The second Sharayu reached home, the weight of the entire day pressed down on her.
She didn’t even bother kicking off her shoes—she just barreled straight into her room, collapsing face-first onto her bed, arms sprawled, eyes squeezed shut.
Freedom.
She’d survived the emotional tornado her friends unleashed on her, their relentless teasing and the never-ending Magenta jokes. For once, she was safe. Or so she thought.
But fate—or maybe just her so-called “evil” friends—had other plans.
Her phone, sitting innocently on her desk, blared to life as notifications flooded in nonstop. It buzzed so violently that it almost vibrated right off the table. Groaning, Sharayu lifted her head and pawed for her phone, half-tempted to pretend she’d lost it for a week. But curiosity won.
She unlocked the screen—and immediately saw
“THE TROUBLE TROOPS” group chat burning up with twenty new messages.
Arohi’s text shot to the top: So, guys...
Rutuja chimed in next: Aaj ka lecture toh bohot interesting tha... ya phir lecture ke baad ka scene?
Gayatri, always the dramatic, dropped her bomb: Sharayu ab se sirf MAGENTA hi pehnegi!
Vrushal, never missing a beat: Koi Magenta ke shades ka color chart bhejo, madam ke naye wardrobe ke liye.
And of course,
Kunal with the classic wisecrack: Bhai, Satish sir ka lecture important hai, lekin uska “By the way” zyada important tha.
Sharayu let out a long, suffering groan and flung her phone across the pillow.
Yeh log rukenge nahi!
These people had made it their life’s mission to ensure her peace never returned.
But before she could mentally draft a savage comeback—the notifications started all over again.
Rutuja: Kal agar phir se Magenta pehna toh confirm Sharayu kuch feel kar rahi hai.
Arohi: Bas dekhna, ek din bolenge: “Magenta ke alawa koi aur color suit nahi karega tumpe, Miss Sharayu.”
That was it. She wasn’t just the butt of their jokes—she was the unwilling main character in their grand Magenta conspiracy. With a loud, muffled scream into her pillow, Sharayu grabbed her phone with a vengeance and hammered out, “TUM SAB KE DOST MAR GAYE HAIN KYA?!”
Seconds later, Rutuja struck again: No, bas tujhe magenta mein dekhkar Satish sir mar rahe the.
At that, she threw the phone aside and buried her face, half-laughing, half-screaming.
“BAS, BAS, BAS!!!”
Nobody told her adult life would look like this—ruled by color-coded lectures and friends who’d trade sympathy for memes in a heartbeat.
But deep down—even through her exasperation—something electric lingered. An entire day, spun around a color, a group chat, and... him.
Across the city, Satish sat at his desk, uncharacteristically distracted. His routine was always the same: come home, log into his laptop, dive headlong into notes and tax syllabus revisions.
Not tonight.
Tonight, everything felt off. His mind wandered back to the classroom, to that moment—her magenta outfit.
The way she looked.
The way he caught himself staring, losing track of his words mid-lecture. Unforgivable, really.
“Bhai, kya hua? Tax ka syllabus yaad nahi aa raha kya?” Vanya poked her head in, eyes twinkling.
He shot her a resigned glare. “Bas kar, Vanya. Bohot baatein kar rahi hai aaj kal tu.”
She narrowed her eyes with inspector-level suspicion. “Aap disturbed lag rahe ho.”
Satish rubbed his face, wrestling with truths he wouldn’t say out loud.
Disturbed toh hoon, par kyun? His thoughts replayed that magnetic classroom instant, her magenta look—unexpected, dazzling.
He hadn’t cared for such things before.
Not color.
Not students.
Not distractions.
And yet...
It was there.
“Bhai?” Vanya tried again.
“Kya?” His tone was clipped, teetering between defensiveness and confusion.
Vanya flashed an all-knowing smile, the kind younger siblings mastered early: “Kya chal raha hai? Batao mujhe.”
He exhaled sharply, at the end of his patience. “Kuch nahi chal raha hai.”
“Mereko toh Magenta lag raha hai!” Vanya dropped the word, stone-faced.
His head snapped up. “Kya?”
“Aise react kyun kar rahe ho?” Vanya teased, her smirk getting wider. “Bas ek color ka naam liya.”
He glared, feeling exposed. “Tu bohot oversmart ho rahi hai.”
She giggled, bouncing away before he could retort.
As she left, Satish slumped deeper into his chair. “Mujhe kya ho raha hai?” he muttered. Because deep down, he already knew. That shade of pink was no longer just a color.
Next morning, Sharayu steeled herself before setting foot outside. No more Magenta. No more taunts. Today, she’d play it cool.
