Chapter 20

Morning came quietly.

Poornima opened her eyes slowly, the light filtering through her curtains softer than usual. For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then—

Everything returned.

The rain.
The kiss.
His voice.
Her words.

Her confession.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet.

She sat up abruptly, running a hand through her hair, her breath uneven for just a second.

“What did I even say…” she murmured under her breath.

Fragments replayed in her mind, clearer than she wanted them to be.

I am broken into pieces.
I don’t think I can ever join those pieces again.

Her eyes closed briefly.

And then—

Another thought slipped in.

Quiet.

Unwanted.

What if he walks away?

Her chest tightened just slightly.

She looked away instantly, as if rejecting it.

“Why would he stay…” she whispered to herself.

A faint, bitter smile touched her lips.

“Who loves a broken woman?”

The question didn’t need an answer.

She got up before her thoughts could go deeper.

Routine.

That was her escape.

She freshened up, draped a simple saree, her movements calm and practiced. No trace of the storm from last night showed on her face.

By the time she sat down for breakfast, she had already composed herself.

Her phone rang.

Rayesh.

A softness appeared instantly.

“Hello?”

“Didi,” his voice came, warm, familiar. “Did you eat?”

She smiled faintly.

“Yes. You?”

They spoke for a few minutes—simple things, light things. The only space where she didn’t have to guard herself.

“Take care,” he said before hanging up.

“You too,” she replied softly.

The call ended.

And with it, the calm.

She picked up her bag and left for college.

The campus looked the same.

Normal.

Unchanged.

Unlike her thoughts.

She walked into the staff room, placing her bag on the table.

Her eyes moved, almost unconsciously—

To his table.

Empty.

“He’s already in class,” someone mentioned in passing.

She nodded slightly, not reacting.

Taking her books, she stepped out into the corridor.

Halfway through—

She slowed.

Ahead, Veeresh stood with a couple of female professors, speaking to them. His posture relaxed, his expression composed, his voice carrying that same confidence.

One of them laughed at something he said.

Poornima’s gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary.

Then her expression hardened.

“All are the same,” she thought quietly.

Without another glance, she walked past.

Straight.

Steady.

Unaffected—at least on the outside.

She entered her classroom and placed her books down, her movements precise.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She turned to the board and wrote.

Victorian Literature and Emotional Restraint

She faced the class.

“The Victorian era,” she began, her voice calm and clear, “was defined by discipline, morality, and social expectations.”

She moved slowly across the room.

“People were taught to control their emotions. To present themselves in a certain way. To hide what they truly felt.”

Her words carried a quiet depth today.

“Society valued appearance over truth. Reputation over reality.”

A pause.

“And so… many people lived with emotions they could never express.”

Her gaze briefly unfocused, then returned.

“In literature, we see this conflict. Characters who feel deeply… but cannot show it. Who love… but cannot say it. Who break… but continue to appear whole.”

The class was silent.

Listening.

Absorbing.

“Because sometimes,” she added softly, “what we show the world… is very different from what we carry inside.”

The bell hadn’t rung yet.

But no one moved.

And Poornima—

Continued teaching.

As if nothing inside her had changed.