“Aaradhya Hooda,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly toward the row of students.

Aaradhya flinched the moment her name cut through the quiet room. Heat crawled up her neck as she forced herself to look up, fingers tightening around her notebook until the spiral dug into her skin. Her throat felt dry, but she managed a shaky breath before whispering, “Present… sir.”

Advait gave a curt nod—cold, efficient—and marked her attendance with the same precision he carried in everything he did. He continued down the list, calling each name one by one. Voices rose, fell, some confident, some barely audible. Aaradhya sat still, trying to steady the thumping in her chest, her heartbeat loud enough that she wondered if anyone else could hear it.

When the final name was called, he closed the register with a soft thud that echoed more than it should have. Lifting his head, he scanned the class, his expression unreadable, posture straight, authority radiating from him in a way that made the room fall silent on instinct.

“We need CRs for our batch,” he announced, his tone deep—almost mechanical, as if emotion didn’t dare enter his voice. “Who’s willing to take responsibility? I’ll be sharing all updates with them. They’ll have to pass the information to everyone else. So think before you raise your hand—this isn’t a title. It’s responsibility.”

A hush stretched through the classroom.

And then—hesitant at first, then firmer—seven girls and five boys raised their hands.

“So, we have quite a few candidates for the CR post,” Advait said, his tone calm yet firm, carrying that unmistakable weight of authority that made the room fall silent. “Here’s what we’ll do — those who are interested can give a short introduction and explain why they think they’re best suited for this post. At the end, we’ll vote.”

One by one, the candidates rose, each voice carrying a mix of confidence and nervousness. They introduced themselves, enumerating their qualities and reasons why they deserved the responsibility. Some stumbled over words, some paused mid-sentence, but every effort drew a quiet attention from the class.

When the voting was done, the results were clear. Darpan had been selected from the girls, and Ahaan from the boys. A subtle shift of anticipation passed through the room as they were acknowledged.

“Advait reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and handed them his number.” “Create an official group for your class,” he instructed, voice clipped but steady. “Don’t include me. I’ll share updates with just you two. You’ll also handle any student-related issues. And if you can’t manage, then come to me.”

Darpan and Ahaan nodded, a mixture of pride and nervous responsibility flashing across their faces. Aaradhya watched them, noting the tension in their shoulders, the slight tightening of their fists—a mirror of how she felt inside

“If you have any problems, contact your CRs. Thank you,” Advait said, arranging his neat stack of papers and closing his book with quiet precision, each motion deliberate and exact, leaving no room for chaos.

After a moment of measured silence, he turned and left the class, the door clicking softly behind him. A faint ripple of whispers rose among the students, but Aaradhya remained still, lost in thought.
But now, Aaradhya’s heart felt steadier, and the tension that had coiled inside her seemed to melt slightly.

“Ooh! I got Advait sir’s number, yaar!” Darpan beamed, her friends whooping and giggling beside her. A few boys turned to give her weird looks, which only made her laugh louder.

“Do you guys know?” she added, practically vibrating with excitement. “He’s my dad’s best friend’s son! And I’ve had a huge crush on him ever since I met him.” She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, grinning. “He looks so hot and handsome while teaching, yaar.”

Priya rolled her eyes, then glanced at Aaradhya. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling the same thing I am,” she said with a teasing chuckle.

Aaradhya looked at her and gave a small, unsure nod, her lips twitching without her even realizing it.

Handsome? Aaradhya scoffed inwardly. He looks more like a terrorist, and we’re his hostages—just following orders.

The classroom door creaked open again, and the chatter instantly died down. Hriday Mehra. Another handsome professor, tall and quietly impressive. He introduced himself with a warm, charming smile and informed them that he would be teaching inorganic chemistry. He patiently took the introduction of each student and then launched into a discussion of the syllabus, explaining how the semester would be structured. Naturally, a few girls couldn’t hide their admiration, sneaking glances at him and whispering among themselves.

After class, Priya practically dragged Tripti along, and Aaradhya followed them to the canteen for their one-hour break. They ordered cold coffee and sandwiches, the chatter of the cafeteria buzzing around them.

