For the first time in a long while, I was actually excited for class.

Not because of the subject. Not because of the assignment. But because today, I was about to watch Kiara Oberoi lose.

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk, phone screen glowing in my lap. The family group chat was blowing up.

Akaay: Live footage of the charade incoming.

I clicked on the video he sent-grainy CCTV footage from the hallway, the camera angled just right to show Kiara walking into the classroom, head held high, completely unaware of what was coming.

She looked confident. Too confident.

Good. That would make her loss even sweeter.

Akaay: You're evil, bhai. I love it.

I smirked as I typed back.

Danish: Let the cinema begin.

I tucked my phone away as the classroom settled down, the usual murmurs dying as Mrs. Mehta walked to the front. The grade sheet in her hand was the only thing standing between Kiara and humiliation.

I barely listened. I already knew how this was going to go.

I was about to win. As always.

Mrs. Mehta glanced at the sheet in her hand. "Danish Malhotra. Topic: "Corporate Power & Strategy."

I pushed my chair back slightly, feigning casual disinterest, even as anticipation thrummed beneath my skin.

"Perfect score. Again."

I let my smirk stretch, slow and deliberate.

She was holding back a reaction. Interesting.

But it didn't matter. She was about to learn the hard way that no matter how many times she tried to challenge me, I would always-always-be ahead.

I let my smirk stretch, slow and deliberate.

She was holding back a reaction. Interesting.

But it didn't matter. She was about to learn the hard way that no matter how many times she tried to challenge me, I would always-always-be ahead.

Mrs. Mehta's eyes flicked back to the list. "And next, Kiara Oberoi."

I leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled beneath my chin. I already knew what was coming.

She had no book. No sources. No foundation. The very research she needed had been ripped away.

The air grew thick with silence.

I almost grinned.

This was it.

She had nothing.

Mrs. Mehta adjusted her glasses. "Topic: Strategy and Decision-Making in Business Management." Mrs. Mehta continued, completely unaware of the war waging in my head."100."

The smirk slid right off my face.

What?

A slow ripple of murmurs spread through the classroom. Someone clapped hesitantly.

I blinked, gripping the edge of my desk as if that would somehow help me process what just happened.

I turned to look at Kiara, but she wasn't gloating. She wasn't even looking at me.

No victorious smirk. No cocky glance my way.

Just a calm, composed expression as she nodded at Mrs. Mehta.

That made it worse.

Had she planned this? Did she anticipate my move and outplay me?

I gritted my teeth.

No. Impossible.

But then I saw it.

The slight tilt of her lips. The hint of a smile. The way she finally-finally-glanced my way, just for a second, her eyes shining with quiet amusement.

She had known.

And she let me think I had won.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a slow breath.

This isn't over, Oberoi.

Across the room, my phone vibrated. I didn't need to check to know who it was.

Akaay: he has officially met his other evil half.

I shut my eyes briefly before opening them again, fixing my expression back to the usual detached arrogance.

She may have won this round.

But I would make sure it never happened again.

One thing that I was always used to being is Invisible . At home, my achievements were brushed aside in favor of my elder sibling's towering accomplishments-my brother's diplomatic charm, my relatives's flawless grace. But in school, in the cutthroat world of academics, I wasn't just Kiara Oberoi. I was the Kiara Oberoi, the girl who never backed down from a fight-especially when that fight was with Danish Malhotra.

Today was no different. "Danish Malhotra, topic: "Corporate Power & Strategy." Mrs. Mehta continued, placing an identical paper on his desk. "Perfect score. Again."

I froze. My gaze snapped to Danish, who was already looking at me. He raised an eyebrow, and I narrowed my eyes.

The moment the teacher called out my name as  footsteps approached. "Kiara Oberoi," Mrs. Mehta announced, placing the test paper face down in front of me.

