I splashed cold water on my face, staring at the ghost in the mirror. My reflection was ghastly pale, hollow in the eyes, with dark shadows etched beneath them like an artist had gone too heavy on the shading. My head throbbed, my limbs ached, and my stomach twisted violently, begging for relief. I was still fighting off the hangover, but it wasn't just the alcohol.

No, it was something far worse. Something heavier, colder, and infinitely harder to shake.

Tarun.

His face kept flashing in my mind. Not in the way it used to, with fleeting fondness or even comfort. No. Now it came with bitterness, humiliation, and an ache so raw it felt like someone had taken sandpaper to my insides. I wasn't in love with him. I could admit that to myself now. Maybe I never really was. But what he did, the way he tore through me, left scars that I knew would never fade.

It wasn't heartbreak, not in the traditional sense. It was something uglier, sharper. The kind of betrayal that buries itself deep in your skin, festers, and grows until it feels like it's poisoning your blood.

The image of him, leaning casually against the wall with her, was seared into my brain. His hand wrapped around her waist, her lips red and smirking, his laughter ringing out like he didn't have a care in the world. Like I wasn't there. Like I didn't exist.

I gripped the edges of the sink, the cool porcelain biting into my palms. My head spun again, and I swayed slightly. My body was screaming for rest, for comfort, for something—anything—to make it stop. But there was nothing. Not for me.

Even now, standing in the fluorescent-lit bathroom, I could feel the bitter cold from last night seeping into my bones. I had been outside too long, too exposed. It wasn't just the physical chill that got to me, but the emptiness, the solitude. I had sat there, clutching my beer cans, letting the frigid air punish me because, somehow, it felt deserved.

And then there was Rudra.

Of all the people to find me, it had to be him. His towering presence, his unrelenting gaze, his casual dominance—like he owned the very ground he walked on. He'd stood there, smoking his cigarette and looking down at me, his intense brown, eyes — sharp, cutting into me like knives. He didn't even try to hide his judgment. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he dragged me out of my misery.

I hated that he saw me like that. Broken, small, and pathetic.

And now he knows. He knows I've been cheated on, tossed aside like I didn't matter. The one person I'd never want to witness my fall. Not my fault he doesn't exactly radiate "therapist vibes." No, he is more the "kick you while you're down and laugh about it" type.

Still, I couldn't shake the memory of his eyes. The way they burned into mine with something primal, something I couldn't quite name. It wasn't pity. It wasn't kindness. It was something darker, heavier, like gravity itself had shifted when he looked at me.

And now, I had to face him again.

I sighed, dragging myself out of the bathroom and towards the classroom. Political Science. The one subject I couldn't afford to miss, no matter how much I wanted to crawl back into bed and disappear for a week.

When I walked in, the room was mostly empty. Thank God. I found a seat by the window, as far from the center as I could manage, and sank into it. The sunlight streaming in through the glass should've felt warm, comforting. Instead, it only illuminated the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin.

My head was heavy, my thoughts a tangled mess. Everything hurt—my body, my heart, my pride. It was all too much, and I felt like I was drowning in it.

And then I felt it. That unmistakable chill, like someone had pressed an ice cube to the back of my neck. I looked up, and there he was.

Rudra

His piercing smokey espresso eyes locked onto mine, and my heart stuttered. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. His gaze was unrelenting, sharp and focused like a predator sizing up his prey. I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning, my stomach twisting into tighter knots.

What was wrong with me? Why did his presence have this effect on me?

Professor Shetty's voice broke through the tension, and I focused on him like he was a lifeline.

"Good afternoon, class. I hope you're ready for a surprise."

I wasn't.

"A mock test."

I wanted to die. Right there, on the spot. My body was barely functioning, and now I had to think? I couldn't even decide whether I wanted tea or coffee in the morning, let alone answer a test on political theory.

The next 15 minutes were pure torture. My hand trembled as I scribbled nonsensical answers, my mind barely keeping up. All the while, I could feel him watching me. That same heavy, piercing gaze. It was unbearable.

When the test ended, I slumped in my chair, completely drained. The rest of the class seemed unfazed, chatting as they packed up their things. I stayed where I was, waiting for the crowd to thin.

And then Shetty spoke again.

"Mukti Roy. Rudra Pratap Rajvardhan. A word with both of you tomorrow morning."

