Aaradhya's POV

When the chatter seemed to die down, my gaze unknowingly shifted toward the classroom door. The clicking sound of shoes was the only thing echoing in the silence. My eyes followed the steps — from the polished shoes to the pressed black trousers, up to the crisp white shirt clinging to the person's body. It felt like I had seen this outfit somewhere today, though I couldn't recall where. My subconscious mind reminded me — isn't it the most common outfit worn by men? Then my gaze finally stopped at his face — warm-toned skin and familiar features.

A sharp jawline dusted with a neatly trimmed black beard. Lips pressed into a firm line. A pointed nose. Amber eyes — steady and unreadable. His face carried a stoic expression, the kind that made time still for a moment.
It felt like I had seen this face before.
Where...?
And then it hit me.
Yes — the man on the roadside. The one who was just an inch away from hitting me with his car.
A sudden wave of anxiety surged through my veins, tightening my chest as the memory flashed before me.

Don't tell me he works here... or has anything to do with my classes.
My heart thudded with anticipation for whatever came next. I was twirling my pen unknowingly between my fingers, trying to steady my thoughts. The air itself felt suffocating in his presence — as if his very existence in the room had stolen all the oxygen.
He walked toward the lecture desk, placing a neat stack of papers and a book on top.
Every movement of his was precise, calculated — yet unpredictable. And that only worsened the anxiety curling in my chest.

"Good morning, class." His deep, authoritative voice echoed through the room. And as per ritual, all the students responded in unison — "Good morning, sir" — their voices blending in practiced rhythm. He gave a curt nod.

"I'm your Organic Chemistry professor," he announced.

My heart dropped straight into the pit of my stomach at that one sentence.
What?!
Someone please tell me my mind is playing tricks on me.

I rubbed my eyes, convinced I was hallucinating — but no, he was still standing there. I even pressed a finger into my ear to check if I'd heard him wrong.
Nope. Loud and clear.

I glanced around the room, hoping someone would tell me this was a dream, but the truth was cruelly obvious.
Now, all I wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Cement yourself right here, Aaradhya, I mentally scolded myself.

But that's not possible now. Should I just hide under the bench?
Yes — that's the best solution. Hide and avoid him at all costs.

But before I could even think about disappearing, his gaze fell on me. He tilted his head slightly, and that was enough to send a whole zoo of anxiety butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Yes, you heard that right — anxiety butterflies, not the romantic kind people talk about.

My entire body froze right where I was sitting. Someone from the back asked his name, and even in my frozen state, I heard his reply —

Without breaking eye contact, he said in that same deep, authoritative voice that echoed through the class,
"Dr. Advait Singh Rathore."

He averted his eyes from me, which brought a small calmness to my frayed nerves and made me release the breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"I will be your Organic Chemistry professor for the whole two years — which means until the end of your Masters," he said, his deep authoritative voice filling the room.
"And also your permanent coordinator for two years," he added, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

Ooooh God... Aaradhya, tune bahut ganda waala panga le liya hai. I cursed myself silently.
Tujhe kya heroine banne ki zarurat thi? Sorry bolke baat khatam ho jaati, but nahi... tujhe toh heroine banne ki chul thi. Ab jhel pure 2 saal.

I shook my head unconsciously, trying to shake off the panic.

"YOU."

A deep, loud voice again — and now I knew exactly who it was.
Obviously — Advait Sir.

I looked at him. He was already looking at me, unwavering, unreadable. And to my horror... and secretly my amusement... the whole class was staring at me with blank expressions.

"Did something happen?" I muttered to myself, unable to process his words in that brief two seconds.
I pointed a finger at myself, seeking confirmation. He nodded, and my heart skipped a beat.

Would he ask about that incident? A whirlpool of thoughts formed in my mind.

"Why are you shaking your head?" he asked.

Heat instantly erupted around my ears.
Oooh God... why do I talk to myself this much?

"I... It's n... nothing, Sir," I whispered, fumbling over my words.

My subconscious mind mentally slapped me for being so clumsy.

He just nodded, unreadable as ever, and walked toward the first bench.

"Before we start the class, I have to say something," he said, pausing to let his words sink in. His gaze swept across the room, as if embedding them into our very skin.

"First, I don't like any kind of disturbance in my class. No mobile phones. No chit-chat in the middle of the lecture. If you have something important to discuss, go outside — the corridor is big enough for you."

"Second, I am not your reminder for anything. If I decide a date for assignment submission or a test, and you're late or absent on that day, I won't allow a retest or accept your assignment late. It's your duty to submit on time. And don't even try saying, 'My assignment was eaten by my dog' — or any animal you brought along," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Some students chuckled, but one glare from him made them straighten their backs and seal their lips instantly.

"Third, short attendance," he continued. "If you have any medical condition or genuine problem, I'll surely support you." His voice carried an unexpected hint of assurance.

