Morning light filtered weakly through the dusty windows of Room 12-B. The ceiling fans spun lazily, pushing around the thick air that already smelled of chalk, wet notebooks, and the faint sweetness of girls’ perfume. Arjun walked in five minutes late on purpose. Every head turned.

Meera sat in the second row. Her braid was tighter than usual. Dark circles under her eyes. When their gazes met, her thighs pressed together hard enough that the wooden bench creaked. She looked away first, cheeks burning. Good. She had slept with the memory of his fingers inside her, exactly as ordered.