She had made it.
K.S. Academy of Art and Drama—India's most prestigious stage for dreamers. The classroom felt alive with energy—bright lights reflecting off the polished mirrors, rows of eager students whispering lines under their breath, and the faint scent of makeup and floor polish clinging to the air.
Gauri Kashyap listened intently, her eyes fixed on the instructor who paced with grace and fire in her tone. Every sentence felt like an invitation into a deeper world.
"The soul of acting," the instructor said, "isn't in the performance. It's in the truth you bleed into every word."
Gauri's pen moved quickly, capturing the line exactly the way it had been said. Every second in this room felt sacred. This wasn't just a class—it was the start of the life she had dreamed about for years.
And then came the noise.
The door burst open without warning.
A loud bang echoed, and every head turned. Laughter spilled in even before the intruders did. A group of senior students, nine or ten, walked in like they owned the place. No greetings. No apologies. Just loud voices, dramatic swagger, and the kind of confidence only privilege could buy.
They didn't head to the back.
They marched straight to the front—toward the instructor's table.
Gauri stiffened.
The instructor, visibly startled, held up a hand, her voice sharp but controlled."This is a running class. You have no business here—please leave."
But they didn't even blink.
A few leaned casually against the table, their grins wide and mocking. One of them even picked up a chalk and began scribbling nonsense on the board behind her. Another scrolled through his phone, laughing at something on the screen. The rest hovered—surrounding the space like it was their personal lounge.
The instructor tried again."This is inappropriate—"
No response.
Her voice, which had commanded the room just moments ago, now sounded small. Powerless.
No one moved. No one dared breathe too loud.
And then the temperature of the room dropped even lower.
The door opened again—quieter this time—but the silence that followed was deafening.
Four students entered.
There was something different about them—sharper and more dangerous. Their presence didn't demand attention—it stole it.
Two girls and two boys, all of them dressed like fashion walked for them, their faces unreadable. Expensive bags slung like afterthoughts, confidence dripping off them like perfume.
At the center of it all was him.
The boy in black.
He wore arrogance like a second skin. His designer jacket hugged his lean frame perfectly. His lips curled slightly, amused at a joke he hadn't even spoken. A pair of dark sunglasses sat stubbornly on his face, despite the indoor lights. He didn't scan the room—he inspected it, like it was beneath him.
There was something cruel in his stillness. Something calm and cold.
Gauri's gaze lingered.
Not because he was handsome—though he was, alarmingly so—but because his entire being screamed power. The wrong kind. The dangerous kind.
He didn't look like a student.
He looked like trouble.
Beside him, the girl with smoky eyes clung to his arm and followed as he walked to the teacher's desk like it belonged to him. He didn't stand. He sat on the table—on it, not beside it, not in front of it. Like the class, the teacher, the rules… none applied.
The girl sat beside him, pressing too close, whispering something in his ear that made him smirk lazily.
The two boys who came with them didn't sit. One stood to his left, arms crossed, jaw tight. The other flanked the right side, casually cracking his knuckles, his gaze daring anyone to speak.
The instructor froze.
Her hands dropped to her sides. Her voice—so alive just moments ago—had vanished. She didn't ask them to leave. Didn't say a word. She looked at them the way prey looks at predators.
No one dared speak.
Not even the senior students who had stormed in earlier. Now they stepped back slightly, giving space to the new arrivals. Like even they knew their place in this unspoken hierarchy.
Gauri sat still, her pen resting against the page.
The silence after their arrival didn't last long.
One of the older boys—the tallest among the first group—clapped once, loud and sharp."So," he said, grinning. "Let's get to know our dear juniors, hmm?"
His voice was mock-sweet, but his eyes were already scanning for prey.
The instructor remained frozen, staring at the board behind them as if it might offer a way out. No help came.
They began picking names.
One by one, the juniors were called to the front. It started casually. Someone was asked to mimic a chicken. Another was told to propose to a chair. A girl was ordered to cry like a Bollywood heroine for a full minute. Those who did it without protest got humiliated with loud laughter and mocking applause.
"Waah waah!" someone shouted. "What an actor, give her a National Award!"
But the moment someone hesitated—or worse, refused—everything changed.
The tone dropped. The smirks disappeared. Verbal threats turned physical. One boy who denied a task had his bag thrown across the room. A girl who tried to speak up was screamed at until she sat back down, trembling.
Gauri's hands clenched on her notebook.
This wasn't fun.
This was cruelty painted as a joke.
She turned to speak—but a hand grabbed her wrist under the desk. Her friend, Shreya, shook her head quickly. Eyes wide in fear.
"Don't," she whispered. "Please… just don't."
Gauri bit her lip, watching another junior—barely older than a schoolboy—get pushed around while being forced to dance on top of a bench.
Then came her name.
"Gauri Kashyap!" Akshay called, voice theatrical. "Come, come. The class must get to know you properly."
She looked up in disbelief.
The spotlight suddenly shifted.
Whispers passed like a current. Heads turned. Even those from the senior batch who had seemed bored before leaned forward now.
She stood.
Clad in a simple white kurti and worn-out jeans, Gauri walked to the front slowly. No makeup. No flashy fashion. But something about her—something soft yet steady—silenced the whispers.
For a moment, the room simply watched.
Even Veer.
His dark glasses hid his eyes, but his head tilted slightly, attention hooked. His gaze didn't flicker.
Anaya noticed.
Seated too close beside him, she stiffened. Her lips pursed as she glanced from Veer to the girl in front.
Akshay, ever the brat, noticed the shift and turned with a crooked smirk. Veer leaned slightly toward him and murmured something under his breath.
Whatever it was, it made Akshay grin like the devil had whispered a joke in his ear.
He stepped toward Gauri, too close for comfort.
She instinctively stepped back.
"You're pretty, aren't you?" he said, voice low and mocking. "Our leader thinks so too. So…"
He leaned even closer.
"…why don't you give him a little lap dance? Cheer him up. Show some respect to the king of this College —Veer Rana."
Gauri's eyes went wide.
Her head snapped toward the boy in black. He hadn't moved. He hadn't even smiled. Just watched. Calm. Silent. That unreadable smirk still playing on his lips.
"No," she said firmly, taking a full step back now.
The smile vanished from Akshay's face.
His jaw tightened as he took a step forward, menace in his posture now.
But before he could say anything more, another voice cut in.
"Maybe explain it to her more softly," said Avinash, one of the boys standing beside Veer. He approached, trying to sound more reasonable.
"It'll be better if you just do it. Just once. It'll all be over."
But Gauri stood her ground.
Her chin lifted.
"I'm not here for this," she said, loud and clear. "And I'm going to report this. Whatever this is—it's not happening."
Akshay let out a mocking laugh, turning slightly and gesturing behind him.
"Report to whom?" he said, pointing toward the teacher who still stood silently, eyes averted. "Her?"
More laughter.
But it stopped the moment Veer stood up.
Without a word, he pulled off his glasses, revealing eyes sharp as glass, unreadable yet focused entirely on one thing.
Her.