I sat near the back of the classroom, one leg stretched out lazily under the desk, my chair tilted back just enough to make the teacher scowl but not enough to get me reprimanded. My  pen twirled idly between my fingers, a half-hearted attempt at appearing engaged.

The truth was, I wasn't paying attention.

My gaze drifted out the window, where the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus lawn. Students hurried between buildings, their voices muffled by the glass. A pair of birds darted between the trees, their movements fluid, carefree. I envied that simplicity—the absence of expectations, the sheer lack of weight.

For a moment, I let himself imagine being out there, walking with no particular destination, no deadlines, no titles, no responsibilities.

Not the Danish Malhotra, but who I was before I started living this life.

But then the classroom erupted.

Applause, cheers, a few whistles—it all jolted me back to reality.

I blinked, disoriented, my eyes snapping back to the front of the room where the teacher was looking directly at me.

"Congratulations, Danish!" Professor announced, her voice cutting through the chaos.

I straightened up instinctively, my chair landing on all fours with a muted thud. Everyone was clapping, grinning at me, their faces a blur of expectation and approval.

Wait, what just happened?

"Top marks on the essay competition," She continued, beaming. "An excellent piece of work, as always."

Ah. That.

"Malhotra strikes again," Lakshi, Kiara's friend, said with a dramatic sigh, her pen tapping against her notebook as she glanced sideways at Kiara.

"Danish: 1, Kiara: 0," Kritika,third girl of their squad chimed in, a teasing grin spreading across her face. She leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the moment.

Before she could say more, Kiara smacked Kritika lightly on the head. "Shut up," she muttered, her tone equal parts annoyance and embarrassment.

"Hey!" Kritika protested, rubbing her arm with mock indignation. "It's not my fault you keep losing to him!"

I forced a smile, the kind he had perfected over years of being Danish Malhotra, ghar ka bada beta. It was polite, confident, and completely detached. I nodded in acknowledgment, my usual air of indifference settling back into place like a well-worn jacket. Offering  everyone polite smiles that didn't quite reach my eyes. I didn't care about their praise, not really.

But I had a role to play, and I played it well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Kiara Oberoi watching me from across the room. She had that look again—the one where she stared at me like I was a particularly irritating puzzle she was determined to solve.

As the others cleared out, she made her way over, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Who wrote your essay?" she asked, arms crossed, her tone sharp and unapologetic.

I leaned casually against my desk, smirking. "You don't actually think I cheated, do you?".

She arched an eyebrow, silent. That was enough to answer.

I followed her gaze to her friends laughing by the window and pointed at them dramatically. "Oh, absolutely. They're my personal ghostwriters. I paid them to do it for me. Couldn't have done it without them.Took all my pocket money, too."

Kiara rolled her eyes but didn't stop the faint smile tugging at her lips. "As if paying them would even put a scratch on your bank account,"

I replied, my voice quieter now. "Not that it matters but I have to thank my last name for this."

That made her pause mid-step. She turned her head slightly as if to say something but stopped herself and walked away instead.

The club meeting later that afternoon was a chore, as usual. I sat at the back, leaning against my chair, observing rather than participating. Kiara, on the other hand, sat in the front row, scribbling notes and engaging just enough to appear interested.

Joining the debating club had been a calculated move for me . Not because I particularly loved debating—although I had a knack for it—but because it was expected.

After all, the eldest Malhotra son had to tick all the boxes: academics, leadership, extracurriculars, and, of course, charm.

It wasn't long before I realized the club was less about debating and more about the power struggles of overachievers. And at the heart of it all was Kiara Oberoi , my so-called rival who had an uncanny ability to turn every mundane discussion into a battle of wits.

Today's session was no different.

The topic was announced: "Does wealth determine success?"

Someone made a passing remark comparing Kiara to her older brother, a topic that came up far too often.

"Your brother's accomplishments were incredible," a senior said, nodding toward her. "Big shoes to fill, huh?"

Kiara smiled politely, nodding along as if she didn't mind. "You're doing great too, of course," they added, as though it was an afterthought.

The rest of the group chuckled, oblivious to the tension. But I saw it—the way her smile didn't reach her eyes, the way her hand clenched slightly under the table.

Everyone thought she was fine. Everyone but me.

I leaned back in my chair, twirling a pen between my fingers, watching as the members dived headfirst into arguments. Kiara was, as usual, at the center of it all. Her voice was steady, her arguments sharp, and her conviction unshakable.

"You can't deny that wealth creates opportunities," Kiara argued, standing tall, her hands gesturing emphatically. "But it's ambition that determines how far you go. You can have all the money in the world and still fail without driving."

