The campus café was unusually packed that evening.
Officially, people were there for the cold brews and overpriced brownies. Unofficially… every single table—every boy within a five-meter radius—had taken strategic seats, angled perfectly toward the booth in the far corner.
There she was.
Ira.
Sitting casually in her usual spot by the window, one arm resting on the backrest, the other curled around a cup of steaming cappuccino. She was wearing that crop hoodie again—not too short, not too long, with sleeves pushed halfway up and a faintly faded logo across the chest. Her black joggers hung comfortably on her hips. She was relaxed, leaning back as if she owned the place.
The sunlight from the window caught the strands of her hair, making the undone wisps around her temple glow faintly. She wasn’t even doing anything attention-worthy—just sipping her drink and chatting with a friend across the table about absolutely mundane things: deadlines, hostel food, and whether or not she should learn how to bake.
But to the café’s other occupants, it might as well have been a cinematic event.
Every time she laughed softly, took a sip, or tapped her finger absently on the table, boys looked like they’d just been granted divine revelations.
At least seven guys across the café were actively psyching themselves up.
“Just walk up to her.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4gTXfedF4T
“Say something cool. Something confident.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKuwVIw9eXs
“Ask if she likes dogs. Everyone likes dogs.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC6cz8CSwq7
“WHAT IF SHE’S A CAT PERSON?!”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡajrtu84YRZ
“Shut up, you’re spiraling again.”
Girls at nearby tables had long noticed the pattern. They’d even given the poor souls a nickname: The Rathore Watchers.
One girl, Diya, leaned toward her friend and whispered, “Ten bucks says the guy near the sugar counter doesn’t even like coffee. He’s been there for 30 minutes just stirring.”
Her friend giggled. “He’s on his third imaginary drink. I think he’s just praying she looks his way.”
Meanwhile, Ira remained oblivious.
She and her friend continued chatting, until she reached the bottom of her drink. She set the cup down, yawned slightly, then rose to her feet.
And then…
It happened.
As she stood, Ira stretched lazily—arms arching high above her head, fingers lacing together in a slow, absent-minded motion. Her back arched just enough. The movement lifted her hoodie—barely—but enough to reveal a teasing sliver of skin. Just a glimpse of her toned stomach. A whisper of a curve. Effortless.
She didn’t notice. She never did.
But everyone else did.
Time. Stopped.
A fork clattered to the floor.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ3K3frUdNG
Someone dropped a tray.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5tY6fvviQg
One poor intern near the counter let out a strangled sound like a dying cat.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ZPPpVye2m
Another choked on his iced mocha.
Even the barista forgot to press the espresso button.
She lowered her arms, casually rolled her neck, grabbed her phone, and tossed a casual “Later” to her friend before walking out—hoodie swaying, hair bouncing behind her.
Door shut. She was gone.
And the café exploded.
“Did you see that?”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJaIto3OJTZ
“I am NOT okay.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDx0sctoGkb
“That was the most elegant stretch I’ve ever seen in my life.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeihiypqLLt
“I think my soul left my body.”36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz2nQgoivMg
“I can’t live like this anymore. I need therapy.”
At the girls’ table, Diya and her gang were doubled over in laughter.
“BRO,” she shouted toward a table of boys staring at the door like she’d ascended into the heavens. “SHE JUST STRETCHED. GET A GRIP.”
Another girl cackled, “Why are you all acting like you’ve seen divinity?”
A guy near the counter muttered without blinking, “Because I think we did.”
“Does anyone even remember what she said in that conversation?”
“No. But I remember the exact angle of her spine during that stretch.”
Cue more groaning, head-thudding-on-table, and collective trauma.
A guy in the corner whispered, “Is this what heartbreak feels like, before anything even starts?”
The girls, of course, were merciless.
By the time dinner rolled around, the Stretch Heard Around the Campus had become legend.
Memes were made.
📸 POV: You thought she was just your bro, and now you want her to marry you.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIuVXar8jpL
Caption: “Just a girl. Just a hoodie. Just a stretch. Just ruined my life.”
“Ira lifted her arms. We lifted our standards.”
In the group chat titled "Ira’s Unofficial Fan Club", someone posted:
“New rule. If you weren’t there during The Stretch, don’t talk about love.”
And Ira?
She was back in her room, watching a baking tutorial on YouTube, completely unaware that her casual exit from a café had left an entire generation of young men in emotional disarray.
She just stretched.
Like a normal person.
As far as she knew… nothing had changed.
But for the rest of the campus?
Everything had.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJrB5R5LIdV
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