Room number 131
The air in the room was frigid enough to freeze a corpse— and considering half their syllabus, that wasn't even an exaggeration. Aarav paced the narrow space— well, "paced" was generous. It was more like an aggressive shifting of position every few seconds because his ankle refused to cooperate with his desire to storm dramatically across the room like a wronged protagonist. So instead, he sat on his bed, ankle propped up like a moral high ground he refused to step down from.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, jaw tight, eyes dark with simmering fury that had not, in fact, simmered down at all.
"He's insane," he muttered, for what was probably the fifteenth time in the last hour. "He's completely insane. He's defiant, disrespectful, a menace, a problem—"
Karan looked up from his pharmacology marrow lecture video, one earbud slipping out as he paused it with the calm of someone who had accepted that productivity was not happening in this room today. His expression was a careful blend of pity and very poorly concealed amusement.
"Don't think about him too much, Aarav," he said, in the same tone one would use to calm a distressed patient—or a mildly rabid squirrel. "You've been going on about it for—wait—" he glanced at the time on his tablet, squinting dramatically, "—an hour. A full sixty minutes. Impressive stamina, honestly."
Aarav shot him a glare that could curdle milk.
"What else can I do?" he snapped. "Nothing— nothing fazes him. He's so shameless, so disrespectful— no reprimand does anything to him. Completely stubborn, like an ox. No— worse. At least an ox is useful."
Karan snorted, unable to help it. The memory of Aarav's earlier retelling—the sheer outrage, the dramatics, the accidental reenactment of the entire confrontation, was still fresh.
"He's got you figured out, you have to admit," Karan said, leaning back on his hands, clearly settling in for entertainment. "That 'pretty' line? Perfect timing. Surgical precision. That really pissed you off. Which was exactly what he was going for."
Aarav groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"God, now you too. It's obvious—it's another one of his attempts to humiliate and embarrass me," he said, voice rising slightly. "He's provoking me. That's all it is."
Karan made a noncommittal sound, lips twitching. He didn't push it further—mostly because Aarav looked two seconds away from launching something at his head. Instead, he pivoted.
"Even if we assume that's true," he said, reasonably, "you still have to admit—it's kind of impressive. To spend days running a full-blown psychological ops campaign just to annoy you? That's dedication. That's planning. That's…commitment to the bit."
"That's not the point!" Aarav snapped immediately, sitting straighter despite the ankle protest that followed. "It's his determination to disrespect me, to disrespect hierarchy, to disrespect everything this institution stands for—"
Karan was laughing now, openly, shoulders shaking. Aarav fixed him with a death glare that promised future retaliation.
"—he is a problem," Aarav continued, undeterred, voice gaining intensity, "a persistent, irritating, six foot two problem that needs to be solved—"
"Wow," Karan cut in, eyes lighting up with mischief, "you know his exact height?"
Aarav froze.
Then his face flushed—fast and obvious, creeping up his neck to his ears.
"I do not," he snapped. "I was just— I compared him to Purav in our batch and Purav is six feet and that junior is definitely taller, so I was assuming—of course I don't know his exact height! Neither do I want to."
"Sounds like you're obsessed with him," a third voice chimed in, bright with interest and absolutely zero mercy.
Aarav blinked, stunned for a moment before realization hit. He whipped around to see Karan holding up his phone, screen facing him.
Contact name: Navya. Call: on speaker.
"…you called her?" Aarav gaped. Then, narrowing his eyes at Karan, "Wait—you told her?"
Karan, not even slightly guilty, gave him a grin that said yes, and I'd do it again.
From the phone came a dramatic gasp. "Aww, you didn't want me to know? I'm hurt. And here I thought we were friends or something."
Aarav pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply like he was seconds away from either calming down or committing a felony.
He didn't mind Navya knowing, per se. What he minded was the inevitable aftermath.
Teasing. Endless, relentless teasing.
"…you're never going to let me hear the end of this, are you," he muttered.
The laugh that came through the speaker answered that question very clearly.
"And for the record," Aarav continued, glaring at absolutely no one in particular, "I am not obsessed with him. I was fine ignoring him poking me for so long—but now he's crossing the line. No—he's raced past the line like it's the start of a marathon and he's aiming for gold. He is a nuisance. A threat—"
Both Karan and Navya burst out laughing.
Aarav looked personally offended by the concept of laughter.
While the conversation upstairs continued—equal parts rant, mockery, and dramatic exaggeration—directly below them, in room 31, the so-called "threat" was sprawled on his back, very much not threatening anyone.
He was asleep.
Deeply, peacefully, and with the kind of contented smile that suggested he had either no problems in life— or had just caused enough chaos to feel fulfilled for the day.
The soft evening light filtered through the window, catching in his curls and turning them almost golden. One arm was flung over his head, the other resting loosely by his side, looking every bit like someone who had not, in the last few hours, emotionally terrorized a senior.
Beside him, Anuj sat at his desk, hunched over his anatomy book, trying—desperately—to memorize the boundaries of the popliteal fossa.
His eyes, however, kept drifting.
Back to the bed.
Back to Nikhil.
Back to the human embodiment of bad decisions.
Nikhil had come back from DH practically glowing with glee. Not normal happy. Not casual satisfied. No, this was the kind of glow that screamed I did something questionable and I'd do it again.
And if there was one thing Anuj had learned after living with him, it was this:
That glow was never a good sign.
He had asked—hesitantly, cautiously, like someone poking a suspiciously still snake.
And Nikhil, of course, had not hesitated for a second.
He had recounted the entire interaction with gleeful enthusiasm. Every line. Every reaction. Every expression on Aarav's face like it was his personal highlight reel.
By the end of it, Anuj's face had gone completely pale.
Before he could even process it enough to panic properly, Nikhil had stretched, yawned, declared he was sleepy, and promptly passed out.
Just like that.
Leaving Anuj alone with the horror.
Now, sitting there, pen in hand, book open, brain absolutely not absorbing anything, Anuj stared at the sleeping form like it might get up and cause more problems even unconscious.
"…so pretty," Nikhil mumbled in his sleep.
Anuj froze.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head, the movement stiff, cautious, like a man approaching his own execution.
"…like an angry kitten…"
Anuj's soul left his body for a brief moment.
He leaned forward, straining to hear, dread pooling in his stomach.
"So…feisty… little meow meow…"
The pen slipped from his fingers.
It hit the desk, rolled off, and fell to the floor with a small, traitorous clatter that sounded way too loud in the room.
Anuj stared.
Horrified.
At the sleeping menace on the bed.
Nikhil hadn't just poked a senior.
He hadn't just launched a full-scale psychological warfare campaign.
He hadn't just deliberately provoked a confrontation.
No.
He was now—
Giving him pet names.
In his sleep.
This was worse.
So much worse.
Anuj slowly lowered his forehead onto his open book, the cool paper pressing against his skin as a pained groan escaped him.
If that senior—who already looked capable of committing murder with a glare—ever heard Nikhil call him kitten…
The explosion would not be metaphorical.
Their entire batch might get boycotted.
And the worst part?
If Anuj knew anything about Nikhil—and unfortunately, he did—it was that the other would have absolutely no intention of exercising caution.
It was like showing a banana to a monkey and expecting it not to grab it.
It was not happening.
Not in this lifetime.
Not in any lifetime.
Anuj closed his eyes.
This was going to be bad.
So, so bad.