In theory, life was simple.

Aanya Sharma lived by formulas and flowcharts. Her world was one of sharp pencil lines, hospital rotations, and the quiet hum of lab instruments. She wasn’t the kind of girl to believe in grand love stories or poetic fate. To her, the heart was a muscle, not a metaphor.

Until him.

Rudra Malhotra walked into her life like a contradiction she couldn’t solve. Captain of the football team, late to every class, and still topping the popularity charts like a viral algorithm. He wasn’t her type — if she even had one. But there was something about the way he wore chaos like a crown, how he smiled like he had nothing to lose, and how he saw her… really saw her, beneath the grades and the stethoscope dreams.

She met him during a biology practical — a pairing assigned purely by chance, or perhaps, as fate would later argue, by design. He was all fidget and impatience, unable to sit still through microscope slides and cellular diagrams. She, of course, was irritated. At first.

“Can I copy your notes?”

“Do you even know what meiosis means?”

“Nope. But I know your handwriting is cute.”

He was impossible. But impossibly charming.

They started with arguments that grew into teasing, shared coffee breaks, and stolen glances in the library. Her notes began carrying doodles of tiny footballs. His water bottle had a quote from Marie Curie stuck on it — badly spelled, but clearly chosen for her. Neither knew what this was becoming. They just knew it was growing — slowly, sweetly, dangerously.

But love, like science, is never just theory.

Behind them, shadows gathered — of rival siblings who couldn’t stand each other, of friendships masked as betrayals, and families who expected perfection or nothing at all. Dev, Rudra’s best friend and Aanya’s academic rival, began to notice the closeness. Kiara, Aanya’s so-called friend, grew distant and cold, hiding jealousy behind smiles.

And then there was Aryan — Aanya’s cousin, just returned from London. A genius in cardiology, a professor before thirty, and hopelessly in love with her since forever. He knew what Rudra didn’t: that love, when left unspoken, turns into longing. He wasn’t going to let it stay unspoken much longer.

It was all getting complicated.

For now, though, under dim classroom lights and between unfinished assignments, Aanya and Rudra existed in their own quiet experiment. Neither dared to call it love. Neither knew how much it would cost them.

But every equation has a breaking point.

Every heartbeat, a pattern.

And some stories… aren’t meant to follow the syllabus.

Here's some sweet and flirty line just for my cute little butterfly and some warnings :-

Warning: This story may increase your heart rate, cause butterflies, and make you believe in love... again.

"Turn the page — I dare you not to fall a little in love."

"One girl. One golden boy. One forbidden syllabus of love."

"He was the variable she didn’t plan for… but now her heart skips a beat every time he smiles."

The first bell rang, echoing through the hallway like a warning shot. Students poured into the classroom in clusters — some yawning, others chatting, and a few dragging their feet as if physics was a punishment. For Aanya Mehta, it was a ritual. She entered with a highlighter tucked behind her ear, a coffee-stained notebook in one hand, and an air of quiet confidence trailing her like perfume.

Second row, window seat — her territory.

Everything had to be just right. Notes organized by color. Hair tied in a lazy bun that somehow still looked elegant. Formulas memorized. Definitions engraved into memory like carvings in stone. She lived by the rules of logic, and life — at least until now — had obeyed.

Then the classroom door creaked open again.

A boy walked in, twenty minutes late, carrying nothing but a water bottle and the kind of charm that could melt lab equipment. Tousled hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an ID card barely hanging on to the lanyard like it was trying to escape. The kind of guy who didn't just walk — he arrived.

Rudra Kapoor.

Football captain. First-crush material. Bad grades, good hair. And definitely not someone who belonged in her Advanced Physics class.

"You’re in this class?" Aanya blinked as he strolled past three empty seats and casually dropped his bag right next to her.

“Why, topper?” he smirked. “Afraid your IQ might fall in love?”

She arched a brow. “No. Just surprised you passed ninth grade science.”

“I didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, flashing that infuriating smile. “But I hear sitting next to the answer key helps.”

The teacher’s voice cut in from the front, but Aanya’s attention was stolen — not by formulas on the board, but by the boy beside her who smelled faintly of mint and mischief.

