The cough ripped through Aalam like a grenade, sharp, unexpected, leaving her lungs burning and her throat raw. It wasn't the sound that froze the lecture hall, but what followed: the way Ishan Malik's head snapped toward her with a precision that should've been impossible, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the fluorescent lights buzz louder. His lips parted, not to chastise, not to resume his lecture,but around something far more dangerous: recognition.
For three excruciating seconds, the entire room held its breath. The late afternoon sunlight caught the silver streaks at Ishan's temples, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his fingers flexed against the lectern as if grasping for an invisible thread between them. Aalam watched, transfixed, as his Adam's apple bobbed,once, twice,the movement telegraphing everything his carefully curated silence couldn't.
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