The library smelled of old paper and faint lemon polish, a comforting scent that wrapped me in a sense of calm. The quiet hum of whispers and the occasional scrape of chairs are the only sounds breaking the silence.

The library was my sanctuary, the one place I could breathe in silence.

I made my way to my usual table, the one by the large arched window that overlooked the campus gardens. It was a favorite spot—bathed in natural light during the day and tucked into a cozy corner that guaranteed some semblance of privacy.

My eyes narrowed as  I spotted him—Danish Malhotra—lounging in my chair, a picture of smug arrogance. His long legs were casually stretched under the table, and his head was tilted slightly as though he owned not just the chair but the entire library.

He didn't even look up when I stopped in front of him.

"Oberoi,"  he said sharply,  "I trust I didn't take your usual seat, did I?" My eyes narrowed as I set my books down with a quiet thud. "I didn't know you were such a stalker, Malhotra. Remembering where I sit now, are we?"

Danish chuckled, closing his book and leaning back in the chair as if this were all a game to him. "Don't flatter yourself," he drawled, his voice low enough not to attract the librarian's wrath but filled with mischief. "It's not like I've got your schedule memorized or anything."

"Could've fooled me," I shot back, sliding into the seat directly opposite him. I started unpacking my books and notes with deliberate precision, hoping he'd get the hint and leave.

But of course, Danish wasn't one to take hints.

"You know," he said, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand, "I didn't realize you were so territorial. Should I start marking tables with sticky notes? 'Reserved for Kiara Oberoi's monumental ego. you're so predictable. Besides, I thought I'd bring some life to this dead corner."

My lips curled into a bitter smile. "Life? You mean your overinflated sense of self-worth?"

Danish chuckled, low and infuriatingly smooth. "Careful, Oberoi. That sharp tongue might scare away your adoring fan club."

I slammed my bag onto the table, ignoring the curious glances from nearby students. "You've got a talent for being insufferable, you know that?"

He leaned forward now, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken—not that I'd ever admit it. "And you've got a talent for being obsessed with me."

I bristled, my cheeks heating despite myself. "Obsessed? With you? Don't flatter yourself, Malhotra. I tolerate you at best."

"Tolerate me?" He let out a soft laugh, tilting his head slightly. "Then why are you still standing here, arguing? If you really didn't care, you'd walk away."

Damn him. He was right, and we both knew it. But I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

My voice cuts through the growing tension like a knife. "You know what, Malhotra? You're right. Enjoy the seat."

I picked out my lipgloss. Danish raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering slightly as I stood up abruptly, applied it and strode toward the towering bookshelves on the far side of the library. Intrigued, he straightened in his seat, his eyes tracking my movements.

I scanned the shelf with sharp precision, my eyes zeroing in on the exact book I needed. My fingers stretched out to grab it, only for another hand—large, confident, and irritatingly familiar—to beat me to it.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I turned to face him. Of course.

Danish Malhotra. The bane of my existence.

"That one?" he said, holding the book just out of my reach, his tone smooth and dripping with mockery. "Popular choice. someone has good taste. Looks like a good read."

"I wanted it," I stated, my voice firm, my patience razor-thin.

"Too bad I got it first. Guess that makes me smarter, huh?" He shrugged, stepping back just enough to stay out of my reach. Danish's smirk widened as he leaned lazily against the shelf, the picture of arrogant ease. "And since I heard two assignments can't be on the same topic, well..." His grin widened, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

My fists clenched at the sides. "Smarter? Please. You probably picked it because the title sounded fancy."

"Fancy words win fancy grades,Oberoi. I thought you'd know that by now." His dark eyes gleamed, and he took a step closer, the distance between us shrinking."But that's not the point, is it?"

"Give me the book, Malhotra," I said, my tone hardening.

My eyes narrowed dangerously. "Give me the book, Malhotra. Or I swear to God, you will regret it."

For the first time, Danish's laughter broke the tension—a cold, mocking sound that resonated with amusement and disbelief. "Are you threatening me, ?"

"No," I said firmly, stepping closer, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest. "I'm warning you." Danish should have smirked, should have had a quick retort ready, but for the first time, his tongue seemed to fail him. I was close now—too close. His minty breath fanned against my cheek, my fiery determination almost brushing against his skin.

My heart was pounding, but not from exertion. I had leaned in close enough to see the flicker of hesitation in Danish's eyes, the crack in his arrogant composure. For once, he had been the one off balance, not me .

My warning had been clear, but when his gaze dropped—just for a second—to my lips, my breath hitched. A maddening heat climbed up my neck, and for the briefest moment, I wondered if he'd close the space between them.

But I wasn't about to wait around to find out.

My gaze flicked to his  lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to his  eyes. They were molten, challenging, and god, he wasn't even trying.

He didn't notice his breathing had hitched until my proximity made it impossible to ignore. There was a single, torturous inch between us , and for a fleeting moment, Danish seemed like he forgot where we were, forgot the book, forgot everything.

