A look of intrigue flickered through the group. The girls glanced at one another—quick, sharp little looks loaded with unspoken conversation. One of them, the petite one with the neat bobcut and the kind of shruggy confidence only a seasoned senior girl could pull off, stepped forward and took the lead.
"Oh? You bumped into a senior, and now you want to… what, find him?" she asked, not mocking, just curious in that slightly amused senior-way.
"That is the thing," Nikhil said, lifting his shoulders in a helpless little shrug that somehow still ended up looking charming as hell. His hands moved with that easy, practiced looseness that screamed *this boy grew up around South Delhi cafés and rooftop parties*. "I was hoping to find him, to apologise properly. But—I don't know his name. He's about… this tall?" He held his hand to the level of his bicep. "He's got dark brown hair, black eyes—the kind that are really… intense? And really, really pissed off the last I saw him. I think he might've hurt his ankle too. During the fall. You know, when we bumped into each other."
The ankle detail wasn't random. Not even close. It was calculated. A marker. A breadcrumb that would narrow the possibilities down for them. Just as Nikhil ptedicted, aarav's ankle was practically campus news among the second years right now.
Sure enough, the girls exchanged another round of loaded glances. The petite one's lips twitched upward into a knowing smirk. "Injured ankle, you say. Sounds… familiar. But you know we can't just give out names."
"I know, I know," Nikhil said, nodding with that disarming, I-get-it smile of his. He always knew how far to push and how far to lean back. "I get the whole 'find out the name yourself' tradition. I'm not asking for his actual name. Just… anything you can tell me, maybe? His year at least? So I know where to start looking. Otherwise I'll spend the whole semester bumping into random angry seniors and apologising to the wrong ankles."
The girls tried—truly tried—not to smile. They exchanged that silent, telepathic communication only girl groups who've lived through hostel gossip sessions can do. To them, this was harmless. A cute fresher wanting to give an honest apology. And frankly, he was very easy on the eyes. Tall, bright-eyed, messy curls, that stupidly confident stance like rules were just mild suggestions meant for other people.
"Okay, fine," the curly-haired one finally said. "We can tell you his year. He's a second year."
It wasn't exactly confidential information. Not earth-shattering. A breadcrumb, a tiny clue that was practically nothing on its own. But to Nikhil, it was victory. A starting point. A direction. A thread to pull.
"Thank you," he said, his smile softening into something just a fraction more genuine—dangerously so, because that only made it more dazzling. "You've been a big help, really. I'll let you get back to your game now."
With a casual wave—effortless, confident, almost cocky in that South-Delhi-boy-who-was-born-charming-way—he turned and stepped away from the court. Anuj darted after him like a terrified shadow.
The moment they were out of earshot, Anuj exploded.
"Why? Why would you do that?!" he whisper-yelled, voice cracking under sheer panic.
"Do what?" Nikhil asked mildly, like he genuinely didn't know which exact crime Anuj was referring to.
"Don't act like you don't know!" Anuj hissed. "You—you just confirmed to a bunch of seniors that you're actively searching for a senior you bumped into and injured! And—what was even the point of this? You should be trying your best to keep your head down and avoid that senior! Not—not whatever *this* is!"
Nikhil's smile curled sharper. Calculated. Thoughtful. A little wicked.
"The point, Anuj," he said, voice low and deliberate, "is that I'm just not a keep-my-head-down kind of guy. Finding him is like an itch I cannot ignore." He exhaled, almost amused at himself. "Now I know he's a second year. And more importantly—"
He glanced back over his shoulder.
As expected, the girls had abandoned their game and were already whispering to each other, giggling behind hands, occasionally glancing toward the path Nikhil walked on.
Perfect.
"I made contact," he said, satisfied. "The rumour mill is officially spinning, and I've put my move in."
He'd found his bee. And he'd shaken its hive.
The bee hadn't come out yet—but he knew. Sooner or later, the buzz was going to reach exactly the boy it was meant for.