Silence stretched across the massive library, broken only by the steady rustle of turning pages. Towering shelves lined the aisles where Rudra, Arun, and Karan sat with heads bowed, fully immersed in their work. Though their second year had just ended, preparations for the third had already begun.
Rudra's gaze lingered on the page, frustration tightening in his chest. His final exam results still burned at the back of his mind. He had pushed himself relentlessly, chasing a single goal—surpassing Nitara. But deep down, he knew it wasn't enough. Not this time.
He clenched his jaw.
Losing wasn't an option.
She had made him a promise—just once, if he outranked her, she would accept his proposal. A simple condition, yet impossibly out of reach. For two years, he had chased it and failed. Again and again.
That was why he was here.
Desperate.
Trying to gain even the smallest advantage before the next semester began.
But the silence wasn't helping.
If anything, it made it worse.
Because she wasn't here.
The absence gnawed at him, turning the quiet into something suffocating.
Ding!
The sharp notification cut through the stillness.
Rudra's eyes shifted toward the sound—it came from Arun's phone. He was about to say something, but stopped.
Arun's reaction wasn't normal.
His face drained of color as he finished reading the message. Without a word, he shoved his chair back and stood abruptly, eyes still fixed on his phone.
"Sir Rudra, I'm leaving. It's urgent," he stammered, voice unsteady.
Before anyone could respond, he turned and hurried out, almost breaking into a jog.
Rudra frowned, irritation flaring. His mood had already been sour, and Arun's abrupt exit only made it worse. His gaze snapped toward Karan, his tone dropping—low, sharp, dangerous.
The anger beneath it was unmistakable.
Karan froze.
His throat tightened, words catching before they could form—but Rudra didn't give him the chance.
"Don't lie to me," he said coldly. "Or you'll regret it this evening."
"Keep quiet! This is a library!"
The sharp voice cut across the room.
The librarian had snapped at them without hesitation, completely unaware of who she was addressing.
Rudra clamped his jaw shut, his gaze lingering on Karan's pale face. It didn't take long to understand—Karan knew nothing. Pressing him further would be pointless.
A decision formed instantly.
He pushed his chair back, his expression smoothing over as he composed himself. "Follow me," he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Without another word, he stepped away.
His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved toward the librarian's desk, each step measured, controlled. The woman looked up—and froze. Recognition hit her all at once, draining the color from her face.
By the time he reached her, that shock had shifted into something else entirely. A faint flush spread across her cheeks as she struggled to steady herself, her fingers tightening subtly against the desk.
"I apologize," Rudra said, offering a calm, disarming smile. "And thank you for the reminder."
"Not at all, sir," she replied quickly, her voice composed but her eyes fixed on him. "I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't realize it was you. Please forgive me."
She bowed, just slightly—carefully.
Rudra acknowledged it with a small nod.
Nothing more.
Then he walked past her without another glance.
Stepping out of the library, Karan followed close behind. The moment he caught that faint smile still lingering on Rudra's face, a violent shiver ran down his spine.
I'm dead today.
Arun… if I die, I'm coming back for you.
He knew that expression. That calm—too calm. It wasn't composure.
It was rage, sharpened to a point.
Ahead of them, Arun stood frozen in place, eyes glued to his phone.
"YOU SHITTY BASTARD! YOU CAN'T EVEN HANDLE ONE PERSON!" he roared into it.
His face twisted with frustration as he cut the call. He ground his shoe into the pavement, hand dragging through his hair. "Shit… I should've taken c—"
He stopped.
Rudra was already in front of him.
"Sir… Rudra," Arun stammered, his voice collapsing into a whisper.
He stumbled back instinctively, cold sweat breaking across his face. His eyes darted, searching for escape.
Behind Rudra, Karan kept his head lowered, shrinking into himself like he wasn't even there.
Before Arun could force out a single explanation, Rudra moved.
His hand shot forward, gripping Arun by the throat and slamming him hard against the ground.
The impact knocked the breath out of him.
Arun struggled instantly, hands clawing at Rudra's wrist. "Ugh—ah—" The sound that came out was broken, strangled.
"You've got nerve," Rudra said, voice low and cold. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Arun's, unmoving.
A few steps back, Karan stood frozen, horror etched across his face.
Then—
Rudra's fists came down.
Again.
And again.
Each strike was heavy, controlled, merciless. Arun threw his arms up, trying to shield his face, but it barely helped.
"Sir—plea—"
"You need a reminder," Rudra cut in, his tone dropping further. "You've forgotten who you belong to."
Everything he had been holding back snapped.
The blows didn't stop.
They only grew harsher.
Arun's resistance weakened, then faltered completely. His body went limp, slipping into unconsciousness beneath him.
Only then did Rudra stop.
