Aarvi Mehra knew two things with absolute certainty.
One—she hated Rudra Malhotra.
Two—her heart behaved like a traitor whenever he was near.
"Are you always this slow, Mehra," Rudra's voice rang out across the auditorium, lazy and amused, "or is today a special occasion just for me?"
Aarvi froze mid-step.
She hadn't even looked up yet, but she didn't need to. She knew that voice the way one knows an incoming headache—smooth, confident, irritatingly sure of itself.
She exhaled, squared her shoulders, and turned.
Rudra Malhotra stood at the center of the stage, microphone in hand, dressed in crisp black like he belonged there. Like the spotlight had been invented solely for him. Students clustered around, pretending not to stare while doing exactly that.
The campus golden boy.
The crush of half the college.
The bane of her existence.
"I wasn't aware punctuality had been redefined by you," Aarvi replied coolly. "Last I checked, the event starts in ten minutes."
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
Rudra's lips curved into a slow grin. "Correction. My schedule starts in ten minutes. Yours was supposed to start yesterday."
She dropped her bag onto the front desk with a sharp thud. "You moved the seating arrangement without telling me."
"I fixed it," he said mildly. "There's a difference."
"There's also something called teamwork."
"And there's something called competence." His gaze flicked over her deliberately. "You should try it sometime."
Aarvi felt heat crawl up her neck. "You love the sound of your own voice, don't you?"
"I love efficiency," he shot back. "And you tend to get in its way."
She took a step closer. "Funny. From where I stand, you are the way."
Their eyes locked.
For half a second, the world narrowed. Noise dulled. The chatter, the lights, the people—everything blurred into insignificance.
Aarvi hated that moment.
Hated how aware she became of his height, the faint citrus scent clinging to him, the way his eyes sharpened whenever she refused to back down.
"Careful, Mehra," Rudra murmured, lowering his voice. "People might start thinking you're obsessed with me."
She snorted. "Please. I'd need terrible taste for that."
"Yet you keep showing up wherever I am."
"Because you keep putting yourself everywhere."
His grin widened. "Touché."
The lights flickered.
Once.
No one noticed.
Aarvi turned away, irritation buzzing under her skin. She moved toward the side aisle, mentally rehearsing all the ways she would avoid him for the rest of the day.
Then the floor shuddered.
Not violently. Just enough.
She stopped.
A deep, metallic groan echoed overhead.
Her stomach dropped.
"What was that?" someone whispered.
The lights flickered again—longer this time.
Rudra straightened instantly. The teasing edge vanished from his expression. "Everyone stay calm," he said into the mic, voice firm. "Please remain seated—"
The ceiling cracked.
A loud, sickening sound tore through the air as a massive support beam ripped free, plunging downward toward the front rows.
Screams exploded.
Students surged to their feet. Chairs scraped. Panic spread like wildfire.
Aarvi didn't scream.
She couldn't.
Her body went cold. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly she was sure others could hear it.
No.
The beam fell.
Time broke.
Sound warped, stretching thin. The screams became distant echoes. Dust froze mid-air. Even her breath felt suspended, caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.
Aarvi's hand lifted on instinct.
She didn't decide to do it.
She didn't think.
The air slammed against her palm like a solid wall.
Heat surged through her veins, rushing upward—into her skull, her forehead—
The beam stopped.
Mid-air.
Violently.
It hit something invisible with a deafening impact, quivering as if trapped inside an unseen cage. Dust and debris hung suspended, trembling.
Silence crashed down.
Hundreds of eyes stared.
Aarvi's arm shook. Pain flared through her shoulder, burning, relentless.
What did I just do?
Then fingers closed around her wrist.
Hard.
"Drop it."
Rudra.
His voice was low, sharp, nothing like the teasing tone from moments ago.
He yanked her hand downward.
The pressure vanished.
The beam slammed into the floor with an earth-shaking crash, missing everyone by mere inches.
Chaos erupted.
Alarms blared. Faculty shouted. Students ran.
Aarvi staggered back, breath ragged, her mind spinning.
She looked at Rudra.
He wasn't staring at the destruction.
He was staring at her.
At her forehead.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded, panic creeping into her voice.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said under his breath.
Her pulse spiked. "Done what?"
He grabbed her arm and pulled her through the crowd toward a side exit. "Move. Now."
Pain exploded across her forehead—hot, searing, unbearable. She gasped, stumbling as her vision blurred.
Rudra stopped abruptly.
His jaw tightened.
"Damn it," he muttered.
She clutched his sleeve. "Rudra, what's happening to me?"
For the first time since she'd known him, fear flickered openly in his eyes.
"They shouldn't have found you this early."
Her breath caught.
"Who is they?"
The pain burned brighter. Something inside her stirred—ancient, restless.
Rudra leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the alarms.
"Run, Aarvi."
She stared at him, heart hammering.
Run—from what?
From whom?
From herself?
And then she felt it.
A pulse beneath her skin.
Answering something far away.
Something that had been waiting.
—End of Chapter 1—