Arya's P O V

"Let it all out, right from the start," I press, my eagerness evident.

His focus remains on his mug as a heavy sigh escapes him. Silence fills the room momentarily, only to be broken by the slow lift of his gaze to meet mine. The corners of his eyes glisten with tears, catching me unawares. This is the same person whose smile is as constant as the sun, yet now he's on the cusp of tears. Which facet should I trust—the one that radiates joy or the one that brims with sorrow?

After a brief pause, he begins.

"I had just embarked on my journey as a professor. The thrill of being addressed as 'sir,' engaging with students, imparting knowledge in the classroom, and assisting them—it was all exhilaratingly fresh.

I'd seen her in my classes before, but she remained an unfamiliar face until that incident.One day, I realized I'd left my wallet behind in my office. Panic surged through me as I recollected the credit cards, IDs, and other essentials nestled within it. Leaving everything unattended overnight wasn't an option, so I opted to return to the college.

As I arrived, the campus lay cloaked in darkness, deserted by all. I headed straight for my office, scouring it feverishly for my wallet. But then, an abrupt noise echoed from the vicinity of the classrooms. It was 8 pm, and I was baffled by who might be present at such a late hour.

Intrigued, I pursued the sound, yet nothing suspicious met my gaze. The surroundings seemed steeped in silence and shadows. Just as I considered retreating, a faint tune—a cellphone's ringtone—permeated the air. I pondered who could be within the college's confines at this hour.I retraced my steps and pinpointed the source—a trash bin. Digging through its contents, I discovered a bag and a collection of tattered books. The phone's insistent ring persisted from within the bag, fueling my unease.

My eyes wandered, alighting on the floor, where a girl's scarf lay forsaken near a classroom door. I attempted to unlatch the door, but it resisted my efforts. I couldn't help but wonder if the earlier clamor had originated from within that room.

"Is someone there?" I called out, met with resounding silence. My forehead met the glass door as I peered through, and my heart sank upon spotting an unmoving figure on the floor. Panic surged, and I fumbled for my phone, dialing for help in desperation. But the guard was nowhere in sight, and under my breath, I muttered, "That guard's out of a job tomorrow."

My attempts to unlock the door through sheer determination only fueled my anxiety. The person within remained unresponsive. Knocking, pounding—I tried them all, yet no response was forthcoming. And so, with determination hardening within me, I resolved to seek out spare keys, hoping they lay concealed somewhere within the principal's office."

I looked everywhere in the office, turning things over and checking every nook. Luckily, I found a set of spare keys. I hurried back to the classroom door, my hands shaking as I put the key in and unlocked it. The door made a creaky noise as I pushed it open. Inside, I saw a girl lying on the floor, not moving. I tried to wake her up gently, but she didn't respond. So, I carefully picked her up and carried her outside, hoping the fresh air would help her feel better. After a little while, she slowly opened her eyes, and I felt so relieved. When she looked up at me, her eyes were really striking.

I helped her sit on the stairs and asked if she was okay. But she seemed scared and couldn't say anything. She was breathing heavily, and her whole body was shaking. I didn't know how to make her feel better, so I put my hand on her shoulder, and she suddenly hugged me really tight. It surprised me, but I tried to comfort her.

"It's alright, things will be okay," I said softly, patting her back gently. She was shaking so much, and her heart was racing.

At that moment, I felt scared too, seeing her so worried. I just wanted to make her feel safe. When we let go of the hug, I ran to my car and got a water bottle, offering it to her to drink.

I had a feeling that she might have been bullied, so when she seemed a bit better, I asked her what was wrong. She was too scared to talk about it then. So, I took down her phone number and address, and I asked her to meet me the next day. But she didn't want me to give her a ride home, and she said not to tell her family.

In the days after that, she didn't come to college. I got worried, so I called her.

"Hello," she said, sounding nervous.

"Why haven't you been coming to college?" I asked.

"I haven't been feeling well," she said, her voice shaky.

"Don't worry," I told her, trying to sound reassuring. "Come to my office tomorrow, and we'll talk. If you haven't done anything wrong, you don't need to be scared. We'll figure things out. And don't worry, I won't tell your parents."

She came to my office the next day, looking scared but also hopeful. After some gentle talking, she started telling me what had happened. It was a story about how she was bullied, and I promised her that we would make things right.

