Rihan's life transformed overnight. The corrosive whispers that used to follow him down the corridors of St. Xavier's, the muttered insults of 'darpok' (coward) and 'chashmish' (four-eyes), changed their tune. They became hushed, curious murmurs. The shoves and trips ceased entirely, as if an invisible, electrified fence now surrounded him. He was no longer Rihan the Victim; he was Rihan, Ruhi Soni's project. Ruhi Soni's friend.
But this new, gleaming shield of safety came with a strange and unwelcome side effect: a profound loneliness. His old acquaintances, few as they were, now seemed too intimidated to approach him. They would see him, offer a hesitant, nervous smile, and then hurry away, as if his proximity to power was contagious and they feared catching it. He had become an anomaly: the weak boy protected by the strongest girl on campus, an oddity that no one knew how to classify.
In this new, rarefied atmosphere, his only real anchors, the only people who still treated him like him, were Kritika Kaur and Ashutosh Singh.
Kritika was a force of nature, a whirlwind of brightly coloured dupattas, clanking silver bangles, and unfiltered opinions. She was a journalism student with a personality as fiery as her perpetually henna-streaked hair. She had been his neighbour and closest friend since they were children, a fierce protector in her own right who had fought many of his playground battles for him long before they ever set foot in college. Her loyalty was as bright and unwavering as her personality, a constant, comforting presence in his life.
Ashutosh was his best buddy in the truest, most understated sense of the word. Calm, pragmatic, and built like the rugby player he was, he was the stoic yin to Rihan's anxious yang. An engineering student, he approached life like a complex problem to be solved with logic and, if necessary, brute force. They shared a bond forged in late-night study sessions fueled by chai and samosas, a mutual love for old Amitabh Bachchan action movies, and an unspoken understanding that transcended the need for constant conversation. Ashutosh was the brother Rihan never had.
A few days after the "incident," the three of them were sitting on their usual bench near the bustling college canteen, a spot strategically chosen for its proximity to good food and its distance from the main thoroughfares. They were trying to pretend things were normal. Rihan was recounting a particularly difficult data structures lecture, his voice still tinged with the awe of a student who had found a subject he genuinely loved.
"...and the way the professor explained recursion, it was like a lightbulb went on. It's not just a loop, it's a philosophy, you know?" he was saying, his hands gesturing excitedly.
Ashutosh, who was methodically working his way through a plate of chole bhature, suddenly elbowed him in the ribs, his eyes fixed on something over Rihan's shoulder.
"Don't look now, but your guardian angel is approaching," Ashutosh muttered around a mouthful of food, a hint of wry amusement in his voice.
Rihan's stomach did a nervous flip-flop. The casual term 'guardian angel' felt both perfectly apt and terrifyingly inadequate. He turned, and sure enough, Ruhi was walking towards them, moving with her signature unhurried grace. Against the chaotic, chattering backdrop of the canteen, she was an island of calm. She was dressed in a simple but elegant white kurti and jeans, a stark contrast to their casual, slightly disheveled state.
"Hey," she said, her gaze sweeping over the three of them. It wasn't an accusation, just a simple greeting, but it carried a weight that made Kritika and Ashutosh instinctively sit up a little straighter. The President's presence was always felt.
"Uh, hi," Kritika said, her usual boisterousness toned down a notch. She smoothed down her vibrant dupatta, a gesture of nervous self-consciousness that was very unlike her. "We were just... talking."
Ruhi's eyes softened as they landed on Rihan, her gaze briefly checking the bandage on his head, which was now smaller and less conspicuous. A flicker of a smile, the first genuine one he had seen from her that wasn't tinged with concern or strategy, appeared on her lips. "Don't be so formal," she said, her voice warm and melodic. "Chill, guys. I'm not here to conduct an inspection."
She paused, her gaze moving from Rihan to Kritika and then to Ashutosh, a silent, appraising look. "I was thinking... from today onward, we should all spend time together."
The statement dropped into the air between them with the weight of a dropped textbook. Kritika and Ashutosh exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief. Rihan just stared, his mind struggling to process the proposition. The four of them? Together? The powerful, enigmatic President; the brawny, pragmatic best friend; the fiery, outspoken childhood pal; and the timid, recently rescued project? It was the premise for a bizarre sitcom, not real life.
"Are you... sure?" Ashutosh asked, voicing the question that was hanging in the air. He wiped his hands carefully on a napkin. "You're the President. You must be crazy busy. We're just..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at their little group.