He leaned in, maybe He thought about leaning in, closing the gap, just to see if all that fire I spat would taste the same. His fingers twitched by his side, the air around us charged with an unbearable tension that made the world seem to still.

And then—I  moved.

In a flash, my hand darted out, snatching the book from his distracted grip.

Danish barely registered the loss as I spun on my heel and bolted for the library door, my laughter echoing in my wake.

With one swift movement, my hand shot out, snatching the book from his loose grip. His expression was priceless—a mix of disbelief and outrage—and it fueled my adrenaline like nothing else.

"I warned you," I threw over my shoulder, my voice steady despite the chaotic rhythm of my heartbeat. I spun around and bolted for the library door before he could react.

"Kiara!" His voice followed me, sharp and commanding, but I didn't stop.

My heart was racing as I  tore down the hallway, clutching the book like it was the crown jewel. I burst into my dorm and slammed the door shut, panting as I leaned against it.

"Lakshi!" I called out breathlessly.

Lakshi popped her head out from behind her desk, an eyebrow raised. "What now?"

"Don't—open—the door," I managed between breaths.

Lakshi frowned, her confusion evident. "Why—"

"Just trust me!" I snapped, locking the door for good measure.

Moments later, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Kiara," came Danish's voice, deep and commanding, laced with an amusement that made my stomach flip.

"Lakshi!" I hissed, glaring at my best friend as if to reinforce the importance of my earlier order.

Lakshi sighed, holding up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I won't."

I sat cross-legged on my bed, clutching the book like it was some kind of holy grail while Lakshi paced back and forth. She kept glancing at the door as if it would burst open any second.

"He's still out there," Lakshi muttered, leaning toward the peephole.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Damn it, Kiara," Danish's voice was muffled but sharp with irritation. "Open the door."

I shot Lakshi a look, and she shot one right back. We were in silent agreement: this door wasn't opening.

Knock. Knock.

"Kiara," his voice softened, almost coaxing now. "You're only making this harder for yourself."

I rolled my eyes, leaning back on my elbows. "What is he, a cop?"

Lakshi smirked, finally plopping down next to me. "You really got under his skin, huh?"

Knock.

I raised an eyebrow. "And who's fault is that? He asked for it."

But after a while, the knocking stopped. Lakshi and I side-eyed each other, neither willing to be the first to speak.

"Think he's gone?" she whispered.

I shrugged, standing up. "Only one way to find out."

"Kiara—don't."

I ignored her, grabbing the book and walking toward the door. A part of me knew this wasn't over—not with Danish. He wasn't the type to let things slide, and honestly, neither was I.

When I stepped out, the hallway was quiet except for my own footsteps. And then, out of nowhere—

"This isn't over."

His voice was right behind me, low and simmering with that trademark Malhotra arrogance. I turned, trying to look unbothered, even though my pulse had just leapt into overdrive.

"Good," I said, offering him a sweet but insincere smile. "But I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes narrowed, and I swear I saw his jaw clench. Satisfied, I walked past him and made my way to his usual spot at the library.

Carefully, I placed the book back where it belonged, my fingers brushing the spine. I didn't rush; I wanted him to see me do it. When I turned to leave, Danish was already walking toward the shelf, his gaze flicking from me to the book with suspicion.

I didn't stick around to see his reaction, but I knew.

I knew the moment he pulled the book off the shelf, opened it, and found the ripped pages. The ones I needed for the assignment.

I couldn't resist one last look as I exited the library. Danish stood there, holding the book with a mix of disbelief and growing frustration, his sharp features hardening.

"Kiara!" he called after me, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

I didn't turn back, just raised a hand in a lazy wave as I walked down the hall.

Checkmate.

If Danish Malhotra wanted a war, I wasn't about to back down.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

Alright. Let's debrief.

The damage is done. The pain has been delivered.

How was the chapter? Be brutally honest—

Did it break you? Did you throw your phone? are you just sitting there whispering "what the hell did I just read?" Or are you emotionally numb like Danish on a Monday?

And now the real question:

What do you think Danish is planning for revenge?

that man is one emotional breakdown away from burning the entire world— Because I don't know if he's going to ruin Kiara's life or propose with a death threat. Possibly both.

Also—breaking news:

What if I start leaking REAL-LIFE DANISH LORE under every chapter?

Yes. You read that right.

This character is based on a real person.

And 80% of the scenes you're reading? Yep. They actually happened. The origin stories. The chaos. The unfiltered drama.

Should we make it a tradition?

Somewhere out there, the real Danish exists. Breathing. Walking. Still being a menace. Little behind-the-scenes stories. Real moments that inspired the madness. Just a little nugget each time.

Should I? Or are y'all not emotionally stable enough for that?

And finally—don't leave me hanging.

Drop in the comments how your day went. Vent. Scream. Trauma-dump. I will read it like it's plot-critical.

Danish, kicking the author note door open: "This is character defamation. I want a lawyer."

Me: "Okay but did I lie? You need therapy. Sit down."

Kiara, sipping drama like chai: "I think we should leak his entire contact list next. he should cry more. For balance."