THE KHADOOS PREFECT
Ever since she was a teenager, Jia had been fascinated by Roman history.
While her classmates collected movie magazines, she collected books about ancient civilizations.
The Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum—she knew them long before she ever saw them.
Coming to Rome was not a whim.
It was a dream she had carried for nearly two decades.
The first thing Jia Patra noticed about Rome was the rain.
Not the ancient buildings she had admired in photographs for years. Not the foreign language floating through the airport corridors. Not even the excitement of finally setting foot in the city she had dreamed about since her twenties.
Rain.
Relentless, unforgiving rain.
By the time she stepped out of Leonardo da Vinci International Airport, she was already regretting her decision not to carry an umbrella.
A gust of wind blew cold droplets against her face.
“Wonderful,” she muttered.
After years of dreaming about Rome, the Eternal City had decided to welcome her with a storm.
She tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase and hurried toward the taxi stand.
The queue stretched endlessly.
Every taxi that arrived was immediately occupied.
For the next twenty minutes she stood beneath a narrow shelter, watching rainwater cascade from the roof.
The excitement she had felt during the flight slowly gave way to exhaustion.
At thirty-three, she had finally gathered the courage to leave India and pursue advanced studies abroad.
Many people considered it too late.
Jia disagreed.
Dreams did not come with expiry dates.
Her admission letter from Sapienza University of Rome was carefully tucked inside her handbag. Every sacrifice, every extra class she had taken as a teacher, every rupee she had saved had led her here.
She wasn’t going to let a little rain ruin the moment.
Unfortunately, the rain seemed determined to prove her wrong.
With no taxi in sight, she finally stepped away from the shelter and began dragging her suitcase toward the road.
Within seconds she was drenched.
A car slowed beside her.
Jia instinctively moved away.
The driver’s window rolled down.
A man leaned slightly toward her.
“New to the Eternal City?”
His voice carried the familiar rhythm of India.
Jia blinked.
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
The stranger smiled.
“And Indian too.”
Despite the rain, she laughed.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You have the expression of someone questioning all her life choices.”
That made her laugh even harder.
The man nodded toward the passenger seat.
“I can’t watch a fellow Indian struggle alone in this weather. Hop in.”
Normally she would have refused.
But there were no taxis.
The rain showed no signs of stopping.
And there was something reassuring about him.
Perhaps it was the accent.
Perhaps it was the calm confidence in his voice.
Or perhaps she was simply tired.
She opened the door and got in.
Warm air greeted her immediately.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“My pleasure.”
The car pulled smoothly onto the road.
Outside, Rome blurred behind curtains of rain.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then he asked, “Where are you staying?”
“The Santa Lucia Women’s Hostel.”
“Oh.”
She looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re lucky.”
“Why?”
“It’s close to where I stay.”
“How close?”
“About an hour.”
Jia stared at him.
“An hour is close?”
“In Rome? Very.”
She laughed again.
The stranger seemed pleased with himself.
The silence that followed was comfortable.
Streetlights reflected on wet roads.
Ancient stone buildings rose from the darkness like silent witnesses to centuries of history.
Even through the rain, Rome looked beautiful.
Jia found herself smiling.
She was really here.
The dream had finally come true.
The driver adjusted the rear-view mirror.
For a brief moment she saw his face properly.
Something stirred inside her memory.
A pair of intelligent eyes.
A serious expression.
A face she had once spent years trying to forget.
Her heart skipped a beat.
No.
Surely not.
She stared harder.
The years had changed him.
He looked older.
More mature.
Yet unmistakably familiar.
Before she could stop herself, the words escaped her lips.
“Khadoos Prefect!”
The car swerved slightly.
“What?”
The driver looked utterly shocked.
Jia immediately covered her mouth.
“Oh no.”
“What did you just call me?”
She wished the earth would open and swallow her whole.
The bewildered expression on his face only made matters worse.
“I...” she began.
“Khadoos Prefect?”
His eyebrows shot upward.
Jia bit her lip.
Slowly she lowered her hand.
“Aren’t you Rivaan Mukherjee?”
The man’s eyes widened.
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly.
Her heart sank and soared at the same time.
She knew it.