“Oh God… that was pure hell,” Priya groaned, slumping into her chair.

“Especially the organic chemistry class, yaar. What was that professor’s name? Adhivk? No… wait—” Priya scrunched up her face, staring at the ceiling as if the name were written there.

“Advait,” Aaradhya and Tripti both murmured in unison.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Priya exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “That man is way too strict. And the worst part? He’s our permanent coordinator. I’d think twice before going to him for anything. Thank God we have CRs.”

Priya continued to ramble about the teacher, her voice animated and full of exaggeration, while Aaradhya stayed quiet, her mind replaying every moment she’d embarrassed herself in front of him. Tripti sipped her cold coffee, listening to the banter with an amused smile, letting her friends vent while Aaradhya sank deeper into her thoughts.

Priya finally noticed Aaradhya’s silence.
“Kya hua, Aaradhya? Tu kuch bol kyun nahi rahi? Kahin ye toh nahi soch rahi ki class mein teri bezzati ho gayi?” she teased.

Aaradhya gave a hesitant nod, cheeks warming slightly.

“Well, ho toh gayi hai,” Priya said, bringing her thumb and index finger close together. “Thodi si. Koi nahi, hota hai. Jab insaan ko achanak se bola jaata hai na, tab dimaag freeze ho jaata hai.” She gave Aaradhya a comforting side hug.

Tripti also nodded, a small smile on her face as she looked at Aaradhya.

“Accha chal, mujhe ye batao — tum dono kaunse PG mein reh rahi ho?” Priya asked.

“Paras. Metro ke paas hai,” Aaradhya replied.

“Me too,” Tripti said with amusement.

Aaradhya blinked in surprise at Tripti’s answer.

“Main 2nd floor pe hoon,” Aaradhya added.

“Tum?” Priya asked Tripti.

“Main 1st floor pe,” Tripti replied.

“Ooh, toh tum dono meri padosi nikli! Main wahan R.C.M wale PG mein rehti hoon,” Priya grinned. “Apne PG ke khane ka batao — agar accha hua na, toh main wahi shift ho jaungi.”

Aaradhya’s lips twitched at Priya’s random confession. One thing was clear — Priya was definitely a foodie. Tripti smiled at Priya’s excited chatter, and Aaradhya couldn’t help but chuckle softly too.

They drifted into a conversation about their previous colleges and professors, losing track of time completely.

“Thik hai, chalo. Ab physical chemistry class ka time ho gaya,” Tripti said, glancing at her mobile.

“Nahiiii! Ye sunne se pehle mere kaan kyun nahi phat gaye!” Priya exclaimed, dramatically covering her ears and making a gross face.

Aaradhya’s lips curled into a small smile at her antics. Tripti smiled too, shaking her head at Priya’s drama.

Tripti stood up from her chair, and Aaradhya followed suit.

“Chalo, der ho jaayegi,” Tripti said, grabbing Priya’s arm. Aaradhya instinctively grabbed Priya’s other arm to keep up.

“Areyy bhai, chal rahi hoon… kadiyon ke jaise kyun le ke jaa rahe ho?” Priya whined, struggling playfully against their grip.

Unwillingly, they attended their last class of the day. Afterwards, the three of them walked back to their PGs together, laughing and teasing along the way, the day’s stress slowly fading into the comfort of friendship.
.
.
.

Aaradhya pushed the door open and stepped into her room, her face heavy with the exhaustion of the day.

She let her bag drop onto the table with a soft thud and picked up the AC remote.

Beep.

The AC hummed to life, filling the room with a cool, soothing breeze.

Without wasting another second, she walked straight to her bed and collapsed face-down onto it. Her body ached, every muscle screaming for rest.

She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift back over the day—
especially that mortifying moment when she’d yelled at a stranger…
…who, as it turned out, was her organic chemistry professor.

Great start, Aaradhya, she whispered to herself, rolling onto her side.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind. Then, slowly, she sat up, grabbed her phone, and checked for messages.

Nothing.

Just as she was about to set it aside—

Ping!

A new message popped up.
A small smile tugged at Aaradhya’s lips.

It was Ishaan—her childhood friend.

Before she could even reply, her phone started ringing.

