“So, what’s the verdict?” Lily asks, resting her chin on her hands and leaning across the table.
Riya doesn't hesitate. She grabs her pen and uncaps it with a sharp click. “What else? I’m doing it. I’m going to sign this, tear through that competition, and break his insufferable ego into pieces. I need him to realize I’m not some careless girl he can just look down on.”
Lily smiles faintly. Shaking her head at her friends antics she says, “Look, you’re literally top of the class, not to mention terrifyingly bold when you get competitive. Everyone in this department knows what you’re capable of.” She pauses, her gaze fixing on Riya. “So why are you letting his opinion get under your skin?”
Riya’s hand hesitates over the paper. “Because he acts like I don't belong here. Like every time I open my mouth, it’s an inconvenience.”
“Is that really all it is?” Lily leans closer, her tone dropping into a gentler, more intimate register. “Babe, I’m your best friend. I’ve seen people insult you before, you usually laugh it off or crush them in the exams and move on. But with Dr. Roy? You’re entirely consumed by him.”
Riya frowns, her eyebrows drawing together as a sudden prickle of heat touches her neck. “What are you talking about? I'm not consumed by him. He's not even in the mere percent of my thinking."
Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.
Riya ignores her subconscious mind which comes alive at a particular moment.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Lily says softly. “This intense need to prove yourself to Prof Arindam... is it really just about your wounded pride? Or is there something else going on under all that anger?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a second, the noisy background of the cafeteria fades. The absurd suggestion makes Riya’s chest tighten. She wants to laugh it off, to mock Lily for even suggesting something so utterly ridiculous. But before the words can form, her treacherous memory betrays her.
The flashing back to the quiet office just minutes ago. The shift of muscle under his shirt. The dark, piercing intensity of his eyes behind his glasses. The sudden, electrifying static that seemed to charge the air when her fingers grazed the edge of his hand.
Her pulse spike again.
“That’s absurd,” Riya snaps, a little too quickly, her voice sharp enough to draw a brief glance from the nearby table. She forces her gaze down, staring intensely at the debate form as she fills in her details with aggressive, dark strokes of ink. “He’s an arrogant, condescending tyrant who takes pleasure in humiliating his students. I don't have feelings for him, Lily. I despise him.”
Lily watches the frantic speed of Riya’s pen, a quiet, knowing expression settling onto her face. She doesn't push further, but the silence she leaves behind is louder than any argument.
Riya blows on the wet ink, folding the paper with sharp precision. Her hands are steady, but inside, her mind is spiralling. She refuses to let Lily’s words take root. She can't. Dr. Arindam Roy is her professor. A man whose strict discipline and cold indifference have made her blood boil for an entire year.
Hours slip by in a quiet blur.
By late afternoon, Riya is tucked deep into the back corner of the university library, surrounded by towering wooden shelves that effectively wall her off from the rest of the world. Beyond the high windows, the torrential downpour has finally softened into a steady, rhythmic drizzle, filling the vast room with a soothing, white-noise hum.
The library is nearly deserted. Aside from the elderly librarian nodding off behind the front desk and a couple of students whispering on the far side of the main hall, she has the entire floor to herself.
She closes her notebook with a soft, final thud, rubbing her eyes as she lets out a quiet breath. Her mind is a crowded arena right now. Seeking a moment to clear her head, Riya stands up and stretches her stiff shoulders. She steps away from her secluded desk and wanders down the narrow, dimly lit aisle toward the philosophy and literary theory section.
This is her sanctuary. The air here is cool and still, rich with the intoxicating, vanilla-and-earth scent of yellowed paper, aged leather, and dry ink. It is a smell that has always anchored her, washing over her restless thoughts like a wave of serene peace.
Slowly walking down the aisle, Riya trails her fingertips along the spines of the hardbound books lining the shelves. The varied textures pass beneath her skin in a rhythmic, comforting pattern, soothing the lingering irritation of the morning.
She turned the corner at the end of the aisle, her mind still half-lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts and walks right into someone. Her foot slips on the polished floor, and she instantly braces for the fall, squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for the impact.
It never comes.
Instead, a strong, unyielding arm loops around her waist, catching her weight with effortless ease and pulling her upright. The sudden momentum pitches her forward, sending her flush against a broad, firm chest.
