College life had settled into a comfortable rhythm for Sharayu and her friends-half-heartedly attending lectures, chilling in the corridors, teasing each other endlessly.
Naturally, chaos wasn't far behind.
A major college event was on the horizon, and third-years, were in charge. Excitement swept through the campus: students dashed around, discussing decorations, coordinating performances, and-most importantly-finding new ways to skip lectures.
That day, her group split up. Rutuja, Kunal, and Arohi joined the event team, leaving the rest of them valiantly (if reluctantly) behind to sit through the day's classes.
Predictably, the professors weren't thrilled.
By the end of the day, complaints flooded into the department. Professors burst into the faculty room, each ranting about students missing lectures for "event prep."
"This is getting out of hand! Attendance was halved today!"
"They need to learn that academics come first!"
"Satish, you're the HOD. You should say something."
Satish Singh Rajvanshi, HOD, sat coolly at his desk, sharp blue eyes scanning the room. He sipped his coffee, waited for tempers to cool, and finally said, "It's a big event. Maybe they're just busy."
The room fell silent, some frowning. They'd clearly expected a stricter stance.
Satish shrugged. "Let's not jump to conclusions."
He had, as it turned out, greatly overestimated them.
The next morning, it was time for his lecture. Satish entered, expecting maybe a decent crowd. Instead, half the seats were empty.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He scanned the benches and students ere missing.
For the first time, disappointment flickered across Satish's face. Yet he didn't scold. To the students who'd bothered to show up, he simply said, "Since you came all the way to college, I won't waste your time. Let's start."
He taught as planned, engaging as ever-but that edge of frustration lingered.
When the lecture ended, Satish walked straight to the faculty room. Prof. Hrishikesh awaited him, a smirk playing on his lips.
"So? How many students in your class?"
Satish exhaled, arms folded. "Barely half."
Hrikesh grinned. "Told you-the event is more important than studies now."
After a pause, Satish said, "Let's go see what they're actually doing."
The two strode off to the event hall. Their expectations promptly dissolved.
The event hadn't even started. Why? The chief guests were late.
Instead of frantic last-minute prep, students lounged around, chatting, taking selfies, making reels. Kunal and Rutuja argued over where to order food. Arohi casually scrolled through her phone.
And there, perched on the stage steps and laughing at something, was Sharayu.
Satish's patience shattered.
He marched in, his presence draining the energy from the room. Conversations died. Phones vanished. Kunal almost choked on his samosa.
Sharayu, still oblivious, looked up-straight into those piercing blue eyes.
Her stomach dropped. Oh. No.
Before anyone could fumble for excuses, Satish's cold, measured voice cut through the silence.
"What exactly are you all doing?"
Silence.
He asked the event coordinators, "Is there any work left?"
One shuffled nervously. "No, sir. Everything's ready. We're just waiting for the guests."
Satish's slow, sarcastic sigh was like a slap. "So instead of attending lectures, you're having a... picnic?"
The silence was painful.
Kunal, being Kunal, muttered, "It was more of a brunch, actually."
Arohi elbowed him-hard.
Satish's jaw tightened. His voice dropped-dangerously low. "Get back to your classes. Now."
No one hesitated. Students scattered, fleeing the hall as if their lives depended on it.
Satish's icy gaze lingered on Sharayu's group before he left.
They knew, in that instant, they were officially doomed.
Back in the classroom, tension hung thick. Sharayu muttered, "We're dead. So dead."
Rutuja sighed, "It was nice knowing you."
Arohi chimed in, "At least Kunal will die eating samosas."
Before anyone could reply, Satish returned, his eyes sweeping over them-not angry, not furious. Just... disappointed. And that felt far, far worse.
Finally, he spoke.
"I told you on day one-I don't care about attendance. But if you're in my class, I expect you to actually learn."
Students swallowed hard.
"You think this subject is easy? That I won't notice if you take it lightly? I'm warning you-wake up. Because if you keep this attitude, your results will remind you why I was strict today."
His words stung harder than any shouting.
He turned to the board, picked up the chalk. "Now, let's get back to Taxation. Since half of you skipped, you'll have to catch up yourselves."