She answered with mock drama,
“Toh aakhirkar bade logon ko meri yaad aa hi gayi!”

“Yaar, aisa kyun keh rahi hai?”

Ishaan’s voice held a mix of guilt and amusement.

“Ek toh dhoka dete ho, upar se innocence ka drama karte ho,” she huffed.

“Toh matlab kisi ko meri yaad aa rahi thi?” he teased, chuckling.

“Ek thappad maarungi na… saara aura chala jaayega.”

They both burst into laughter—loud, unfiltered, the kind only best friends shared.

“Yaar, P.G nahi mila mujhe,” Ishaan finally said.
“Toh mujhe apne relatives ke yahan shift hona pada.”

“Delhi mein tere relatives bhi hain?” she asked, surprised.

“Haan, meri bua. Par subah fufaji ki tabiyat kharab ho gayi thi. Hospital le jaane ke liye koi nahi tha, toh main nahi aa paya. Sorry, yaar.” Ishaan apologized softly.

Aaradhya’s expression softened, and a twinge of guilt pricked at her.

“Arey, isme teri kya galti? Chill. Main toh mazaak kar rahi thi. Bata, fufaji kaise hain ab?” she said, steering the conversation.

“He’s better now,” he replied with relief.

“Actually, tumse baat karne ke liye hi phone kiya. Kal aa raha hoon college. Bata, tera pehla din kaisa tha?”

“Puch mat… Jab tu aayega na kal, tabhi sab bataungi. Aur guess what? Mujhe bhi tere jaise ek bandriya mil gayi hai!”

“Very funny,” Ishaan groaned, laughing.

Before Aaradhya could speak, the door creaked open.

Vedika walked in, visibly exhausted, her bag slipping from her shoulder.

“Bhen! Khana khane chal, nahi toh khatam ho jaayega! 9 baj gaye hain. Tu jaanti hai mess 9:30 pe band ho jaata hai!” she exclaimed, tossing her bag onto the bed.

Aaradhya couldn’t help but notice how animated Vedika sounded.

Ishaan’s voice rang in his mind, clearly amused:
“Chal ab tu dinner kar le… warna P.G ke mess ka bhi bharosa nahi. Aur kal milte hain college mein.”

Aaradhya smiled and hung up.

She got up, stretched lazily, and walked toward Vedika.
“Did you eat?” she asked softly.

Vedika shook her head with a dramatic sigh.
“Nahi, I didn’t. Jab meri roommate ne hi nahi khaya, toh main kaise kha leti?”

Then, with mock anger:
“Aur zyada baat mat kar. Mujhe bhookh lagi hai. Agar abhi khana nahi mila na… toh main tujhe hi kha jaungi!”

Her over-the-top tone made Aaradhya laugh.

“Chalo, chalte hain, nahi toh isse pehle ki tu mujhe khaa jaaye,” Aaradhya said, putting a hand on Vedika’s shoulder.

Together, they walked toward the mess, laughing along the way, the day’s exhaustion slowly melting into the warmth of friendship.

The corridors were quiet now; it seemed most students had already had their dinner. The mess wasn’t crowded—only two or three students were scattered around. Vedika and Aaradhya collected their food on thalis and made their way to a dining table.

As they ate, their conversation flowed into playful college gossip—laughing over first-day drama, commenting on seniors’ outfits, and teasing each other about their departments.

Aaradhya even recounted the awkward encounter with her professor—the man she had yelled at in full public fury—only to later discover that he’d be teaching her organic chemistry all semester. She described how he had asked her a question, how she fumbled while answering, and how he’d subtly taunted her throughout the class.

Vedika nearly choked on her roti, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
“Tu toh gayi kaam se!” she exclaimed. “Tere assignment ka toh satyanash hone wala hai!”

Aaradhya looked down at her plate, a little worried.
“Arey yaar, mujhe kya pata tha ki vo professor nikal jaayenge. Nahi toh bolti hi nahi. But yaar, mujhe dar bahut lag raha apne assignment ke liye aur attendance ke liye.”