After all these years, she had recognized him within minutes.
He, however, looked completely lost.
“St. Lawrence School, Durgapur?” she asked.
His astonishment deepened.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then—
“How do you know that?”
Jia stared at him.
For a second, she almost laughed.
Of course he didn’t remember.
Why would he?
Back in school, Rivaan Mukherjee had been everything she wasn’t.
Handsome.
Popular.
Brilliant.
Head Boy.
School Prefect.
The pride of every teacher.
Girls followed him everywhere.
Teachers adored him.
Students admired him.
Meanwhile, Jia had spent most of her school life trying to remain invisible.
“I’m Jia,” she said softly.
“Jia Patra.”
Rivaan frowned.
The name clearly meant nothing to him.
Her heart gave a tiny painful twist.
Some things never changed.
“Don’t tell me you still don’t remember.”
He looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry.”
Jia burst out laughing.
The poor man looked horrified.
“Of course you don’t remember.”
“I’m trying.”
“No need.”
“I feel terrible.”
“You should.”
That earned a grin.
For the first time, Jia noticed how different he seemed from the intimidating prefect she remembered.
The old Rivaan would never have admitted feeling terrible.
“You were always surrounded by pretty girls,” she continued.
“How could you possibly remember me?”
His eyes danced with amusement.
“So, which one were you?”
“None.”
The answer came instantly.
“I was the strange one.”
“What?”
“The girl with the strange hair.”
He laughed.
“The strange hair?”
“I looked ridiculous.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.”
She pointed accusingly at him.
“And you kept finding reasons to punish me.”
His expression became thoughtful.
“I did?”
“You were a menace.”
“A menace?”
“An absolute menace.”
The laughter in his eyes deepened.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Jia found herself smiling too.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
Inside the car, twenty years of distance slowly began to disappear.
And neither of them knew that this unexpected reunion in a Roman storm was about to change both their lives forever.
The rain had eased into a steady drizzle by the time they reached the city.
Ancient buildings lined the roads. Warm yellow lights glowed from cafés. Groups of tourists huddled beneath umbrellas as they crossed narrow streets.
Rome looked exactly like a postcard.
Yet neither Jia nor Rivaan seemed interested in the scenery anymore.
“So,” Rivaan said at last, “tell me why I was called the Khadoos Prefect.”
Jia folded her arms.
“You really want to know?”
“I feel like I should.”
“You were terrifying.”
His laughter filled the car.
“I refuse to believe that.”
“Oh, you were.”
“Give me one example.”
“One?”
She looked scandalized.
“I could write an entire thesis on the subject.”
“Go ahead.”
Jia smiled despite herself.
“Class Nine. Biology practical.”
Rivaan’s forehead creased.
“I forgot to bring my biology record book.”
“Oh.”
“You caught me.”
“Sounds like something a prefect would do.”
“You made me write an imposition.”
He looked puzzled.
“What imposition?”
“‘I will not forget to bring my biology record book.’ One hundred times.”
His jaw dropped.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Rivaan groaned.
“That sounds horrible.”
“It was horrible.”
The look of genuine regret on his face amused her.
“You cried, didn’t you?” he asked.
Jia stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I would have cried.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
The nervousness she had felt at the airport was slowly fading.
Perhaps because Rivaan no longer resembled the untouchable boy she remembered.
Back then he had seemed larger than life.
Now he was simply a man.
A kind man, surprisingly.
A man who looked genuinely embarrassed by his teenage self.
“There was another incident,” she said.
“Oh dear.”
“You punished me for not oiling my hair.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Rivaan nearly choked.
“I punished someone for not oiling their hair?”
“Apparently you believed discipline was the foundation of civilization.”
He covered his face with one hand.
“I was insufferable.”
“You were.”
“I’m beginning to understand the nickname.”
“Finally.”
For several moments they laughed together.
Then silence settled between them.
A softer silence.
The kind that arrives when strangers begin to become friends.
Outside, rainwater shimmered beneath the streetlights.
Inside the car, Jia found herself studying Rivaan when he wasn’t looking.
He had changed.
The sharp arrogance she remembered was gone.
Life had softened him.
There were faint lines around his eyes now.