As we talked more and more, I got to know her better. She wasn't like the other girls her age. She was simple and didn't care about having fancy things. Her choice of plain clothes made her stand out in a good way. There was something unique about her beauty that caught my attention.

As we searched for the truth, we uncovered the people who were causing her problems. These students came from wealthy families, used to getting their way due to their family's influence. When she had to face them during the investigation, I gave her a nod to let her know I was there for her. She showed incredible courage when answering their questions. When the rich parents tried to interfere with the investigation, I threatened to involve the media, which made them back off.

She came to thank me, tears in her eyes. I stood up, and she hugged me tightly. I held her, trying to comfort her. It felt right, like it was something I wanted too. It was then that I realized I had feelings for her beyond just helping her.

We decided to meet for coffee, and that marked the beginning of our meetings. Each time I saw her smile upon seeing me, it made my day.

One day, I gathered my courage and wrote my feelings in a card for her. I handed it to her, and her face lit up. But then she looked concerned. She admitted that she was worried about dating a professor because it went against the rules.

I understood her worries. In our culture, teachers were held in high regard.I held her hand and said, "You're right. We can't date while you're my student. But what if you dated someone named Ahan who's not your professor? I can wait until you graduate. After all, how long will you be my student? Maybe two more years. Then, I won't be your professor anymore." She smiled, agreeing with me.

But deep down, we knew it wasn't so simple. Our journey was going to be complicated, going beyond student and teacher, dealing with our age gap of 26 and 21, and overcoming the labels society put on us. It meant moving from "you" and "me" to "us."

Things were going smoothly. My first year of teaching was rewarding, and she was navigating her second year. One day, after finishing her exams, she entered my office looking exhausted and defeated. She needed some clarification about her syllabus, but it was clear she was struggling. 

The room felt intimate with just the two of us, and I couldn't resist offering her comfort through a gentle embrace.

However, the next day, our pictures were all over the college's online platforms, sparking a storm of controversy.

"Student bribing her way to success with the professor."

"Professor involved in private tutoring for personal gain."

"Unveiling the secrets behind top-performing female students."

"Mastering exams in under an hour: A hidden technique revealed."

And the internet was flooded with even more hurtful posts...

Ahan paused his story and showed me his phone, swiping through the screen to reveal the extent of the hateful comments. I looked at it, feeling a sinking feeling in my chest at the sheer cruelty displayed in those words.

"I knew it! These new professors can't control themselves."

"Obviously, it's because her dad is the owner. She thinks she's above the rules."

"Haha, so this is what 'personal doubt sessions' mean."

"Let's be mature, guys. It's their private lives. They aren't doing this in the classroom!"

"Couldn't he wait until he's off-campus? It's a college, not a bedroom."

"Sure, the professor is good-looking, but let's not get carried away."

"Shame on you, girl! How low can you go for good grades?"

"She's just chasing a hot professor, no brains."

The hurtful words went on and on, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. How could people be so harsh and quick to judge?

"Can't he hold his d*ck in his pant until he's in college? It's college, not his bedroom."

"I know the professor is hot, but girl, don't get horny for your professor!"

"Shame on you, girl! How can someone do that just to get a high score?"

"This girl doesn't have any sense; she just wants to ride hot professor...

I can't believe it! The amount of damage a single online post can cause is staggering. Do people even think about the impact of their words on others? It's as if they forget their own humanity once they enter the virtual world. It's shocking to witness how cruel people can be.

How did I not see it? How could I have been so blind to the fear in her eyes? I trusted her fake smiles without realizing the pain she was concealing. Arya, I want to shake you! Your sister was struggling, and you were too engrossed in those cheesy drama shows about boys making out.

I used to think that college would mature individuals, but I should have realized that intelligence doesn't automatically come with a college degree. Some people will always lack basic decency.All these hurtful posts are from a month ago. My sister has been battling this alone for an entire month. I can only imagine how each cruel comment must have pierced her heart. Facing judgment from others must have been utterly devastating. Wait... That explains why she hasn't been going to college for a month. How did I not notice this earlier?

"What happened next?" I ask, my anxiety growing.