"I can make time for my friends," Ruhi replied smoothly, the word 'friends' deliberately and subtly including all of them in its embrace. She looked directly at Rihan, a silent question in her eyes. "Unless you have a problem with it?"
"No! No, of course not," Rihan stammered, feeling a hot blush creep up his neck. The idea was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Kritika, ever the bold one, recovered first. The initial shock gave way to a burgeoning curiosity. A wide, intrigued grin spread across her face. "Well, I'm not one to turn down an offer to hang with the elite. What's on the agenda, Madam President? World domination? Or just coffee?"
Ruhi's smile widened, becoming genuine and truly beautiful for the first time. It lit up her whole face. "I was thinking a movie this weekend. My treat. There's a new spy thriller out at the Raj Mandir."
And just like that, with the casualness of a summer breeze, the unlikeliest of friendships was forged.
True to her word, Ruhi began to weave herself into the fabric of their small, tight-knit group. It was strange and awkward at first. They went to the movies, and Ruhi, having called ahead, had pre-booked the best seats in the opulent, meringue-like interior of the Raj Mandir cinema. They went for a walk through the bustling Johari Bazaar, and Ruhi seemed to know the owner of a famous lassi shop, who insisted on giving them their drinks on the house. They went to a local fair near the Jal Mahal, and the ride operators, recognizing her from a college outreach program she had organized, let them skip the long, sweaty lines. She moved through the world with an ease and a subtle, unspoken privilege they had never experienced.
Ashutosh was quietly observant, clearly impressed by her quiet confidence and intellect, but also wary of the invisible web of influence that surrounded her. He treated her with a respectful distance, like a fascinating but potentially dangerous piece of machinery.
Kritika was utterly fascinated. Her journalistic instincts on high alert, she peppered Ruhi with questions about student politics, her family, her future plans, trying to peel back the layers of the enigmatic President. To Rihan's surprise, Ruhi answered most of her questions patiently, if a little vaguely, creating a carefully curated image of a girl from a well-to-do but normal family who simply believed in doing good.
And Rihan... Rihan was falling.
He was falling hard, tumbling headfirst into an abyss of adoration. He was falling for the way she would listen intently, her head tilted slightly, to his rambling, enthusiastic explanations of a new programming concept he'd learned. He was falling for the way she'd laugh, a rare, beautiful sound like wind chimes, at one of Ashutosh's dry, sarcastic jokes. He was falling for the way she'd debate fiercely but fairly with Kritika about a film's plot holes, her intellect sharp and dazzling.
He started to see a side of her that he was sure no one else did. He saw the flicker of deep-seated loneliness in her eyes when she thought no one was watching her, particularly when they passed a group of girls laughing and gossiping together. He saw the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand when a loud truck backfired on the street, a sound that startled her far more than it should have. He started to see the tiny, hairline cracks in the flawless fortress.
One evening, they were studying in the college library, a grand, high-ceilinged hall that always smelled of old paper and polish. Kritika and Ashutosh were bickering in hushed whispers over a complex engineering formula, and Rihan was struggling with a particularly convoluted algorithm, his frustration mounting, his thoughts a tangled mess of code and logic.
Ruhi, who had been silently reading a thick, leather-bound copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude," leaned over from her side of the large oak table. "You're overthinking it," she said softly, her voice for his ears only. Her proximity made his skin tingle. "You're trying to see the whole staircase at once. You just need to focus on the next step."
She took his pen and, on a scrap piece of paper, broke the complex problem down into small, simple, manageable chunks. Her explanation was a masterpiece of clarity, concise and brilliant. In a few short moments, the tangled mess in his mind unraveled completely. The logic clicked into place.
"How... how did you do that?" he asked, genuinely amazed. Her mind was like a diamond, hard and beautiful and multifaceted.
She looked at him, and in the warm, golden glow of the library lamp, her brown eyes seemed to hold ancient secrets. "Everything is manageable if you break it down into smaller pieces," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "Even the things that seem impossible."
He felt a powerful connection to her in that moment, a sense of being truly seen and understood that went beyond mere protection. She wasn't just his protector; she was his mentor, his guide, his intellectual equal. His respect, already immense, was blossoming into something deeper, something warmer, something that made his heart beat a little faster whenever she was near.
The friendship was blooming, a strange and beautiful four-petaled flower in the harsh, competitive ecosystem of college life. But Rihan, utterly captivated by its intoxicating beauty and fragrance, was too blissfully happy to notice the dark, twisted roots from which it was growing.