She paused, then added dryly,
“Assignment ko thik hai, zyada kuch nahi kar sakte. But kahin meri attendance hi na kaat dein… aur bolein—Mujhe toh dikha hi nahi deta, color blindness hai na.”

Vedika burst into uncontrollable laughter, while Aaradhya scrunched her face in irritation.
“Ok! Baba, ab nahi hasti… zyada tension mat le. Aur kuch hua nahi na? Toh bas, khush rah, zyada chinta mat kar.” Vedika patted her shoulder, cheering her up.

By the time they finished dinner, they were full—both stomach and heart.

Back in their room, the night routine began—changing into pajamas, tying their hair back, washing their faces. The room buzzed with soft conversations and the low hum of the AC.

Finally, the lights went off.

Tired, but content, they slid into their beds, letting the day’s events melt into quiet, comfortable exhaustion.

On the other side of the city…

A shimmering neon sign pulsed in the dark:

VIBE CLUB.

Inside, the bass thumped hard enough to tremble through the walls.
The air was thick with perfume, expensive alcohol, and raw Friday-night energy.
Lights flashed purple and blue, sweeping like restless waves across the crowd.

A man walked toward the entrance —
Calm. Composed. Intimidatingly sure of himself.
The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention… it commanded it.

“Good evening, sir,” the bouncer said immediately, straightening up.

He gave a small nod and stepped inside.
He didn’t look around — he didn’t need to. His steps were unhurried, mechanical, like someone who knew every inch of this place by heart.

Straight through the corridor. Past the bar. Past the dancers.

VIP ROOM – 003.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, the lighting softened — golden, warm, and undeniably expensive.
And on the leather sofa sat another man…

Not just confident —
But the kind who looked like he owned the entire club, the city, and maybe the night itself.

He lifted his eyes, a slow smirk forming

Sharp features. A charming, effortless smile.
An Italian-tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin.
A glass of sour whisky swirling in his hand — as if it belonged there.

The man looked up and smirked.

"Aakhir Professor Sahab ne time nikal hi liya!" he teased.
"Mujhe toh laga aaj akele hi pina hoga."

He paused, watching for a reaction —
But Advait’s face remained perfectly blank.

"Aap toh apni raat apni girlfriend ke saath quality time spend kar rahe honge, hai na?
Mere jaise gareeb pe daya karke milne aa gaye."
He added dramatically, taking another sip.

Advait finally raised a brow, genuinely confused.

"Kaun si girlfriend? Aur mujhe kyun nahi pata?"
He asked, lowering himself onto the sofa beside him.

The man chuckled, a wicked grin forming.

"Bhai… teri ek hi girlfriend hai — Work."
He winked.

"Ohooo… dekho toh kaun keh raha hai — jo Sunday ko bhi kaam karta hai,
aur mujhe bol raha hai. At least I have a day off on Sunday," Advait retorted.

Shaurya chuckled, a little embarrassed.

"Arre yaar, mera toh business hai… aur kuch royal work bhi rehte hain.
Sunday ko hi time milta hai."

This was Shaurya Kachwaha — Advait’s childhood best friend.
And yes — an actual royal.

The only time Advait let his guard down, even a little, was with family and people like him.

Shaurya pressed a small button on the table. Within seconds, a waiter appeared.

"Your order, sir?"
He noted the drinks and snacks, then slipped out quietly.

Shaurya leaned back into the plush sofa, swirling his drink lazily.

"So bata, kaisa tha aaj ka din?
Aur kya chal raha hai teri zindagi mein?" he asked.

Advait exhaled sharply.
“Puch mat.”

“Toh bata mat,” Shaurya snickered.

Advait shot him a deadpan stare.

Seeing that look, Shaurya immediately raised both hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay! Bata, kya hua?”

“Ek pagal si ladki… car ke thokar khaate-khaate bachi aaj.”
Advait ran a hand through his hair, recalling the moment like a scene from a movie.
“Shukr hai, maine time pe brakes laga diye.”

He paused, jaw tightening a little.

“Maine poocha— ‘Road cross karna nahi aata kya?’
But she looked at me like I was wrong.”

Shaurya tried not to laugh, but couldn’t hide the grin stretching across his face.