A beat of silence.
Sharayu, who'd been mortified into silence, muttered, "...Well. That could've been worse."
Satish turned. "What was that?"
She straightened. "Nothing, sir."
The class chuckled nervously. Kunal whispered, "You just had to talk, didn't you?"
Satish announced, "So you'd like to come up and explain today's topic?"
Sharayu's stomach dropped. "Uh-"
He gestured. "Come on. Since you were discussing, I'm sure you know it well."
The class was entertained now, hardly bothering to hide it.
Sharayu wanted to vanish, but there was no escape. Faking confidence, she got up, grabbed the marker, and scrawled-in large, wobbly letters-Income From Salary.
She turned, dramatically, and declared, "It is the income you earn through your salary."
The room exploded with laughter. Kunal wheezed. Arohi slammed her head on the desk. Even Satish nearly smirked before hiding it with a sigh.
Realizing how silly she'd sounded, Sharayu quickly added, "Income from Salary means any income you earn due to your relationship with your employer. It includes basic salary, allowances, bonuses, commissions-even perquisites provided by the employer. All of this is taxed under 'Income from Salary' in the Income Tax Act."
The class settled; some nodded in understanding.
Satish crossed his arms. "Not bad. Next time, start with that, not the school-level stuff."
Sharayu nodded, cheeks burning, and rushed back to her seat.
Kunal patted her shoulder. "Legend. Icon. We'll remember you."
Arohi whispered, "At least he didn't give you extra homework."
Sharayu exhaled. "Small wins."
Satish continued the lesson, his tone firm but less tense. Maybe, just maybe, the message had gotten through.
And maybe-just maybe-Sharayu wasn't completely doomed.
As Satish taught, the tension slowly faded, even as secondhand embarrassment still lingered for Sharayu.
She sat there, arms crossed, cursing herself. "Seriously, Sharayu? 'Income you earn from salary'?"
Kunal, ever the devil, leaned in. "Technically, you weren't wrong."
Rutuja smirked. "Yeah, but I think my 10-year-old cousin could've answered better."
Sharayu glared. "If you don't shut up, your taxation notes will mysteriously disappear before finals."
Arohi laughed. "Relax-at least Satish Sir didn't roast you."
Sharayu froze. "Is that even an option?"
Satish's voice cut over their whispers: "Am I interrupting, ladies?"
She straightened instantly. "No, sir!"
He glanced at her before continuing, "Good. I'd hate you to miss something that will definitely be on your exams."
She nodded, studious, while her friends smirked behind her back.
The lecture slowly wound down. As Satish set down the marker, he looked around.
"One last thing before you go."
Packing up stopped mid-motion.
"I know some of you think my subject is easy. Some think I won't notice if you slack off. Let me be clear-if you keep this attitude, your results will definitely remind you why I was strict."
Silence. Not a soul dared move.
"This isn't school anymore. No one's going to chase you to study. Either learn now, or regret it later. Your choice."
With that, Satish departed, leaving behind a classroom stunned into guilt.
Relief only returned once he was gone. Mutters and groans filled the room as everyone vowed never to skip his lecture again.
Sharayu turned to her friends, dramatically whispering, "Tell my family I loved them."
Kunal patted her head. "RIP, legend."
Rutuja sighed. "Do we actually have to start studying now?"
Arohi gasped. "Wow, Rutuja. When did you get so responsible?"
Sharayu shook her head. "Forget that. First, let's find food. I need comfort after today's humiliation."
The group gathered their things, blending into the corridor's chaos of students swirling in every direction.
Vrushal muttered, "We really messed up, huh?"
Gayatri nodded. "Big time."
Kunal groaned. "Satish Sir's disappointment stung worse than my parents'."
Rutuja shuddered. "That 'your results will remind you' line? Chills."
Sharayu sighed, "Well, we can't change the past. But we can make sure we're not on his hit list forever."
Arohi raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly?"
Sharayu grinned. "By being the most obedient, most studious students he's ever seen-for at least a week."
They paused. Kunal snorted, "That's your most unrealistic plan yet."
Sharayu rolled her eyes. "Fine. Three days?"
Rutuja laughed, "Two, max."
