The professor had divided the class into pairs two days ago to begin practical work on cadavers ahead of the upcoming anatomy lecture. As usual, Vidyut was one of the first to arrive. He settled his things with quiet efficiency and took a seat beside their assigned cadaver.
The room gradually filled with the low hum of students shuffling in. Suhani walked in five minutes before the lecture began, her bag slung over one shoulder. She wore a pale pink shirt with white stripes, tucked casually on one side of her jeans—careless yet oddly composed. Vidyut watched as she placed her things at the far end of the table, tying her hair back and slipping into work mode.
Then she surprised him by walking toward the seat next to him and settling down without a word.
"You're late," Vidyut said, glancing sideways with a deliberately casual tone.
"I'm not late," Suhani replied coolly, not missing a beat. "You're just early."
She didn't look at him, but she could sense that smug expression blooming on his face.
The professor entered just then, launching into an overview of methodology and walking them through the steps to explore the thoracic cavity.
When the practical began, the class rose in unison—gloves on, coats adjusted, scalpels in hand. The air shifted into a quiet, clinical focus.
Suhani stood too, adjusting her lab coat and pulling on her gloves. She picked up her scalpel, but her eyes drifted.
There he was—Vidyut Singhania—tall, dusky, focused. His sky-blue shirt peeked out from under his white coat, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The coat hugged his frame in all the right places. His gloved hands moved with deliberate precision as he made a clean, textbook-perfect incision.
Annoying, she thought. Annoyingly perfect.
Suhani turned her attention to her own side of the cadaver, determined to ignore him.
But Vidyut, naturally, couldn't help himself.
"Suhani Malhotra," he said, slowly, like he was savoring the name. "Top rank. Obsessed with precision. Likes to be a know-it-all."
She raised an eyebrow, scalpel poised. "Vidyut Singhania. Smug. Can't go five minutes without reminding everyone he exists."
His lips curved into a smirk, as if she'd just paid him a compliment. "You've changed," he said, with mock seriousness. "Back in school, you were the geek with two braids, glasses thicker than a microscope lens, and always trailing after the teachers."
Suhani met his gaze coolly while tying her coat. "And you're still the same. Arrogant for no reason, trying too hard to look cool, convinced every girl has a crush on you."
She turned back to her work, scalpel steady.
His smirk only deepened. "So you do have a tongue that works outside of textbooks," he said, waiting for a comeback.
None came. Suhani ignored him completely.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low and dry: "Are you going to keep staring, or do you plan on doing your part too?"
They fell into a tense silence, filled only by the wet sound of tissue separating and the occasional scrape of scalpel against bone.
Then—tsk.
Suhani nicked an artery. She frowned at the mistake.
Vidyut didn't miss a beat. "Books aren't everything, Miss Malhotra. You've got to be good with your hands too. Try doing that to a live patient—you might just kill them."
His smirk practically glowed with pride.
She scoffed. "And if I do, how exactly does that affect you? Maybe try shutting up and minding your own business for once."
Vidyut chuckled, not even slightly offended. "Okay, Einstein. I'll keep my genius to myself."
The rest of the class passed in silence.
---
About fifteen minutes before the lecture ended, the professor handed out a form for each student. It was part of a new mental health initiative from the college administration—three student suicides in six months had triggered serious concern.
The professor asked Suhani to collect the forms and deliver them to his office. She agreed with a quiet nod.
As she walked down the corridor, her steps slowed. Something flickered in her expression. A moment later, she smirked.
Reaching the office, she placed the bundle of forms on the table, then began flipping through them. Her fingers moved with purpose, scanning the pages. Then she found what she was looking for.
She slid one form out from the pile and set it aside.
Her smirk widened, wicked and victorious.