Kiara stepped out of Vikram's office with her thoughts still tangled in the morning's conversation. The corridor smelled faintly of old books and wet earth; sunlight caught the dust motes and turned them gold. She blinked once and froze — Yuvaan was there, leaning casually against the notice board, arms folded, that impossible half-smile in place.
She didn't slow. She kept walking, head down, and let him stand there like a portrait she didn't want to study.
He watched her go for a heartbeat, then rose with that graceful, careless ease of his and followed.
The lecture hall was full — the usual hum of students, the prof's tired shuffle of papers. Kiara slid into her seat toward the middle, trying to fold herself small and invisible. She opened her notebook and tried, with great effort, to stitch her attention back to the slide on the projector.
A soft thwip sounded somewhere to her left. A tiny paper pebble tapped her forearm.
She glanced up without looking — Yuvaan, three rows ahead, meeting her eyes with a mischievous grin. He threw another, lighter, aimed perfectly. Another tap. A nervous ripple of giggles from the girls behind her.
Kiara pinched the bridge of her nose and, between clenched teeth, made a small, deadly hand signal: I will kill you.
Yuvaan's laugh was suppressed but delighted. He caught the attention of a few nearby students — the "clan" of admirers who orbit him like satellites. Their heads turned; whispers spread like wildfire.
The professor looked up halfway through a sentence, annoyed. "Is there a wildlife sanctuary in here?" he snapped. "Can the disruptive creature please return to its den?"
Yuvaan tilted his head toward the lectern with theatrical innocence. "What? Carry on, peeps," he called lightly, making a show of settling down. He tossed one final paper pebble — a tiny folded heart this time — onto Kiara's desk and folded his hands as if in prayer.
Kiara's face burned crimson. She snatched the paper, unfolded it, and shoved it into her notebook like a forbidden note. Around her, the classroom buzzed with an undercurrent of curiosity and amusement. A girl near the window mouthed, He's married? and another squealed quietly.
Kiara forced her hands to steady. The lecture droned on, but the hour had shifted — the entire room now orbited the small, private war between a stubborn wife and a teasing husband. Kiara listened to nothing, glanced at Yuvaan once more, and found the man who could ruin her world looking utterly, infuriatingly pleased.
She swallowed, squared her shoulders, and muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him: "One day, Yuvi. One day I'll teach you a lesson for troubling me."
Yuvaan's smile deepened, just for a flicker. "I look forward to the challenge," he mouthed back — and the lesson continued, punctuated by a chorus of restrained giggles and the secret electricity that now threaded Kiara's ordinary college day.
The bell rang, echoing through the corridor like a signal for freedom. Students poured out of the classroom in noisy waves, laughter and chatter filling the air. Angad slung his bag over his shoulder, scanning the crowd — and there she was, Mishka, walking briskly down the hallway, pretending not to notice him at all.
Before he could decide whether to follow her, a honeyed voice interrupted,
"Hey, handsome hero,"
Angad turned. Betty stood before him — bright-eyed, her smile practiced to perfection. Her hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, and her every move seemed rehearsed for effect.
"Oh, hi," he said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "Betty, right?"
She laughed lightly, brushing invisible dust from his shirt. "You remember my name! I was hoping we could be friends — maybe you could show me around more? I'm still so lost here."
Angad smiled, still half-distracted by Mishka passing a corner nearby. "Yeah, sure, I don't mind. You seem… nice."
Betty tilted her head, following his gaze. Her lips curved knowingly. "Ah," she murmured softly, "the girl with the storm in her eyes."
Angad blinked. "What?"
Betty leaned closer, whispering, "The one pretending not to watch you right now. That's Mishka, isn't it?"
Angad looked over and, sure enough, Mishka was standing by the notice board, flipping through papers with unnecessary focus, her body language screaming not watching you.
Betty smiled sweetly. "If you want her attention, I can help you. Nothing gets under a woman's skin faster than seeing the man she rejected being… wanted."
Angad hesitated, his curiosity sparking. "You'd really do that?"
"Of course," Betty said, her voice silk over steel. "Let's just say I like seeing people get what they deserve." She linked her arm through his before he could respond, her smile widening when she noticed Mishka's subtle glare. "Come on, let's grab a coffee. For appearances, of course."
Angad grinned, thinking he'd finally found a way to make Mishka jealous — the perfect little plan.
But Betty's mind was far from romance.
As they walked down the hallway, her eyes briefly flashed — not with affection, but with ancient intent. Her inner voice whispered, Perfect. The fool will open the doors for me.
A faint shimmer of darkness rippled under her skin, gone in an instant.
Soon I'll enter the Pratap Singh mansion… and ensure the Warlock King never strays from his destined path. On the day of the Great Eclipse, the Kaal Vansh will rise again.
She turned back to Angad, all charm and innocence. "So, tell me more about your family," she cooed.
Angad smiled, unaware that he had just taken the first step into a trap spun in Sunlight and malice.