by Nisha V Chettri
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February 17, 2025
<p>It started as a harmless tease.</p><p><br></p><p>Varun would always find a way to sit near her, often commenting on her serious reading choices. She would roll her eyes at his dramatic poetry recitations but never actually stop him.</p><p><br></p><p>‘You know,’ he said one evening, leaning back in his chair, ‘if you keep frowning at your book like that, you are going to get permanent lines on your forehead.’ he said.</p><p><br></p><p>Varinka sighed and said ‘If I had a rupee for every time you distracted me, I would have enough to buy this library.’</p><p><br></p><p>‘Ah,’ he said, smirking. ‘But then where would I find you?’</p><p><br></p><p>She pretended not to be affected, but the truth was, she started looking forward to his presence.</p><p><br></p><p>One evening, as she scribbled notes, Varun slid a book across the table toward her.</p><p><br></p><p>She glanced at the title ‘The Art of Flirting.’</p><p><br></p><p>She stifled a laugh. ‘You think I need this?’</p><p><br></p><p>He shrugged. ‘Not really. But I thought you might like to study my technique.’</p><p><br></p><p>Varinka leaned closer. ‘You have a technique?’</p><p><br></p><p>‘Oh, absolutely.’ He tapped the book. ‘Chapter three: The Power of a Well-Timed Compliment. Chapter six: The Art of Subtle Touch. Chapter nine….’</p><p><br></p><p>She rolled her eyes, pushing the book back to him. ‘You are impossible.’</p><p><br></p><p>‘And yet,’ he teased, ‘you are still here.’</p><p><br></p><p>For weeks, their flirtation danced on the edge of something deeper.</p><p><br></p><p>But Varinka was careful. She never told him who she really was. never mentioned the stories she wrote, the places she had been.</p><p><br></p><p>She liked being just a PhD scholar in his eyes.</p><p><br></p><p>Until one evening.</p><p><br></p><p>She was in the library, typing furiously on her laptop, when Varun sat down across from her.</p><p><br></p><p>‘You are not reading today?’ he asked.</p><p><br></p><p>She barely looked up. ‘Deadline.’ she said. </p><p><br></p><p>‘For what?’ he asked. </p><p><br></p><p>She hesitated, then casually said, ‘An article.’</p><p><br></p><p>Varun leaned back. ‘You are a writer?’</p><p><br></p><p>‘Hmm. Something like that,’ she said. </p><p><br></p><p>He studied her for a moment. ‘You know, I’ve been trying to figure you out since the day I met you.’</p><p><br></p><p>She smirked. ‘And?’</p><p><br></p><p>‘And I think,’ he said slowly, ‘you like keeping secrets.’</p><p><br></p><p>Her fingers froze on the keyboard.</p><p><br></p><p>He noticed.</p><p><br></p><p>‘But I also think,’ he continued, softer this time, ‘I like that about you.’</p><p><br></p><p>She met his gaze. ‘Even if it means I might be something you didn’t expect?’</p><p><br></p><p>He smiled ‘Hmmm Especially then.’ he said. </p><p><br></p><p>And just like that, she knew, he wasn’t just flirting anymore.</p>
February 16, 2025
<p>The first time Varun saw her. she was sitting alone in the library, lost in a book, her curls were spilling over her shoulder.</p><p><br></p><p>He wasn’t sure what caught his attention first. the way she twirled her pen between her fingers absentmindedly or how her brows knit together when she was deep in thought. Either way, he was intrigued.</p><p><br></p><p>Varun had been an assistant professor at Sikkim University for nearly five years years. At 34, he was one of the youngest professors in the English department. His students adored him, partly because he made literature sound like a movie. partly because he was young, sharp-witted, and undeniably charming.</p><p><br></p><p>But that afternoon, in the hush of the library, surrounded by books and lights, he found himself drawn to someone who didn’t seem to notice him at all.</p><p><br></p><p>And that was new.</p><p><br></p><p>The First Move</p><p><br></p><p>‘Mind if I sit here?’</p><p><br></p><p>Varinka looked up, blinking as if she had just been pulled from another world. She took in the man standing before her, tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that filled the room without effort. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and there was a teasing glint in his brown eyes.</p><p><br></p><p>She glanced at the empty chairs around her. ‘There are plenty of seats.’</p><p><br></p><p>He grinned and said ‘but I like this one.’</p><p><br></p><p>Varinka sighed, marking her book with a pencil. ‘Do you always disturb people when they are working?’</p><p><br></p><p>‘Only the interesting ones.’ He leaned forward slightly. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked. </p><p><br></p><p>She tilted the book so he could see the title, Emergence of Pakistan.</p><p><br></p><p>Varun raised an eyebrow. ‘Light reading?’ </p><p><br></p><p>She smirked and said ‘I like depth.’</p><p><br></p><p>His grin widened. ‘I like trouble.’</p><p><br></p><p>She sniffed a small laugh and went back to her book, pretending not to notice how he lingered.</p><p><br></p><p>He didn’t leave.</p><p><br></p><p>Instead, he pulled out a book from his bag, The Love Poems of Pablo Neruda.</p><p><br></p><p>He flipped it open and, in a low, deliberate voice, read aloud,</p><p><br></p><p>‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,</p><p>in secret, between the shadow and the soul.’</p><p><br></p><p>Varinka looked up, one brow arched. ‘Is that your way of introducing yourself?’</p><p><br></p><p>He closed the book. ‘No. That’s my way of impressing you.’ he said. </p><p><br></p><p>She shook her head, biting back a smile. ‘You are unbearable.’ </p><p><br></p><p>‘And yet,’ he said, resting his chin on his hand, ‘you haven’t told me to leave.’</p><p><br></p><p>She met his gaze, holding it just long enough.</p><p><br></p><p>And that was how it began.</p>
February 14, 2025
<p>Dear Love, </p><p>Happy Valentine's Day ♥️</p>
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