My heart stopped.

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. Tomorrow? With him? What did Shetty want?

I turned to him, hoping for some kind of clue. He just looked mildly confused, like someone had told him the wrong coffee order. Meanwhile, I felt like I was going to be sick.

Did he say something to Shetty? Did he snitch on me?

In the past 24 hours, I'd been cheated on, humiliated, turned into some twisted voyeur, failed a mock test, and now might be on the verge of expulsion.

Way to go, Mukti. Absolutely killing it.

I waited until the last of the students had filtered out of the classroom, clutching my bag tightly as if it were some sort of shield. Shetty had already left, his cryptic summons for the next morning hanging over me like a guillotine. But I couldn't leave. Not yet. Not until I confronted the storm brewing in my chest.

He was still leaning casually against one of the desks, his bag slung over his shoulder, looking entirely unaffected by the chaos inside my head. He was scrolling through his phone, his face bathed in the pale glow of the screen, like he didn't have a care in the world.

I, on the other hand, was barely keeping it together.

My palms were damp, my chest tight, and my thoughts were racing so fast I couldn't catch hold of any one of them. But something inside me snapped—fight or flight, and apparently, I was choosing fight.

"You told him, didn't you?" I blurted out, my voice louder than I intended. It echoed off the walls, startling even me.

He looked up, one eyebrow arching in slow amusement. "Told who what?"

I didn't miss the way his lips curled into a faint smirk, like he already knew exactly what I was talking about. Like he was toying with me.

"You told Shetty about... about last night," I accused, taking a shaky step closer. My voice wavered, but I kept going. "You told him I was drunk. That I—"

I couldn't finish the sentence. The memory of last night, of sitting in the freezing cold, of Tarun's betrayal, of him dragging me to safety—it was all too raw.

His smirk deepened, and he slipped his phone into his pocket. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you think it's funny!" I snapped, my voice rising. "You think it's fun to humiliate people, to remind them how much better you are. Don't pretend you're above it."

His expression shifted then, something darker flickering behind those piercing eyes—a captivating shade of cool-toned brown, so deep it nearly appeared black. He straightened, his casual stance dissolving as he took a slow step toward me.

I instinctively took a step back.

"Careful," he said, his voice low and edged with warning. "You're making a lot of assumptions."

The way he moved was deliberate, predatory, as if he were stalking me. Another step forward, another step back. The gap between us was shrinking, but I couldn't stop retreating.

"You—" My voice faltered. "You're the kind of person who'd do something like that."

His smirk returned, colder this time. "Am I?"

"Don't play innocent," I retorted, my voice trembling despite the defiance I tried to muster. "It's rich, coming from someone like you. You indulge in all sorts of... activities."

He laughed, low and quiet, the sound reverberating in the nearly empty classroom. "Activities?" he repeated mockingly. "You mean the ones you've clearly been observing so closely?"

My back hit the wall. I hadn't even realized I was cornered until there was nowhere left to go. He stopped just short of touching me, his towering presence overwhelming every inch of my personal space.

"You've got a sharp tongue for someone who's trembling," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hated how right he was. My hands were shaking, my breathing shallow. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, and his proximity wasn't helping. His cologne, dark and musky, filled the air between us, clogging my senses until it was all I could focus on.

"You think I'd report you?" he continued, his tone calm and cruel. "You think I'd waste my time? Believe me, if I wanted to ruin you, you'd already know."

My chest tightened, but I refused to look away. "That's funny," I managed to say, though my voice cracked. "Coming from someone who acts like he owns this place."

His smirk widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Careful, Mukti," he murmured, leaning in closer.

I froze as his nose traced along the side of my face, his breath warm against my skin. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

"You should really watch your mouth," he whispered, the words brushing against my ear. "Unless you want me to give you something to really complain about."

I felt a shiver run down my spine, but I refused to move, refused to let him see how thoroughly he was unraveling me.

His lips curved into a smirk, and he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. "See you tomorrow," he said lightly, as if we hadn't just been standing on the edge of something dangerous.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me pinned against the wall, my body trembling, my thoughts a chaotic mess.

I barely noticed when the door clicked shut behind him. It wasn't until I was alone in the silence of the empty classroom that I realized I'd been holding my breath.

And even then, his presence lingered—his scent, his voice, the weight of his words.

I hated him.