December—the last month of the year.
Full of holidays, events, family, and friends.

I stayed over at my friend’s PG, and you know how that goes—
a sleepover always brings some harmless chaos.
Mine?
I dyed my jet-black hair to cappuccino brown.

Not the best, maybe. But good enough to feel like something had changed.
And more importantly, good enough for people to notice.

That night was all fun.
The next morning? A mess.
I missed my train.
Reached college late.
Attended class in casual clothes.
Got a mild warning from HOD.
But hey, I looked good (not my words—my friends’).

After class, we went to the mess.
I placed my bag on the chair—
and that’s when I saw him.

His eyes were already on me.
Staring.

I flushed.
Kept a neutral face.
Pretended not to notice.
Pretended his stare hadn’t carved its way into my chest.

But it had.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Again.

Only this time, the restlessness came with something worse.
Hope.

Silly, delusional hope.

How strange,
that his gaze could make me feel both nervous and happy,
could fill me with a soft, dangerous maybe—
for something I know is never going to happen.

What is this?