The plan crystallized in Nikhil's mind with beautiful certainty.
There was no point waiting. Waiting was boring. Waiting required patience. And Nikhil, at this point, was very much running on a mix of boredom, curiosity, and a deeply personal need to poke the same beehive again just to see if it would react differently this time.
After DH, he didn't waste much time. He changed quickly, ran a hand through his still-damp hair like that alone counted as "freshening up," and by evening, he was out again—ready to put his plan into action.
It didn't take long to find his first targets.
A group of second years sat near one of the tables in the central park. He could tell immediately—they had that slightly more tired, slightly more done-with-life look. Also, one of them was holding a pharmacology book like it had personally betrayed them. Dead giveaway.
Nikhil didn't approach directly. That would be too obvious. Too desperate.
No, this required finesse.
He dragged an increasingly anxious Anuj along with him and positioned them casually near a palm tree just within earshot of the group. He leaned back against the trunk, one hand running lazily through his curls, the other holding his phone like he was mid-scroll and completely uninterested in the world around him.
Oscar-worthy performance, honestly.
"...still feel bad about that one senior, you know?" he said, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry.
Anuj blinked. Once. Twice.
"…w-what?" he whispered back, looking like he had just been dropped into a play mid-performance with no script and zero rehearsal.
Nikhil ignored him completely.
"You know," he continued smoothly, leaning in like he was sharing a secret—while making absolutely no effort to lower his voice. "The one I told you about. Short, really intense. Kind of pretty. Really petty."
Anuj choked on air.
Nikhil carried on, completely unfazed.
"The one with the—uh—" he gestured vaguely at his own face, as if that explained anything at all, "—distinctive features. Always pressed about the hierarchy and such. Bossy, but in a bratty way."
There it was.
He heard it.
The exact moment the conversation at the nearby table slowed.
Then stopped.
Then very subtly shifted into full eavesdropping mode.
Perfect.
Nikhil almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, he sighed—long-suffering, deeply concerned, like a man burdened with empathy.
"I heard he twisted his ankle really bad that day," he continued, voice dipped in faux worry. "You know, when we bumped into each other. Which was an honest accident, by the way—" he added helpfully, because of course he did, "—but for some reason, he seems to think I deliberately did it or something."
Anuj stared at him like he was witnessing a crime.
Nikhil pressed on.
"I do hope he's okay, though," he said, shaking his head with a soft, disappointed exhale. "It must be so hard for him, you know? Navigating campus like that. Especially since he seems like the kind who takes academics really seriously. I'd hate to think I messed up his schedule."
He let that sit in the air.
Sweet. Concerned. Polite.
And just venomous enough underneath to make it sting.
Because anyone with two functioning brain cells could tell—this wasn't concern.
This was targeted.
This was deliberate.
This was him talking shit in HD quality.
The next day, he did it again.
New location. Same script. Improved performance.
This time it was the campus café—a place first years technically weren't supposed to be in yet. Nikhil, of course, did not care. Rules, to him, were more like…suggestions with a polite tone.
He spotted a group of second-year girls and chose the table right next to them.
Strategic placement.
He dragged Manav along this time, who had been given exactly zero context and was now sitting there like a confused background character in someone else's drama.
Nikhil leaned back, stretching casually.
"…I just feel bad, you know?" he said again, same tone, same timing. "He looked like he takes things very seriously. Like, really seriously."
Manav nodded.
Slowly.
Uncertainly.
Like he was agreeing to something he did not understand but didn't want to question.
"Hope he's recovering well," Nikhil added, glancing at his phone. "Wouldn't want him to stay…pressed."
Manav blinked.
The girls definitely heard that one.
Nikhil didn't even look at them. That was the beauty of it.
He didn't need to.
The gremlin had learned how to weaponize the system.
He had lit the spark.
Now he just had to wait for the explosion.
For two more days, he kept at it.
Different spots. Same story. Same tone.
Central park. Corridors. Outside lecture halls. Anywhere he spotted second years, really.
He was relentless.
At this point, it was less of a plan and more of an art form.
And the second-year batch?
They were his canvas.
He painted the same picture over and over—consistent, sympathetic, just the right amount of insulting—until it spread like wildfire.
Whispers turned into conversations.
Conversations turned into opinions.
Opinions turned into interest.
And eventually—
Eventually, it reached exactly where it was meant to.
On the third day, as he was returning from the afternoon DH session, he saw it.
Him.
A certain brown-haired senior sat in the farthest chair of the common area near the entrance. His foot was propped up across the adjacent seats, the bandage still there like a personal accusation. A tablet rested on his lap, something academic open on it.
To anyone passing by, he looked like the perfect image of dedication.
Studying. Focused. Unbothered.
Disciplined.
Aarav had not read a single word since he sat down.
Not consciously, at least.
Because every time his eyes moved over the screen, his brain supplied something else entirely—
A voice.
A tone.
A certain infuriating, smug, concerned tone.
His grip tightened around the tablet.
Knuckles whitening.
That brazen, disrespectful, immature, reckless—
He stopped.
Exhaled sharply.
Forced himself to breathe.
This was exactly what that idiot wanted.
A reaction.
He wasn't going to give him one.
He wasn't—
Something shifted.
A presence.
Aarav looked up instinctively.
And there he was.
Standing a few feet away like he had all the time in the world.
Nikhil Goyal.
Tall. Annoyingly relaxed. Hands loose at his sides like he wasn't actively causing emotional damage across an entire academic batch.
Their eyes locked.
Aarav's gaze was sharp. Controlled. But there was no missing the simmering rage sitting just beneath the surface of those dark brown irises.
The message had reached him.
Loud and clear.
Nikhil didn't look away.
If anything, his expression brightened.
A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face—equal parts satisfaction and absolute menace.
His eyes practically said it.
Got your attention.
And for a brief, dangerous second—
It almost worked.
Aarav's fingers tightened.
His posture shifted.
There was a flicker—just a flicker—of that earlier impulse. The one that wanted to stand up, walk over, and absolutely destroy this idiot on the spot.
Nikhil saw it.
And oh, he loved it.