The peace that followed the incident with Vikas was fragile, thin, and unnerving, like the silence after a bomb blast. Rihan's physical wounds began to heal. The cast came off after six long weeks, replaced by a pronounced limp that lessened with each passing day of painful physiotherapy. But the psychological landscape of his life, and that of his friends, had been permanently altered.
On campus, he was no longer a target for bullies, but he had become something else entirely: a curiosity, a pariah, an object of fear by proxy. Students would part for him in the corridors. No one sat at his table in the canteen unless Kritika or Ashutosh was already there. He was the boy whose enemies had a habit of falling from high places. He was radioactive.
This new, isolating status brought an unwelcome form of attention. Professor Verma, who taught Advanced Database Management, was a bitter, power-tripping man in his late fifties. He was a scholar of some repute in his youth, but decades of perceived slights and professional disappointments had curdled his intellect into a potent form of academic sadism. He was known for singling out one student each semester to make an example of, a scapegoat for his own frustrations. This year, his baleful, hawk-like gaze fell upon Rihan.
Perhaps it was Rihan's new notoriety. Perhaps it was his limp, a sign of weakness that men like Verma are drawn to. Or perhaps he just needed a new target.
It started subtly. Snide remarks during lectures about his "extended vacation" after the hospitalization. "Some students have all the luck. Months off to relax while the rest of us must work." Unfairly low grades on assignments that Rihan, a diligent and talented student, knew were flawless. Comments scribbled in red ink like "Sloppy thinking" and "Trivial approach" on work he had spent days perfecting.
Then, the harassment escalated. Verma began a campaign of public humiliation. He would ask Rihan impossibly obscure questions in class, questions that went far beyond the syllabus, and then mock his inability to answer with a cruel, thin-lipped smile. "Mr. Malik, it seems your time off has addled your brain. Perhaps you should consider a less demanding field of study? Basket weaving, perhaps?" The rest of the class would stare at their desks, a mixture of pity and relief that it wasn't them.
The final straw came when Verma accused Rihan of cheating on the mid-term exam. There was no evidence, of course, because Rihan hadn't cheated. But Verma's word was law in his classroom. He made Rihan retake the exam in his office, standing over him the entire time, making little noises of disapproval and tapping his pen impatiently on the desk. It was a slow, grinding psychological torture that chipped away at Rihan's already fragile confidence, threatening to undo all the progress he had made.
Rihan was miserable. The old fear, the familiar, sick feeling of being hunted and helpless, returned with a vengeance. He tried to talk to the Head of the Department, but Professor Verma was tenured, a long-standing member of the faculty. It was his word against that of a student with a... complicated reputation. The HOD listened sympathetically but ultimately did nothing.
He confided in Ruhi one evening as they sat by the quiet, man-made lake on the far side of the campus, a popular spot for couples. The setting sun painted the sky in fiery colours, but Rihan felt only a cold, grey despair.
"I don't know what to do," he said, skipping a flat stone across the placid water. It bounced twice before sinking. "He's going to fail me. I know he is. He hates me for some reason, and I haven't done anything to him."
Ruhi listened in silence, her body growing still, her expression hardening with each word he spoke. He saw it again, that familiar, cold fire beginning to smolder in the depths of her brown eyes. The air around her seemed to drop a few degrees.
"He's harassing you," she stated, her voice tight with a carefully suppressed fury. "That's not just unfair grading. It's targeted harassment. It's unacceptable."
"But what can I do?" Rihan asked helplessly. "No one will believe me. I'm stuck."
Ruhi turned and placed her hand on his cheek, her touch gentle and cool, a stark contrast to the palpable rage he could feel radiating from her. "You don't have to do anything," she said, her voice dropping to that soft, intense whisper he was beginning to dread. It was the same tone she had used in the hospital. "I told you. I will always take care of you."
A cold, visceral premonition snaked around Rihan's heart. He felt a jolt of pure terror. "Ruhi, no," he said quickly, grabbing her hand. "Don't. Don't do anything. Please. It's just a professor. I'll handle it. I'll just study harder, I'll pass his class, and then it will be over. I don't want any more... trouble." He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'coincidences'.
Ruhi's expression softened instantly, the fury vanishing as if a switch had been flipped. She looked at him with tender, loving concern. "Of course, my love," she said, her voice warm again. She leaned in and kissed him lightly. "You're right. We'll handle it the proper way. I'll draft a formal complaint tomorrow. We'll get other students to sign it. We'll build a case. We'll use the system."