The confidence remained, but it was gentler somehow.
More human.
As if the years had taught him lessons school never could.
“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.
“What?”
“Were we friends?”
The question caught her off guard.
She looked out the window.
“No.”
The answer came more softly than she intended.
Rivaan waited.
“You knew who I was?”
“I knew exactly who you were.”
“And I didn’t know who you were.”
She nodded.
The realization seemed to bother him.
“I’m sorry.”
Jia shrugged.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“But I feel like I should.”
“Why?”
“Because you clearly remember me.”
His voice held genuine concern.
“And I don’t remember you at all.”
Jia smiled sadly.
The truth was she had imagined this reunion many times over the years.
In every version, Rivaan recognized her instantly.
In every version, he remembered the awkward girl who secretly adored him.
Reality was different.
Reality was a little painful.
Yet strangely enough, she wasn’t angry.
Not anymore.
“Back then,” she said quietly, “you were the school’s golden boy.”
Rivaan rolled his eyes.
“That sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t awful if you were you.”
“And what about you?”
She laughed.
“I was the girl everyone forgot.”
His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
Something about that sentence didn’t sit well with him.
For reasons he couldn’t explain.
The hostel gates appeared ahead.
Rivaan slowed the car.
“We’re here.”
Jia looked outside.
The rain had finally stopped.
For a moment neither moved.
Neither seemed eager for the journey to end.
Then Jia reached for the door handle.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
She stepped out of the car.
The evening air felt fresh after the storm.
She bent down to retrieve her suitcase.
“Jia?”
She looked back.
Rivaan was watching her.
The streetlight illuminated half his face.
“Yes?”
A smile touched his lips.
“I still don’t remember you.”
Jia burst out laughing.
“You hopeless man.”
“But I’d like to.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, her heart skipped a beat.
Then she quickly turned away.
“Goodnight, Khadoos Prefect.”
“Goodnight, Jia.”
She disappeared through the hostel gates.
Rivaan waited until she was safely inside before driving away.
Back in his room that night, Rivaan lay awake staring at the ceiling.
The rain tapped softly against the window.
Yet sleep refused to come.
His thoughts kept returning to one person.
Jia Patra.
The strange girl from school.
The girl who remembered him perfectly.
The girl he couldn’t remember at all.
That bothered him more than it should.
He closed his eyes.
Fragments of school life drifted through his mind.
Morning assemblies.
Classrooms.
Sports Day.
Teachers.
Corridors.
Faces.
Hundreds and hundreds of faces.
Yet Jia’s face remained absent.
Eventually exhaustion claimed him.
And for the first time in years, he dreamed of school.
In his dream, a girl stood alone near the staircase clutching a notebook against her chest.
He couldn’t see her face.
But somehow, he knew she was crying.
And somehow, he knew he had been the reason.
The next morning dawned bright and golden.
The storm had vanished as though it had never existed.
Sunlight spilled across Rome’s ancient rooftops, illuminating church domes and terracotta buildings.
Jia stood near the window of her hostel room and smiled.
The city looked magical.
For years she had seen Rome only in books, documentaries, and travel magazines. Now it stretched before her in all its timeless beauty.
She should have been thinking about orientation.
Instead, she found herself thinking about one person.
Rivaan Mukherjee.
The Khadoos Prefect.
The thought made her laugh.
Some things never changed.
She had spent years trying to forget her schoolgirl crush.
Apparently, Rome had other plans.
Across the city, Rivaan stood on the university sports ground.
A group of students jogged around the track while he supervised the morning warm-up session.
“Sir!”
One of the students waved.
Rivaan nodded absent-mindedly.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Specifically, they were with a woman who had appeared out of nowhere and turned his carefully ordered life upside down.
Jia Patra.
The name kept repeating in his head.
The strange thing wasn’t that he remembered her.
The strange thing was that he didn’t.
He hated that.
He had always prided himself on his memory.
Dates.
Historical events.
Research details.
Student names.
He remembered everything.
Everything except Jia.
A whistle blew somewhere nearby.
Rivaan glanced toward the university entrance.
And froze.
A woman was walking through the gates.
Long dark curls danced in the morning breeze.