She selected a quiet blue from her wardrobe—a color so neutral it could put the color wheel to sleep. She stepped into college, bracing for the expected jokes.
And predictable as ever, her friends delivered:
Rutuja: “Guys, dekho! Magenta gayab ho gaya!”
Arohi: “Mujhe toh laga tha Sharayu ki almari sirf ek hi color ki hai ab!”
Vrushal: “Arre, Satish sir ka taxation ka effect hai kya? Taxation mein Magenta pe tax lag gaya kya?”
Kunal: “Agar Satish sir aaj kahe ki blue suit nahi karta, toh kya wapas Magenta pe switch karegi?”
Sharayu rubbed her temples.
Even blue wasn’t safe.
Then, disaster struck in the form of Satish sir entering—wearing a navy blue shirt. Her breath caught. It was almost too perfectly timed.
Rutuja’s loud whisper echoed: “TWINNING KAR RAHE HAIN!!”
Arohi: “Soulmates do this!”
Gayatri: “Koi aur color nahi tha kya? Yeh toh fate hai!”
Sharayu balled her fists under the desk.
This was getting out of control.
Her phone buzzed again
THE TROUBLE TROOPS.
Gayatri: Magenta se blue ka transition. Next step: shaadi ke colors decide karna.
Kunal: Rutuja, chal wedding planner dhundte hai.
Arohi: Mandap ke liye blue aur magenta ke flowers honge.
Gayatri: Aur Satish sir taxation ki jagah “Shaadi Planning and Management” padhaenge.
She wanted to disappear.
She typed furiously: “TUM SAB KI DOSTI ABHISHAAP HAI!!”
But before she could savor her own frustration, Satish called her name. Everyone stared.
“Miss Sharayu?”
She nearly shrunk into her chair.
“Aap dhyaan de sakti hai lecture par ya group chat pe discussion zyada important hai?”
Her heart plummeted.
Rutuja’s whisper was painfully loud: “OH. MY. GOD. CAUGHT IN 4K.”
Hriday: “Yeh toh bohot bada L le liya Sharayu ne.”
Turning beet-red, Sharayu mumbled, “Sorry, sir...” and locked her phone.
Satish kept watching her, lingering for just a heartbeat longer, before returning to lecture. But in that moment—her heart betrayed her more than her friends ever could.
After the Magenta-Blue disaster, Sharayu decided on dramatic measures.
Operation Avoid-Satish.
Every joke, every stare, every forced question from her friends just fueled her.
They upped the sarcasm:
Rutuja: “Sharayu, aaj ka color scheme kya hai? Satish sir ko match karna zaroori hai na?”
Arohi: “Ek request hai! Shaadi ke time sirf blue aur magenta mat pehno!”
Kunal: “Vaise Shaadi Tax-Free hoti hai na, sir?”
Even juniors started looking at her as the “color-coded scandal.”
Sharayu was losing it.
She hatched a plan: skip Satish’s lectures, blame headaches, library work, or fake faculty emergencies.
The silent corners of the library became her hideout. She’d sit, open a textbook, stare at words, and calculate: three skips, two attends—no one would suspect a thing. But her phone kept pinging:
Arohi: “Sharayu, kya hua? Aaj taxation nahi kar rahi?”
Rutuja: “Ya sirf sir se door bhaag rahi hai?”
No peace. No escape.
For a few days, it worked. Class schedule? She planned around him like he was a boss level in a video game. If she absolutely had to attend, she’d wedge herself behind the tallest student or a sturdy pillar.
Her friends? They practically wrote her legend:
Kunal: “Sharayu abhi sirf ‘Bunking Specialist’ ke naam se jaani jayegi.”
Rutuja: “Satish Sir ne ek din mein Magenta dekh liya aur tu ab unko dekh hi nahi rahi? Wah, kya balance hai.”
Arohi: “We should take Satish’s lecture attendance for her at this point.”
Real-life hide-and-seek, college edition.
Oddly enough, Satish noticed. He watched the attendance patterns. She was always present elsewhere—just not for him. And when she was, she avoided eye contact, picked the farthest seat, and pretended he didn’t exist.
It bothered him more than anything had in years.
Why should it matter? Logically, it didn’t. But something about that empty seat gnawed at him.
He couldn’t shake it.
He tried to ignore it.
He rationalized—maybe she was busy.
But at home, it followed him. As he sat grading theirassignments, his gaze lingered too long on her answer sheet.
Not her answers.
Her name.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Days blurred together.
One morning, after class, Satish spotted Hriday, Rutuja, Arohi, and Kunal laughing in the hallway.
