The air inside the ragging class was thick—thicker than it had ever been. Not with laughter, not with fun, but with something electric. Dangerous.
When Veer stood, the room didn't just fall silent. It held its breath.
He walked toward Gauri with a pace that was almost theatrical—slow, deliberate, every step oozing menace wrapped in charm. His dark clothes clung to his body like a second skin, sunglasses still on, hiding eyes that didn't need to be seen to be felt.
Gauri stood her ground.
But her heart was thudding—not in fear, not yet—but in warning. A thousand alarms inside her were going off. Yet she didn't flinch.
He stopped in front of her.
Too close.
And smiled.
"You know," he said softly, as if they were sharing a secret, "all this sabhyata ( Culture )... this sanskaar (Morals )... it's such a f*cking costume."
A murmur rippled across the class.
He tilted his head, eyes trailing slowly down her face.
"Girls like you. Dupatta-clutching, 'moral' types. You act like you're made of gold, like the rest of us are filth."
His voice dipped lower, darker. "But I've seen your type before. Girls like you burn to be with guys like me. You just want someone to rip all that decency off and tell you who you really are."
Gauri's breath hitched.
"You crossed the line," she said sharply. "Back off."
He didn't.
Instead, Veer reached out.
His fingers brushed her cheek. Feather light. Cold.
The class went deathly still.
"Soft," he whispered, tracing down slowly. "Fake fire outside, but soft like silk here."
Gauri's hand twitched at her side. She wanted to slap him right then.
"Don't touch me," she warned.
But he didn't stop.
His hand slid downward. To her jaw. To her neck. Then to her upper arm.
Then—swiftly—he caught her wrist in one powerful grip and yanked her toward him.
Gasps.
She crashed into his chest, one hand bracing herself against him. He was solid. Unmoving.
His grip didn't loosen.
"You smell like jasmine," he murmured near her ear. "So delicate. So untouched."
His lips curled. "But I know girls like you. You pretend to hate me. Pretend to be disgusted. But deep down… deep down, you crave someone like me."
Her stomach turned.
She struggled hard, pushing against his chest. "Let me go."
In one swift, casual motion, he flicked her dupatta off one shoulder. It slipped down, half-hanging, exposing the shape of her kurti-covered chest, the vulnerability of her.
A collective gasp broke out.
But no one stopped him.
Not Anaya—who stood with arms crossed, cruel smirk on her lips.
Not Avinash—who glanced away toward the window, jaw clenched.
Some girls bit their lips, nervously watching. Some boys looked down. Others… watched too intently.
Humiliation. Rage. Fear.
Gauri felt them all slam into her at once like a tidal wave.
She tried again, pulling hard, but Veer's grip only tightened.
"You're trembling," Veer whispered. His lips were inches from her skin. "Is it anger… or excitement?"
She snapped.
Her free hand raised—
SLAP.
Loud. Violent. Sharp.
Veer's head turned with the impact.
Gauri's chest heaved with rage. She didn't care anymore.
"Don't you dare touch me again."
A stunned silence fell over the room—Akshay froze mid-step, eyes wide in disbelief; Anaya's smirk vanished for a moment, replaced by shock; and even Avinash turned sharply, startled, his brows furrowed in disbelief.
Veer's sunglasses tilted slightly, revealing just a glint of his burning eyes. For a moment, even gravity seemed unsure what to do.
Gauri's hand was still in the air. Her chest heaved with fury.
"You're disgusting."
"This isn't ragging. This is assault. And I don't give a damn who you are—Veer, or some goddamn king of this college. You do that again, and I'll drag you straight to the police station."
Silence.
Time stopped.
Akshay surged forward with fire in his eyes. "You SLAPPED him?!"
Two other seniors followed.
"You're dead."
"How dare you raise your hand on Veer?"
The class tensed, someone cried out, a few girls moved closer to Gauri—but before anything could happen…
Veer raised his hand.
Everyone froze.
No one disobeyed that hand.
He didn't speak to Gauri. Didn't touch her again. Just fixed his glasses, blood at the corner of his lip, and looked at her with a smirk that chilled her spine.
"We're done here."
He turned and walked out, leaving a silence so loud it rang.
The seniors followed, muttering, growling, glaring.
And Gauri stood there, alone in the aftermath.
Her wrist hurt. Her cheek burned. Her dupatta was halfway off.
Someone offered to help. She shook her head.
She felt everyone's gaze on her.
Some judging. Some admiring. Some scared.
But all she felt was sick.
She rushed to the washroom, locked the door, leaned over the sink, and finally let the tremble take over.
She wasn't weak.
But she was shaken.
Her reflection stared back—eyes wide, lips pale, chest rising and falling.
And a voice whispered in her head:
"This isn't over."