She wore a simple blue kurta and carried a backpack over one shoulder.
The sunlight seemed determined to follow her.
Jia.
For one absurd second, Rivaan forgot how to breathe.
His heart gave a violent thud.
Then another.
And another.
What on earth was happening?
He had met her less than twenty-four hours ago.
Yet something about her pulled at him.
Perhaps it was her laughter.
Perhaps it was the warmth in her eyes.
Perhaps it was the mystery of being remembered by someone he had forgotten.
Whatever the reason, he couldn’t look away.
“Sir!”
The shout came from three different directions.
Rivaan blinked.
The students were staring at him.
“Sir, are you listening?”
The boys exchanged knowing grins.
One of them followed his gaze toward the entrance.
Understanding immediately dawned.
“Oh.”
Several students began smirking.
Rivaan cleared his throat.
“Continue your warm-up.”
The smirks widened.
For the first time in years, he felt embarrassingly self-conscious.
An hour later, Rivaan entered his classroom.
The students were already seated, their conversations fading as he placed his notes on the desk.
The familiar routine of teaching usually settled him.
Today, it didn’t.
He opened his notes and was about to begin when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside, clutching a folder.
“Sorry for the interruption,” she began. “The International Students’ Office sent me—”
She stopped.
Rivaan looked up.
And froze.
Jia.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The bustling classroom seemed to disappear.
The airport.
The chance reunion after so many years.
And now this.
Jia stared at him in disbelief.
Rivaan felt much the same.
Of all the universities in Rome.
Of all the classrooms.
Of all the people.
Neither of them had imagined this.
A murmur rippled through the room as the students waited.
Jia was the first to recover.
Without a word, she handed over the paperwork from the International Students’ Office.
Rivaan glanced at it, nodded once, and gestured toward an empty seat.
She walked quietly down the aisle and sat near the middle row.
Only after she had opened her notebook did Rivaan remember that an entire class was waiting for him to begin.
He cleared his throat and looked down at his notes.
For the first time in years, the words in front of him seemed surprisingly difficult to focus on.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the classroom door opened again.
The principal entered.
The students immediately fell silent.
“Good morning, everyone.”
“Good morning, Father,” the class chorused.
The principal smiled.
“We have a new student joining us today.”
Several curious heads turned toward Jia.
“Miss Jia Patra has come from India for advanced studies. I expect all of you to make her feel welcome.”
He turned toward Rivaan.
“Dr. Rivaan Mukherjee, she is from your country. Kindly help her settle in.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Rivaan felt unexpectedly trapped.
“Of course,” he said.
The principal nodded.
Someone in the back row let out a playful whistle.
A few others joined in.
The principal silenced them with a look.
But the damage was done.
Jia’s cheeks coloured faintly.
Rivaan noticed.
And instantly disliked it.
He wasn’t entirely sure why.
The lecture that followed was one of the worst of his professional life.
Not because he was unprepared.
But because he kept noticing Jia.
The way she listened attentively.
The way she took notes.
The way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear.
Every few minutes his eyes found her again.
It was ridiculous.
By the end of the class, he was exhausted.
That afternoon he spotted her walking back toward the hostel.
The Roman sun was beginning to soften.
Shadows stretched across the cobblestone streets.
Before he could reconsider, he crossed the road.
“Jia.”
She turned.
“Oh. Good afternoon, Professor.”
The formal title startled him.
Yesterday she had called him Khadoos Prefect.
Today he was Professor.
The distance bothered him more than it should.
“Are you offended?” he asked.
She frowned.
“For what?”
“The students.”
Understanding dawned.
“The whistling?”
He nodded.
Jia smiled.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.”
Then she added quietly,
“At thirty-three, Professor Mukherjee, one learns not to take such things seriously.”
The statement carried a trace of sadness.
A sadness he didn’t fully understand.
Before he could respond, she continued.
“Besides, I came to Rome for my studies. Nothing else matters.”
Her words lingered long after she walked away.
Nothing else matters.
For Jia, perhaps that was true.
For Rivaan, things were becoming increasingly complicated.
Because every day, every conversation, every accidental meeting seemed to pull him closer to her.
And for the first time in his life, the former Khadoos Prefect found himself facing something he couldn’t control.