I straightened in my seat, chin tilted slightly higher than necessary as I caught the faintest smirk on Danish's face. It set my teeth on edge

My heart skipped a beat. A perfect score would finally make someone-anyone-in my family notice me . Maybe they'd say something other than the usual, "Why can't you be more like your brother?"

"Topic: Strategy and Decision-Making in Business Management." she said. The bold "100" circled in red was a victory I couldn't help but savor.

The room seemed to grow ten degrees hotter as we locked stares with insufferable expressions-the one that said, We both know this isn't over.

Danish, sitting two rows ahead, twisted in his chair to glare at me. He leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with mockery.

He showed no reaction for someone who just got defeated.

"Congratulations, Oberoi. A tie again. Must be exhausting always playing catch-up."

His expression was a mix of irritation and smugness, as if to say, You may have tied with me, but I'm still better.

I met his gaze head-on, my brown eyes narrowing. If he thought he could intimidate me with that stare, he had another thing coming.

The teacher sighed, clearly tired of our endless rivalry. "Will you two please stop glaring at each other? I have more piles of tests to check, and the tension between you is giving me a headache."

"It's not tension," I quipped, my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's just his way of silently admitting defeat." I forced a tight-lipped smile. "At least I don't need my last name to carry me through."

The class erupted in laughter, but neither I  nor Danish flinched but I could feel my blood boiling, my fingers curling into fists beneath the desk. A few "oohs" echoed around the room. Danish's jaw tightened, and his grip on his pen looked dangerously close to snapping.

"Defeat?" he shot back, his voice deceptively calm. "Last I checked, tying isn't winning. But if you want to settle for second place in your head, who am I to argue?"

I wanted to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face more than anything.

"Alright, that's enough!" the teacher barked. "Honestly, you two," Mrs. Mehta sighed. "The rivalry is entertaining, but it's getting ridiculous. If you channeled half this energy into group work, you'd both run the world."

I didn't miss the way Danish's smirk widened at the remark but I had to bite back a sharp retort. Group work with him? Over my hot, rich, dead body.

As the class ended and students began filing out, I lingered, shoving my books into my bag with a little too much force. Danish passed by my desk, his tone maddeningly casual. "See you at the top, Oberoi. Or, you know, slightly below it."

"If I see either of you throw another remark like that, I'll make you sit next to each other during the next test. Maybe the proximity will cool things down." Mrs. Mehta said.

The thought of sitting next to Danish during a test was horrifying enough to make me snap my attention back to my notebook. Out of the corner of my eye, she saw Danish do the same. I let out a breath, I hadn't realized I was holding.

This wasn't about the test scores, not really. It was about being seen, being acknowledged, being more than the choti beti who couldn't measure up to her family's high expectations.

In some twisted way, my rivalry with Danish was the one thing in my life that made me feel truly alive.

I glanced at him one last time, catching him muttering something under his breath as he scribbled in his notebook. For a split second, I wondered what it would be like to not hate him.

But then he looked up, caught me staring, and raised an eyebrow in that infuriatingly cocky way.

Nope. I hated him. Definitely hated him.

"Kiara," Lakshi said in a low voice, leaning closer. "Stop it."

I blinked, pulling  myself from my thoughts. "Stop what?"

Lakshi rolled her eyes and elbowed me sharply. "Stop looking at him. He's already caught you three times."

My cheeks flushed as I quickly straightened up, masking my embarrassment with a casual shrug. "He was looking at me three times too. What, am I supposed to pretend I didn't notice?

Kritika's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, so now you're counting how often he looks at you? Interesting."

I scowled, leaning across the table to keep my voice low. "I'm not counting. I'm just... observant. It's not my fault his eyes keep wandering my way."

"Right," Lakshi said, dragging the word out. "Because you're not glaring daggers at him every chance you get."

"Also Lakshi, did you notice that the kiara oberoi just stuttered?" Kritika teasingly said as I elbowed her.

"Do you think the authorities would fail me if I hit his head and sent him to the hospital wing?" I asked, instead of replying to her.

