It wasn't planned.
That was the strange part of it.
Nothing about it had ever been decided, agreed upon, or even acknowledged as something that existed beyond routine.
And yet, it kept happening.
Dev stayed after class.
Kabir didn't leave immediately.
And the space between them slowly began to feel less like coincidence and more like something that had quietly learned how to return.
That afternoon, the room was unusually still.
A faint breeze moved through the half-open window, making the curtains shift slightly. The sunlight had softened into a pale gold, brushing across empty desks like it was also preparing to leave.
Kabir sat at the front, reviewing a set of notes that didn't require much attention.
Dev was still there.
As usual.
He wasn't studying this time.
Not really.
His notebook lay open, pen resting loosely between his fingers. But his eyes weren't fixed on it. They drifted toward the board, then away, then back again—like his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
Kabir noticed.
He always noticed.
"You're not writing," Kabir said finally, without looking up.
Dev blinked slightly, as if pulled back.
"I was," he said, then paused. "Just… thinking."
Kabir turned a page.
"About the lecture?"
A brief hesitation.
"Yes," Dev said.
But the pause before it said more than the word itself.
Kabir didn't press further.
Instead, he continued organizing his papers, allowing the silence to stretch naturally between them. It had become familiar now—this quiet that didn't demand to be filled.
Dev shifted slightly in his seat.
Then, unexpectedly—
"Sir."
Kabir looked up.
Dev hesitated again, but this time it wasn't about knowledge or doubt.
It felt… different.
"Yes?" Kabir replied.
Dev looked down at his notebook.
"I don't think I always come here only to study."
The words landed softly.
Carefully.
As if Dev had tested them before speaking.
Kabir didn't respond immediately.
The room felt unchanged, but something in it had tilted ever so slightly.
"What do you mean?" Kabir asked at last.
Dev didn't answer right away.
His fingers traced the edge of the page.
"I mean… I understand the topics," he said slowly. "But I still stay."
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"It feels easier here than outside."
Kabir watched him for a moment.
Not as a professor now.
Just as someone listening.
The honesty in Dev's voice wasn't dramatic. It wasn't seeking anything. It simply existed, unguarded.
Kabir leaned back slightly in his chair.
"That's not unusual," he said after a moment, carefully measured. "People often feel comfortable in structured environments."
Dev nodded faintly.
"I thought so too," he said.
But he didn't sound fully convinced anymore.
Silence returned.
This time, it felt longer.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
Kabir glanced at the clock on the wall.
He should have told Dev to leave earlier.
He usually did.
But the words didn't come immediately.
Instead, Kabir found himself asking something else.
"Do you live far from here?"
Dev looked up, slightly surprised by the shift.
"No," he said. "Not too far."
Kabir nodded once.
"That's good."
Another pause followed.
Dev closed his notebook slowly, but still didn't move to stand.
Kabir noticed that too.
And for the first time, he realized something simple—but unsettling.
Neither of them were in a hurry to end this.
Not today.
Dev finally spoke again, quieter than before.
"Sir… do you mind if I stay a little longer sometimes?"
The question was careful.
Respectful.
But it carried weight anyway.
Kabir looked at him for a long moment.
The room was quiet enough that even small sounds felt amplified—the rustle of paper, the distant corridor, the faint hum of evening light.
"You already do," Kabir said at last.
Dev's expression shifted slightly.
Not confusion.
Not relief.
Something softer.
Like confirmation of something he hadn't dared to fully define.
Kabir stood then, gathering his notes.
"You can stay," he added, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "As long as you're revising."
Dev nodded.
"I am."
Kabir paused briefly.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"Good."
And he turned away.
But even as he did, he knew something had changed.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
Just enough that the habit no longer felt like just a habit.
And when Dev stayed behind after Kabir left that evening, it no longer felt like he was waiting for permission.
It felt like he was waiting for something else entirely.