His heart.
That evening, sitting alone in his room, Rivaan stared at a blank page in his notebook.
He was supposed to be reviewing research material.
Instead, he wrote two words.
Jia Patra.
He looked at them for a long moment.
Then he laughed at himself.
A respected historian.
A university professor.
Thirty-three years old.
And behaving like an infatuated teenager.
Yet the smile refused to leave his face.
Somewhere deep inside, a truth had begun to take shape.
A truth he wasn’t quite ready to admit.
But one that was becoming impossible to ignore.
The girl he had never noticed in school was slowly becoming the woman he could not stop thinking about.
Over the next few weeks, Rome settled into a rhythm.
The city became familiar to Jia in ways she had never imagined.
Morning lectures.
Afternoons in the library.
Evening walks past ancient ruins.
Weekends spent exploring churches, museums, and narrow streets lined with cafés.
She loved every minute of it.
The workload was demanding, but she had expected that.
What she hadn’t expected was Rivaan.
He seemed to appear everywhere.
In the library.
In the faculty corridors.
Near the university café.
At academic seminars.
At first, she dismissed it as coincidence.
Then she began to suspect otherwise.
One afternoon she was sitting beneath a large tree in the university courtyard, reading an article for her research.
A shadow fell across the page.
She looked up.
Rivaan.
Of course.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked.
His eyebrows rose.
“That’s a very serious accusation.”
“It is also a very accurate one.”
He sat down opposite her.
“I happen to work here.”
“You happen to work everywhere apparently.”
He laughed.
The sound still surprised her.
Back in school she could not remember hearing him laugh much.
The prefect she remembered had always seemed serious.
Distant.
Untouchable.
This version of Rivaan was different.
And that made him dangerous.
Because she was beginning to like him.
Far more than she should.
Jia watched Rivaan studying a map of Rome with the same concentration she remembered from school. Some things never changed. Back then he had been the dreaded prefect—the boy everyone called khadoos behind his back. She smiled to herself.
There had been a time when she had written him a letter.
Not because she expected a reply.
Not because she thought he would notice her.
Simply because some feelings needed somewhere to live.
The letter still rested between the pages of an old notebook at home, yellowed with age and untouched by time.
She had never posted it.
A few days later they found themselves walking back from a university seminar together.
The evening sky glowed pink above the city.
Tourists crowded the streets.
The scent of coffee drifted from nearby cafés.
For a while neither spoke.
Then Rivaan broke the silence.
“Were you really in love with me?”
Jia nearly stumbled.
“What?”
“In school.”
She stared at him.
His expression was innocent.
Far too innocent.
“You can’t ask things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because normal people possess shame.”
“I am a historian. We investigate uncomfortable truths.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That’s a terrible excuse.”
“But was it true?”
Jia sighed.
There was no point denying it.
“Yes.”
The answer emerged quietly.
Rivaan stopped walking.
For a moment the noise of the city seemed to disappear.
“You really were?”
She nodded.
A strange expression crossed his face.
Part surprise.
Part sadness.
Part regret.
“Why?”
The question made her laugh.
“You were the handsome prefect.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It was when I was younger.”
He looked unconvinced.
Jia continued walking.
After a moment he joined her.
“You know what I remember most?” she asked.
“What?”
“The girls.”
His face fell.
“The girls?”
“There were always girls around you.”
He groaned.
“Not this again.”
“Oh yes, this again.”
“You make it sound like I was running a fan club.”
“You practically were.”
“Exaggeration.”
“Fact.”
He shook his head helplessly.
Yet beneath the humour, he could hear something else.
Pain.
The pain of a young girl who had felt invisible.
The realization unsettled him.
Because he had never intended to hurt her.
The truth was far worse.
He simply hadn’t noticed.
That night Rivaan couldn’t sleep.
He sat near the window of his apartment overlooking a quiet Roman street.
The city lights shimmered below.
His thoughts belonged entirely to Jia.
He remembered the way her voice had softened when she admitted she had loved him.
He remembered the sadness hidden behind her smile.
Most of all, he remembered one sentence.
I felt invisible.
For the first time, Rivaan truly understood.
The issue wasn’t that he had punished her.