Kritika stifled a laugh, shaking her head with a fond smile. "Failing would be the least of your worries. Mr Malhotra would have your life if something happened to his heir." She said, then tilted her head and continued, "Maybe aim for the middle so you don't miss?"

"Agreed, ruin his chances to become a father but Lower your voice when you talk about murder," Lakshi said as Kritika and I gasped.

"I wish it was murder," I replied as I continued scribbling on my notebook.

The moment Mrs. Mehta walked out of the classroom, the tension that had been thrumming beneath my skin finally eased as the class ended.

The class emptied out slowly, voices fading into distant murmurs, footsteps echoing in the hallway until one by one, they all disappeared.

All except him.

I felt his presence before I turned.

Danish Malhotra stood by the door, arms crossed, the sharp lines of his suit blazer making him look effortlessly untouchable. But his jaw was clenched, his eyes darker than usual.

He was waiting.

I knew this moment was coming.

Feigning nonchalance, I gathered my books, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as if I didn't feel his gaze burning into me.

The sound of the door clicking shut sent a slow shiver down my spine.

"So," he drawled, stepping forward. "Did you know what I would do?"

I blinked up at him, tilting my head. "What are you talking about, Malhotra?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Don't play dumb, Kiara."

I let out a small, amused breath, gripping the book in my hands a little tighter.

"I have no idea what you mean."

He took a step forward.

Instinctively, I stepped back.

His lips twitched.

Another step.

Another retreat.

Until my back met the cold, unforgiving wall.

And he was right there.

Close enough that I could see the flicker of frustration beneath his mask of indifference. Close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of his cologne-rich, expensive, and something dangerously intoxicating.

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see the way my pulse quickened.

"Well?" he prompted, voice lower now.

A slow smirk curled on my lips.

"Yeah," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "I knew you'd do something. I just didn't know what it would be."

His expression didn't change, but I caught the way his fingers twitched at his side.

"So I prepared," I continued, my voice steady. "The day the topic was assigned, I worked on an entirely different project. Just in case."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"That whole show? The book, the ripped pages, everything?" His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was something beneath it-a quiet, simmering frustration.

I shrugged. "All an act."

I could see the moment the realization fully set in.

The flicker of something almost amused in his gaze before it darkened again.

"You think this is a game, Oberoi?"

I leaned in slightly, just enough to let my voice drop between us.

"No, Malhotra. You think this is a game."

He didn't move. Neither did I.

The tension crackled, thick and suffocating, coiling in the space between us like an invisible force neither of us dared to acknowledge.

Then, I smiled.

"You forgot," I whispered, eyes locked on his. "I'm an Oberoi after all."

He exhaled through his nose, something dangerously unreadable flashing across his face.

"The chessboard is there," I murmured, watching as his grip on control tightened. "We both gave each other a checkmate. But you forgot-" I leaned back, slipping just out of reach. "There was another opening that let me escape."

For the first time, Danish Malhotra had nothing to say.

I turned before he could see the satisfied glint in my eyes, stepping past him with an ease that made my victory all the sweeter.

This round was mine.

I thought the conversation was over.

I had played my move, outmaneuvered him, and walked away victorious.

Or so I believed.

The moment I turned to leave, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

Firm. Unyielding.

A sharp breath escaped me, but before I could react, before I could even turn back to throw some scathing remark at him-he pulled me back.

Not roughly, not forcefully.

Deliberately.

The air shifted, thick with something I refused to name.

And then suddenly, I was no longer standing alone and the next thing I knew, my back wasn't against the wall anymore.

I was against him.

My spine straightened as my back met the solid wall of his chest, heat radiating through the thin barrier of my shirt. His fingers, still locked around my wrist, tightened just enough to remind me that this wasn't over.

I should've shoved him away.

I should've thrown my elbow into his ribs, told him to get out of my space, reminded him that this-whatever this was-was not part of our game.

But I didn't.

