Prologue
Some people claim your first love eventually fades, dissolving into the background noise of your past like an old melody you've forgotten how to hum.
Mine never did.
It stayed rooted in the quietest corners of my mind, a dormant spark just waiting for a reason to ignite.
The heavy oak door of the classroom groaned open, inviting a sharp gust of December air to slice through the suffocating heat of the radiators. A collective shiver rippled through the room.
Instantly, the ambient chatter died out.
Every head turned in unison, drawn by the sudden shift in the room's gravity.
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed against the linoleum floor, cutting through the absolute silence.
He looked to be about twenty-six, carrying himself with a quiet, arresting authority. A tailored charcoal coat sat perfectly on his broad shoulders, layered over a crisp, stark-white button-down. A stack of heavy textbooks rested effortlessly in his grip as he navigated the narrow aisle toward the podium.
Without looking up, he set the books down with a soft, definitive thud and reached for a piece of chalk.
For a fleeting second, all I could do was stare at the broad expanse of his back, my chest tightening with a strange, illogical sense of familiarity.
Then, he turned around.
The exact millisecond our eyes locked, the universe seemed to tilt on its axis. The muted murmurs of the classroom evaporated into absolute nothingness.
My breath trapped itself in my throat.
My heart stumbled over its own rhythm, pausing for one terrifying second before hammering wildly against my ribs.
No.
It was impossible. The odds were astronomical.
Out of all the people in this city, out of every university lecture hall in the world... why him?
His calm, sweeping gaze washed over the sea of students, entirely unbothered by the sudden heavy tension in the air, before his deep, baritone voice fractured the quiet.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm your new mathematics professor."
Turning back to the board, he raised his hand. The chalk moved in neat, confident strokes, leaving sharp white lines against the slate.
Professor Ayaan Malhotra.
The cylinder of chalk I had been holding slipped from my numb, trembling fingers, shattering into pieces on the desk below.
Ayaan Malhotra.
My brother’s best friend.
The boy who held the title of my life's most carefully guarded secret. My first, all-consuming crush.
The person I had spent the last three years desperately trying to erase from my memory...
...had just walked right back into my world. And this time, I couldn't run away.