Her hands instinctively brace against him, her fingers pressing into the solid contour of his torso through the fabric of his shirt.
She became acutely aware of everything at once. The heat radiating thtough his shirt. The firm muscle beneath her fingers. The rich, masculine musk flooding her senses. Her head feels dizzy. His breath brushes against the curve of her neck, sending an involuntary shiver straight down her spine.
Her grip tightenes. She squeezes her hand.Underneath her palm, his heart is hammering against his ribs in a fast, erratic rhythm that matches the frantic beat in her own chest. For a fraction of a second, his grip around her waist tightens, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away, anchoring her to him like she might dissolve if he lets go.
Riya's eyelids fluttered open. She looked up.
The world stop. Everything else seem to disappear.
Her dark brown eyes collide with a pair of intense, pitch-black ones staring down at her. There was only this. The heat of his body against hers, the sharp planes of his face inches from her own, the impossible closeness that made her lungs forget how to draw air.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.
Dr. Arindam Roy stared down at her. His jaw is tight, carve from stone and shadow. His eyes are fixed on her with an intensity that stole her breath and hold it hostage. His chest rise and fall beneath her palms. Fast and shallow, matching her own ragged rhythm.
Neither of them move.
Neither of them speak.
A minute pass by.
“Are you always this careless, Miss Sengupta?”
She can feel the vibration of his voice. It trembles from him to her. His voice is deeper than normal. Lower than usual. Unlike the tone he uses during lecture.
It takes her an agonizing second to realize his hand hasn't moved from her waist; his fingers remain firmly set against her hip, anchoring her so close that the space between them is purely theoretical.
Riya’s throat goes dry. She tries to summon her usual wall of defiance, but standing inches from him, her defense mechanisms feel laughably thin.
"I didn't see you. You were walking in my blind spot, sir." She manages to whisper, her voice lacking its usual sharp edge.
A beat of heavy silence passes. Arindam’s eyes flick down to their compromising position once before returning to hers. He doesn't step back immediately. Instead, his grip lingers just long enough for her to feel the deliberate, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers and the unmistakable, erratic pulse hammering behind his ribs.
Then, with infuriating composure, he releases his hold and takes a single step backward.
The sudden loss of his warmth leaves her cold. Riya instantly pulls her hands back, her fingers curling into tight fists as she tries to hide the subtle tremor in her wrists.
Arindam adjusts the cuff of his dark sleeve, his posture shifting seamlessly back into that of the unyielding professor. Yet behind his glasses, his pitch-black eyes are still fixed on her flushed face, holding her trapped in place.
"Maybe you should be careful instead of roaming aimlessly, focus more on the task ahead," he says, his voice returning to its familiar, measured tone, though a faint roughness still lingers around the edges. “If you plan on competing at the state level, you need to learn how to keep your footing; in every sense of the word.”
Riya swallows hard, forcing her spine straight and her chin up, desperately trying to reclaim the upper hand. "I'm completely in my element, sir. Mistakes happen. Sorry to bother you and thank you for not letting me fall."
Arindam doesn't reply immediately to her crisp comeback. Instead, his gaze lingers on her, taking in her state. He raises his left arm, checks the time on his expensive watch. “It is well past college hours. And you are still wandering around in those damp clothes."
His disapproval written on his face. He clearly doesn't like what he sees. “You will catch a cold before the competition even begins, Miss Sengupta. Go home.”
Riya opens her mouth to offer another quick-witted defense, to prove that a bit of rainwater isn't enough to break her, but the words stall in her throat. The sudden, disguised care in his command catches her completely off guard, striking her far harder than any of his sharp reprimands ever could.
The weight of his gaze feels heavy on her. Arindam doesn't wait for her to argue. He turns on his heel, brush past her. His arm grazing her shoulder. Making her once again shudder in place. He walks down the aisle without a backward glance. The soft, rhythmic sound of his footsteps retreats into the quiet expanse of the library, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his subtle, intoxicating cologne.
Riya lets out a slow, frustrated sigh. Her heart is still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, her palms hot where they had pressed against his chest only moments ago.
"I'm definitely going mad."