Gayatri said, "We'll try."
Shoulders lighter, they trudged off toward their hangout spot, already dreading the extra effort it'd take to climb back into Satish Sir's good books.
One thing was certain: This semester was going to be a wild ride.
The next taxation lecture rolled around, and this time, Sharayu and her group were prepared. Well, mostly.
After the trauma of the last class, they'd made a pact-to sit in the front row and actually participate in Satish Sir's lecture. It wasn't just about impressing him anymore; it was about survival.
So there they were, lined up in the front like model students-notebooks open, pens poised, pretending they totally belonged there.
Satish walked in, his usual composed self, scanning the classroom. His sharp blue eyes landed on them for a brief moment, and for the first time, there was a flicker of amusement in his expression.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he turned to the board, picked up a marker, and wrote-
"Alright. Who can tell me the slab rates of the Income Tax Act?"
Before anyone else could blink, Sharayu's entire group shot their hands up.
Satish raised an eyebrow. "...Well, this is new."
The rest of the class, clearly amused by the unexpected enthusiasm from these usual troublemakers, struggled to stifle their laughter.
Satish pointed to Kunal. "Go ahead."
Kunal cleared his throat, pretending this was a TED Talk. "Income tax slab rates are income ranges where different tax rates apply. The more you earn, the higher the slab you fall into, and the more tax you pay. It's a progressive system."
Satish nodded slowly. "Correct. But can you elaborate?"
Just as Kunal hesitated, Rutuja jumped in confidently. "Under the new tax regime, there's no tax up to ₹3 lakh. From ₹3 lakh to ₹7 lakh, it's 5%. ₹7 lakh to ₹10 lakh is 10%. ₹10 lakh to ₹12 lakh is 15%. ₹12 lakh to ₹15 lakh is 20%. And anything above ₹15 lakh is taxed at 30%. Like Kunal said, it's progressive: earn more, pay more."
Gayatri followed up with a few examples to drive the point home, while Arohi, not wanting to be left out, added her own insights.
The group exchanged proud glances, feeling like absolute geniuses.
Satish tilted his head, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. Then, suddenly, he smirked.
"...Interesting."
That single word sent a chill down Sharayu's spine.
Because that smirk? That was never a good sign.
Satish set down the chalk, turned to them with a calm-but deadly-look.
"Since you all seem so... well-prepared today, I have a special task for you."
The group froze.
Hriday whispered, barely audible, "Oh no."
"Congratulations," Satish continued, clearly enjoying this moment. "You're going to do a group presentation on 'Income from Salary.'"
Sharayu blinked, speechless. "...What?"
"A group presentation," Satish clarified, his tone far too satisfied. "You'll explain IFS in detail, use real-life examples, and present it next class."
The entire classroom turned to look at them. Some smirked. Others silently celebrated that they weren't the ones being tortured.
Sharayu, meanwhile, felt utterly betrayed.
She turned to Kunal. "This is your fault! Why did you raise your hand first?!"
Kunal scoffed. "Excuse me? You all jumped in like we were in a quiz competition!"
Arohi groaned. "Sir, we just wanted to be good students for one day."
Satish gave a small, unbothered shrug. "And I'm rewarding you."
Vrushal muttered under his breath, "This is why we never sit in the front."
Satish ignored the grumbles and continued, "Your presentation should be clear, well-researched, and preferably engaging. If you bore me, I'll start deducting marks. Good luck."
With that, he turned back to the board and resumed teaching-as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on them.
Sharayu buried her face in her hands. "We are so doomed."
Gayatri sighed. "At least we're in this together?"
Hriday groaned. "That's not helping."
Kunal leaned back in his chair, muttering, "I miss the back benches."
The rest of the lecture was a blur. The group barely heard a word after that, too busy panicking over the inevitable disaster headed their way.
The week had vanished in a blur of chaotic energy-a cycle of pretending to pay attention during lectures while secretly obsessing over one particular thing: the dreaded presentation. Research felt endless, with frantic Google searches and scattered study sessions late into the night. Kunal, ever the rebel, kept insisting, "Let's just wing it!" But last-minute panic ultimately won, as the group huddled together to prepare what they hoped was a solid presentation. "It's decent enough, right?" someone nervously joked. There was no turning back now.
