And then it happened.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. June's breath tangled in her chest. The reflection of the rain on Lucas's windshield made his gaze look gentler, heavier… worried. He stepped out slowly, opening his umbrella and walking toward her with the carefulness of someone afraid she might disappear if he rushed.
But June's heart was not calm.
It was heavy—heavy with the principal's words from earlier.
"Lucas said he had to send you the saree catalogues directly. That's why he asked for your contact."
A lie. A direct lie.
The knowledge stung like salt on a fresh wound.
So when Lucas approached, umbrella tilted protectively over her, June lifted her own umbrella sharply—almost like a shield.
He paused. "June…?"
She didn't answer. She simply walked past him, stepping into the waiting auto. The raindrops clattered loudly around her, but not loud enough to drown the sound of Lucas calling after her.
"June! Wait—at least tell me—what happened?"
She didn't turn back.
The auto pulled away, leaving Lucas standing on the roadside—bewildered, drenched along one shoulder, umbrella trembling slightly in his grip.
By the time June reached her house, her clothes were wet along the edges. Her mother hurried to the door.
"June! You're soaked, beta. Come inside quickly."
Her father emerged from the kitchen with a worried look. "At least carry a raincoat. What happened?"
June didn't reply. Her mind was still storming louder than the weather outside. She quietly walked to her room, changed into warm clothes, and returned to the hall.
Her mother placed a steaming bowl of khichdi and a plate of pakoras on the table.
"Sit. Eat something warm," she said.
June forced a smile, but her silence wasn't normal. Her parents exchanged glances.
"You look disturbed," her father said softly. "Did something go wrong?"
"No, Papa. Nothing," June replied quickly. "Just tired."
But they were not convinced.
Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. "If something is troubling you, you can always tell us."
That broke June for a moment. She hated worrying them. So she quickly straightened, smiled a little too brightly, and said, "No really, I'm fine! Just a long day. I promise."
They let it go—slowly, cautiously—but June could tell they were still worried.
Dinner ended quietly.
After cleaning up, June returned to her desk. The project presentation was the next day, and this was her final chance to perfect everything. She opened her laptop, arranging catalogues and notes.
And then…
Her phone buzzed.
Lucas: What happened to you today? Why did you leave like that?
June stared at the message. Her throat tightened.
She ignored it.
Two minutes later—another buzz.
Then a call.
She pressed decline.
Again. Decline.
The third time, frustration and hurt overflowed, and she finally answered.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, her voice sharp and trembling. "You should NOT call students so late at night!"
Lucas was silent at first—stunned by her tone.
"June… please. Just tell me what's wrong."
"You LIED!" her voice cracked. "Why did you tell the principal that you had to send me the saree catalogues? Why did you make excuses? Why lie when you could simply have told the truth?"
Lucas inhaled deeply. "I—I was nervous."
"Nervous?" June laughed bitterly. "About what? I'm just a student. Why lie to speak to me?"
"June, listen—"
"No! I don't want to listen."
And she hung up.
Her chest trembled, anger and confusion swirling together. She pressed her palms to her eyes, but the tears spilled out anyway.
"Why am I crying?" she whispered to herself. "He's just someone from college… someone who lied… so why does this hurt so much?"
She wiped her face furiously, ashamed of her own emotions.
After drinking a glass of water in the hall, she returned to her room.
The phone rang again.
Her breath hitched. This time, she answered—quieter, calmer, drained.
Lucas's voice was soft. "June… please. Let me explain."
A pause.
"I didn't lie to hurt you. I… didn't know how else to get your contact without making it awkward. I like talking to you. You're a brilliant student and—honestly—you make conversations feel… meaningful. I shouldn't have made excuses. But it wasn't with bad intentions."
June didn't speak for a long moment.
She could hear sincerity in his voice—something tired, something apologetic.
"Fine," she whispered. "Just… don't lie again. If you want to say something, say it honestly."
"I will," Lucas replied. "Always."
The call ended softly.
June sat back, staring at her ceiling, trying to untangle her heart.
The next morning was unusually peaceful. Birds chirped outside her window, and a cool breeze drifted into her room.
College was closed today—final preparations would begin tomorrow.
June slipped into loose pastel clothes, tied her hair lightly, and went for a morning walk. The garden smelled of wet grass and blooming lilies. She walked without thinking, letting silence soothe her mind.
She returned home refreshed.
Her mother was preparing breakfast.
"You went for a walk?" she asked.
"Yes, Mama," June smiled softly. "Felt like I needed it."
"Good," her father said. "It's healthy."
They ate together—light laughter, gentle warmth, everything peaceful again.
By noon, June left to join her friends at the auditorium. Rehearsals went smoothly—she danced with renewed focus, gave her speech clearly, and coordinated the team like a quiet leader.
Afterward, one of her friends dragged her to the market.
"June, you have to buy your saree today!"
They spent hours searching—and finally, June chose a beautiful lavender net saree with delicate work shimmering like frost. She bought matching bangles, pearl earrings, hair accessories… everything perfect.
She even bought a stunning red-bordered saree for her mother and a crisp shirt and trousers for her father.
They would all look perfect tomorrow.
Back home, June showed her parents all the items. Their faces lit up with happiness.
"Our daughter is growing up so beautifully," her mother whispered.
They had a warm dinner, discussing tomorrow's schedule.
"Wake up by eight," June said. "I have to leave by eight-thirty. You two can come later."
Her mother smiled. "We will be there on time."
Then goodnights were exchanged.
June went to her room, switched off the lights, kept only the soft lamp glowing beside her bed, and lay down—uncertain, hopeful, nervous.
And the chapter closed on her quiet breath in the dim light.