Monday arrives far earlier than Riya anticipated.
Hoping to stay beneath his radar today, she chooses a seat on the very last bench, as far away from the front podium as possible. She turns toward the window, propping her chin on her hand as she stares down at the main courtyard where students are slowly filling the campus grounds.
The entire weekend had been a relentless, suffocating loop of his face, his voice, and the mortifying memory of her own delusion at the club. She is thoroughly frustrated with herself. Why on earth is she suddenly so completely unraveled by a man who does nothing but push her buttons?
In just two short months, final exams will be over. She will graduate, walk out these gates, and never have to see Dr. Arindam Roy again. That thought was always supposed to bring relief, a long-awaited triumph. Instead, a sudden, heavy wave of sadness settles over her chest, leaving her strangely numb.
She shakes her head briskly, trying to physically rattle the thought out of her mind. It’s just her brain playing tricks on her. A bad byproduct of stress, exhaustion, and too much caffeine. She doesn't feel anything for him. She can't.
A sudden, noisy commotion near the main entrance snaps her out of her thoughts.
A crowd of students has gathered near the iron gate, particularly a group of girls who are whispering frantically, shrilling with giggles, and craning their necks as if a celebrity had just rolled onto campus. Curiosity getting the better of her, Riya leans closer to the glass to see what has made everyone so giddy.
Her breath freezes in her throat.
There he is.
Arindam pulls through the gates on his black Royal Enfield, the low, deep rumble of the engine cutting cleanly through the morning chatter. Today, he has swapped his usual dark suit jackets for a striking red fitted shirt paired with crisp white formal trousers. His leather briefcase is slung diagonally across his shoulder, and the gold watch on his wrist catches the bright morning sunlight as he cuts the ignition.
He casually runs a hand through his dark hair, brushing the wind-mussed strands back into place. A faint, dark shadow of a stubble traces his carved jawline, giving him an effortless, dangerous charm that makes Riya’s heart give a violent, treasonous thud against her ribs.
A hot, prickling flush instantly rushes up her neck, painting her cheeks a deep crimson.
Riya hastily cups her face in both hands, trying to shield herself and force her eyes onto her blank notebook. But her gaze disobeys, drawn straight back to the window like a magnet.
Just as he swings his long leg off the bike, Arindam’s eyes sweep casually upward toward the second-floor classroom windows.
Across the open space, his dark, sharp gaze locks directly onto hers.
Riya forgets how to breathe. For one agonizing, suspended second, he holds her gaze through the glass, before stepping onto the walkway toward the faculty building.
Riya’s eyes stay glued to his retreating figure. To the broad span of his shoulders, the deep crimson fabric stretching against his back, until he disappears through the doors below.
“I hate him,” she murmurs under her breath, the words barely a ghost of a whisper against the quiet room.
But deep down, in the terrifying, quiet corners of her heart, she knows that line has already begun to blur.
The heavy oak door of his cabin clicks shut, sealing Arindam off from the noisy corridors of the university.
He stands in the cool, quiet space for a long moment, his fist clenching tightly around the brass doorknob. Inside his chest, his heart thuds with a dark, heavy rhythm a stark contrast to the absolute composure he projects to the rest of the world.
His mind instantly replays the encounter from Saturday night at the club. The memory hits him with a physical force, dangerous and intoxicating. His fist clench tight. His heart thud. As remember how close he was to kiss her sweet lips.
He remembers the exact second she stepped into The Velvet Room. The moment that sinful, liquid-emerald dress caught the violet neon lights, his breath had hitched in his throat. His blood had spiked, a surge of raw electricity firing through his veins. But right behind that surge came a dark, suffocating wave of fury when he overheard the stray, appreciative comments from other men lingering nearby.
Even behind that black laser-cut mask, he could have picked her out in a crowd of thousands. The pull between them was magnetic, undeniable, and entirely beyond his control.
And she had felt it too. The second their eyes locked across the crowded floor, he saw the telltale signs. The sharp hitch in her breathing, the subtle tension in her body, the erratic rise and fall of her chest, and the flushed heat blooming across her skin.
He knew he shouldn't have closed the distance. He knew he shouldn't have wrapped his arm around her waist or held her an inch closer than necessary. His sharp, disciplined intellect had screamed at him to remember who he was and who she was.
But the darker, primal instincts he had spent a year suppressing burned far hotter. It urged him to tighten his hold, to mark his territory, to let every man in that room know she was off-limits.
And then came that terrifying, exquisite fraction of a second when her eyelids fluttered shut, her lips parted, and she tilted her face up to his, completely surrendering to him. He had been so close to breaking. He had nearly surrendered control, nearly pressed his mouth to her sweet, parted lips and ruined everything right there on the bar floor.
Only a monstrous effort of willpower had stopped him. It wasn't the right moment. Not yet.
So he had executed that swift, seamless pivot, shifting his tone, pulling back into his formal shell, and letting her believe her own wild imagination had constructed the entire moment of friction. The sheer embarrassment and confusion in her eyes had been a delight to witness, but it was necessary to keep her safe from campus gossip and from himself. For now.
Even after he walked away, he had never truly left her.
He had lingered in the shadowy mezzanine, watching her rejoin her friend, keeping a silent, watchful vigil until they stepped into a cab. He had trailed them at a discreet distance, his car sliding through the rain-slicked streets of Kolkata behind their taxi. He had parked across the street from her hostel, remaining in the dark interior of his car until the light in her third-floor window flickered on, signaling she was safely inside. Only then had he driven away into the night.
Arindam slowly unbuttons his cuffs, turning toward the glass reflection of his cabinet.
He looks at the striking crimson shirt he chose this morning. It was deliberate. Over the past year, he had noticed every small detail about her including her quiet, unspoken fondness for the color red. He had worn it to test her, and he was not disappointed.
A slow, dark smile curves his lips. A rare, unmasked expression of absolute satisfaction.
He steps over to his mahogany desk, pulling out his chair and organizing his lecture files into neat, precise stacks.
Two months, he reminds himself, tracing the smooth gold band of his watch. Just two more months.
“Soon, Miss Sengupta,” he murmurs into the quiet cabin, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “Soon you will be mine.”
