The next day, as the professor began handing the forms back to the class, he paused when he reached the final one. Holding up the lone paper, he looked around the room and said, "Now class, as you can see, I have one form left. And I think it deserves to be read aloud."
Chairs creaked. Heads turned. Students looked around to see who was sitting empty-handed.
Suhani hid her smirk, straightened in her seat, and looked up innocently, ready for the show.
The professor cleared his throat and read, "The first question: What is one thing that agitates you daily and may be a mental burden? The answer—'I feel so annoyed when the teacher thinks he knows everything and just directs us around without taking opinions. Even an owl could teach better.'"
A beat of stunned silence. Then, chuckles broke out around the room.
Vidyut sat there, fingers interlocked, the only one without a form in hand. He squinted, confused, scanning the room—until he caught Suhani's smug expression from the corner of his eye.
Realization dawned.
The professor continued, "Second question: Do you feel overworked by your current schedule? The answer reads—'I haven't even had the chance to look at my beautiful face properly for the past three days. Yes, we're overworked.'"
More giggles. A few students laughed openly now.
Vidyut turned to Raghav, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Vid," Raghav whispered, half-laughing, "Did you seriously write that? Or is this another Suhani special?"
Vidyut gave him a flat look. "Do I look like someone who'd say an owl could teach better?"
Before Raghav could reply, the professor's voice cut through the noise. "Mr. Singhania, would you please take the trouble of standing up and explaining yourself? What exactly are you trying to imply with these answers?"
All eyes turned to Vidyut.
Groaning inwardly, he stood, jaw tight. Laughter bubbled in pockets of the classroom. He could hear someone whisper, "This is gold," from the back row.
The professor folded his arms. "Would you like to speak, or shall I speak on your behalf?"
Vidyut didn't respond. His gaze flicked to Suhani. She didn't even try to hide her victorious grin.
The professor continued, voice rising, "Everything's a joke to you, isn't it? While the college authorities are making a genuine effort to support student mental health, you've decided to turn it into satire. Is that what this is?"
Vidyut clenched his jaw but didn't say a word. Any explanation would make him sound guiltier. And he wasn't about to snitch.
Finally, the professor huffed, clearly unsatisfied but ready to move on. "Sit down."
Vidyut sat back down as the professor resumed flipping through lecture notes. A moment later, his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out discreetly and saw a message from Suhani.
"Taste of your own medicine? ;)"
He stared at the screen for a second before typing back:
"Keep poking the tiger, Malhotra. You might just find out what happens next."
He looked up. Across the room, Suhani met his gaze and winked.
The rest of the lecture passed in a blur of quiet whispers, scribbled notes, and stolen glances.
As the class ended, students filed out of the room in pairs and groups. Suhani walked down the hallway, flipping through her notes, when she sensed someone matching her pace beside her.
"Had a good laugh, didn't you?" Vidyut's voice was low, tight.
"Indeed," she replied, not even glancing at him.
She stopped and turned, facing him with raised brows.
"I'll get back to you, Malhotra. You just wait."
Her smile curved with mock sweetness. "Oh, I'm dying for you to impress me."
She turned and walked off, leaving him clenching his jaw and swallowing his bruised ego.
---
A week later
The library was quiet except for the occasional turn of pages and hushed murmurs. Suhani sat near the window, highlighter in one hand, deeply focused on her pharmacology notes.
That's when Anaya came rushing toward her, face flushed. "Suhani! Someone's vandalized your locker—there are pictures of you from school stuck all over it!"
Suhani blinked, stunned. "What?"
"Come quickly!" Anaya grabbed her arm.
Suhani's heart began pounding. She shot up and rushed toward the locker room.
As she turned the corner, her breath caught in her throat.
Her locker was plastered with a photo—her 12-year-old self, thick-rimmed glasses, braces, and hair in two neat braids, sitting awkwardly on a swing. Above it, scrawled in bold marker, was a single word: NERD.
Laughter echoed from the students nearby. Someone muttered, "She was such a cutie." Another snickered, "Who knew Malhotra had such humble beginnings?"
Suhani froze.
Anaya whispered, "Are you okay?"
But Suhani didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat had gone dry. Her eyes stung.
From across the hallway, Vidyut leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.
Raghav walked up beside him, frowning. "Dude, someone just—" He paused, reading Vidyut's expression. "Wait. You did this?"
Vidyut smirked. "That's what she gets for pulling that form stunt."
Raghav blinked. "Damn, Vid... that's savage."
But Vidyut wasn't listening anymore.
His eyes were fixed on Suhani.
She was walking toward the locker, slowly, expression unreadable. She ripped the picture off without a word, crumpled it in her fist, and walked right past him.
She didn't even spare him a glance.
But Vidyut caught it—the shimmer in her eyes, the way her jaw was clenched too tight.
Was she... crying?
The smirk faded from his face.
He hadn't expected this. He just wanted to get back at her, not humiliate her. Not break her.
His victory suddenly felt bitter. Heavy.
This... this wasn't what he'd planned at all.