The issue wasn’t even that he couldn’t remember her.
The issue was that, at an age when every feeling felt enormous, she had loved someone who had never really seen her.
And now that same someone had reappeared in her life.
Only this time the situation had reversed.
Because now he couldn’t stop seeing her.
Everywhere.
In every conversation.
Every thought.
Every quiet moment.
The realization struck him suddenly.
With absolute clarity.
And once it arrived, there was no escaping it.
Rivaan Mukherjee was in love.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
Ridiculously.
In love.
A light breeze drifted across the piazza as they sat beneath the glow of streetlamps.
“What were you like in school?” Rivaan asked.
Jia laughed.
“Invisible.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh, I assure you I was.”
“You don’t strike me as invisible.”
“That’s because you’ve only met the thirty-something version.”
Rivaan smiled.
“And the younger version?”
“The younger version spent most of her time trying not to attract attention.”
For a moment she considered telling him about the letter.
Instead, she looked away.
Some stories had waited twenty years.
A few more days would not hurt.
The following week he finally gathered enough courage to do something about it.
The opportunity arrived after a lecture.
Students gradually left the classroom.
Within minutes only Jia remained.
She was organizing her notes.
Rivaan stood near the desk pretending to review papers.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
Thirty-three years old.
And nervous.
Pathetic.
Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Jia.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to have coffee with me?”
The question hung in the air.
Jia froze.
For a moment she simply stared at him.
Then she slowly closed her notebook.
“Won’t you be embarrassed?”
The answer caught him completely off guard.
“Embarrassed?”
“To be seen with me.”
He frowned.
“Why would I be embarrassed?”
A sad smile touched her lips.
“Because you’re used to being surrounded by pretty girls.”
The words landed harder than she intended.
Rivaan immediately understood.
This wasn’t about coffee.
This wasn’t even about the present.
This was about a teenage girl who had spent years believing she wasn’t beautiful enough to be noticed.
The realization broke something inside him.
“Jia—”
But she was already standing.
“Goodbye, Professor.”
And she walked away.
Leaving him alone in the empty classroom.
For the first time since meeting her, Rivaan felt genuinely afraid.
Afraid that he might be too late.
Afraid that the wounds he had never known existed ran deeper than he imagined.
Afraid that no apology would ever be enough.
And yet one thing had become painfully clear.
He loved her.
Not the girl from school.
Not the memory he couldn’t recall.
The woman she had become.
Strong.
Brilliant.
Determined.
Kind.
And somehow still capable of smiling despite carrying old hurts.
For the first time in his life, the former Khadoos Prefect wanted something more than academic success, more than professional achievement.
He wanted Jia Patra.
And he had absolutely no idea how to convince her of that.
For the next several days, Jia made a conscious effort to avoid Rivaan.
She attended lectures.
Spent long hours in the library.
Returned to her hostel before sunset.
Whenever she saw him approaching, she found an excuse to disappear.
It was childish.
She knew that.
But being around him had become dangerous.
Because every time she looked at him, the fourteen-year-old girl inside her woke up again.
The girl who had waited for a smile.
The girl who had treasured every word he spoke.
The girl who had cried when he failed to notice her.
She had not come to Rome for this.
She had come for her dream.
Nothing else.
Or at least that was what she kept telling herself.
One afternoon she emerged from the library to find Rivaan waiting outside.
He was leaning against a stone pillar with his hands in his pockets.
The moment he saw her, he straightened.
Jia immediately sighed.
“You again.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
“Jia.”
“No.”
He fell into step beside her.
“Please.”
She stopped walking.
There was something in his voice.
Something different.
When she looked at him, she found none of the usual humour.
Only sincerity.
Only vulnerability.
And somehow that frightened her more.
“What?” she asked quietly.
Rivaan took a deep breath.
The words came before he could lose his courage.
“I love you.”
Everything around them seemed to stop.
The students.
The voices.
The sounds of the city.
Jia simply stared at him.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
“What?”
“I love you.”
He laughed nervously.
“I know the timing is terrible.”
She remained silent.
“I know I have no right to ask anything from you.”
Still silence.
“But I need you to know.”
His eyes never left hers.
