AUTHOR’S POV
Next day , The moment Lavanya stepped into the lecture hall, the air shifted. Like thunderclouds were about to roll in.
She wasn’t wearing her usual soft tones today—no, today she wore red.
Blood red.
Her leather jacket hugged her shoulders like a warning sign. Her kohl-rimmed eyes screamed confidence. And that smirk on her lips? It was war paint.
Samaira leaned over and whispered, “Babe, that color says ‘I eat professors for breakfast.’”
Lavanya didn’t respond. Just smirked, slid into her seat, and crossed her legs like a queen waiting for battle.
The door creaked.
Boots echoed.
And then came the storm.
Professor Veer entered with all the emotion of a marble statue. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to make everyone uncomfortable. His hair was slightly messy today, but instead of making him look careless, it made him dangerous.
He placed his books down with a thud and looked up.
His gaze scanned the room like a radar.
And then locked. Right. On. Her.
Not a blink. Not a twitch.
The entire class held its breath.
He turned to the board, wrote in neat, bold letters: Ego Defense Mechanisms.
Then he turned back around. “Let’s begin,” he said, voice calm like silk draped over a dagger. “Miss Tripathi.”
Lavanya arched an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Why don’t you explain ‘projection’ to the class. I’m sure someone as... expressive as you can manage that.”
Her lips curled.
Oh, you wanna play?
“Projection,” she said, standing slowly. “It’s when someone assigns their own thoughts or feelings to another person. Classic defense mechanism.” She folded her arms. “For instance—someone with... control issues might accuse everyone else of being ‘unruly’ just to make themselves feel superior.”
Ooooooh.
The class went silent. You could hear hearts dropping.
Someone whispered, “Daaamn…”
Professor Veer didn’t even flinch. “Interesting interpretation,” he said. “Let’s see how well you interpret under pressure.”
He turned, grabbed a stack of papers, and dropped them on the front desk.
“Surprise quiz.”
Collective groan.
Lavanya narrowed her eyes. “Seriously?”
He met her gaze without blinking. “You seemed ready to educate the room. Let’s see how well you write it.”
“You’re punishing the whole class for my answer?” she asked, stepping forward.
He leaned forward too, just a little. Just enough.
“I’m not punishing anyone, Miss Tripathi,” he said, voice low. “I’m testing my potential. Or exposing it.”
He dropped her quiz paper directly on her desk.
Their fingers didn’t touch.
But the heat between them?
Undeniable.
👀 Lavanya’s POV (internal monologue):
He thinks I’ll back down.
He really doesn’t know who I am.
Game on, professor.
Veer’s POV (as he walks past the rows):
She thinks this is a battle of wit.
It’s not.
It’s a lesson in control.
And I never lose control.
But why… Why does she make me feel like I already have?\
AUTHOR’S POV
It was 11:27 a.m.
Technically class hours.
But Lavanya Tripathi? She wasn’t in class.
She was sprawled on the college lawn like she owned every blade of grass, sunglasses on, a cold coffee beside her, and her Bluetooth speaker blasting Billie Eilish like this was her personal runway.
Students passed by, whispering, staring, giggling.
“She’s gonna get caught—”
“She’s so fearless—”
“She’s totally doing it to get his attention—”
And maybe they were right.
Lavanya didn’t break rules for attention.
But this one?
Yeah. This one was for him.
Her music was loud enough to echo into the psychology block. She leaned back on her elbows, chin tilted toward the sun like she didn’t have a care in the world.
But her heart?
It skipped a beat the moment she heard the familiar heavy boots approaching from behind.
Samaira whispered, “Abort mission. He’s here.”
Lavanya didn’t move.
The music kept playing.
Veer stopped right in front of her, casting a shadow over her body. His expression? Blank. But his jaw? Tense.
“Miss Tripathi.”
She slowly pulled down her sunglasses. “Sir?”
“Are you under the impression this is a concert?” His voice was clipped. Controlled.
She sat up, reached for her cold coffee and sipped. “Just vibing, sir.”
“You’re aware that this breaks three college rules. Including disruption during lecture hours.”
She gave a mock gasp. “Three? Wow. Almost a record.”
“Not something to be proud of.”
“But memorable,” she quipped.
He didn’t respond.
She tilted her head, amused. “What’s next, Professor? A lecture on discipline?”
He took a step closer. Students nearby froze.
“No,” he said. “Detention. Tomorrow. My office. 4 p.m.”
She raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “You’re giving me private time already? Bold move, sir.”
A flicker of something passed in his eyes — irritation… or intrigue?
“I don’t play games, Miss Tripathi.”
She stood up, now face-to-face with him, just a few inches between them. “Oh, but I do.”
And then she picked up the speaker, turned the volume down, and walked away like she’d won a trophy.
Veer stood there, still as a statue, the faintest smirk threatening the corner of his lips.
But deep down?
He knew.
She was dangerous.
And he was already too far in.
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