He avoids my gaze, his attention fixed on his mug. He sighs before responding,

"Well, my father, or should I say, President Asif Khan, was furious. He called me that night and unleashed his anger. He claimed he had dedicated his life to building the college's reputation, and I had destroyed it in a single day. When I confessed my feelings for Meghana, things escalated into a heated argument, and he... he slapped me. And when the situation spiraled out of control, the college decided to suspend Meghana pending an inquiry and final decision."

I gasp, "Wait a second... Your dad owns the college, and you allowed him to make that decision? And secondly... why are you making coffee for me when it's her who got suspended? And what was this so-called 'final decision'?"

"I tried... I really did try to make him understand, to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. He said it was impossible. If the truth came out, it would tarnish the college's reputation. First, she was my student, and second... she was Hindu. He kept repeating one thing... It would ruin my career, especially since it was my first year. In fact, he gave me an ultimatum: either end the relationship or face the consequences. If I broke up with her, he promised not to ruin Meghana's life... until..."

"Until what?" I slam my hand onto the table once again.

The professor's tears seem like they're no match for the anger boiling within me. His sobs only fuel my frustration as he continues to tremble like a leaf in a storm. "Until the day before tomorrow," he manages to say through choked breaths. "My father finally asked me if I would break up with her or not. I said no, and his response was 'fine.' He then sent her the official letter of expulsion from the college..."

"What??" I erupt, practically springing to my feet. "They expelled her, and here you are, sitting like some serene sage, nursing your coffee! Professor Ahan, this is exactly why she hesitated to be with you! This is why she didn't want to be your 'girlfriend'! And you let her believe everything was under control while you couldn't lift a finger to truly protect her. She faced torment, got banished from these damned halls... Her whole academic year, her life, it's all obliterated now. No decent university will touch her with that expulsion branding her. Our parents are itching to force a marriage on her, and they won't think twice after this. Her social life's been shredded, her dreams smashed to pieces, and when they marry her off, it's curtains for her aspirations. You? You've got nothing to lose, but she? She's lost it all... Everything!"

I can't stand to breathe the same air as him for another second. If I stay here any longer, I swear I'll punch him square in the jaw. "Enjoy your little utopian bubble," I spit out in sheer disbelief. Swiping up my bag, I stride towards the exit, my steps heavy with anger and disdain. But just as I'm about to storm out, his voice stops me.

"Do you think any of this has been a cakewalk for me?" His voice breaks through, laced with frustration and weariness. "Is it easy to walk through these college corridors with every gaze dissecting your soul? Is it effortless to strike up a conversation with a female student, knowing they're dissecting your intentions? Is it a walk in the park to enter that faculty room, where hushed murmurs follow your every move? Is it simple to greet a colleague, fully aware your words will meet silence? Do you think it's a breeze to stand in front of those students who have so freely voiced their opinions on those cursed posts?

 Do you even have an inkling of why those students stared at us while we sat here? They were probably feasting on the juicy gossip about our supposed romance, despite you being all of sixteen. It's not easy. It never has been, and it never will be. Not for her, and not for me. But I've faced it, unlike your sister. She didn't return my calls; she skipped every inquiry meeting I waited for, making committee members tap their feet. We could have resolved this in one sitting, but she was nowhere to be found. How do you expect the committee to uncover the truth if she won't speak up? If she won't clarify that no one coerced her into that picture? If she won't assert that her grades weren't hanging in the balance? If I won't confirm that I didn't force her into anything? They can only conclude based on our college's 'reputation at risk' protocol because they're left with no other option."

His voice grows weary, hanging in the air. "Look, even I can't stand to watch her life crumble. I'll do whatever it takes to help her. Just convey to her that it's not the end. I won't let her future unravel. She still has a chance, as long as she returns to college. I'll fight to ensure she's granted another opportunity to speak her truth, and I'll plead with the committee to listen."

I'm stunned, rendered speechless. My focus had been so narrow, solely on my sister's suffering, but the reality was much more complex. These two individuals, one pouring his heart out before me, taking the blame for my sister's shattered life, and the other crying alone in the bathroom, believing she's demolished his reputation, both bear the weight of the same anguish.

I turn to him, my hand finding its place on his shoulder, "I'm sorry. I should have realized that both of you were hurting. My sister might not be the bravest, and yes, she's often foolishly ignorant of how to face problems. But I promise she will be there for the next meeting. Just inform me of when it is. But before that, I have some crucial matters to attend to."