"But," he paused, his tone sharpening, "if you try to use these excuses for your short attendance, I will have no hesitation in suspending you from the exam. And don't think I'm not capable — I am."

He said all these rules in that robotic, perfectly measured voice of his — the kind that didn't need to be loud to make you listen.

Though he didn't say anything directly to me, a strange fear still crept through my heart. What if he holds a grudge against me?
But yaar, it wasn't even entirely my fault. Still... if I act nonchalant, maybe it won't affect me at all.
Yes, Aaradhya — you can do it. You got this.

"Okay, one more thing," he added.

I looked in his direction — and found him staring straight at me again, deliberately, expressionless. That blank face somehow screamed more than words ever could.

"Cross the road carefully. You never know when you might meet God. Some people — I mean, some color-blind or blind people — don't know the traffic signals, so don't blame them for your ticket to heaven. You're responsible for your own carelessness too."

His voice was laced with sarcasm — and I knew exactly for whom it was meant.

My whole face and ears suddenly heated up — probably from this embarrassment. To avoid further humiliation, I quickly averted my gaze from him.
It's really hard to meet his piercing gaze head-on.
So, knowingly, I fixed my eyes on the bench as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Priya nudged her elbow against my arm. I looked up at her with a raised brow. She gestured for me to take out my notebook.
I glanced around — every student already had theirs open on the desk.
So, I quickly pulled mine out too and thanked her silently with a small smile.

AUTHOR'S POV

Advait moved toward the lecture desk, picked up a sleek specs case, and pulled out his thin, gold-rimmed aviator glasses. Sliding them on, he flipped through the pages of the book with measured ease, his movements precise and deliberate.

"In Semester One, we'll be studying Stereochemistry and Reactive Intermediates," he stated in his composed, authoritative tone.

He picked up the digital pen and began writing on the smart blackboard — neat white letters forming on the screen:
Stereochemistry and Reactive Intermediates.

The class fell into a hushed silence, every sound swallowed by his presence.

"Who will tell me about these two terms?" he asked, his voice calm yet commanding.

Some students began whispering among themselves; others suddenly found the walls, benches, or even their own hands far more interesting — anything to avoid his gaze.

Aaradhya's head was lowered, her focus entirely on her notebook — or at least pretending to be. To be more precise, she was busy scribbling tiny flowers across the page, anything to avoid looking at him.

"Anyone who wants to describe the written words?" he repeated.

His sharp eyes scanned the class. Seven or eight students cautiously raised their hands — mostly girls, with a few hesitant boys.

He gave a short nod toward one of them.
It was Tripti.

Tripti stood up — a little hesitant at first, but her voice carried quiet confidence as she began.

"Sir, stereochemistry means studying how atoms are arranged in space within a molecule... like, the same formula but different 3D structures. It's about how that arrangement affects a compound's behavior."

She paused briefly before continuing, "And reactive intermediates are highly reactive, unstable molecules that appear in the middle of a reaction mechanism. They can't usually be isolated, but they help explain how products are formed."

Advait listened carefully, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, he gave a small nod.

"Good. You explained it well. Thank you for your explanation. Please, sit down," he said — his tone calm yet authoritative, carrying a hint of appreciation.

Tripti smiled softly and took her seat, relief washing over her face.

Advait had just moved toward the digital blackboard when his gaze fell on Aaradhya — her head bent, completely absorbed in her notebook. Curiosity flickered across his face. What is she doing in her notebook when I haven't even started yet?

He turned slightly and asked Tripti, "What is your name?"

"Sir, Tripti," she replied.

He gave a curt nod. "Tripti just explained stereochemistry and reactive intermediates. Now — the girl sitting beside Tripti, after the other girl, will tell the class again," he stated, pausing as his eyes flicked toward Aaradhya, who was still lost in her doodle-filled world.

All eyes shifted backward — landing on Aaradhya.

She was in another world until Priya poked her sharply with her elbow, dragging her back to reality. Confused, Aaradhya looked around, blinking.

Priya whispered urgently, "Sir tere se pooch rahe hain — Stereochemistry and Reactive Intermediates! Jaldi bata!"

Aaradhya's gaze met Advait's. His eyes were steady, unyielding.

Awkwardly, she stood, fumbling with her pen. Heat crept up her ears and neck, and her words tangled in her throat. She felt utterly flustered, unable to form coherent sentences.

"Can you please care to explain?" Advait's voice was firm, commanding attention.

She nodded, swallowing her flustered. There was no turning back — she had to speak.

"Uh... reactive... um... it's something that... reacts? I mean — it comes in between the reaction? Like — uh — it forms for a while and then... disappears?" Aaradhya blabbered, her voice trembling with nervousness.

