Chapter 1: The Bench Beneath the Blossoms

The first thing Rhea noticed about Elmridge University wasn’t the grandeur of its stone buildings or the hum of a hundred conversations—it was the tree.

A cherry blossom, tall and regal, stood at the heart of the courtyard. Its pale pink petals floated gently to the ground like whispers, creating a soft carpet beneath the iron bench beneath it. The world around it moved quickly—students hurrying to class, clubs advertising loudly, laughter echoing from distant corners—but the tree remained still. Unbothered. Untouched.

Just like her.

She clutched the strap of her bag tighter, her heart thudding beneath her cotton kurti. It was orientation day, and while others clicked selfies and huddled in new groups, she remained apart. Invisible. That was the plan. Come in quietly. Finish her degree. Leave.

She hadn’t planned to sit down, but her legs felt heavier with each step. The bench beneath the cherry tree was empty—or so she thought.

A soft voice interrupted her just as she was about to drop her bag beside her.

“Careful,” it said. “That’s where she sits.”

Rhea turned, startled. A boy—no, a young man—was already sitting on the far side of the bench, half-shadowed by the canopy. His long legs were stretched out, sketchbook balanced on one knee. His smile wasn’t mocking; if anything, it was amused.

“She?” she asked, hesitantly.

“The tree,” he replied, tapping his pencil against the wood. “She doesn’t like loud footsteps or heavy thoughts. She prefers gentle visitors.”

Rhea blinked. Either he was strange, or poetic. Maybe both.

“You talk to trees often?” she asked, unsure if she should smile or walk away.

“Only this one,” he said, glancing up at the blossoms. “She listens.”

Rhea sat at the edge of the bench, unsure if she was intruding on something sacred or just witnessing a very elaborate joke. He returned to his sketch, the pencil gliding across the page like it had a rhythm of its own.

“I’m Aarav,” he said after a moment, not looking up.

“Rhea.”

He nodded, as if her name completed something in his head.

She looked away, scanning the students who passed, loud and confident. She didn’t feel like either. Her brother used to say that college was a new chapter. A place to reinvent yourself.

But how do you reinvent when your old self never finished its story?

“What’s your major?” Aarav asked casually.

“Psychology,” she replied, watching a girl squeal as her friends threw confetti.

“Figured. You have the face of someone who notices everything but says nothing.”

“And you?” she asked.

“Architecture. I build things I can’t explain.”

That made her smile, just a little.

A gust of wind shook the tree, scattering more petals between them. One landed on her lap, fragile and soft. She picked it up, twirled it between her fingers.

“Why do you sit here every day?” she asked.

He closed his sketchbook gently, then looked at her—really looked.

“Because this is the only place on campus that feels like it’s not trying to be anything else.”

Rhea didn’t reply, but her chest ached a little. Because she knew exactly what he meant.

As the bells rang for the next session and students moved on, neither of them did. They sat beneath the cherry blossoms in comfortable silence, strangers with secrets, breathing in the brief peace the world had offered.

It was a beginning.

A quiet one.

But some of the most beautiful things begin like that.

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