Suspiciously loud.
He walked over; the group went stiff.
Satish: “Where’s Sharayu?”
Hriday put on his best angelic face: “Uh... Sharayu? Who’s that?”
Satish raised a single brow, commanding silence. “Don’t act smart. Why is she skipping my lectures?”
Rutuja almost doubled over with nervous laughter.
Kunal studied the floor like it had secrets.
Arohi swallowed, putting on her diplomatic hat, “Uh... maybe she’s just busy, sir?”
Satish folded his arms, voice low. “Busy? In the library? At the canteen? In the parking lot?”
Kunal whistled innocently.
Rutuja hissed, “Bro, he’s tracking her movements. Help.”
But no one cracked.
The secret was sacred—because nothing would be worse than Satish knowing the real reason. Silence hung thick.
Satish relented. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But if this continues... I’ll ask her myself.”
He walked away, leaving a gust of tension in his wake.
The moment he was out of earshot, the gang exploded.
Rutuja: “BEHAVE! You almost exposed her!”
Kunal: “Bro, he was looking straight into my soul. I panicked.”
Kunal: “Guys... should we warn Sharayu?”
Arohi, eyes sparkling with chaos, smirked, “No. Let’s see what happens.”
Avoiding Satish became a well-practiced art form for Sharayu.
She invented routes around campus, mapped out detours, planned “urgent tasks” whenever his lectures appeared on her schedule, and even mastered the skill of blending into groups.
Her friends? Unapologetically entertained.
And quietly, Satish started feeling something he’d never expected. One missing presence became a palpable void.
Hundreds of students skipped his lectures over the years—none mattered.
So why did this one?
Why did he find himself scanning the room for her face?
Why did he catch himself lingering on her desk when she wasn’t there?
Why did her absence feel like static on a radio—impossible to tune out?
Irritation? No. This was something else.
Something unfamiliar.
He tried to shake it. Buried himself in work. But thoughts of her—her name, her laugh, her pink dress—kept resurfacing.
He leaned back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “She’s just a student. Right?”
But no matter how much logic he piled on, it didn’t add up. Somehow, her skipped lectures weren’t just about attendance—they were about something more.
And that unsettled him.
The next day, Sharayu prepped for another high-stakes round of avoidance. She attended every lecture—except his. Everything was chill until he showed up.
Unplanned. Unannounced.
Third class of the day. Lunch on everyone’s mind. Suddenly, Satish entered, gaze sharp, posture straight as ever. Silence dropped like a curtain.
He didn’t bother with small talk. “Sharayu, Rutuja, Hriday, Arohi... I want to see you all in my cabin after the lectures.”
The class was stunned.
Hriday coughed, awkward.
Rutuja raised a brow.
Arohi whispered, “Yeh toh kuch bada lag raha hai...”
Sharayu tried to shrink into invisibility.
When the lecture ended, she bolted. Straight out. No meeting. No conversation. No Satish.
But Satish saw. And something snapped. He’d given her space, been patient. But now?
He called out, loud enough that the walls echoed.
“Sharayu.”
She froze.
All eyes landed on her.
“I have something important to talk to you about. Right now.”
Command, not request.
She stood outside his cabin, fists clenched. Heart thudding so hard it seemed to echo in the hallway. There was no running now—only facing the truth.
She inhaled, squared her shoulders, and entered.
Satish stood behind his desk, rigid, intense. Locked onto her, unyielding.
No greetings. No games.
“Why have you been skipping my lectures, Sharayu?” His tone was grave, demanding.
She crossed her arms, squaring her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He exhaled sharply, jaw clenching. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Her voice was low, almost daring.
“Pretend like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” He stepped forward, uncomfortably close. “You’ve attended every other class—except mine. I want to know why.”
She stayed silent. Not ready. Not now.
He stepped forward. Just enough to invade her space.
She looked up, eyes meeting his gaze. “Why do you care?”
Her words sliced through the tension. “Why does it matter if I don’t attend your lectures?”
He answered stiffly. “You are my student”
“Exactly,” she cut him off, raw. “Just another student, right?”
He faltered.
“Then why don’t you treat me like one?” Her voice trembled, loaded with emotion.
“Why do you look at me that way? Why do you treat me differently?”
The air between them grew heavy Dangerous.
Words hung, echoing.
He opened his mouth to deny—nothing came out.
She’d broken through his defenses, called out every hidden glance, every moment his gaze lingered a little too long.
Outside, Rutuja pressed her ear to the door. Arohi tried to drag her away. “Rutuja, stop! What if he catches us?”
