The problem with Zayan Rathore was that he didn't do anything .

He didn't flirt or make weird things that could be analyzed at 2am with Priya over chai.

He just existed. In ways that's completely explainable and impossible to ignore.

Like today.

They were working on the final model an actual physical structure, wire and tiny measurements that had to be exact. The kind of work that required two people in the same space doing the same thing at the same time.

Which meant close.

Too close.

"Hold this," he said while passing her one end of the wire frame.

She held it.

He leaned over to fix the other end and his arm brushed hers.

He didn't notice.

She noticed.

"Stop it", she told herself. "It's an arm and peoples have arms. This means nothing."

They worked like that for an hour by passing and adjusting things. Hands occasionally in the same space at the same time.

Aria kept her face completely neutral the entire time.

Inside she was having a full breakdown.

At some point he reached across her to grab a measurement tool. Close enough, she could see the small scar on his left hand she'd never noticed before and Close enough that she completely forgot what she was doing.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said immediately.

"You stopped holding the frame."

She looked down, she had and the whole side had shifted.

"Sorry," she said, fixed it.

He looked at her for one second longer than necessary.

Then looked back at the model.

They finished at eleven. The model was really good with clean lines, right proportions, the east elevation exactly the way she'd corrected it weeks ago.

Aria looked at it and felt that quiet satisfaction which she got when something was built right.

"It's good," she said.

"It is," he agreed.

They stood side by side looking at it. The desk lamp threw long shadows across the model and outside the rain had finally arrived.

"Can I ask you something?" Aria said.

She was making a habit of this apparently.

"Yes," he said.

"The scholarship. If you win it — what do you do with it?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Build something real," he said. "Not a hotel lobby or not a glass tower. Something that breathes." He paused. "Something my father would look at and still not understand but something I'd be proud of."

Aria looked at the model.

She understood that completely.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Prove something," she said.

"To your father?"

"To myself." She paused. "He'll find out when I win it."

Silence.

She looked at him.

The corner of his mouth was doing that thing, the almost smile. The one she'd notice without meaning to.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," he said. But the almost smile stayed.

And Aria went against every rule she'd made for herself and smiled back.

Just for a second.

Just a small one.

But it was real and he saw it and neither of them pretended.

She looked back at the model.

Her heart was absolutely not doing anything.

At all.

"Mostly."