अरे अभी अभी प्यारा सा चेहरा दिखा है

जाने क्या कहूँ उसपे क्या लिखा है.....

So today was the first day of Mantavya as a lecturer. Being extremely handsome , saari ladkiyaan uski deewani ho gyi thi. He reaches the Director's office and takes his appointment letter as a lecturer.

The lecture hall was packed. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the excited chatter of students who had already decided that "Professor Rajput" was the highlight of their semester.

Mantavya stood at the front, his hands neatly folded. He felt a bit like a deer in headlights, but his Jodhpuri upbringing gave him a natural, poised grace.

"Namaste everyone," he began, his voice calm and melodic. "Before we dive into the syllabus, I would like us to know each other. Literature is about perspectives, and I cannot teach you unless I know who you are. I’ll start."

He offered a shy smile that made a few girls in the front row giggle.

"I am Mantavya Rajput. I come from Jodhpur, Rajasthan. I completed my M.A. in Literature because I believe that stories are the only way to keep history alive and I value honesty above all else. Now, shall we start from the front?"

One by one, students stood up. "I’m Sameer, I want to be a journalist!" "I’m Priya, and I’m just here because I love poetry!"

Mantavya nodded at each one, offering a personalized "Very good" or "Interesting" to everyone. He was being the perfect, sanskari teacher—attentive and sweet.

Finally, the room went quiet as the focus shifted to the very last row.

Yatra didn't stand up. She remained seated, her black hoodie pulled slightly over her head, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The silence coming from her corner was so heavy it felt like a physical weight.

Mantavya cleared his throat gently. "And you, at the back? Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"

Yatra slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were dark, cold, and looked like they hadn't seen a reason to smile in years. She didn't look at the class; she looked straight at Mantavya, pinning him with a gaze that made his breath hitch.

"Yatra Rathore," she said.

That was it. Two words. Her voice was low and raspy, cutting through the "sweet" atmosphere Mantavya had built.

"And... your interests, Yatra ji?" Mantavya prompted, trying to be encouraging. "What brings a student from Hyderabad all the way to Delhi for Literature?"

The class whispered—everyone wondered how he knew she was from Hyderabad. Yatra’s eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't like being noticed.

"I’m here because I have to be," she replied coldly. "My interests are my own. And I prefer silence over introductions. Can we start the lecture now, Professor?"

The "Deewani" girls in the front gasped at her rudeness. Mantavya, however, didn't get angry. He felt a strange jolt of curiosity. He was a batuni (talker), but her silence was the most interesting thing he had heard all morning.

"Very well," Mantavya said softly, adjusting his glasses. "Silence is also a form of literature, Yatra ji. Sometimes the unsaid words are the loudest."

Yatra didn't respond. She just looked back out the window, effectively ending the conversation.

Mantavya stood frozen for a split second. He wasn't used to such bluntness. Jodhpur mein toh log gusse mein bhi 'Aap' keh kar baat karte hain, par yahan? Yatra Rathore was treating his poetic philosophy like a nuisance.

He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Well," he said, his voice regaining its sanskari warmth, "Shayad is room ki khamoshi hi hamara pehla lesson hai. Literature is not just about speaking; it’s about observing what others choose to hide."

He turned to the chalkboard, his chalk screeching softly as he wrote: 'The Unspoken Narrative.'

As he started the lecture, Mantavya’s batuni side finally took over. Jab wo Literature ki baat karta tha, toh uska sharmila-pan gayab ho jata tha. He talked about how some writers use short, jagged sentences to show pain—much like the way Yatra spoke.

Every few minutes, his eyes would instinctively drift to the back. Baaki sab toh notes likhne mein busy the, but Yatra sat perfectly still. She didn't have a bag on the desk, bas ek purani leather-bound diary thi jo band padi thi. She wasn't looking at the board anymore; she was watching Mantavya’s hands as he gestured.

Her gaze was heavy. Wo baaki ladkiyon ki tarah 'fan-girl' wali nazar nahi thi; it was the gaze of someone who was trying to read a very difficult book.

Tring-Tring! The bell rang, signaling the end of the hour. Pure room mein shor mach gaya—bags ki zips, chairs ki awaz, and sudden chatter. A group of girls immediately swarmed the podium.

"Sir, your explanation was so beautiful!" "Sir, aapka cabin number kya hai? Humein kuch doubts poochne the..." one girl asked, blushing hard.

Mantavya smiled shyly, nodding to everyone. "Ji, thank you. Mera office West Wing mein hai. Please, office hours mein aaiyega." He was being so patient and sweet, even as he tried to pack his satchel.

Through the crowd of admirers, he saw Yatra stand up.

Wo bheed hatne ka intezar nahi kar rahi thi. She walked straight through the middle of the aisle, her presence so cold that students instinctively rasta chhod dete the. She didn't even look at Mantavya as she reached the door.

"Yatra ji!" Mantavya called out, impulsively.

Pure class mein sannata chha gaya. Sab hairaan the ki Professor ne specifically uska naam yaad rakha. Yatra stopped at the doorframe, her back to him. She didn't turn around.

"Aapne kaha tha ki aap yahan 'majboori' mein hain," Mantavya said, stepping around the podium. "Meri class mein koi qaidi (prisoner) nahi hai. If you find my words too loud, you're welcome to write your own silence in that diary. I’d be honored to read it someday."

The class gasped. Kya Professor flirt kar rahe hain? Yatra finally turned her head just enough. Uska jawline itna sharp tha ki lag raha tha gusse mein hai. "Don't hold your breath, Professor," she said, her voice like ice water. "Meri khamoshi bikau nahi hai. Especially not to someone who smiles as much as you do."

And just like that, she vanished into the crowded hallway.

Mantavya stood there, a small, puzzled smile on his lips. One of the students, Riya, leaned in. "Sir, don't mind her. Ye Yatra Rathore hai. Ek hafta ho gaya, she hasn't made a single friend. She’s wealthy, distant, and honestly? Thodi scary hai."

"Scary?" Mantavya whispered to himself, adjusting his glasses. "Nahi... scary nahi. Bas thodi zyada khamosh hai."