ARNA

The message flashed across my screen.

Dinner at the restaurant, it said.

A second notification followed almost immediately.

I'll pick you up after class.

For a moment, I just stared at my phone, blinking. What on earth?

I didn't need to think twice to know who it was. No one else would text me that. No one else would dare to call me out for dinner or offer to pick me up like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had to be Hridhan.

Still, I typed back a cautious reply: Who are you?

Just yesterday, after practicals, I'd told him I needed a day to pack my things. He'd only nodded and said he'd manage Gugan for a day, like it was no big deal. So, I'd spent the evening folding up my life into a few bags.

This morning, his secretary had come by quiet, efficient, polite and had everything shifted before I'd even finished breakfast. Hridhan had mentioned it in passing, as if it were some trivial errand.

Whatever.

Now, sitting there in my last class, my phone still warm in my hand, I couldn't help wondering what exactly he meant by dinner at the restaurant.

Today, I'd be joining him at his house. Then what's the need to go out ?

Wait—dinner.

Dinner meant date.

Exactly.

Is he calling for a date ?

Before I could spiral further, my phone buzzed again.

No way. You forgot your beautiful husband, he texted.

I rolled my eyes, grinning despite myself. My thumbs flew over the screen.

Oh yeah? He looked like this 🦍 I added the first animal emoji that felt suitably offensive.

A moment later, his reply popped up.

We'll get an eye checkup soon, Aru. But for now, get the plan in your mind.

I frowned, half amused, half suspicious.

Why this sudden dinner?

Gugan wants to eat out. I'll tell you the rest in the car. And it's not a date,mistake. he added.

My stomach dropped a little. He knows about us, I thought. So now, that's a problem.

I hesitated before typing back. I can't change saree. Is that fine?

I looked down at the pastel pink saree I'd worn for today's theory class—soft, light, and not at all what I'd wear for dinner. But it would have to do.

"Yeah."

Raha nudged me sharply with her elbow, a warning to quit talking in what was probably the dullest class of the century.

"Are you busy chatting with your boyfriend?" she whispered, her grin wide and teasing. She had no idea how close or how far she was from the truth.

"Oh, yes. Why not? He's cool," I said, keeping my tone light, the sarcasm tucked neatly beneath my words. Of course, I didn't mean Hridhan.

Raha narrowed her eyes, smirking. "I know about you, sloth. You were chatting with that AI bot again."

I facepalmed softly, half-groaning. Great. If she ever found out the truth about Hridhan, about everything, then I am done for real.

When the class finally ended, I grabbed my bag and said I'd be in the library to "study." Raha gave me one of those suspicious looks, the kind that said what the heck, bruh, but didn't press further. She just rolled her eyes and left.

Out on the ground, Kevin was still loitering around, throwing me side-eyes like I'd stolen his homework or maybe his peace of mind.

"Are you sure you're studying in the library?" Kevin's voice came from behind me, careful but laced with doubt.

My phone buzzed with a notification just then. I caught the preview through the corner of my eye—Where are you?

"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing a calm I didn't feel. "I have to take notes. I didn't get the class properly." The lie slid off my tongue too easily, practiced and almost convincing.

To keep him from suspecting anything, I turned toward the library path, my steps measured, deliberate. But what I didn't expect was the sound of his footsteps following mine.

I stopped, turned slightly, and met his gaze. "What's wrong, Kevin?" I asked, keeping my voice even, my expression carefully neutral though irritation simmered quietly beneath the surface.

"Nothing," Kevin said after a pause. "I'm also going to take notes. I can't let you lead the exams this week."

I huffed. Lead the exams? As if. I'd already messed up last week—spectacularly. One more wouldn't make a difference.

"Kevin," I said, shaking my head, "you can't just talk like I top every exam. I'm not what you think."