Because I couldn't.

Not when the air between us had turned electric, sparking with something far more dangerous than rivalry.

I swallowed hard.

His breath fanned against my cheek, warm and steady, and when I dared to glance up, I found his eyes locked onto mine-intense, dark, unreadable.

For the first time, neither of us had the upper hand.

For the first time, I was the one teetering on the edge.

His gaze flickered downward-to my lips.

A single heartbeat passed.

Then another.

And just like that, my pulse went traitor.

I was thinking about it.

I was actually thinking about closing the gap.

I could feel his hesitation. The way his grip on my wrist loosened. The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than before.

I swallowed.

I wasn't sure who moved first-if it was me, or him, or if the universe itself was pushing us together-but for one fleeting second, I thought it was going to happen.

My eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn't just his touch that was throwing me off balance-it was the way his hold on me wasn't harsh, but measured. The way he hadn't pulled me back to prove a point but because...

Because what?

I wasn't sure.

All I knew was that the space between us had never felt smaller.

My breathing hitched.

I swore I saw something flicker in his gaze-hesitation, temptation, something forbidden.

And then-

He was gone.

Vanished.

The second he let go, I felt it-the absence of him. The cool air rushed in, stealing the warmth that had been there only moments ago.

My body swayed, as if physically thrown off balance.

My eyes snapped open.

Nothing.

Just empty space where he had been.

Confusion struck first.

Then realization.

This-this vanishing act-was revenge, wasn't it?

For the library. For making a fool out of him.

A slow burn of humiliation curled in my stomach.

I clenched my fists.

Danish Malhotra wanted me to feel this way.

Wanted me to stand here, breathless and rattled, wondering what the hell had just happened.

I exhaled sharply, willing my heartbeat to steady.

And just when I thought the humiliation couldn't get worse-

A cough.

A very pointed cough.

My head snapped to the side.

Lakshi. Kritika. Anushka.

Standing there.

Watching.

Oh, hell.

Kritika's smirk was practically carved into her face. "Wow. That was..."

She tilted her head. "What's the word?"

Anushka bit her lip, eyes sparkling with laughter. "Intense."

Lakshi, the worst of them all, grinned like the devil himself. "Should we give you two a moment? Oh wait-" She glanced around dramatically. "He's already gone."

Heat rushed up my neck so fast I could feel it burning at the tips of my ears.

I pressed my books tighter against my chest, as if they could somehow shield me from their stares.

"This is not-" I started, voice sharp.

"Oh, we know," Kritika cut in, barely containing her laughter. "It's just an academic rivalry, right?"

Anushka nodded mockingly. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Oberoi."

Lakshi sighed dramatically. "I mean, Kiara, be honest. That looked a lot like a lovers' quarrel. The tension? The dramatic push and pull? Him pinning you against a wall?" She fake-fanned herself. "I was entertained."

Kritika clasped her hands together. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I ship it."

"I do not need you to 'ship' anything!" I hissed.

Lakshi gasped theatrically. "Wait, wait! Was he about to kiss you?"

I gaped at her. "No! Of course not!"

Kritika raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you look guilty?"

"I do not look guilty!"

"You kinda do," Anushka muttered under her breath.

Lakshi shook her head, clicking her tongue. "You know, if this were a book, you two would be the textbook definition of 'rivals-to-lovers.'"

Kritika leaned in, whispering dramatically. "Do you think he ran away because he was scared of his feelings?"

I groaned. "There are no feelings!"

Anushka tapped her chin. "So you're saying if he were to corner you again like that, you wouldn't consider kissing him?"

I inhaled sharply.

They all leaned in.

I exhaled, forcing my voice into something steady. "Absolutely. Not."

A beat of silence.

Then Lakshi, Kritika, and Anushka howled with laughter.

I was never going to live this down.

Danish Malhotra, I swear on my GPA, you will pay for this.

Irl danish lore part 2 on Saturday 🫶🏼