Meera's POV
I have officially decided something.
Ethan Moretti is a problem.
A walking.
Talking.
Extremely annoying problem.
And unfortunately for me, my grades are now connected to this problem.
Which means I cannot escape him.
Not yet.
Not until the semester ends.
I stared at the whiteboard where the professor had written another set of complicated equations.
Vector differentiation.
Multiple integrals.
My favorite topics.
Normally I would have been excited about solving them.
Today?
Not so much.
Because sitting behind me — again — was Ethan.
And the worst part?
He looked completely different from the first day I met him.
The man I saw near the courtyard that day had looked like a full-grown adult.
Suit.
Serious face.
Sharp eyes.
Someone who looked like he belonged in a corporate boardroom.
Or maybe running a company.
Now?
Now he looked like a college boy.
I hated how well it worked.
His beard was gone.
His hair was styled casually.
He wore a plain T-shirt and a hoodie like every other student.
And somehow that made him look younger.
Not exactly nineteen.
But definitely closer to it.
Still.
Something about him felt… older.
Like he was pretending.
And the worst part was that everyone else seemed to love it.
Especially the girls.
"Oh my god look at him."
"His jawline is insane."
"Did you see his shoulders?"
"I swear he looks like a model."
"I want to sit next to him."
"I want to marry him."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Can everyone just focus on the lecture?
Apparently not.
Even worse?
Some teachers had started noticing him too.
One professor literally paused mid-lecture yesterday and said,
"You have very sharp features, Mr. Carter."
Sharp features?
This is an engineering class, not a beauty pageant.
Meanwhile I was sitting there wondering how I ended up responsible for him academically.
The professor had made it very clear.
If Ethan successfully caught up with the coursework this semester, I would receive extra marks.
Which meant I had no choice.
I had to help him.
And I had to do it properly.
Even if he was driving me insane.
After class ended, students started leaving the room.
I packed my notebook quickly.
Before I could escape—
A voice behind me said calmly,
"Library?"
I sighed.
Of course.
I turned around slowly.
Ethan leaned back casually in his chair.
Like he had all the time in the world.
"Yes," I said flatly.
"You need help with integrals."
He nodded.
"And vector differentiation."
"Yes."
"And anything else I missed."
"Yes."
He stood up.
"Good."
I grabbed my bag and started walking.
He followed.
Again.
Always following.
Everywhere.
Through the hallway.
Across the courtyard.
Into the library.
I could literally feel people staring at us.
Girls whispering.
Some even looking annoyed at me.
Like I had stolen something that belonged to them.
Trust me.
You can have him.
Please.
Take him.
We found a quiet table in the library.
I opened my notebook.
"Alright."
He sat across from me.
I began explaining.
"This is a multiple integral."
I wrote the equation clearly.
"If a function depends on more than one variable, we integrate over each variable."
He watched carefully.
His eyes didn't move from the page.
Which surprised me.
Most students get bored in five minutes.
But Ethan listened.
Really listened.
When I explained vector differentiation, he asked questions.
Logical questions.
Good questions.
Which meant he wasn't pretending to understand.
He was actually learning.
That was… unexpected.
After nearly an hour, my stomach reminded me of something important.
Lunch.
I pulled my small lunch container out of my bag.
My mother always insisted I carry homemade food.
Today I had packed Idiyappam.
Soft white string hoppers with coconut milk.
Comfort food.
Home food.
I opened the container quietly.
Immediately Ethan leaned slightly forward.
"What's that?"
"My lunch."
"It smells good."
"It is."
He watched for a moment.
Then said something unbelievable.
"Can I try some?"
I blinked.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's my lunch."
"That seems selfish."
"You have a cafeteria."
"I want that."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because it smells better than cafeteria food."
I sighed.
Why am I dealing with this?
Reluctantly, I pushed a small portion toward him.
"Fine."
"Thank you."
He picked up a piece of idiyappam.
Then paused.
"How do you eat this?"
"With your hand."
He looked at the food.
Then at me.
"With… my hand."
"Yes."
He tried.
And immediately failed.
The idiyappam slipped from his fingers.
I stared.
He tried again.
More noodles fell apart.
"This is complicated," he said.
"It is not."
"You make it look easy."
"Because I know how to eat my own food."
He watched me carefully as I mixed the coconut milk with the idiyappam and rolled a small portion with my fingers.
Then I ate it.
He leaned forward.
"Teach me."
"Just watch."
He tried again.
Still messy.
Finally he said something outrageous.
"Feed me."
I froze.
"What?"
"Feed me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I am not feeding you."
"You taught me with your hands."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because they are my hands."
"Exactly."
I stared at him.
He looked completely serious.
"Absolutely not."
"Please."
"No."
"You're a terrible teacher."
"I'm an engineering mentor, not your mother."
He laughed quietly.
And somehow that annoyed me even more.
A few minutes passed in silence while he struggled with the food.
Then he leaned back slightly.
"You cook?"
"Yes."
Then he said casually,
"You have beautiful hands."
I almost dropped my spoon.
"What?"
"They're small."
"And your fingers are delicate."
My face heated instantly.
"Stop talking."
"Why?"
"Because that is inappropriate."
"I'm complimenting you."
"I don't want compliments."
"That seems unfortunate."
I closed my lunch box firmly.
"I'm done eating."
"Already?"
"Yes."
He leaned forward again.
"You get angry easily."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
He smiled slightly.
"Yes."
I looked away.
Why is he like this?
Why does he keep talking like we're friends?
Or worse.
Something else.
Then a thought crossed my mind.
Something uncomfortable.
I looked at him carefully.
"Why are you even talking to me?"
He looked surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Americans think brown Indians are weird."
His eyebrows tightened slightly.
"I've heard it."
"Some people think our food smells."
"Some think our skin color is ugly."
"So why are you suddenly so interested in talking to me?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Which made my suspicion worse.
"I know why," I said quietly.
He leaned back slightly.
"Tell me."
"You're using me."
His expression changed slightly.
"You need help catching up with studies."
"So you're being nice."
"And when the semester ends, you'll disappear."
He watched me carefully.
I continued.
"That's fine."
"I don't care."
"But let's be clear."
I tapped the notebook.
"I help you finish the syllabus."
"That's it."
"No flirting."
"No weird comments."
"No asking me to feed you."
He looked amused.
But also thoughtful.
I continued firmly.
"I finish helping you."
"You pass the course."
"And then we go our separate ways."
Silence settled between us.
Finally Ethan said softly,
"You really think I'm using you."
"Yes."
"And you're sure about that."
"Yes."
He studied my face for a long moment.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright."
I blinked.
"That was easy."
"Yes."
He closed the notebook.
"Let's continue studying."
I stared at him suspiciously.
But I had a goal.
Finish this mentorship.
Get my marks.
And escape this situation.
Because something about Ethan Carter—
Something about the way he looked at me—
Made my mind restless.
And I didn't like it.
Not one bit.
So the faster this semester ended…
The better.