Sagnik didn't remember the walk back home very clearly.
Not in a linear way.
It came in fragments.
Steps. Lights. The sound of distant traffic. The rhythm of his own breathing that refused to match itself properly.
But the lift—
That stayed intact.
Uncomfortably intact.
He stood in his room longer than necessary, keys still in his hand, not putting them down immediately.
Like if he moved too quickly, the moment would attach itself to everything else and stop being containable.
His mind replayed it anyway.
The crowd.
The sudden compression of space.
Aanya shifting slightly behind him.
His decision to step in front of her.
That part made sense.
That part had logic.
Protection. Space. Crowd pressure.
Simple.
But what didn't fit neatly anywhere was what came after.
Her being behind him.
Closer than usual.
Too enclosed.
And then—
the movement.
The shift.
Her almost losing balance.
His hand moving without asking for permission.
That wasn't the part he kept circling.
It was what happened inside that movement.
The instant he touched her arm.
The instant she leaned into him without meaning to.
The instant his body registered her too close, too suddenly, too completely.
There had been no gap for thought.
Not even a fraction.
Just reaction.
Immediate.
Unfiltered.
And that was what unsettled him.
Sagnik sat down finally on the edge of his bed, exhaling slowly.
It wasn't that he had touched her.
That was incidental.
It was that his body had reacted like it already knew her well enough to react first.
Before judgment.
Before distance.
Before everything he usually used to stay in control.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees.
Staring at nothing.
.
"You didn't even hesitate," he muttered to himself.
The words didn't sound like accusation.
They sounded like recognition he didn't want to accept.
Because hesitation was where he lived.
Hesitation was his control.
And that had failed—twice in two days.
First in the library.
Then in the lift.
Different situations.
Same problem.
Aanya.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Not tired.
Just trying to reset the image.
But it came back anyway.
Her expression when she looked at him afterward.
Not fear.
Not embarrassment.
Something worse.
Awareness.
Like she had seen something move in him that he hadn't agreed to show.
Sagnik opened his eyes again.
Slowly.
"This is getting dangerous," he said quietly.
Not because she was in danger.
Because he was no longer sure where the boundary actually was.
And worse—
he was no longer sure he was the one drawing it.