Chapter 1
Mussoorie, Uttarakhand
Sharada Institute of Medical Sciences was not just a college in Mussoorie it was a legacy. Counted among the most prestigious and high-profile medical institutions in India, it carried a reputation that extended far beyond the hills of Uttarakhand. Every year, it produced hundreds of brilliant doctors, surgeons, and specialists who went on to serve the nation with pride. Students from every corner of the country prepared day and night to clear its highly competitive entrance examination. Securing admission here was not just an achievement it was a dream fulfilled.
The institute also had a proud tradition of merit-based scholarships. Students who secured positions in the top five of the entrance list were awarded full scholarships, ensuring that financial status never became a barrier to excellence. One of the most admirable qualities of Sharada Institute was its strict policy of equality. There was no discrimination between students from wealthy families and those from middle-class or modest backgrounds. The facilities hostels, laboratories, classrooms, libraries were the same for everyone. Here, talent and hard work mattered more than money.
Today, however, the campus buzzed with a different kind of energy. Four days earlier, the Dean had announced the final results of the first-year entrance examination. Most of the selected students had completed their admission formalities, and from today, their academic journey officially began.
The morning air was crisp, filled with excitement and nervous anticipation. New students walked through the grand entrance gates with shining eyes and trembling hands, carrying bags full of books and hearts full of dreams. For many, this was the first time they had stepped away from home. For others, it was the first step toward becoming something their families had sacrificed everything for.
Near the main entrance gate, however, a different scene unfolded. A group of seven or eight senior students lounged casually, blocking part of the pathway. They laughed loudly, clearly enjoying their self-declared authority. Among them, a tall boy sat confidently on a sleek sports bike, his sunglasses resting low on his nose as he stared at a girl standing nervously before them.
The girl looked simple almost delicate. She wore loose jeans and a plain T-shirt, her hair tied back neatly. There was something innocent about her posture, something hesitant in her eyes. Anyone could tell it was her first day.
"New admission?" the boy asked lazily, scanning her from head to toe.
"Yes," she replied softly, barely lifting her gaze.
The boy frowned. "What? Call me Sir. I am your senior, not your friend. Okay?"
"Okay, Sir," she corrected herself immediately.
"Name?"
"Ishika Agnihotri," she answered, her voice trembling slightly.
The seniors exchanged amused glances and burst into laughter. Most of them belonged to influential families business tycoons, politicians, industrialists. They were used to power, and they enjoyed displaying it. What they were doing was ragging an unofficial tradition of harassing juniors under the guise of introduction and bonding.
Nia, the Dean's daughter, stood among them, watching with a smirk. It was she who had called Ishika over in the first place, pretending to welcome her. But now Ishika realized she had walked straight into a trap.
A girl named Kayra stepped forward, circling Ishika slowly. "So, Ishika… judging by your appearance, you seem to belong to a middle-class family."
Ishika remained silent.
"If you want to survive peacefully in this institute for the next four years," Kayra continued smoothly, "you'll have to complete a small task."
Ishika looked at her nervously. "What task?"
The boy on the bike grinned wickedly. "Within the next five minutes, whoever enters through that gate first you have to give him a lip-to-lip kiss."
The words hit her like a slap.
"No… I can't do that," Ishika stepped back immediately.
"You don't have a choice," the boy said coldly. "Otherwise, you can't even imagine what we'll make your life like here."
Fear tightened around her chest. She looked around desperately for help. Students were watching but no one intervened. Some looked uncomfortable, others indifferent. No one dared challenge the influential seniors.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She knew refusing could make her next four years unbearable. Slowly, with shaking hands, she placed her bag down and began walking toward the gate.
The seniors smirked in satisfaction.
At the same moment, in the institute's parking area, a luxurious car glided to a stop. A young man stepped out. He looked around twenty-seven or twenty-eight tall, well-built, with sharp features and an aura of quiet authority. Dressed in a crisp shirt and formal trousers, he opened the back seat, retrieved his laptop, and began walking toward the entrance.
He checked his watch briefly as he approached the gate.
Ishika stood a few steps inside the entrance, her palms sweating. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears. She hated this. She hated every second of it.
The young man stepped through the gate.
The seniors' expressions instantly changed. Panic flickered across their faces. Some of them straightened abruptly. A few even whispered urgently, "Stop her!"
But it was too late.
Ishika was already standing in front of him.
He stopped, confused. His brows furrowed slightly. "What?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut.
Before he could react, she grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled him forward, and pressed her lips against his.
It lasted barely a second.
The moment she realized what she had done, she pulled away and ran, disappearing down the corridor without looking back.
For a brief second, the young man stood frozen. Shock turned into realization. Then realization turned into fury.
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened dangerously.
He slowly turned his head and scanned the surroundings. A short distance away, the group of seniors stood stiffly, avoiding his gaze.
That was enough.
He understood everything.
Without a word, he strode toward them. His steps were controlled but the anger radiating from him was unmistakable. He picked up a wooden stick lying near a construction area and, without hesitation, brought it down on one of the boys.
The boy screamed in pain.
Chaos erupted. The other boys tried to defend themselves, but he was relentless. Each strike carried authority, rage, and a lesson.
Kayra and Nia stood frozen at the side, fear replacing arrogance.
"What is this, Professor Chauhan? Why are you beating these students?" a stern voice thundered across the courtyard.
The Dean had arrived.
Professor Chauhan turned slowly. His breathing was steady, but his eyes burned. "Because they deserve this treatment."
His voice was deep ,calm but lethal.
The Dean felt a brief chill but quickly composed himself. He called a nearby student and demanded an explanation. The trembling witness narrated everything, the ragging, the forced dare, the humiliation.
The Dean's expression hardened.
The next sound that echoed across the courtyard was not a shout, but a slap.
Everyone turned.
Nia staggered slightly, her hand pressed against her cheek. The Dean stood before her, his face pale with anger and disappointment.
"You have disgraced this institute," he said sharply.
He then faced the group. "You are all rusticated for one week. And when you return, you will bring your parents with you."
Silence fell.
Without another word, the Dean turned and walked inside.
Professor Chauhan remained standing there for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the corridor where Ishika had disappeared.
There was something about the fear in her eyes… something that lingered in his mind.
He adjusted his sleeve, picked up his laptop, and walked toward the faculty building.
Classes were about to begin.
And somewhere inside the grand halls of Sharada Institute of Medical Sciences, fate had just written the first line of a story neither of them had expected.