"What?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you even know what you're saying?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Aaradhya pressed her lips into a thin line, her nerves tangling further under his intimidating gaze. She didn't even know what she was saying.

He shook his head slightly, a hint of irritation flashing across his face. At least she could focus on what's being discussed in class... But she was still lost in her La La Land.

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Are you here, or... somewhere else?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone, arms folded across his chest.

Aaradhya's gaze dropped to her bench, heat crawling up her neck and cheeks. Mentally, she slapped herself. What's wrong with me? I know these terms... so why can't I answer him?

"Sit down," he stated firmly.

She sank back into her seat, mortified. One desperate thought ran through her mind: Earth, please swallow me up — ugh!

Advait moved back toward the digital board, picked up the digital pen, and prepared to continue the lesson, leaving Aaradhya in a mix of embarrassment and quiet panic.

The faint hum of the digital board filled the quiet lecture hall. Advait adjusted his glasses, the tip of his stylus tapping twice before he began to write in crisp, elegant handwriting across the glowing surface.

"Stereochemistry," he said, his deep voice calm but commanding, "is simply the study of how atoms are arranged in space."

Every student's pen scratched against paper, notebooks open, fingers pausing only to copy his words. Aaradhya scribbled furiously, trying to keep pace while still battling the lingering embarrassment from earlier.

He turned briefly toward the class. "Every molecule you've studied so far—ethane, butane, glucose—has atoms connected in a certain order. But what if I told you that even when two compounds have the same formula, the same atoms, and the same bonds... they can still behave differently?"

Students leaned forward slightly, some nodding as they wrote down examples, others quietly whispering reminders to themselves about the structures. Aaradhya glanced at Priya, who gave her a subtle, encouraging smile.

The stylus moved again.

'Stereoisomers = Same molecular formula + Same connectivity + Different spatial arrangement.'

He looked back at the students. "That," he continued, "is the heart of stereochemistry."

The board flickered to life as he drew two structures side by side. A few students tilted their notebooks to get a better view, pens moving nonstop.

"We divide stereoisomerism into two main types—geometrical and optical isomerism."

Geometrical Isomerism
He zoomed in on one structure—a double bond with CH₃ groups attached on the same side.

"Here, because the double bond prevents rotation, we can have two arrangements. When similar groups lie on the same side, we call it cis. When they're opposite, it's trans."

Aaradhya's pen flew across her page, drawing tiny arrows and labeling cis and trans, while others in the class copied diligently, murmuring the terms quietly to memorize.

He paused and looked toward the class, his tone softer now.

"Even though both are 2-butene, cis-butene has a different boiling point and even a slightly different smell than trans-butene. Just because of how atoms stand in space."

Optical Isomerism
With a quick gesture, he cleared the screen and drew a tetrahedral carbon with four different groups.

"Now, this one—this is where things get interesting," he murmured, zooming in on the carbon atom.
"If a carbon is attached to four different atoms or groups, it becomes chiral—like our left and right hands. Mirror images, but not superimposable."

The students leaned in, their pens pausing momentarily as they absorbed the concept, then resumed sketching the tetrahedral shapes and labeling each substituent carefully. Aaradhya made a small note in the margin: Chiral = hand-like, not superimposable.

He duplicated the structure and flipped it horizontally.

"These two are enantiomers. They look the same, yet one rotates plane-polarized light clockwise, and the other anticlockwise."

Beside the drawings, students wrote Dextrorotatory (+) and Laevorotatory (–) neatly in their notebooks, some whispering the terms to themselves to remember.

"And here's the beauty of it," he said, a faint smile touching his lips. "Their chemical composition is identical, but in biology, one can be medicine, the other—poison. Nature, after all, is sensitive to shape."

He turned, stylus still in hand, his amber eyes steady, scanning the class to ensure every student was following. Every student's gaze was fixed on him, pens moving in unison, notebooks filling with meticulous notes.

"So remember this—stereochemistry isn't just structure. It's behavior. It's how a molecule interacts with light, with enzymes, with the world itself."

He clicked off the pen and let silence settle for a second. The faint scratch of pens on paper filled the air again.

"That," he finished quietly, "is why chemistry is more than equations. It's architecture—at the atomic level."

The board faded to a soft blue glow. The room stayed still for a heartbeat before the collective whisper of note pages and the faint murmur of copying resumed. Aaradhya's hand ached slightly from writing, but she felt a small spark of pride — she was finally keeping pace, finally present.

"That's it for today. I hope you've understood the concept," Advait said, his voice calm but commanding. "If anyone has any doubts, please ask."

He scanned the class, amber eyes sharp and alert. But no one raised a hand.

"Okay! Now I am taking attendance, so maintain the decorum," he stated, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

He pulled out the register and began calling names, marking students present one by one.

"Aaradhya Hooda," he said, his gaze flicking briefly across the rows of students.
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