HIS STUDENT

Chapter 1 - Aarohi

They say college life is supposed to be the best time of your life. For me, it feels more like a second chance.

“My name is Aarohi,” I whispered to myself that morning, the words barely audible as I stood in front of the tall glass building of Nitte University. Twenty-one years old, first-year master’s student, clutching my books so tightly my knuckles had turned white. I wasn’t new to classrooms or exams, but this felt different. Bigger. Final. As if everything I had worked for had led me to this single moment.

On the outside, I probably looked like any other girl walking in for her first lecture. Simple kurta, hair tied back neatly, notebook tucked under my arm. But inside… inside I was trembling. People often saw me as the quiet, studious one, the girl who always kept her head down. What they didn’t know was that I carried a past filled with cracks—broken trust, sleepless nights, and too many moments where I doubted my worth.

But here I was, determined to put myself back together.

The classroom was buzzing with whispers when I entered, the kind that made you feel like you were already late to something important. Groups of students chatted confidently about professors, projects, and future plans. I slid into the last row, trying to disappear. My heart hammered in my chest, my palms damp against the cover of my notebook.

And then the room fell silent.

He walked in.

Dr. Vihaan Malhotra.

I had heard of him even before setting foot here. Strict. Cold. Perfectionist. A man you did not want to cross. Some students admired him, others feared him. All agreed on one thing—he was impossible to ignore.

Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, he walked to the front with an authority that didn’t need to be announced. His glasses framed sharp features, but it was his eyes that struck me—dark, steady, carrying the weight of someone who had lived too much and trusted too little.

He placed his laptop on the desk, adjusted his sleeves once more, and scanned the room. For a brief second, his gaze lingered on me. My breath caught in my throat.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was deep, smooth, but carried an edge that demanded silence. “I’m Dr. Vihaan Malhotra. I’ll be taking this course. Let me be clear from the beginning—punctuality, discipline, and commitment are non-negotiable. If you think you can get through this by doing the bare minimum, you’re in the wrong place.”

The words sliced through the air, and a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I quickly lowered my gaze, pretending to scribble notes I hadn’t yet taken.

“This project,” he continued, “will require every ounce of your effort. Time, energy, focus. I don’t care for excuses, and I don’t tolerate carelessness. If you’re here, be prepared to give me your best.”

I swallowed hard. His tone should have scared me—and it did—but there was something magnetic about it too. Something that made me want to rise to the challenge.

The lecture began. He moved through concepts with precision, explaining each point clearly, his voice steady and sure. While most professors leaned on notes or slides, he barely glanced at his. It was like the subject lived inside him, pouring out in a way that drew you in.

I told myself to focus on the words, but half the time I found myself staring. Not just at him, but at the way he carried himself. Controlled, composed, as though nothing could rattle him.

“Aarohi, is it?”

His voice cut through my thoughts like a blade. My head jerked up, heat rushing to my face.

“Uh—yes, sir,” I stammered, gripping my pen like it might anchor me.

“Would you mind answering the question I just asked?” His eyes were on me now, sharp but not unkind.

My throat went dry. Had he noticed I wasn’t paying attention? Frantically, I searched my notes. Somehow, words formed, shaky but clear enough, and I managed to answer.

For a long second, he just looked at me. Then, to my utter shock, a faint curve touched his lips. A ghost of a smile.

“Correct,” he said simply, before turning back to the board.

It was nothing, really. Just one word. But my chest felt lighter, as though I’d earned something small but precious.

When the lecture ended, I hurriedly packed my books, desperate to escape before my classmates noticed the pink in my cheeks. But just as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

“Aarohi.”

I froze. Slowly turned.

“Yes, sir?”

His gaze met mine, steady, unreadable. “You answered well. Don’t doubt yourself so much.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I nodded quickly, unable to form words.

And just like that, my carefully built walls trembled. Because in that single moment, it felt like he had seen me—the real me, the broken girl I tried so hard to hide.

And worse, I couldn’t look away.