The air inside the office is quiet, smelling faintly of old paper, rain, and bitter tea. Arindam is leaning casually against the edge of his dark wood desk, a single sheet of paper held between his fingers.
When the door pushes open to reveal a towering, precarious stack of notebooks with only a pair of wet sneakers visible underneath his gaze lifts. He sets the paper down on his desk without a word and steps forward.
Before Riya can even figure out how to maneuver past the doorway without dropping the entire load, Arindam reaches out and lifts the heavy mountain straight out of her arms, taking the crushing weight off her chest in one fluid movement.
A soft exhale of relief slips past her lips before she can catch herself, her arms suddenly feeling hollow and light.
As he turns to carry the heavy pile over to his desk, Riya’s eyes unconsciously follow him. The fluorescent light catches the broad span of his shoulders, and for a brief, betraying second, her gaze lingers on the clear, firm outline of his back and the distinct shift of muscle in his arms straining against the crisp fabric of his shirt.
A sudden, sharp heat, completely different from her earlier anger rushes to her face. She immediately tears her eyes away, staring rigidly at a framed literary poster on the wall, praying her cheeks aren't burning as wildly as they feel.
“Are you finished staring at the poster, or do you need a few more minutes with it?”
The dry, measured tone of his voice instantly breaks her trance. Riya’s attention snaps back to him, her heart doing a nervous little flip.
He is already back in his previous position, leaning his hip casually against the front edge of the desk with his legs crossed at the ankle. His hands rest on the dark wood beside him, and his dark, unreadable eyes are locked squarely on her face.
Riya hastily pulls herself upright, trying to muster whatever dignity she has left. But as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, a wet, embarrassingly loud squelch echoes through the small, quiet office.
Arindam’s gaze drops instantly to her feet.
Following his eyes, Riya looks down and groans internally. A murky, muddy puddle of rainwater has already pooled on the clean floor, steadily dripping from the hems of her drenched jeans and waterlogged sneakers.
“I’m sorry I’ll wipe it up,” she stammers, her eyes frantically scanning the corners of the room for a mop or a rag.
Arindam dismisses the offer with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Don’t bother. I’ll have the maintenance staff clear it later. Just give me your notebook.”
Grateful for the heavy-duty lining of her waterproof backpack, Riya unzips the main compartment without wasting a second. She steps forward and hands it to him across the desk.
Arindam takes the booklet, flips it open, and begins reading it right then and there. A heavy, agonizing silence falls over the office. Two minutes stretch out like an eternity. The only sound in the room is the rhythmic patter of rain against the windowpane and the occasional crisp rustle of paper as Arindam turns a page.
Is he actually going to say something? Can I just leave already? Her internal monologue races while she stands frozen on the spot, shifting her weight slightly to avoid making another loud, embarrassing squelch.
Finally, Arindam closes the notebook with a quiet snap.
“Good work,” he says softly.
Riya blinks, momentarily stunned.
“Your perspective on the text is remarkable,” he continues, his dark eyes fixing onto hers. “Very few students think quite the way you do.” He sets her notebook on top of the pile. “Have you applied for the upcoming inter-college debate competition? I’m fairly certain you would win. With a nature as stubbornly argumentative and competitive as yours, almost no one could stand in your way.”
Riya’s jaw slacks slightly. Is he complimenting me, or taunting me?
Caught completely off guard, her usual sharp reflexes fail her. “I... I haven't really thought about it, sir.”
“You must,” Arindam replies seamlessly, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms across his chest. “It will reflect exceptionally well on your curriculum vitae.”
A sudden wave of suspicion creeps into her mind, thick and heavy. Why is he suddenly playing the role of a supportive mentor? The man who seems hell-bent on making her academic life a living nightmare is suddenly offering career advice?
There has to be an ulterior motive.
From her very first day in his lecture hall, he has singled her out, targeted her, and pushed her until her teeth ached. She still doesn't have the slightest clue what she did to earn his peculiar brand of scrutiny.
“What are you staring at? Stop overthinking.”
Arindam’s sharp voice cuts straight through her spiral. He unfolds his arms and retreats behind his dark wood desk, sinking back into his high-backed chair. He leans back, casually resting his left ankle over his right knee, his long frame settling into the seat with effortless authority.
In the soft, muted light of the office, he looks infuriatingly, exceptionally handsome.