Rutuja waved her off. “Shh! This is getting serious.”
Vrushal and Kunal lurked nearby, arms folded, trading bets on how the showdown would end.
Vrushal smirked. “I told you. The tension in that room could burn the whole college.”
Gayatri chewed her nails. “Poor Sharayu.”
Kunal: “Poor Satish Sir. He’s getting roasted.”
Arohi: “Bad. What if she gets him to confess?”
Rutuja: “Confess? Oh, please. He’ll deny to his last breath.”
Arohi: “Not if Sharayu keeps pushing.”
Vrushal: “Five hundred says he confesses.”
Gayatri: “Two hundred says Sharayu storms out.”
Arohi: “Three hundred says he stares her down and she flusters.”
Rutuja: “Can we hurry up and find out?!”
Inside the cabin, the weight of the confrontation churned.
Satish stepped back, defensive, breath sharp. “You’re misunderstanding things, Sharayu.”
“Am I?” She narrowed her eyes. “Then tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t treat me differently.”
She stopped.
His eyes locked onto hers, burning, unreadable—but impossibly intense. Her breath caught.
He deflected. “You think too much, Sharayu.”
She swallowed. No backing down.
Neither would.
The air thickened—charged, magnetic, their battle for control visible in every gesture.
She stood her ground. “I started skipping your lectures because of you.”
His brow furrowed. “Because of me?”
Her voice trembled but held steady. “Yes. Because I was tired of the way you act around me. Tired of the way you—” She cut herself off, stumbling over what could have changed everything.
He read between the lines, more than she said.
He looked caught, finally.
Cornered.
Rutuja nearly squealed outside: “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”
Arohi: “Rutuja! Shut up!”
Vrushal and Kunal traded amused glances.
Gayatri: “What if this turns into a fight?”
Vrushal: “Or a love confession?”
Rutuja: “I’d PAY to see that.”
Arohi: “He’ll probably just change the topic.”
Kunal: “Want to bet?”
Vrushal: “Five hundred on confession.”
Gayatri: “Two hundred on storm-out.”
Arohi: “Three hundred on an intense stare.”
Rutuja: “I’m dying here!”
Inside the momentum shifted. Satish exhaled, stepping away. “You’re misunderstanding.”
Her jaw tightened. “Am I?”
She challenged him. “Then tell me. Tell me you don’t—”
His eyes flared, intense enough to make her pulse stammer.
She stopped, fixated. Something had changed in him—too raw, too honest.
He retreated, reined it in; leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, unreadable.
“If you don’t start attending my lectures again, it’s going to be difficult for you to even pass in tax.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She stared, waiting for a joke.
None came.
“You’re the one avoiding my lectures, not me. If you don’t want to attend—fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you when the exams come.”
Sharayu’s fists balled. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is you skipping my classes.” His eyes locked onto hers, unyielding. “From now on, you will attend them. Every single one.”
She scoffed, defiant. “You can’t force me.”
Satish raised a brow. “Try me.”
She fumed, realizing he meant every word. She’d played her hand, and he called her bluff.
“If that’s all, you can leave now. I have other work,” he said, dismissing her.
Her frustration boiled, but with nothing left to say, she stormed out.
Outside, her friends pounced.
Rutuja: “WHAT HAPPENED?!”
Arohi: “You look... pissed.”
Hriday grinned: “I won the bet. He didn’t confess.”
Gayatri: “So he didn’t scold you?”
Sharayu laughed, dryly. “Oh, he did something worse.”
Kunal: “Worse?”
She exhaled. “Now I have to attend his lectures. Or he’ll make sure I struggle.”
Dead silence.
Rutuja dissolved into laughter. “HE CHECKMATED YOU!”
Arohi: “He really did. Ruthless.”
Hriday: “You avoided him, and he flipped the script.”
Sharayu: “I hate him.”
Gayatri giggled. “If you hate him, why are you blushing?”
...Maybe she was. Just a little.
The group buzzed, their excitement flowing into endless commentary.
Rutuja wiped laughing tears. “Oh my God, he flipped the game on you—I’m impressed.”
Hriday: “Genius move, sir. Pure genius.”
Arohi: “Sharayu, you’re doomed.”
Sharayu: “I refuse to let him win. I’ll attend his lectures—but I’ll be invisible. So invisible, he won’t even know I’m there.”
Gayatri: “Basically ignore him?”
Sharayu nodded. “Completely.”
Hriday chuckled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
As promised, Sharayu started attending Satish’s lectures. She chose the last bench, her own fortress. Eyes down, face blank. She played the role of silent, indifferent student perfectly.