Advait continued, voice thick with mild irritation.

“Aur vo kya bolti? ‘Signal red tha.’”
He mimicked her voice.
“Par usse itni jaldi thi ki countdown nahi dekha.”

He leaned back.

“And the audacity—”
He lifted a hand in disbelief.
“‘Aapko toh dikha nahi hoga na, aap color-blind honge. Chalo koi nahi… main aapko maaf karti hoon.’
She actually said that to me.”

Shaurya finally burst out laughing — loud enough that it echoed in the VIP room.

“Bhai… bichari!” he managed between laughs.
“Shayad late ho rahi hogi.”

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still amused.
“Lekin himmat deni padegi us ladki ko… jisne Advait Singh Rathore ko piss off kar diya.”

Then, with a mischievous smirk:

“Mujhe toh usse milna chahiye!”

“Par ab vo hume milegi… thodi,” Shaurya whispered dramatically, his face falling as if he had lost a golden opportunity to irritate Advait again.

Advait rolled his eyes.
“Meri class mein hai wo.”

Shaurya froze.

“What? Aur kyun?” he asked, as if this was a crime.

Advait let out a long sigh.
“Because she’s my student.”

For a second, Shaurya stared at him blankly.

Then—
He exploded.

“Bhai!!” he slapped the table, laughing so hard the ice in his glass rattled.
“Maine suna tha teachers students ko chillate hain…”

He paused for effect, wiping a tear of laughter.

“Par yeh pehli baar suna—
Student ne teacher pe chilla diya.
Aur upar se maafi bhi de di!
HAHAHA!”

His laughter filled the entire VIP room, shameless and loud.

Advait’s irritation only grew as Shaurya dramatically reenacted the scene, making faces, clutching his stomach like it was the joke of the year.

“Bas kar,” Advait muttered, shoulders stiffening.

But Shaurya showed zero mercy.

“Advait Singh Rathore… color-blind bol diya usne? Bhai, main toh us ladki ko salute karta hoon!”

Advait pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding he had to change the topic before Shaurya ascended into another level of teasing.

He knew one thing for sure—

If he didn’t stop him now, Shaurya wouldn’t let him live this down for the next ten years.

“Aur tu yahan kaise? Tujhe toh Jodhpur mein hona chahiye…” Advait asked, loosening his tie as he leaned back.

Shaurya pressed a hand to his heart dramatically.

“Bhai… mujhe teri yaad aa rahi thi. Isiliye… teri ek jhalak dekhne aa gaya,” he said, sighing like a tragic hero.

Advait made a fake-vomit face.

“Geez. Tu phir shuru ho gaya.”

Both of them burst into laughter.

Shaurya finally dropped the drama and said,
“Main yahan next week se settle ho raha hoon. Business ki demand hai.”

Advait frowned.
“Par tere royal work?”

“Manage kar lunga,” Shaurya shrugged casually.
“Par abhi—mujhe Delhi mein apni company ki branch open karni hai.”

Just then, the waiter returned with their food and drinks—serving everything with precise, practiced grace.

They picked up their glasses.

Swirled.
Clinked.

And then they talked.

About life.
Family.
The stupid things they did as kids.
The scars that shaped them.
Dreams they were still chasing.

For a moment, the music outside faded away.

Inside the VIP room, it was just two old friends—
Laughing, remembering, forgetting the weight of adulthood.

Later that night…

Advait stepped into his apartment.

He switched on the lights—soft, warm, filling the otherwise quiet space.

He placed his keys and files on the dining table, loosened his shirt cuffs, and walked into the kitchen.

He took out a glass.
Poured water.
Opened the drawer.
A silver strip of tablets lay inside.

He popped one and swallowed it without hesitation.

Because not many knew—

Advait Singh Rathore was an insomniac.

But…

He wasn’t always like this.

There was a time he slept peacefully, without nightmares, without the heaviness in his chest.

Then something happened.

One incident.
One night.
One loss.

Something that stole his sleep…

…and left him alone with silence every night—
While the rest of the world dreamt in peace.

_________________________________________
⚠️ Warning:
Next chapter is not updated yet.
The story is being rewritten, so please wait for the updated version!