A sudden, treacherous spike hits Riya’s pulse. What on earth is wrong with me?! she scolds herself internally, her cheeks warming all over again.
Arindam raises a single dark eyebrow, his sharp eyes tracking the flicker of panic crossing her face.
“First showing up late, and now ignoring your professor, is that the full extent of your manners, Miss Sengupta?”
Riya swallows hard, forcing her throat to unknot as she pulls her shoulders back.
“My manners are intact, sir,” she says, her tone crisp despite the slight tremor she desperately hopes he didn't catch. “I was simply processing your... sudden interest in my career prospects.”
Arindam doesn't take her certain lack of manner into consideration. Rather a faint, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of his mouth before it vanishes back into his usual unreadable expression.
“Interest implies sentiment, Miss Sengupta,” he says, pulling a wooden drawer open and retrieving a printed form. “I merely dislike seeing talent squandered on bad habits and poor timing management. Kolkata’s literary circle is small. If you intend to write or speak beyond these four walls, you need to be heard."
He slides the paper across the dark polished wood toward her. The bold heading reads: Inter-College Literary Debate Championship 2026.
“Fill it out. Return it to my desk by Friday morning. On time.”
Riya hesitates, her gaze shifting between the paper and the professor sitting behind it. Her instincts scream at her to refuse; to prove that she doesn't take orders or jump through his hoops; but the competitive fire inside her refuses to back down from a challenge.
She steps forward, and picks up the form. As her fingers reach for the paper, her fingertips graze the edge of his hand resting on the desk.
A sudden, sharp static charge seems to leap between them.
Arindam’s eyes flick up to meet hers, intense and dark behind his glasses. Neither of them moves for a beat that lasts a second too long.
Then, he pulls his hand back with effortless composure and picks up a fountain pen.
“You are dismissed, Miss Sengupta. Before your shoes turn my office into an actual wetland.”
The dry dismissal breaks the spell instantly. Riya’s annoyance flares right back up, mercifully snuffing out whatever strange spark had just flared in her chest.
“Good day, sir,” she bites out, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into her bagpack.
She turns on her heel and walks out, closing the heavy wooden door behind her with a firm, deliberate click.
The moment she steps into the cool, quiet corridor, Riya lets out a long, shuddering breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her knees feel embarrassingly weak, and her heart is hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She marches straight down the stairwell, her wet sneakers squeaking with every step, and heads toward the college cafeteria.
The low hum of chatter, the clinking of steel cups, and the rich, comforting aroma of freshly fried samosas and steaming milk tea hit her as soon as she pushes through the cafeteria doors.
In the far corner, Lily waves her arms dramatically.
Riya navigates through the crowded tables and slides into the wooden bench opposite her best friend. Without a word, Lily pushes a hot paper cup of cutting chai and a plate of samosas toward her.
“Drink,” Lily commands, leaning in close with her chin rested on her hands. Her eyes are practically sparkling with curiosity. “You look like you just survived a battle with a mercenary. Spill. Did he dump another bomb on you? Why are you flustered?" Lily leans forward almost to her face.
Riya's eyes widen. Her hands automatically goes to cover her face. "Wh-what?" She stammers. "I-I'm not. You're seeing things."
"Oh yeah?" Lily leans back. A smirk arises. Her eyes shine. Folding her hands across her chest she gives her, her signature smirk that tells spill the bean before I use my tactics.
Riya straightens on her seat. Opening her bag, she toss the paper on the table. Lily rause an eyebrow and pean forward to take it. Her eyes scanning the form quickly. She gasps, looking up at Riya with wide eyes. “Wait... he gave you the nomination form for the state championship? Riya, professors only hand these out to their absolute favorites! He refused to give one to the department topper last month!”
“He didn't give it to me because I'm a favorite,” Riya grumbles, staring down into her tea. “He gave it to me because he wants to watch me fail under a bigger spotlight.”
Lily lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she takes a bite of her samosa. “Babe, if that man wanted to destroy you, he would’ve thrown you out of the classroom when you talked back. He’s tough on you because you're the only one in that room who actually fights back.”
Riya doesn't answer. She looks out the window at the endless grey sky, feeling the strange, lingering warmth on her fingertips, and wonders why the thought of proving Dr. Arindam Roy wrong suddenly feels like the only thing that matters.