I wasn't. I was just someone who loved science—real science, the kind that made sense. But here, our subjects twisted everything I'd once liked: statics to destroy, hacking, computer technology. We were being trained to break things, not build them. Taught to manipulate systems, not understand them. Sometimes it felt like we were being molded into criminals, not humans.

"I see," he said quietly. "But still—"

"Aru."

The single word cut through the air, freezing me mid-step. My breath caught before I even turned.

No. Not now. Not here.

Hridhan.

Kevin and I turned toward the voice at the same time. He stood a few steps away, dressed all in black—again. His presence filled the hallway effortlessly, the kind of calm authority that made everyone else look smaller.

"There are some mistakes in your report. Come with me and correct them," he said, his tone clipped, authoritative — like a strict professor addressing a careless student.

But I knew I hadn't submitted any report.

"Yes, sir," I replied anyway, playing along with the performance. Kevin's confused glance met mine, his brows knitting together as if silently asking what on earth was happening.

"When did you even submit your report?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Before I could open my mouth, Hridhan cut in smoothly. "You can talk to my trainee later, Kevin." His gaze shifted to me, firm yet unreadable, silently commanding me to follow.

I obeyed, though confusion tangled in my chest. As I walked beside him, I caught my reflection in the car's side mirror — a quick check of my hair, a nervous fix of my expression. The city lights shimmered faintly against the windshield.

He opened the car door for me, a gesture I hadn't expected from him. My lips curved into a faint smirk.

"I didn't expect you to do things," I said, mocking him lightly, reminding him of his own words from one of our earlier encounters — Don't expect anything from me.

He met my gaze, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Expectation and action don't always correlate, my dear wife," he murmured, leaning slightly closer. "Now, you can either get in yourself, or I'll have the honor of helping you in."

"No, thanks," I said quickly, sliding into the seat before he could say another word. I adjusted my pallu to the front and set my bag neatly on my lap, trying to appear composed though my heart beat faster than I'd like to admit.

The door clicked shut — a soft sound, but it carried finality. Hridhan circled the car, his presence steady and deliberate, before settling behind the wheel.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, turning slightly toward him as the car rolled forward.

"Just act like we're husband and wife. That's it," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

I blinked at him. "I don't even know anything about you. How am I supposed to manage that?" Seriously—was he an idiot? Acting was one thing, but acting without context? That was just chaos. There's always a script before a performance—always.

He glanced at me, his voice low but calm. "Maybe we should spend some time together. It'll make things easier for... future situations."

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "Wow. You're so smart you decided to plan now, after we've already got a meeting fixed."

He didn't flinch, just smiled faintly—too faintly. "Sorry, my dear wife," he murmured. "I don't have a brain like yours. You know—the one that said t-test and z-test were the same thing."

My jaw dropped. "Oh my god," I whispered.

"Did you just read my stats paper?" I asked, half in amusement, half in disbelief.

"Oh no," he said casually. "I was correcting it."

Freaking amazing. Absolutely brilliant.

"You were brilliant, by the way," he added, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Come on," I shot back, trying to defend myself. "They're actually kind of similar. Who even cares if it's a t-test or a paired t-test? It doesn't matter."

He smirked. "T-test and z-test are not the same, aru. You're weak in stats."

I rolled my eyes, irritation simmering just below the surface. "Thanks, Professor," I muttered.

For a few moments, the only sound was the low hum of the engine. His hand rested loosely on the steering wheel—steady, controlled, graceful. The way he shifted gears with a single hand made something twist unexpectedly in my chest. I found myself watching his movements, hypnotized by the ease of them.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Is he so close to you?"

My gaze snapped up. "Who?"

"My dear wife," he said softly, a warning in the sweetness. "You know who I mean."

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of the space between us. "Yeah," I stammered.

"I asked you something," he repeated, eyes fixed on the road.

"He's my junior," I said finally. "So... we knew each other before."

Hridhan didn't respond right away. His eyes stayed on the road, but the small twitch in his jaw gave him away. The silence stretched—just long enough to make me uncomfortable.

