Kayal's pov:

My kurti was perfectly ironed. Hair tied neatly. Bag packed. Notes, pens, ID card — checked and rechecked. Still, my hands were clammy.

First day of college. Not as a wide-eyed teenager this time, but as a married woman with a second chance.

I glanced once at the wall clock, once at the mirror, then once more at the door  waiting for Ezhil.

"I'll drop you and then head to college," he had said. He didn't mention he'd stay there though...

I reached the college gates with a head full of nervousness and a heart racing like I was sitting for an exam already. But the campus was beautiful  calm, green patches, students chatting near the canteen, the kind of bustling peace that reminded me what I had missed all these years.

In the classroom, I chose a second-row seat and sat down quietly.

Soon, a girl with curly hair sat beside me. "Hey, new here?"

I nodded. "Yeah. PG commerce."

"Oh same! I'm Divya."

"Kayal."

We shook hands, and just like that, I found my first friend. A few more girls joined our row — friendly faces, little introductions, and soon laughter floated around.

For a moment, I forgot the weight of everything.

Until—

The classroom door opened, and in walked someone tall, in formals, holding a register.

I blinked. And blinked again.

Ezhil?!

He cleared his throat, and our group instantly went silent. But I? I wanted to vanish into thin air.

"I am Professor Ezhil ," he began, calm and professional. "I'll be handling Financial Management this semester. I'll also be your class mentor."

My heart was screaming. Mentor? Seriously?

"I completed my B.Com and M.Com at PSG Arts and Science College, Coimbatore. Currently pursuing PhD in Strategic Finance. Apart from this, I conduct industry-linked workshops. I'll share those updates when applicable."

He didn't even look at me. The nerve.

I sat frozen, pretending to scribble in my notebook. What was I supposed to call him now? Sir? Ezhil sir? Mr. Husband professor?

Soon, other professors arrived for subsequent classes, and I slowly relaxed into the rhythm of learning. It felt good, honestly. Refreshing.

When the final bell rang, I received a message from him.

 Ezhil: I'll be there in 5 mins. Wait near the two wheeler stand.

I went out quietly. The breeze had picked up. It smelled like rain and chalk dust.

He arrived soon on his bike, helmet in hand.

"Shall we grab tea before heading home?"

I nodded.

We stopped at a small, cozy tea shop tucked between a pharmacy and an old photocopy store. The place had a few benches, a wooden counter, and a kind-faced anna who smiled as we ordered two cutting chai.

I sipped the hot tea, the rim of the glass warm against my lips.

"This is going to be my favorite tea shop," I declared.

Ezhil chuckled, "I know right. I used to come here during my initial chennai days. It hasn't changed one bit."

It was simple. Quiet. Familiar. It felt like ours already.

Back home, I changed into a comfortable cotton nighty, folded my dupatta and walked into the kitchen where he was already making tea again.

"Ezhil."

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you tell me you'd be my professor, huh?" I pouted, arms crossed.

He looked sheepish. "I got the final student list only today."

"Still!" I groaned. "Never in my life did I think I'd have to call you sir!"

He laughed heartily. "At least now you'll respect me."

"Huh," I scoffed, snatching the tea glass from his hand.

A moment of silence lingered. Then I spoke again, softer this time.

"Ezhil... I searched more about CA exams. I think I really want to do it."

His eyes lit up.

"Really?"

I nodded. "I know it won't be easy. But I want to try."

He placed his hand gently on my head, a quiet gesture of support.

"I'll enroll you in a good coaching centre. We'll go check it out this Sunday."

My throat tightened slightly. No drama. No lecture. Just trust.

And that meant everything.

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