Monday arrived with a weight heavier than any exam. The group sat in the front row-not out of excitement, but because avoiding fate wasn't an option. Seven nervous students: Hriday, Kunal, Sharayu, Arohi, Gayatri, Rutuja, and Vrushal, fidgeted and steeled themselves for whatever might happen.
Satish, their intimidating but legendary professor, strode in sharply dressed, eyes set with focus. He started writing on the board, launching into the day's lecture as if presentations didn't exist. The group exchanged anxious glances. Had he forgotten?
"Did he... forget?" Sharayu whispered.
Kunal smirked, "Maybe we're free?"
Hriday leaned in, "Don't jinx it. Stay quiet."
They clung to this fragile hope. If Satish didn't remember, there was no way they would remind him. But in every class, there's always that one person ready to ruin a good thing.
Betrayal in the Classroom
Just as the lecture paused for a break, Evil Incarnate piped up.
(the student whose sole mission appeared to be sowing chaos)
"Sir, weren't you supposed to take the presentation of Hriday, Kunal, Sharayu, and their group today?"
Every member of the group seemed to forget how to breathe.
Satish stopped, blinked, then nodded. "Oh... right. I did assign that."
Sharayu screamed inside. Kunal cursed the snitch's ancestors. Arohi clenched her jaw. Gayatri looked ready to commit a crime.
Satish, unfazed by their emotional collapse, simply gestured. "Well? Come up and present."
It was like walking towards your own execution-a slow march, every step heavier. They fumbled with their notes and laptop, faces flushed and palms sweaty. The classroom was silent; even classmates who usually whispered or giggled were curiously attentive, waiting to see the group crash and burn.
Rutuja went first. She spoke about the basics of Income from Salary, defining it simply, sharing examples, and breaking down key components. It was clear, approachable-a solid start.
Hriday picked up where she left off, highlighting the benefits associated with salary income. He threw in relatable scenarios ("Who here actually reads their payslip?"), making the content feel relevant.
Kunal injected humor wherever possible, lightening the mood. He cracked a few jokes about how tax deductions can make your take-home salary vanish faster than ice cream in summer. The class actually laughed-a rare achievement.
Arohi, always precise, summarized tricky concepts, ensuring everyone understood the legal and practical angle. She spoke confidently, using analogies ("Think of your salary structure like a pizza slice...") that actually made sense.
Sharayu was up next. She wasn't just speaking-she performed. She opened with a relatable anecdote about first paycheck ("Raise your hand if you spent your entire first salary on food!"). Laughter, nods, a sense of connection. She gained momentum, turning complicated jargon into everyday language.
Vrushal wrapped things up, delivering a crisp summary. He linked back to each team member's points and even managed a graceful transition to the Q&A.
Silence, Then The Unexpected
When they finished, the room was dead silent. No applause, no reaction. The group exchanged terrified glances. Was it that bad? Would Satish chastise them in front of everyone?
But then-clap. Satish started applauding.
The entire class froze, then joined in. For a moment, it didn't feel real. Satish broke his stoic expression, actually smiling.
"That... was impressive," he said. "You exceeded my expectations. I thought you'd throw together something last-minute, but you actually put in effort. It was clear, well-researched, and engaging."
The group could hardly believe it. Kunal whispered, "Are we... dreaming?"
Rutuja muttered, "Did we just get praised by Satish Sir?"
Satish closed with, "Don't look so shocked. You do have potential, you know."
They left the lecture grinning-not just relieved, but proud. Even as Satish summoned them to his cabin for a post-class chat "You seven, stay back", the nervousness had shifted. Now, it felt like they had finally shown what they were capable of.
Inside, Satish said simply, "You underestimated yourselves. Today, you proved that effort creates results. Don't waste your potential."
No one said anything for a moment.
Kunal asked, "Sir, are you okay?"
Arohi nudged him, "Don't be silly."
Satish laughed. "Just promise you'll keep trying."
Sharayu said, "We'll do our best."
Satish smiled again. "I had a feeling you would say that."
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