now. Books packed. Mattress rolled up. The shawl they’d wrapped around themselves so many times was folded neatly on the shelf.

Kavita sat on the edge of her cot in a white T-shirt and loose pyjamas. Her hair was open, falling around her face.

Arjun stood in the doorway, oddly quiet.

She looked at him.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “I just... don’t want to go yet.”

She extended both arms.

He walked to her slowly.

And she lifted him once again, this time so naturally, so familiarly—like lifting her breath, like tucking away her favourite book.

He wrapped his legs around her waist again.

But tonight, he didn’t want to be carried across the room.

He just wanted to be held.

So she stood still, rocking him gently, arms steady around his lower back and thighs.

His head lay against her shoulder, and he whispered, “This room has seen the best of us.”

She replied, “And the softest.”

Final Mirror Moment
Before they left the next morning, she walked to the mirror with him in her arms, her sari re-wrapped loosely over her night clothes.

He looked at their reflection—his small frame wrapped around her, her face calm and luminous.

And said softly:

“This isn’t the end, is it?”

She shook her head.

“This is just the intermission.”



 A Flat for Two
Location: Hyderabad | August
The city was noisy, humid, and full of horn-happy autos. Yet in the chaos, there was something freeing about starting over—a city where no one knew their pasts, their heights, their old nicknames.

Just Kavita and Arjun, 22 and 22, fresh from campus, carrying resumes and hopes—and each other.

Finding a Place to Call Home
It took days.

Most brokers blinked in surprise when Kavita ducked under low ceilings, her shoulders brushing stairwell railings. Some asked her if she was "the mother." Others assumed Arjun was the younger cousin.

But they found it, finally.

A small 1BHK on the 3rd floor. Nothing fancy—tiled floors, one fan that groaned, and a balcony just big enough for two chairs and one steaming cup of evening chai.

But the bedroom had a low queen-size cot, and a wide window with soft light.

Perfect for sitting.
Perfect for lifting.
Perfect for love.

First Evening In
They didn’t have much furniture yet. Just a rolled-up mattress, two suitcases, and a gas stove.

But Kavita, in her cotton nightdress, was already on the floor of the living room, legs spread, back leaning on the wall.

Arjun had tried to unpack.

He lasted twenty minutes.

Then he came over, wordlessly crawled into her lap, and curled up sideways across her thighs, hugging her soft belly.

She chuckled. “Already tired, Mr. Breadwinner?”

He mumbled into her middle, “I’m paid to code, not fold bed-sheets.”

She smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair.

Then she shifted slightly—hooked her arm under his thighs and back again, and lifted him gently up into a front carry, his legs curling tightly around her waist again, like instinct.

She walked slowly through the half-unpacked flat with him clinging to her, soft and boneless against her chest.

“First tour of our palace,” she whispered.

He looked up. “It’s tiny.”

She kissed his temple. “But you fit in my arms here. That makes it big enough.”

The New Routine
Mornings were early. Kavita left by 8:30 a.m., her long frame wrapped in a saree or a pressed kurta, hair tied, eyes sleepy.

Arjun, who worked from home three days a week, would stand by the door—barefoot, holding her lunchbox.

She’d lean down, and he’d jump lightly into her arms, and she’d lift him up just a few inches—enough for a tight hug.

Not a real front carry.
Not a lap hold.
Just a pause—his nose pressed against her neck, her big arms wrapped around his spine like armor.

Then she’d set him down and leave.

Every time, he’d stand there, watching her tall figure descend the stairs, feeling like half of him had gone out into the world.

Evenings: The Real Homecoming
She returned tired, arms heavy with her Laptop, feet sore from the road.

He would wait in the kitchen with warm rice, dal, and a plate already served.

But she’d barely eat.

Instead, she’d walk to him, drop her dupatta on the chair, and say softly:

“I need to hold you.”

He’d smile.

And then she would scoop him up—a full front carry, one hand under his bottom, the other around his back.

He’d wrap around her like muscle memory, his chin resting on her shoulder.

Sometimes she’d walk in slow circles in the living room, carrying him like a lullaby.

Other days, she’d go straight to the bed, sit down, and keep him in her lap, his legs bent across her thighs, his cheek against her heart.

There, in the safety of her arms, the dust of the day dissolved.


One Quiet Night
One night, the power went out. The fan stopped spinning. The streetlights flickered dim through the balcony.

Kavita sat on the cot, in her vest and pyjamas, hair loose, face glistening with sweat.

Arjun came out of the bathroom, towel slung on his shoulder.

He looked at her.

Without a word, he walked over and held his arms out like a child.

She smiled faintly and lifted him again.

But this time, she held him longer than usual—his face pressed right into the hollow of her neck, his breath warm against her collarbone.

He whispered, “Do you still like lifting me this much?”

She nodded, rocking gently. “More now. Every time I carry you, I remember who we were.”

He said, “Who we are.”

And So It Goes
Every night ended with him in her arms.
Every morning began with his head on her lap.
They never showed it in public.
Never held hands in the lift.
Never touched in cafés.

But behind closed doors, he was always hers to lift.
And she was always his to rest upon.



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