The "Wall" between us 🧱

“The Start of Us”🫰

My world had always been simple.

Not easy—never easy—but simple enough to understand. Wake up. Go to class. Study harder than everyone else. Build a future that didn’t depend on anyone. I had repeated that routine so many times, it had become a part of me… like breathing.

There was no space for anything else.

Especially not love.

so I thought 💭.

The university campus was louder than usual that morning. Freshers moving around with wide eyes, final-year students walking like they owned the place, and in between them, people like me—focused, determined, trying not to get distracted.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and kept walking, my eyes fixed ahead. If there was one thing I had learned, it was this—if you don’t look for distractions, they won’t find you.

Or at least… that’s what I believed.

“Maya!”

I turned at the sound of my name, already knowing who it was. Zara came rushing toward me, slightly out of breath, her usual bright smile already in place.

“You didn’t wait for me again,” she said, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. “One day, I’ll actually stop talking to you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You say that every day.”

“And one day, I’ll mean it.”

“You won’t.”

She paused, then laughed. “Okay, true. But still—you could at least pretend you like me.”

“I do like you,” I said, continuing to walk. “Just not enough to be late for class.”

Zara groaned but fell into step beside me. “You and this your ‘future first’ lifestyle. Maya, you’re in university. You’re supposed to live a little.”

“I am living,” I replied simply.

She gave me a look but didn’t argue further. Deep down, she understood. She knew where I was coming from, even if she didn’t fully agree.

We were almost at the faculty building when the crowd ahead suddenly slowed down, people gathering around something—or someone.

Zara leaned forward slightly, trying to see. “What’s going on there?”

“I don’t know,” I said, already trying to move around them. “And I don’t plan to find out.”

But curiosity is a strange thing.

Before I could stop myself, my eyes lifted.

And that was when I saw him.

He was walking toward the chemistry lab, the one we had our practical in that afternoon. His lab coat was neatly pressed, every fold crisp as though no one had touched it before him. His walking step was measured, confident, yet effortless, and that faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at something inside me—a warmth I wasn’t expecting.

Umar. The boy who had accidentally shared a textbook with me two weeks ago. The one who had become impossible to ignore. The rumors were true—he was brilliant, disciplined, untouchable to everyone but somehow… distracting to me.

The lab was already warm, sunlight streaming through tall windows, but now it seemed hotter. I tried to keep my head down, pretending to organize my notes, but my hands trembled slightly. My phone buzzed again—a reminder of the skincare orders I had promised—but I couldn’t check it. Not now. Not with Umar standing just a few feet away.

“Careful with the burette,” he said softly, leaning slightly closer. His voice was calm, precise, yet there was an undercurrent—a quiet intensity—that made my pulse quicken.

“I… I know what I’m doing,” I whispered, though the lie was obvious even to me.

“I wasn’t doubting you,” he said, eyes meeting mine briefly. “I just didn’t want you to end up with a mess.”

I swallowed hard, aware of how close he was now. Close enough to notice the faint scent of his cologne, the subtle warmth of his presence. My notebook suddenly felt heavy in my hands, my fingers sticky from nerves.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying not to smile, but failing.

He tilted his head slightly, watching me with that faint, knowing look that made my stomach twist. “You’re welcome… though I think you’ll still argue with me if I help again.”

I blinked, startled by the teasing in his tone. “Maybe,” I said, trying to sound indifferent, though my cheeks betrayed me.

He smirked. A small, controlled smirk, but enough to make my heart stutter. “I’ll take that as a challenge, then.”

For the rest of the practical, we moved in sync but apart—side by side, exchanging glances and occasional words, but never fully speaking. The smallest touch—a hand brushing against mine as we reached for the same flask—sent shocks up my arm. A dropped pen, which I bent to pick up, gave him an opportunity to lean closer than necessary.

Umar was everything the campus expected him to be: eldest son, top of his class, responsible, disciplined. But the quiet glances, the subtle teasing, the way he noticed the tiniest mistakes I made—it all suggested there was more beneath the surface. I wondered, briefly, if anyone else ever saw that side of him. Or if it was just me.

“Your solution’s off by a bit,” he murmured later, as I adjusted my burette. His hand hovered over mine for just a second too long to point at the correct angle. My fingers tingled where his had been, and I forced myself to look away.

“Thanks,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No problem,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Though… if you keep trying to ignore me, I’ll just assume you want me to help more.”

I froze. His words were teasing, playful, but underneath there was something heavier—something that made my chest tighten.Does he notice I like him ??

For a moment, the lab felt smaller, warmer, quieter. It was just us, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the smell of chemicals, and the thrill of unspoken connection. I tried to focus, tried to finish my titration correctly, but I couldn’t. Every glance, every small movement from him, pulled my attention like a magnet.

By the time the session ended, the air between us had shifted. It wasn’t just lab partners, not just classmates. There was something delicate and dangerous simmering in every glance, every small touch, every fleeting word. Something that felt exciting, terrifying, and inevitable all at once.

Packing up, I stole one last glance at him. He walked with the same controlled, confident stride, lab coat crisp, eyes focused… and yet, I was certain he glanced back at me. That faint smile lingered in my mind long after he left the lab.

I didn’t know him. I barely knew his name. But already, I felt something—something fragile and magnetic—pulling me toward him.

For me, life had always been simple: focus, discipline, success. No distractions. No unnecessary complications.

For Umar, everything was about expectations: family, legacy, responsibility. But maybe… just maybe… there was a part of him that wanted to break free, even if only for a moment, even if only with me.

And in that quiet chemistry lab, amidst the hum of lights, the scent of chemicals, and the clink of glassware, something had begun.

Something that could unite us.

Or destroy everything.