But Satish noticed. The first lecture, he paused—eyes flickering toward her, then turning to the board. “Open your books to Chapter 7.”
Rutuja, beside her, whispered, “I think he’s already onto you.”
She didn’t care. Or tried not to.
Everything went fine. Until—
“Sharayu.”
Her hand froze.
She looked up, heart thudding.
Satish stared at her. “Solve the problem on the board.”
She blinked. “Me?”
He tilted his head. “Is there another Sharayu in this class?”
The class snickered. She trudged to the board, hiding her fury.
Solving the tax problem under Satish’s watchful eyes, she felt every second stretch out. He moved closer. “You missed a step.”
She fixed it, grip tightening.
He nodded. “Now it’s right.”
Relief flooded her. She started retreating.
“Good. Now explain it to the class.”
She stopped cold. Hriday cheered, “Sir, she explains things really well.”
Satish smirked. “I know.”
That was it. Murder was legal, right?
Deep breath—she explained the solution, voice carefully neutral. When finished, Satish nodded, satisfied. “Good. See? Attending lectures isn’t so bad.”
She stomped back to her seat, whispering furiously to Rutuja, “He’s doing this on purpose.”
Rutuja nodded, laughing. “Oh, absolutely.”
Satish’s plan was working.
Sharayu slammed her book shut after the lecture, fuming.
Rutuja: “You’ve never been this red before. Frustration or embarrassment?”
Sharayu glared. “Don’t.”
Hriday: “But we will. We’ll never let you forget.”
Arohi: “Satish Sir has a new favorite.”
Kunal: “'See? Attending lectures isn’t so bad.' Destroyed you—”
She threw a pen at him. “Shut up.”
But she knew the game had shifted. Satish wasn’t just strict—he was actively pushing her limits.
Her phone buzzed when she reached home.
(Hriday): Yo, did y’all see sir’s face when Sharayu was solving the sum?
(Arohi): He was staring like she was the only student. Romantic Taxation?
(Rutuja): Next lecture he’ll make her solve three problems just to keep her standing.
She groaned, tossing her phone away.
Determined not to give up, Sharayu arrived early the next day, picking a strategic seat. Not too close, definitely not at the back. For thirty minutes, Satish taught without giving her a single glance. No remarks. No challenges.
For the first time, instead of relief, she felt... restless. Why wasn’t he noticing her? She caught herself watching him, waiting for him to single her out.
But nothing.
Rutuja noticed and smirked. “Miss him already?”
Sharayu kicked her under the desk.
Without even turning, Satish said, “Miss Sharayu, eyes on your book.”
Her soul nearly left her body.
Rutuja was crying with laughter.
Satish, still at the board, definitely smirked.
Every time Satish passed her desk, Sharayu felt his presence—like a magnetic field she couldn’t escape.
The way his voice dipped lower for her answers, the pauses in his steps.
But today, he ignored her.
Completely.
Not a glance.
Not a word.
She felt invisible, like a ghost haunting his classroom.
Rutuja: “Reverse psychology now?”
Kunal: “Man’s treating you like a ghost. Maybe haunt him.”
Hriday: “She already is. He’s forcing himself not to look.”
Sharayu, gritting her teeth, whispered, “Shut up, all of you.”
Class ended. Satish finally spoke: “Sharayu, stay back for a moment.” That was it.
The class erupted.
“Ooooohhh.”
“Reverse psychology!”
“Stay back? Matlab tum important ho?”
Arohi: “Magenta ke bina bhi attention mil raha hai!”
Friends laughed their way out as Sharayu approached Satish.
She hesitated. “What is it, sir?”
Satish kept his gaze on his notes, voice casual: “You were quite eager to ignore my lectures. Now, you seem eager for my attention.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
He finally glanced up, leaning forward. “Don’t play dumb. You started it. Now you don’t like the taste of your own game.”
She opened her mouth, ready to retort—but he was right. She’d run from him, and now that he ignored her, she was annoyed.
Satish smirked, reading her thoughts. “Good. Now that you understand, you can leave.”
She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “Seriously? You made me stay just to prove a point?”
Satish pretended to think. “Oh no, wait. There was something else.”
She folded her arms. “What?”
His smirk widened. “Extra assignment on today’s topic. You’ll do it.”
Her jaw dropped. “Why me?”
“Because I said so.”
This man.
This evil, smug, annoying man.
Sharayu grabbed her bag, heading out.
Just before she stepped out, she heard him say, voice soft:
“Good to have you back in class.”
She froze.
But she didn’t turn.
Because he would see that smile—the one she couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried.
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