She spotted Sia outside the campus café — sitting cross-legged on a table, sunglasses on, sipping iced coffee like the queen of St. Cecilia's herself. Students drifted around her like she emitted a gravitational pull.

The moment Sia saw Ruhani approaching, her jaw literally dropped.

"Oh. My. God." She hopped off the table dramatically. "Ruhani freaking Thakral, you look like a Bollywood award-night fantasy. If I weren't aggressively straight, I would kiss you right now and propose."

Ruhani managed a weak smile as she sank into the seat opposite her.

"Your compliments come a little late," she sighed, dragging her dupatta properly into place. "The prince left the scene before the princess even reached the stage."

"You mean Raj?" Sia rolled her eyes so hard it could've been a workout. "Ugh. His loss. If that man doesn't take one look at you today and combust from sheer attraction, then I'm canceling him. Fully. Publicly. On every platform."

Ruhani stared into her cold coffee, stirring it pointlessly.

"He didn't even notice I was there... I think."

"Oh please," Sia waved her off. "He was probably busy being an overhyped Greek statue with a Wi-Fi connection. It doesn't mean he didn't see you."

Ruhani's laugh was small and sad. "Sia, he walked away. Didn't look once."

Sia blinked... and something softer replaced her sass. She leaned forward, voice gentle.

"Ru. Someone like you? People notice. They just pretend they don't because they're scared of falling first."

Ruhani's throat tightened. She wanted to believe that. She wanted those words to scoop up the embarrassment still clinging to her like dust. She wanted the universe to say, Hey, girl, your story is still in Act 1. Relax.

But all she felt was a tiny crack forming under the layers of kajal, lip tint, and carefully curated courage.

"Maybe," she said, forcing a shrug. "But right now it feels like I wore my best outfit to impress a wall."

Sia laughed, tapping a finger against her chin. "Well, good news. St. Cecilia's isn't short on walls... or men. So try again, hmm?"

Ruhani nodded — not because she felt better, but because she didn't want to admit how disappointed she really was.

The fairy-tale moment she had built in her head — the dramatic confession, the slow-motion eye contact, the Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham soundtrack playing — all of it had dissolved into a messy hallway accident and a disappearing hero.

Now all that was left was a dull ache under her ribs. A silence she pretended wasn't fear. A longing she pretended wasn't heartbreak. But she smiled, because that's what heroines do before love arrives.

They smile....They wait and somewhere, fate quietly starts rearranging the pieces.

At 4:15 PM, a notification chimed in the college group chat: Prof. Jaiswal will be taking an extra Management class at 6 PM in Block C-2. Attendance is MANDATORY.

The entire class collectively groaned — but no one dared to skip.

By the time the lecture ended, evening had arrived with a shift in mood. The sun dipped low behind the buildings, staining the sky with bruised shades of orange and navy. A faint chill threaded through the emptying campus. Ruhani stayed behind to clarify an assignment — a small delay that changed everything.

Now she was walking alone through the old corridor behind the sports block — a forgotten wing with flickering lights and cracked walls. Her footsteps echoed. Each faint sound seemed louder in the stillness.

Then she heard it.

Loud voices. Jeering. Clapping.

"Come on, record it, man!"

"Bhai, tell him to dance!"

"Let's go! Or else they'll make him take off even more clothes!"

Her blood turned cold.

The noise came from the covered staircase behind the building — a shadowed spot hidden from the main path. Her grip tightened on her shawl as she stepped cautiously toward the noise and she saw them.

A ring of seniors — mostly boys — crowding around someone trapped in the center. A skinny boy with a too-heavy backpack pressed to his chest. His shirt was slightly torn at the collar, his hair yanked out of place. He tried to laugh along, but his hands were trembling.

"Come on, topper!" one senior mocked, shoving a phone into his face. "Tell us again how you scored so high in JEE! Speak in English, na!"

The boy stammered. Words choked in fear.

"Louder!"

"You act so smart!"

"Let's see how smart you are when we make you cry!"

Two girls giggled from the side, phones out, documenting humiliation. A security guard glanced once — then looked away. Ruhani felt something burn low in her stomach. This wasn't teasing. This was ragging.....Cruel. Ugly. Real.

Her heart jolted when the boy lifted his face — eyes wide with panic — and she recognized him.....Vihaan.

The shy boy she had literally fallen onto earlier that day. Now cornered like prey. His knuckles were white from gripping his bag straps. His lips quivered every time someone barked an order. Fear clung to him like a second skin.

Ruhani's pulse began to thunder and then something inside her — something heavy and fierce — broke loose. She stepped forward. She didn't think. Didn't hesitate.

She arrived.

Her voice sliced through the chaos.

"ENOUGH!"