“I love you, Jia.”
For years she had imagined hearing those words.
Thousands of times.
In countless daydreams.
Yet now that they had finally been spoken, she found herself unable to respond.
Because the past stood between them.
A teenage heart that had loved and lost.
A girl who had felt unseen.
A woman who had worked very hard to heal.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled.
“I loved you too.”
Rivaan froze.
The words seemed to steal the air from his lungs.
“Too?”
She laughed softly.
A sad laugh.
“I loved you for years.”
The confession hung between them.
“I used to watch you from across the school courtyard.”
Rivaan listened without interrupting.
“I knew your timetable.”
A smile tugged at his lips.
She glared at him.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are.”
“A little.”
Jia shook her head.
Then her expression softened.
“It hurt, Rivaan.”
The smile disappeared instantly.
“It hurt watching you surrounded by girls while you never even looked at me.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
The honesty in her voice was devastating.
“I am sorry.”
She looked away.
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“You don’t understand.”
She met his eyes again.
“I am sorry for every moment that made you feel invisible.”
The sincerity in his expression left her speechless.
“If I could go back and change it, I would.”
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Jia took a step backward.
“I can’t.”
The words were barely audible.
Rivaan’s heart sank.
“I came to Rome for my studies.”
“I know.”
“I worked too hard for this.”
“I know.”
“I can’t lose focus.”
His chest tightened.
Yet he nodded.
Because he understood.
More than she realized.
“Okay.”
Her eyes widened.
“Okay?”
He smiled sadly.
“Your dreams matter.”
For a moment she simply stared at him.
Then she turned and walked away.
Leaving him standing alone.
Three days later the rain returned.
A proper Roman downpour.
The kind that transformed streets into rivers and sent pedestrians running for cover.
Jia stood outside the university gate struggling with her umbrella.
It refused to open.
She pulled.
Twisted.
Pulled again.
Nothing.
“Wonderful,” she muttered.
The umbrella had chosen the worst possible moment to rebel.
Rain soaked her hair.
Within minutes she was drenched.
A familiar car pulled up beside her.
The passenger door unlocked.
Jia stared.
Rivaan sat behind the wheel.
Neither spoke.
He simply waited.
After a moment she opened the door and climbed inside.
The warmth of the car surrounded her.
Still neither spoke.
The silence felt strangely comfortable.
Rivaan drove through the rain-soaked streets.
Finally Jia frowned.
“This isn’t the way to the hostel.”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
As Jia searched her bag for a handkerchief, a folded sheet of paper slipped from her notebook and drifted to the ground.
Rivaan bent to pick it up.
The paper was old.
Very old.
Jia’s eyes widened.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Read it.”
A smile appeared on his face.
“Now I’m definitely curious.”
She groaned.
“Rivaan, please.”
He glanced at the first line.
Then his expression changed.
Dear Rivaan,
You probably don’t know who I am…
The smile softened.
“You wrote this?”
Jia nodded miserably.
“Twenty years ago.”
“You never sent it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She looked out at the rain.
“Because you were the famous prefect. I was just another student. You didn’t even know I existed.”
For a long moment he said nothing.
The rain echoed softly around them.
Finally, he folded the letter carefully.
“I spent years thinking I knew everything about school.”
His voice was gentle.
“Turns out I missed something important.”
Jia looked at him.
“You did?”
He smiled.
“The girl who wrote this.”
Ten minutes later he parked outside a small café.
The windows glowed warmly against the grey afternoon.
Inside, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries filled the air.
They found a quiet corner table.
For a while they sat in silence.
The rain tapped gently against the glass.
Finally, Rivaan spoke.
“I owe you an apology.”
Jia opened her mouth.
He raised a hand.
“No. Let me finish.”
She nodded.
Rivaan took a deep breath.
“When we were children, I didn’t understand how much my actions affected other people.”
His voice was calm.
Honest.
“I never intended to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“But I did.”
Jia remained silent.
“I cannot change the past.”
His eyes held hers.
“But I can tell you the truth.”
“What truth?”
His smile was small.
The kind that reached his eyes.
“The truth is that I am madly and deeply in love with you.”
Jia’s heart fluttered.
