The faint scent of ozone and old paper usually clung to the physics department, a predictable aroma Reyansh found comforting. Today, a different fragrance cut through it – strawberries, sweet and unexpectedly bright. He watched her from his office door, a splash of vibrant red against the muted hallway, the little white seeds embroidered on the fabric like tiny, perfect imperfections. Jiya, her head bent over a textbook, a stray curl escaping her braid, looked utterly out of place and entirely captivating. A soft sigh escaped her, a sound barely audible, yet it resonated within the quiet corridor. His gaze, usually a precise instrument measuring equations and theories, lingered on the curve of her neck, the way the dress hugged her slender frame. He straightened, a silent command in the shift of his posture.