© 2025 Alena. All rights reserved.
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The music room hallway echoed with soft notes of a tune—bold, unapologetic. Ishika Malhotra leaned against the doorframe, her lips moving with practiced ease. Singing had stopped being a passion the day people started using it to define her. Now, it was hers alone. A rebellion in melody.
As she turned to leave, her shoulder slammed into someone.
Hard.
Her phone slipped, but it didn't hit the ground—caught swiftly by the person she'd just bumped into.
She looked up. And groaned.
Ruhaan Agnihotri.
Of course.
Black shirt. That infuriating smirk. The permanent "I-own-this-place" attitude wrapped in designer arrogance.
"Well, well," he drawled, twirling her phone between his fingers. "Didn't know the Malhotra princess sings for empty corridors now. Is this your secret concert series or just a failed audition?"
Ishika snatched the phone from his hand. "Didn't know the school's most inflated ego took evening patrols. Or are you lost, Agnihotri sahab?"
He chuckled, not backing down an inch. "Lost? In my own territory? Cute." His eyes scanned her, like he was trying to read something between her lines. "You always this sharp, or am I just lucky today?"
"I'm always sharp. You're just used to dull people letting you talk over them," she shot back, brushing past him.
But he blocked her path again. Leaning slightly, voice low. "You've got fire, little witch. But careful—you're trying to play in a league where people like you get burned."
She stepped in, face close enough to feel the tension crackle between them. "And people like you mistake arrogance for dominance. I don't melt, Ruhaan. Not for boys who think the world owes them just because they can hack it."
His smirk faded for a flicker of a second—just long enough for her to notice.
"I'm not impressed by people who hide their chaos behind pretty lyrics," he muttered.
"And I'm not interested in boys who think being broken makes them dangerous," she replied coolly. "Dangerous is someone who knows what she wants—and sings like the world's already listening."
He stared at her for a moment—longer than he should have. Then, without a word, turned and walked away.
She didn't move for a while. The rhythm of her pulse still hummed louder than any tune.
____________________________
The smell of chalk, worn-out textbooks, and betrayal filled the air as Mrs. pratika Malhotra walked in, heels clicking, carrying both authority and maternal disappointment.
"Alright, settle down," she said, placing her notes on the desk. "We're starting a new topic today—National Income."
Prakriti leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, already zoning out. She hated this chapter. She hated this subject. She especially hated it when her mom went into teacher mode.
But today was about to get worse.
Way worse.
"Aditya, come sit next to Prakriti."
Her ears perked.
"…Sorry, what?" Prakriti blinked.
"You both will be seat partners from now on." Her mom smiled proudly.
"He's the topper. You're…" she paused, "trying. He'll help you focus."
The entire class snickered.
Aditya stood calmly, picked up his bag, and walked over.
He didn't say a word. Just gave her one cold glance as he dropped into the seat beside her like he owned the place.
Prakriti groaned internally.
"This is punishment, not partnership."
Her mom could've made her sit with a cactus. It would've been less prickly than this arrogant nerd.
She hated the way he opened his notebook like a robot.
She hated that he already had color-coded notes.
She hated that her mom was looking at them with heart eyes like this was some rom-com tutoring montage waiting to happen
Prakriti slammed her eco book down dramatically beside Aditya.
"Don't talk to me."
She didn't even look at him.
Aditya didn't blink. Just kept scribbling with that annoyingly perfect handwriting.
"I wasn't planning to."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Great. Keep it that way, Aadimanav Perfection."
He finally glanced up, voice smooth.
"If you paid half the attention to this chapter as you do to your tantrums, you'd actually pass the test."
Her jaw dropped.
"You—!"
She raised her pencil like a weapon.
Aditya calmly took it from her hand.
"Correct your graph. This isn't a war. It's a supply curve."
She snatched it back.
"Shove your curve."
From the front of the class, Mrs. Malhotra beamed at them.
"Look at them working together! So much chemistry."
Both:
"WE'RE NOT."
TO BE CONTINUED...