"Before what?" he asked at last, his tone deceptively calm.

"Before this," I said, gesturing vaguely between us. "Before you decided we're supposed to act like a married couple for some top-secret reason you haven't told me yet."

He gave a soft laugh, the kind that wasn't really amusement—more like disbelief. "You make it sound like I kidnapped you."

"You practically did," I said under my breath.

He glanced sideways at me. "You didn't seem to complain when I picked you up."

"That's because someone decided to announce I had a 'report mistake' in front of the entire campus," I shot back. "What was I supposed to do? Refuse and make it real?"

He smiled faintly, eyes glinting as he turned the wheel. "Smart decision, my dear wife."

"Stop calling me that."

"What?"

"Dear wife. It sounds fake."

He leaned back slightly, as though thinking. "Maybe it'll sound less fake if you start calling me dear husband."

I stared at him, half a second from throwing my bag at his smug face. "Dream on."

He chuckled quietly, and for a moment, the tension softened. The hum of the car filled the space between us again. But just as I thought the conversation had settled, he spoke—his tone quieter this time.

"Still," he said. "I don't like him following you."

I turned to look at him, startled. "Kevin? He's harmless."

Hridhan's gaze stayed forward, the faintest smile ghosting on his lips. "That's what people usually say right before things stop being harmless."

"Kevin's harmless," I repeated, crossing my arms. "You don't have to get all territorial."

"Territorial?" Hridhan gave a low laugh. "I'm not territorial, aru. I'm just observant."

"Observant? You sound like an overprotective husband already," I said, my tone dripping sarcasm.

He shot me a look from the corner of his eye, something between a smirk and a challenge. "Well, isn't that what I'm supposed to act like?"

"You're overdoing it," I muttered.

He tilted his head slightly. "So you do think I'd make a believable husband?"

"Oh, don't start."

"Too late." He smiled lazily, shifting gears with one hand while the other rested casually on the steering wheel. His tone softened just enough to make my heartbeat pick up. "You sound nervous, aru."

"I'm not nervous," I said, too quickly.

"Of course not," he replied smoothly. "Just staring at my hands for no reason?"

I turned sharply toward the window. "I wasn't staring."

"Hmm."

"Stop 'hmm'-ing."

"Why?"

"Because it's annoying."

"Then stop lying," he said simply, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I glared at him. "You're impossible."

He chuckled under his breath. "That's rich coming from someone who thought z-test and t-test were soulmates."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I shot back. "Not all of us find romance in statistics."

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't. But I do find entertainment in watching you defend your mistakes."

"Glad to be your source of amusement," I said dryly.

"You are," he murmured, almost too softly. "More than you think."

That shut me up. For a second, the car felt too small—his voice still lingering in the air between us, warm and deliberate.

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the sudden shift. "You're flirting now?"

He smiled without looking at me. "No. Just acting."

I looked at him from the corner of my eye, unable to stop the slight curve of my lips. "Sure," I muttered. "You're a terrible liar, hridhan."

His smirk widened. "And you're a terrible actress, Mrs. Hridhan."

For a moment, the air between us quieted, though not peacefully—more like the calm that hums just before a storm. He was still smiling, faintly, that rare curve of his lips that never quite reached his eyes. I'd seen Hridhan angry, sharp, unreadable—but smiling? That was new. And unsettling.

He didn't laugh often. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him do it. Usually, his expressions were carved from stillness—his face calm, his voice low, his words calculated. But now, there was something unguarded about him.

His jaw softened, the lines around his mouth eased, and for one strange heartbeat, he didn't look like the man who ordered people around without blinking.

And that was the problem.

Because I found myself looking.

"You're staring again," he said, voice quiet but threaded with amusement.

"I was not," I said too quickly, tearing my gaze away. My reflection in the glass looked guilty.

"Of course." His lips twitched, not quite a grin.

I am ruining my personality.

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