"Priya," Sneha answered quickly. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Anyway, what do you want with her?"
She said "aapko" (formal "you") instead of her usual casual "tum." That hit different. Sneha almost never used "aap" with him unless something was off—usually when she was jealous or suspicious. Right now, he could practically smell the jealousy burning off her.
"Why are you suddenly saying 'aap' to me? What's the matter?" Arahan asked, stepping closer with a smirk.
"First tell me what you want with her," Sneha shot back, crossing her arms under her chest, which only pushed her tits up higher in that tight school shirt. Payal and Neha exchanged glances, already sensing the tension.
"Nothing special. Just wanted to see what kind of arrangements are happening this year," Arahan lied smoothly. The real reason? He wanted to fuck Priya senseless, to ruin her tight virgin pussy and make her scream his name, while the whole school knew about it. All so he could get sweet revenge on her brother Vinay. That bastard had messed with him, and will get proper revenge. But no way was he telling Sneha that. She'd flip.
Sneha didn't look convinced. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Fine," Arahan said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "I'm heading out now anyway. It's getting late."
He turned and walked away before she could grill him more, his cock already half-hard just from thinking about Priya—how she'd look bent over a desk, skirt hiked up, panties pulled aside while he slammed into her from behind, making her beg for more even as she cried that it was her first time.
But Sneha's jealous glare followed me down the corridor. He could feel it burning into his back. Part of him loved it—loved knowing she was possessive.
Another part wondered if he'd have to "reassure" her later… maybe pin her against a wall somewhere private, slide his hand up her skirt, and finger her dripping cunt until she forgot all about Priya and only remembered who she really belonged to.
For now, though, his focus was on the farewell rehearsals. Time to join the committee. Time to get close to Priya.
Time to start the real fun.
---
Arahan pushed open the door to the old science lab that had been turned into the makeshift farewell committee room. The air smelled of old chalk dust, cheap perfume, and the faint metallic tang of the ceiling fan that never quite spun right.
Inside, it was quieter than he expected. A handful of ninth-graders scattered around, some pinning streamers to the wall, others arguing over song choices on a cracked laptop screen. And one teacher, Mrs. Sharma, sitting at the front desk scrolling through her phone, pretending to supervise.
The moment Arahan stepped into the room, a sharp voice sliced through the low chatter like a knife.
"Arahan, what are you doing here? Get out, go away!"
It was none other than Zainab, the Principal's daughter. Arahan's biggest enemy in this school.
In truth, Arahan's mind was incredibly sharp, though even he didn't fully know why. Anything he saw once, he remembered forever. Because of this photographic memory, he always scored top marks effortlessly.
Up until Class 6, the entire school cheered for Arahan. He was the star student everyone admired.
But starting in Class 7, he started spending time playing with his girl, Sneha, Neha and Payal.
While sometimes bullying Sneha, of course it was needed to show his dominance. Afterall from Payal and Neha, he was once bullied.
And he also plays pranks, with Sneha, Neha and Payal, a few times including other girls.
All these pranks stayed playful and those girls actually enjoyed it at first; the playful banter and laughter flowed freely between them.
However, this started creating a chaotic atmosphere in school.
The principal tried to counsel him. "Look, this kind of fun is fine in small doses, but you're one of our model students. If you even behave this way, what kind of impression will it leave on the others?"
To make the point stronger, the principal even sent his own daughter, Zainab, to talk some sense into Arahan.
But Arahan felt like something was off. He believed that following the straight and narrow path would lead nowhere.
And when Zainab arrived, she became impressed with Arahan, especially with his looks. So, she tries to tell him that fun and pranks are not good.
Arahan half heartily nodded, and invited her to the nearby swimming pool to enjoy.
Zainab thought Arahan was becoming good, and when she went to the swimming pool, they played there.
She enjoyed it, and loved it. In the swimming pool, she also fell in love with Arahan's body.
And especially, when he holds her, she feels so much pleasure.
But then, Arahan hid her clothes for hours, and nearly the night time, he returned her clothes.
She was not angry that he pranked her, but she was angry because she had fallen in love with him, and he treated her love like this.
From that day onward, she became his enemy.
Now, standing in the farewell committee room, Arahan met Zainab's furious glare with his signature calm, sarcastic smile.
"Relax, Zainab. I'm just here to help. You know… be a good role model and all."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Mrs. Sharma looked up from her phone, sighed, and waved a lazy hand. "Zainab, enough. If he wants to help, let him. We're short on boys anyway. Most tenth boys think dancing is 'gay' or whatever nonsense they say. Zainab, show him the lift. Right now."
Zainab looked like she'd rather set the room on fire.
Arahan extended his hand again, palm up, expression perfectly innocent.
"Come on, partner. Let's dance."
The entire room went silent, every ninth-grader watching with wide eyes and barely suppressed grins.
