AUTHOR’S POV
4 p.m. sharp.
The clock tower chimed its deep, ominous toll.
Lavanya sauntered into the psychology department office like she was strolling down a runway. She had no nerves, no fear. The same boldness, the same attitude, as if this was just another one of her games.
Veer’s office was sterile, immaculate. The desk was too organized. Everything was neat. Too neat. It screamed control.
Lavanya, on the other hand, wasn’t neat.
Her boots clicked against the floor as she approached his desk, leaning over it casually, her hands braced on the edge. She didn’t even glance at the chair.
“Ah, so you are punctual,” Veer said, his voice low. He didn’t look up from his papers.
She smirked. “Just respecting the rules, sir.”
He finally met her gaze. And damn, his eyes were intense—like they were looking straight through her.
“I told you this wasn’t a game, Miss Tripathi.”
She laughed, the sound full of mischief. “Oh, it’s always a game with me, Professor. You should know that by now.”
He stood up from his desk, towering over her. “You think I’m playing with you?”
She didn’t back down. “You wouldn’t dare.”
The tension in the room thickened.
There was a long silence before Veer spoke again, his tone barely a whisper but still razor-sharp. “You’re insufferable.”
Lavanya’s smirk grew wider. “And you’re way too serious. You need to loosen up.”
Veer didn’t smile. His gaze never wavered. “Maybe. But I’m also the one in charge here.”
She leaned even closer, her face inches from his. “We’ll see about that.”
The two stood there for what felt like an eternity. Neither one blinked. Neither one is willing to back down.
Finally, Veer spoke, his voice more controlled than ever. “You’re staying here until I say so, Miss Tripathi. And this time, no distractions.”
Lavanya was about to retort when—
BANG!
The door slammed open.
Samaira and the rest of her gang burst in like they owned the place.
“Boss lady,” Samaira grinned, “We’re here to rescue you.”
Lavanya rolled her eyes but didn’t break her stance. “Rescue? I'm not kidnapped guys. Please. I’m doing just fine.”
Veer’s jaw clenched. “You all have five minutes. And then you leave. Now.”
“Oh, is he the one in charge?” Samaira teased, flicking her hair back.
Lavanya shot her a look that said: “Not now.”
But Veer wasn’t fazed. “Yes, I am. And you all are in violation of—”
“We get it,” Samaira cut him off, winking at Lavanya. “You’re the boss. We’re just here to say hi.”
Samaira’s gang scattered around the office, lounging, poking fun, clearly taking over the space. But the tension in the room never really shifted. It was like a spark had ignited between Lavanya and Veer, something neither of them could ignore.
Veer’s gaze flicked back to Lavanya. “Tomorrow, be here at 8 a.m. We’ll discuss your ‘discipline.’”
Lavanya smirked again. “I’ll be here.”
But something in her eyes, something in her smile? It said she wanted to be here.
And just like that, their twisted little dance continued.
AUTHOR’S POV
The next day, Lavanya did show up at 8 a.m.
Sharp. No gang. No speaker. No shades.
Just her—tied hair, black hoodie, minimal makeup, and that same damn smirk like she knew she could bring the storm.
Veer looked up from his desk, eyebrows arching in faint surprise. “You’re early.”
She shrugged. “I was curious. Wanted to see if you’re always this stiff in the mornings.”
“I don’t entertain sarcasm before coffee.”
She walked toward his desk and perched herself right on the edge. “Good thing I brought you one,” she said, pulling out a cup from behind her hoodie like it was contraband.
Veer stared at it. “I don’t drink coffee from students.”
Lavanya leaned in slightly, voice a little lower. “You afraid it’s poisoned, sir?”
“No. Just afraid it’s laced with attitude.”
She laughed, soft but wicked. “That’s fair.”
Their eyes locked. The silence between them wasn’t awkward.
It was loaded.
Tense. Thick. Full of things unsaid.
Finally, Veer stood up, coming around the desk until he was just a foot away. He didn’t back down. Not this time.
“You think you’re clever.”
Lavanya smiled sweetly. “I know I am.”
He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “You push boundaries.”
“And you build walls.”
Veer’s jaw clenched.
Lavanya noticed.
“Oh, did I strike a nerve, Professor?”
“You’re wasting my time.”
“And yet, you haven’t asked me to leave.”
That shut him up.
For a moment, the room was so still you could hear the clock ticking.
Then—he exhaled sharply, turning his back to her, grabbing a file from the shelf. “We’re done here for today. You may go.”
Lavanya stood, brushed imaginary dust off her jeans, and walked toward the door. Just before she stepped out, she paused.
“You know, Professor…” she said over her shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
The door clicked shut behind her before Veer could even breathe a reply.
But he stood there, knuckles white against the folder in his hand, eyes dark, lips tight.
And one word burned in his mind.
Trouble.
Veer’s POV –
She's Trouble. The Dangerous Kind.
Veer Singh Rathore wasn’t the kind of man who lost control.
He was discipline. Sharp edges. Boundaries drawn in permanent ink.
But ever since Lavanya Tripathi walked into his class, into his office, into his mind like she had every damn right to be there—he’d felt...off.
Unsteady.
He didn’t let it show, of course. He never did. Years of palace training—his past life, the one he buried under the name “Professor Veer”—had taught him how to wear silence like armor.
But with her?
Silence turned to static.
She was all noise. Thunder in leather. Fire in human form. And he couldn’t look away.
Today, her teasing still echoed in his head.
"You’re cute when you’re mad."
God.
No student had ever dared say something like that to his face. But she had. And the worst part?
He hadn't hated it.
He stood by the window of the staff room now, watching students scatter across the lawn, prepping for the upcoming college fest. Laughter. Lights being tested. Music systems being set up. Banners flapping wildly in the breeze.
Then came the dean’s voice, dragging him back to reality.
“Professor Veer? Can I steal a moment of your time?”
“Yes, sir?”
“We’ve decided to assign you as faculty in charge of the Cultural Fest Committee,” the dean smiled, blissfully unaware of the internal horror Veer was currently experiencing. “You’ll be working closely with the student committee head…”
The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.
“Lavanya Tripathi,” the dean finished.
Of course.
Of bloody course.
Veer’s jaw locked. “Understood.”
But inside?
He screamed.
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