Rudra wasn’t just talking — he was watching. Watching her scribble in straight lines, watching the way her brows knitted when the equation got tricky. Watching her like she was the only part of the classroom worth noticing.

“You always this serious in class?” he whispered during a pause.

“Only when I care about the results.”

“Well, then I hope you start taking me seriously too.”

She turned away, hiding a smile behind her pencil. He was trouble — but the kind that made your heart skip in time with the second hand on the lab clock.

And just like that, the laws of physics began to bend. Because sometimes, even gravity feels like a choice when you’re sitting next to someone who makes your brain forget how to work.

               ########################ENDOFCHAPTER!########################

Flirty Quotes from the Chapter:

“You look like you solve equations in your sleep.”

— “And you look like you cause them.”

“You must be a catalyst… because ever since you showed up, my life’s been reacting weird.”

“We might be on different spectrums, Rudra.”

— “Good. That means there’s potential energy between us.”

"You're logic, I'm chaos. But even the universe began with a bang."

Rudra Kapoor was used to solving problems with his fists on the football field, not formulas in a classroom. Yet here he was, staring at a circuit diagram like it had personally offended him. The worst part? The girl beside him wasn’t even struggling.

Aanya Mehta was scribbling answers like she’d memorized the textbook backward.

“How do you know this stuff?” Rudra whispered, peeking over her shoulder. “Do you have a secret lab at home?”

“No. I have a brain,” she said sweetly, without even looking up.

He chuckled. “Must be nice. Mine just short-circuited trying to understand Kirchhoff’s Law.”

Aanya sighed. “It’s not that hard.”

“Neither is resisting your sarcasm, but here we are.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Try reading the question properly.”

He did. Twice. Still gibberish.

“Okay, tutor me,” he said, sliding his notebook closer to hers. “Think of it as charity.”

Aanya hesitated. Rudra Kapoor asking her for help? This had to be some kind of prank. But one glance at his confused expression — eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted in thought — and her inner nerd gave in.

“Fine. But don’t talk, don’t flirt, and no distractions.”

“No distractions,” he promised.

Five seconds later: “Your handwriting’s really pretty.”

Aanya groaned.

They spent the next twenty minutes with heads bent over notes. Aanya explained, Rudra attempted, and somewhere in between, something shifted. He wasn’t just the charming distraction anymore — he was genuinely trying.

And he kept looking at her. Not in the way most boys did — not at her body, her clothes, her face. He looked like he was reading her. Like every word she said was more fascinating than the question itself.

“I get it now,” he murmured.

“You do?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Rudra nodded, eyes on her instead of the circuit diagram. “You explain things well. Like, way too well. It's kind of hot.”

“Rudra!”

“What? You make Ohm’s Law sound seductive.”

She hit him with her pencil.

“Worth it,” he grinned.

The bell rang. Class over. Students rushed out.

But they didn’t move.

He glanced at her notebook, then at her. “Thanks, Einstein.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank your neurons for finally firing.”

He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow, tutor?”

“Only if you stop flirting.”

“No promises.”

He walked away — leaving Aanya staring at the mess of equations, unsure whether she’d just taught a lesson... or learned one.

💬 Flirty Quotes from Chapter Two:

“I might not understand electricity, but girl — you spark something every time you talk.”

“You explain circuits better than our teacher. Should I report him or just marry you?”

“If brainy is your type, I’ll start reading the syllabus... maybe.”

“You sure you’re not a formula? Because I’m constantly trying to figure you out.”

                                                                         Teaser

                                                Chapter Three: The Lab Partner Pact

“One lab bench. Two sworn rivals. Unlimited sparks.”

When Aanya finds herself paired with Rudra for the semester's biggest project, she vows to keep things strictly scientific. But Rudra? He’s already mixing formulas—and feelings.

“Careful, Mehta,” he smirks, “even acids don’t sizzle like you do under pressure.”

Let the experiment begin.

“I think this is the most chemistry I’ve ever had in a science lab,”

It wasn’t just a lab experiment anymore.

It was the beginning of a pact. One forged over stolen glances, half-smiles, and gloves that did nothing to hide the heat between their hands.

mini line from me

“If I were an equation, you’d be the variable I never saw coming.”