The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement, but I wasn't about to let her dominate without a challenge.

"Ambition is great and all," I interjected smoothly, leaning forward. "But let's not pretend money isn't the foundation of most success stories. Ambition without resources? That's just wishful thinking."

Her eyes snapped to mine, narrowing in that familiar way that said, Game on.

"Wishful thinking?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "So you're saying all those rags-to-riches stories are just fairy tales?"

"Most of them, yes," I replied, shrugging. "Exceptions don't make the rule, Sweetheart."

The room grew quieter, attention shifting entirely to the two of us . It wasn't the first time we'd turned a club discussion into our own personal battleground.

For me, it was more than a debate. It was a challenge—a dance with someone who could meet me toe to toe, push me out of my comfort zone, and remind me I didn't have all the answers.

And as Kiara's lips pressed into a determined line, I couldn't help but think, Game on, Oberoi . Let's see how far you'll go.

After the session, the club president called for a break. I headed to the refreshment table, grabbing a cup of coffee. I noticed Kiara lingering nearby, her back turned to him as she scrolled through her phone.

"You're slipping," I said casually, sipping my coffee.

Kiara turned, her brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You let me win," I teased, my smirk widening.

Her eyes narrowed. "In your dreams, Malhotra."

"Admit it," I pressed, leaning against the table. "You were too distracted thinking about what your older brother would've said in your place."

Her expression froze for a split second, so brief that anyone else might've missed it. But I didn't. I saw the way her fingers tightened around her phone, the way her jaw clenched before she plastered on a tight smile.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice icy.

But I did know. I 'd spent enough time under the shadow of expectations to recognize when someone else was drowning in them.

"Kiara," I said softly, my tone losing its teasing edge. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to your brother."

She blinked, startled by my sudden sincerity. For a moment, her guard slipped, and I saw the exhaustion behind her eyes.

"Why do you care?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

"Because I've been there," I admitted, looking away. "And I know how much it sucks."

She didn't reply, and the silence between us stretched. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. If anything, it felt like a quiet understanding.

The second half of the meeting began, and we returned to our seats. This time, the topic was less heated, and I found myself zoning out. Instead, I watched Kiara as she argued her points, her passion shining through despite the pressure she was clearly under.

When the meeting ended, and the members filed out, I hung back, waiting until Kiara passed by.

"Hey," I called out.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

"Careful, Kiara," I said with a smirk. "At this rate, you might actually lose your spot as the club's star debater if you let this stuff get to you."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Don't worry about me, Malhotra. You should focus on keeping up."

"Oh, I'm not worried," I replied, watching as she walked away.

She stopped and turned to me, her expression blank but her eyes sharp. "It's just a comment, Danish," she said evenly.

He shrugged. "All that smiling and nodding. If you're not careful, someone might mistake it for happiness. Is it, though?" I asked, smirking as I leaned against the wall.

She rolled her eyes. "And what would you know about dealing with pressure? you're an expert on not letting things bother you."

"Oh, I know a lot," I replied, crossing my arms. "I've been Ghar Ka Bada Beta since birth, remember? Handling pressure is practically my brand."

Kiara scoffed but didn't argue.

"Anyway," I continued, my voice light, "I'm also an expert at distracting people from their problems."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"By being my charming, annoying self, of course." That earned me a laugh—a real one this time. Short but genuine. She shook her head and started walking again, her stride lighter than before.

That night, I sat in my room, the essay still on the desk. I stared at it, the red ink catching the dim light as I  thought about Kiara, about the way she'd smiled when they compared her to her brother, about the way she'd pretended not to care.

I knew that act all too well. I'd perfected it myself.

Everyone called me ghar ka bada beta, the rock, the anchor. I was the one people turned to, the one who always had it together. But what they didn't see was the weight of it—the endless pressure to meet expectations, to never falter, to always be more.

Sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to let someone else carry that weight, just for a little while.

But that wasn't an option. Not for me atleast.

With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought of Kiara again. She was the one person who didn't buy into my facade, the one person who challenged me.

And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that made me feel a little less alone

I didn't know what it was about her that intrigued me so much. Maybe it was the way she challenged me , or maybe it was the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. Whatever it was, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Kiara Oberoi than met the eye.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself looking forward to the next club meeting.

Not because of the debates, but because of her.

Since the start my father told me people we associate with are a piece on our chessboard. I know she holds a role. I just need to figure out what it is.

I don't know if she is just a pawn or she plays a major one but all I know is I am going to have a hell lot of fun in this game.