Silence slapped the air still. Heads turned. There she stood — Ruhani Thakral — dressed in lavender, hair wild from the wind, kajal framing fire.

"Wow," one senior drawled when he recovered. "Relax, moti. We're just having fun."

The crowd snickered. Ruhani smiled — slow, deadly. A queen measuring a court of jesters.

"Hmm. Fun?" she repeated sweetly. "I didn't know bullying made you feel like real men."

The senior — Aryan — took a threatening step closer. "You think he's your boyfriend or what?"

She leaned in, voice like sharpened honey.

"No. But he has more dignity in one stutter than you have in your entire body."

He opened his mouth — but she cut his breath short with a glare.

"One more word," she warned, "and I'll personally drag you to the dean's office. And trust me — I will enjoy it."

Someone tugged on Aryan's sleeve. "Leave it.... Let's go."

Cowards scattered best when someone strong stood tall.

Grumbling. Muttering. Retreating and then — only two remained in the quiet: Ruhani.
and Vihaan.

The trembling boy's breath hitched as she approached. She knelt, picking up his fallen books with gentle hands.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

He nodded — a stiff, shaky movement. "Y-yeah. I... I think so."

He swallowed, voice fragile. "Why did you help me?"

Her eyes softened. "Because no one gets to treat you like that. Ever."

His throat worked around unspoken words — gratitude, awe, disbelief. And for the first time since she stepped into this college — someone saw her...Not for her size.... Not for her last name.... But for her courage.

"Come on," she said, offering him a hand. "Let's get you out of here."

They walked side by side into the cool night — the silence between them no longer empty. Something had changed.

Ruhani had stepped into a role greater than the heroine she wanted to be.

And Vihaan? He would never forget the moment the girl in lavender became his shield...Not tonight....Not ever.

They walked quietly, side by side, the night settling around them like a thick woolen blanket. The campus, usually buzzing with laughter and bike horns and hostel drama, had become a place of shadows. Tube lights flickered every few steps — tired warriors barely holding on. Dry leaves scraped against concrete, mimicking whispers.

Ruhani kept glancing at Vihaan — at his hunched shoulders, the way he kept rubbing the strap of his bag like he was squeezing the fear out of his bones. She wanted to say something comforting. Something smart. Something that would magically erase what had happened.

But all she could manage was:

"Why didn't you say anything, Vihaan?"

Her tone wasn't accusing — just soft confusion laced with hurt. She had seen him frozen, silent, and it had sliced something inside her.

"You let them humiliate you. Why?"

He stopped walking....So did she.

Under the dim tube light, the shadows under his eyes looked deeper — not from sleepless nights alone, but from years of knowing where he belonged in a world built for the privileged.

"You could've told them to shut up," she insisted, hands tightening around her shawl. "You could've walked away. Or... fought back. Something."

Vihaan inhaled shakily and finally looked at her — really looked. His voice, when it came, wasn't trembling anymore. It carried weight. A lifetime of it.

"Because I can't afford to."

Ruhani's heart paused mid-beat.

"My father ran away from us when the responsibility became too big" he said, staring at his shoes. "My mom stitches blouses for neighbors... she gets paid per hook she attaches. Every hook is money. Every hook is food."

He swallowed; his throat tight.

"These guys?" He motioned back toward the stairs. "They're sons of people who own half the city. They fail a semester?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Daddy buys the college chair a new Audi."

Ruhani's breath caught at the quiet fury in his words.

"One complaint... one confrontation... one video going online — and someone like me doesn't just get punished." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We disappear. My scholarship gets revoked. My mother gets crushed under loans again. And I..." he hesitated, "I go back to handing flyers at traffic signals."

He looked away — ashamed of a truth that wasn't his fault.

"So, yes," he said, forcing a small smile. "I stayed quiet. Because silence is my survival. It's the only thing this system lets me have."

Ruhani felt her throat tighten, a burn building behind her eyes. This boy wasn't weak. He was holding the weight of two lives on his shoulders. Possibly more. She stepped closer, gently tugging his sleeve until he faced her.

"You don't have to be silent anymore, Vihaan," she said softly — voicing a promise she hadn't fully understood until now. "Not around me."

He blinked, startled — As if the idea had never existed in his universe.

"You have a voice," she continued, warmth filling her words. "And a mind that could outsmart every single person who tried to pull you down today."

She smiled — not dazzling, not dramatic — just real.

"If the world tries to shut you up, I'll stand beside you and make sure it hears you anyway."

For a moment, the night didn't feel dark at all. His breath caught in a soft, quiet sigh of relief—like someone had finally seen him. Not the scholarship student who joined late at this elite college. Not the nerd. Not the easy target. Just him.

She smiled softly, tilting her head. "Will you... be my friend?"

And for the first time since stepping onto this campus, Vihaan Malhotra felt... he wasn't alone anymore.