Zainab stared at his hand like it was poison.
Then, gritting her teeth, she slapped her palm into his.
His fingers closed around hers. And in that grip, Arahan felt the old hunger stir once more.
This time, the teasing wasn't going to stay innocent.
And he also felt a little regret, when he remembered his pranks on her. He wants to make her forget the pain he had given her that day, while reawakening the love, which she has for him.
The room felt smaller the second Zainab's palm slapped into Arahan's. Every ninth-grader had stopped pretending to work; they were openly staring now, phones half-raised like they were filming a live drama.
Mrs. Sharma had already gone back to her phone, muttering something about "teenagers these days" under her breath.
Arahan didn't waste time.
He tugged Zainab gently toward the cleared center of the room where a few taped X marks on the floor showed the starting position for the couple dance.
The track was already queued up on the laptop: a slow, sensual remix of an old Bollywood classic, the kind with heavy bass and lyrics that dripped innuendo even when innocent.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low enough that only she could hear.
Zainab's jaw was locked so tight he could see the muscle twitch. "Don't get any ideas."
"Too late," he murmured, stepping right into her space.
He placed his right hand on her waist first, exactly where the choreography demanded. But instead of resting lightly like a normal partner would, his fingers spread wide, thumb brushing the soft dip just above her hip bone, right where her school shirt tucked into her skirt. He felt her stomach flutter under the fabric.
His left hand caught hers, lifting it to shoulder height in the classic ballroom frame. Their bodies were close enough that when the music started and he guided her into the first slow sway, her breasts brushed his chest for a split second.
She tried to pull back an inch.
He didn't let her.
Instead he stepped forward, closing the gap again, his thigh sliding between hers for the briefest "accidental" moment as they turned.
"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. His devilish smile was back, "You're tense. Relax into me."
"Shut up," She hissed.
He spun her slowly, hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back. His palm pressed flat against the curve just above her ass, fingers splaying so the tips grazed the top edge of her skirt waistband. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin through the thin cotton.
As he pulled her back in for the dip, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"You know," he whispered in her ears. "This move is all about trust… letting me hold you right where I want. So you don't fall… unless I make you."
Zainab's breath hitched audibly. Her free hand gripped his shoulder harder, half to steady herself, half like she wanted to shove him away but couldn't quite commit.
He dipped her then. Her head tilted back, throat exposed, ponytail brushing the floor. From this angle he could see straight down the open top button of her shirt: the lacy edge of her bra, the faint swell of her cleavage rising and falling with every quick breath.
His hand on her lower back slid an inch lower, barely noticeable to anyone watching from the side, but enough that his fingertips pressed into the cleft just above her ass crack.
"Feel that?" he murmured against her ear again while she was still arched. "That's me keeping you safe… or maybe just keeping you right where I like you. Spread open. Helpless. Begging without saying a word."
Zainab's eyes snapped open. She was angry, and embarrassed, and something darker flashed across her face all at once.
He pulled her up smoothly, bodies sliding together again, chest to chest, hips brushing in a way that was definitely not part of the official choreography.
She tried to step back.
He caught her waist with both hands now, holding her flush against him for the next turn. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over her hip bones, dangerously close to where her skirt met skin.
"Stop it," she whispered furiously, but her voice cracked at the end.
"Stop what?" he asked innocently, smile widening into something downright sinful. "Teaching you the steps? Or teaching you how good it feels when a man knows exactly where to touch… and how hard to press?"
One of his hands "slipped" during the next lift, sliding up her side until his thumb grazed the underside of her breast through her shirt. Just a feather-light brush. Enough to make her nipple pebble instantly against the fabric.
Zainab gasped softly.
Arahan lifted her effortlessly, higher than the choreography actually required, holding her suspended for an extra heartbeat. Her thighs parted instinctively around his waist for balance; her skirt rode up just enough to show a flash of white cotton panties to anyone paying close attention.
He brought her down slowly, letting her body drag along his on the way. Her breasts pressed flat against his chest. Her core brushed the growing hardness in his trousers.
When her feet touched the floor again, he didn't let go.
Instead he leaned in one last time, lips so close to her ear that no one else could hear.
"See?" he breathed. "You hate me… but your body's already dancing to my rhythm. Wet yet, princess? Or do I need to dip you lower next time… and check for myself?"
Zainab's face was flaming. Her nails dug into his shoulders, angry, aroused. If he has not played pranks with her, when she adores him.
Then today, she enjoyed it, but now she hate him, still even unknowingly to her, a little love started awakening.
She shoved him back hard enough that he actually took a step.
"Enough!" she snapped, voice louder than she intended.
Mrs. Sharma finally looked up. "Everything okay?"
Zainab straightened her skirt with shaking hands, cheeks still flushed from the close contact and Arahan's whispered filth.