Eyes That Wander
It was the kind of day where the clouds sulked, refusing to break into rain, yet casting everything in a dull, silver hue. The college campus buzzed with the quiet chaos of a Thursday morning. Rohan leaned against the rusty railings of the cafeteria veranda, a half-empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers. His eyes, though, were alert—searching.
And then she appeared.
Ananya.
Walking briskly through the gravel path, raindrops teasing the ends of her tied hair, she clutched her file like a shield. She wasn’t wearing anything that called for attention—just a pale green kurti, black leggings, and old sandals—but to Rohan, she walked in slow motion.
His gaze followed the way her lips moved as she greeted a friend, the slight laugh that escaped her, and the graceful way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Woah... who’s she?” murmured Pranay, his best friend, noticing the sudden stillness in Rohan.
Rohan didn’t blink. “I don’t know. But I want to.”
Pranay chuckled. “Careful, brother. That’s not curiosity. That’s full-blown lust written all over your face.”
Rohan didn’t deny it.
He watched her disappear into the department block. Then he tossed the coffee into the bin and walked off—toward the same building.
Just a week before that rainy day, there had been a cultural event in college. Rohan was the anchor, dressed in a well-fitted maroon kurta, standing confidently on stage with a mic in hand. His friends stood beside him, whispering last-minute jokes and updates.
The auditorium was buzzing with energy, and students began trickling in, some chatting excitedly, others scanning for empty seats.
And then… she entered.
Ananya walked in with her two friends, laughing at something, her smile lighting up the room more than the stage lights ever could.
Rohan, mid-conversation, caught sight of her and blurted without thinking, “Gosh… she’s beautiful, man.”
Unfortunately, he was still standing way too close to the mic.
His voice echoed across the entire auditorium.
There was a pause.
A beat of silence.
And then, laughter erupted.
A few whistles. Some claps. A whole lot of hooting from the crowd.
Rohan froze, mortified.
Even Ananya looked straight at the stage, caught his stunned expression—and laughed. Not mockingly, but with a hand on her mouth, amused.
Thinking quickly, Rohan cleared his throat. “Uh… and that, folks, was your first dose of ‘truth before the event’! Now let’s focus on what we are here for…”
The crowd chuckled, his friends smacked his back, and somehow he continued the event. But his eyes kept drifting back to the girl who unknowingly stole his words—and a little bit of his calm.
Over the next few days, Rohan became a silent satellite to Ananya’s orbit.
He timed his visits to the library. He took detours past her classroom. Once, he even sat two tables away in the library, pretending to study just to listen to her explain code to a classmate.
It wasn’t love. Not yet.
It was the way her lips curved when she was frustrated, the slight frown when she read something too fast. It was the perfume she wore—mild jasmine—and how it lingered.
He imagined things: her in his arms, her on the back of his bike, her laughing at his jokes, her lying next to him.
He hated himself for the thoughts, but they kept returning.
Still, he kept his distance.
There was a time he followed her into the seminar hall by accident. She was sitting near the window, sunlight resting on her cheekbones. A notebook in front of her, scribbling in rapid strokes.
“Ananya,” her friend whispered, “you’re sketching again? This is a tech seminar.”
She grinned, holding up the book. A quick portrait of the speaker—charming, exaggerated features.
Rohan, two rows behind, chuckled. He didn’t mean to. But she turned.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, Rohan forgot to breathe.
The turning point came unexpectedly.
It was a Tuesday evening, and college had just ended. Students hurried home, shielding their bags under their shirts. Rohan took the longer path, hoping to see her once more before the day ended.
And he did.
She was parked near the back gate, struggling with her scooter tire, already flat and half sunken into the mud. Her dupatta was soaked, her brows furrowed.
Rohan paused, heart thudding.
Should I? Shouldn’t I?
He stepped forward. “Need help?”
Ananya looked up, startled. Her eyes took a second to register him.
Then she offered a half-smile. “Uh… unless you’ve got a magic pump, I’m not sure help will work.”
He chuckled. “No magic, but I know a puncture shop a few streets away. I can drop you home if you’d like.”
She hesitated. Looked at the sky. Then at her phone.
“Okay... but just a drop.”
“Scout’s honor,” he said with a mock salute.
She smiled more this time.
As she climbed onto the pillion, he felt the warmth of her presence without touching. She sat upright, respectful. The ride was quiet, except for the rain and the occasional sputter of the engine.
“You always this quiet?” she asked halfway through.
“No,” he replied. “Just trying not to be creepy.”
She laughed. A real, short, unguarded laugh.
“Well, thanks. For the ride and the honesty.”
“You’re welcome. I’m Rohan, by the way. Third year—IT.”
“Ananya. Second year—CSE.”
He parked.
“You know,” she said, before walking away, “you stare a lot. But thanks for helping anyway.”
Rohan blinked.
She walked off, laughing.
And for the first time, he wasn’t thinking about her body.
He was thinking about her voice.
And how it felt to make her laugh.
That night, Rohan didn’t sleep much. He replayed the ride, her laugh, the way she said his name.
He wrote her name over and over in his notebook like a schoolboy. Then he tore the page and threw it away, embarrassed.
He wasn’t falling for her. No, not yet. But something had changed.
The next morning, he skipped his favorite class just to wait outside her building. Not to stalk her—but to see her. To see if she’d look at him again the same way.
She did.
Their eyes met. She nodded once. Then disappeared into the crowd.
And Rohan knew.
This wasn’t just a game anymore.
This girl... she might just be the beginning of something real.