“Rivaan—”
“I’m not asking you to give up your dreams.”
He leaned forward.
“I would never do that.”
The seriousness in his voice made her pause.
“I want you to become Dr. Jia Patra.”
The words hit her unexpectedly hard.
“I want you to achieve everything you’ve worked for.”
The café seemed very quiet suddenly.
“And I want to stand beside you while you do it.”
Tears gathered in Jia’s eyes before she could stop them.
For years she had imagined being loved.
Not admired.
Not noticed.
Loved.
For exactly who she was.
And somehow, impossibly, it had happened.
A slow smile appeared on her face.
Rivaan immediately relaxed.
That smile felt like sunlight.
“There’s one condition,” she said.
His eyebrows rose.
“Only one?”
“Only one.”
“Let’s hear it.”
She pointed a finger at him.
“If I ever see you surrounded by pretty girls again, I will walk away.”
Rivaan laughed.
The sound filled the café.
“Done.”
“You belong to me.”
“I do.”
“Entirely.”
“Entirely.”
“Good.”
He reached across the table and took her hand.
The simple gesture sent warmth through both of them.
“There’s something else,” Jia said.
Rivaan groaned dramatically.
“What now?”
Her eyes sparkled.
“That day when I forgot my biology record book.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes.”
He dropped his head into his hands.
“Not the biology book again.”
“I wrote one hundred lines.”
“I know.”
“You made me cry.”
“I know.”
The memory returned with surprising clarity.
Fourteen-year-old Jia stood trembling outside the biology laboratory clutching an empty notebook.
“Where is your record book?” Prefect Rivaan Mukherjee asked.
Jia stared at the floor.
“I forgot it.”
“Again?”
Several students turned to look at her.
Her cheeks burned.
“Write one hundred times: I will not forget to bring my biology record book.”
Laughter erupted around her.
Jia blinked hard. She refused to cry in front of everyone.
But later, alone in the washroom, she did.
Jia pretended to consider.
“What compensation are you offering?”
Rivaan looked thoughtful.
Then a mischievous smile appeared.
“I love you.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I love you.”
The smile widened.
“I love you.”
Realization dawned.
Jia laughed.
“No.”
“Three.”
“Rivaan.”
“Four.”
People at nearby tables began smiling.
“Five.”
“Oh, dear Lord.”
“Six.”
Jia laughed so hard she nearly cried.
And suddenly she realized something.
The pain was gone.
The hurt she had carried for years had finally disappeared.
Not because the past had changed.
But because she had.
And because the boy who had once failed to notice her had become the man who couldn’t stop seeing her.
Rivaan squeezed her hand.
His eyes softened.
“I love you.”
This time he said it quietly.
Without teasing.
Without counting.
Simply as a fact.
Jia’s smile trembled.
“I love you too, Khadoos Prefect.”
Outside, the rain finally stopped.
Sunlight broke through the clouds and spilled across the ancient city.
And in a small Roman café, two former classmates began a love story neither of them had expected.
One had loved too early.
The other had loved too late.
But somehow, in the Eternal City, they had found exactly the right time.
One Year Later
The conference hall buzzed with conversation as scholars from different countries gathered in Rome.
Jia stood behind the podium, adjusting her notes.
A year ago, she had arrived in this city drenched in rain and carrying a suitcase full of dreams.
Today she was presenting her research before an international audience.
When she finished, applause filled the room.
In the front row sat Rivaan.
The proud smile on his face made her heart warm.
As she returned to her seat, he leaned toward her and whispered,
“Congratulations, Dr. Jia Patra.”
Jia laughed softly.
“Thank you, Khadoos Prefect.”
Rivaan held out the letter.
“You never sent it.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Jia frowned.
“Why good?”
He took her hand.
“Because if you had sent it, it would have been a school story.”
The bells of Rome rang somewhere in the distance.
He squeezed her hand gently.
“I think it was always meant to become a Rome story.”
Jia laughed through the tears gathering in her eyes.
For the first time in years, the memory of the khadoos prefect no longer belonged to the past.
It belonged to their future.
Outside, the Roman sun shone brightly over the ancient city.
Some dreams took years to come true.
Fortunately, so did some love stories.
The End