The anger vanished just as quickly as it had come.
He looked down at his hand—knuckles smeared with fresh blood—before letting his arm fall to his side.
Then he turned.
Karan was still there, rigid, barely breathing.
And beyond him—
a crowd had formed.
Students stood in a wide circle, silent, unmoving. Their faces held shock… and something darker.
A quiet, morbid fascination.
A perfectly polite smile touched Rudra's lips.
"The show is over. Leave."
His calm, measured voice cut cleanly through the tension. The spell broke instantly. Students stirred, whispers spreading as they hurried away, unwilling to linger any longer.
Rudra watched them disperse, then extended a hand without looking. "Karan. Cigarette."
"Here, sir." Karan stepped forward at once, offering the pack with a stiff bow. From that lowered angle, he quickly checked Arun—steady breathing. Alive. He let out a quiet breath of relief.
Rudra lit one, took a slow drag, then spoke without turning. "Clean him up. Bring him to my place."
"Yes, sir."
Rudra left without another glance.
Only after he was gone did Karan move. He approached Arun and looked down at him, his expression tight, conflicted.
"…You should've controlled yourself," he muttered. "You knew how he'd be after the results."
He bent, hoisting Arun's limp body over his shoulder.
As he crossed the courtyard, the whispers followed—low, constant, impossible to ignore. Karan kept his head down, jaw tight as fragments of conversation slipped through.
"Why did Sir Rudra beat him? Doesn't Arun follow him everywhere?"
"He must've crossed a line. Rudra's always so gentle… Arun deserved it."
"Exactly. Someone like him wouldn't do that without a reason."
"…Ghh—"
A low, pained sound broke through the chatter. Karan felt the shift on his shoulder and glanced sideways.
"Oh? Awake already?" he said, a faint smirk forming. "You're tougher than you look."
He adjusted Arun's weight and kept walking.
This wasn't the first time.
Arun had been skirting the line for a while—quietly interfering, bending things in ways that didn't favor Rudra. Small moves. Careful enough to go unnoticed—until now.
Rudra had let it pass before.
Not today.
That beating hadn't been blind anger.
It was a reminder.
A brutal one.
***
They were inside Rudra's place now. Arun sat across from him, head bowed, shoulders heavy, while Karan stood silently behind like a shadow. Rudra studied him without emotion. Arun's eyes were swollen, barely open, blinking slow and uneven, as if consciousness itself was slipping.
Rudra finally spoke.
"Explain your panic."
His tone was flat. Cold enough to still the air.
The words hit harder than the blows.
Regret flooded Arun's chest, thick and suffocating. He had never meant to oppose Rudra—not truly. This wasn't rebellion. It was failure. His own mess, his own weakness, spiraling out of control. If he had handled things properly, none of this would've happened.
But that didn't matter anymore.
He had crossed a line.
"Sir… I'm sorry," Arun said, voice strained. "I never meant to go against you. I was just—"
He stopped.
His teeth clenched.
The words refused to form. Arun sat there, trapped between guilt and hesitation, his thoughts tangled. He hadn't even realized how far he'd drifted. His actions had never been about Rudra—never about betrayal. They were his own, driven by a selfish goal he had blindly chased.
How do you explain failure… to the person you've looked up to your entire life?
"What is it?" Rudra said, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "You can speak. I'll help you."
Arun's head snapped up.
The voice—calm, patient—held no mockery, no anger. Just sincerity. For a moment, everything else faded, and all he saw was the man he had admired for years.
He hesitated.
Then his gaze dropped again, heavy with conflict. Accepting that help would solve everything instantly. He knew it. But something inside him resisted—something stubborn, unwilling to rely on anyone else for a mistake that was his own.
"Sir… to be honest," Arun began, his voice unsteady, "it wasn't about your plans at all."
A pause.
"It was about… a girl."
His fingers tightened.
"Nitya. I… I have feelings for her."
The words came slower now.
"But Yug Satya kept getting in the way. I tried to… remove him from the picture. Permanently."
His jaw clenched.
"But it backfired. I only made things worse. The distance between me and Nitya just… grew. I couldn't even speak to her."
Rudra slowly raised a single eyebrow.
Behind Arun, Karan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, horror creeping across his face.
What is wrong with these people?
A cold dread settled in his chest. Rudra was already obsessive—dangerously so. And now Arun, without hesitation, was talking about murder… as if it were a reasonable step. Worse, he was placing that idea directly in Rudra's hands.
Karan felt alone.
Trapped.
Surrounded by madness dressed as logic.
"So, sir…" Arun's voice trembled, but didn't falter. "Please… let me handle him myself."
Silance.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Neither of them dared move. Even the air felt heated, thickened by an unseen pressure, as if the room itself was holding its breath—waiting for Rudra's answer.