Her words should have reassured him. They were logical, reasonable, the words of the brilliant, law-abiding College President he knew and loved. But he felt no relief. The swiftness of her change in demeanor was, in itself, unsettling.
Two days later, the campus was buzzing with shocking news yet again. Professor Verma had suffered a terrible 'accident'. He had apparently been working late in his office in the Humanities building. While descending the grand, sweeping main staircase, he had fallen. He had fallen badly. Both of his legs were badly broken, and he had sustained a serious back injury. The official story, put out by the college administration, was that he had slipped on a misplaced "Wet Floor" sign left by the cleaning crew. He would be on medical leave for the rest of the semester, possibly longer.
When Rihan heard the news in the canteen, his blood ran cold. He felt like he was going to be sick. He dropped his fork, which clattered loudly on his plate.
Another 'accident'. Another person who had hurt him, now broken. Two broken legs.
The pattern was no longer a suspicion; it was a terrifying, undeniable, screaming truth.
He confronted Ruhi that evening. He didn't call, he just went, his heart hammering in his chest. He found her in the library, in their usual spot, calmly reading a book as if nothing had happened.
"Did you do it?" he demanded, his voice a harsh, ragged whisper. He didn't want to cause a scene, but he was unable to contain his agitation.
Ruhi looked up from her book, her face a perfect mask of innocent confusion. "Do what, Rihan? What on earth are you talking about?"
"Professor Verma!" he hissed, leaning over the table. "Don't lie to me, Ruhi. His legs... they're broken. Both of them. Just like what happened to Vikas."
A flicker of something—disappointment? annoyance?—crossed her features before being instantly replaced by her usual serene calm. "Rihan, you're being hysterical. The professor slipped. It was a tragic accident. The whole college is talking about it. There are even some nasty rumors that you and your friends might have had something to do with it, which is, of course, ridiculous."
"But the rumors are saying he's denying it!" Rihan's voice was rising in panic. "They're saying he's telling the police someone pushed him from behind!"
"Grieving, traumatized people are often confused," she said reasonably, her calm a stark contrast to his panic. "Maybe he's mistaken. Maybe it really was just an accident. These things happen." She reached out for his hand across the table, but he flinched away as if her touch would burn him.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, the first crack in her placid facade. "You can't possibly think that I..." She trailed off, letting the wounded implication hang in the air. She managed to look hurt, her lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "That I would be capable of such violence? Rihan, look at me."
Her performance was flawless, so utterly perfect and convincing that for a fleeting moment, Rihan's resolve wavered. Was he going crazy? Was he the one who was seeing monsters where there were only unfortunate shadows?
"I don't know," he said, his voice filled with a raw, helpless despair. "I don't know what to think anymore. First Vikas and his friends, now Verma. Everyone who hurts me gets... punished. Horribly. It's not normal, Ruhi."
"You're right," she said, her expression turning serious and loving. "This is a very serious matter, and it's clearly taking a toll on you." She stood up, came around the table, and pulled him into a hug. "But I know everything will be fine. Don't think about it anymore. The problem is gone. You're safe."
He let her hold him, his body rigid with a terrible, internal conflict. Her embrace, which had once been his ultimate sanctuary, now felt like the bars of a beautiful, velvet-lined prison. Her words, meant to soothe, felt like a quiet, chilling confession. The problem is gone.
His suspicion was no longer a seed; it was a thorny, suffocating vine, wrapping itself around his heart, squeezing the very air from his lungs. He was in love with a woman who was his guardian angel, his protector, his mentor, his everything. And he was becoming terrifyingly certain that she was also a monster.
He knew he had to find proof. He had to understand the truth of who—and what—he had fallen in love with. That night, for the first time, he lied to her. He told her he was going to his room to rest. Instead, he went straight to Kritika's hostel. He found her with Ashutosh, the two of them talking in low, worried tones. He looked at their faces, his two oldest friends, and the words tumbled out of him in a torrent of fear and confusion.
He told them everything. His suspicions, his fears, the chilling words Ruhi had said. He saw in their eyes that they had already been walking down the same dark path in their own minds. Their small group was no longer bound just by friendship, but by a shared, unspoken, and utterly terrifying secret.
They had to find out the truth. They had to find a way to look into the heart of the shadow that was protecting him.