TRISHA
This gala better be worth all the suffering.
With each step, I felt like I was walking a tightrope, balancing grace and disaster. My saree, a deceptively elegant creation of soft silk, seemed determined to sabotage me. One wrong step and I knew I'd either trip or rip the pleats apart. Avika and Ria weren't faring any better. Every few seconds, one of us let out a yelp as a foot landed on the trailing fabric.
"Damn this saree! How do aunties do it so effortlessly?" Avika muttered, gripping her pleats like they were a lifeline.
"Magic," Ria replied, wobbling slightly on her heels. "And years of experience. We are but mere amateurs."
I couldn't help but laugh. The three of us, usually so confident, now looked like toddlers learning to walk. We moved cautiously through the college corridors, past juniors rushing around to finalize the last-minute decorations. The entire campus had been transformed overnight-fairy lights twinkled from the trees, silk drapes adorned the entrance, and a red carpet led the way to the main venue.
By the time we reached the event hall, I was already exhausted. The grand hall was nothing short of breathtaking- golden chandeliers reflected warm light across the polished marble floor, round tables draped in white and gold were set up, and a raised stage stood at the front where speeches and performances would take place. Everything was in place, ready for the prestigious guests to arrive. The event was scheduled to begin at ten, and we still had a few minutes to prepare ourselves.
I turned to fix my pleats for the hundredth time when a voice, smooth and laced with amusement, spoke from behind me.
"You look... stunning."
I stiffened. I didn't have to turn to know who it was.
Arjun Khurana.
His eyes traveled over me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I had spent days ignoring his persistent presence, his overbearing concern, but here he was again, finding a way to slither into my space.
"Enjoying the event, Arjun?" I asked coolly, not bothering to meet his gaze.
"I am now," he said, his voice soft. "You really do look beautiful, Trisha."
I exhaled sharply, forcing a polite smile before stepping away. "Thanks," I muttered, walking toward Ria and Avika. "I need to check the seating arrangement."
I could feel his gaze lingering on me, but I refused to turn back. I had no time for whatever this was.
Avika raised an eyebrow as I reached them. "That was intense."
"Don't start," I warned, adjusting my pallu.
Ria smirked. "Oh, but we will."
Before they could tease me further, the commotion near the entrance signaled the arrival of the guests. The energy in the room shifted instantly. Doctors, industrialists, and prominent figures began stepping inside, exuding an air of power and sophistication. Photographers moved swiftly, capturing moments as they greeted our college dean and the event organizers.
I straightened my posture, smoothing my saree one last time. This was it-the night we had worked so hard for. It was time to put on our best smiles and navigate an evening of prestige, expectations, and carefully measured words.
And hopefully, without tripping on my saree.
The soft rustle of fabric against my skin was a reminder to tread carefully; one wrong move and I'd be the entertainment of the evening for all the wrong reasons.
As the grand doors of the venue opened, guests started pouring in. The hall, illuminated with cascading chandeliers, shimmered in gold and white. Laughter, murmurs, and the clinking of glasses created an elegant symphony of socialization. My friends and I stood near the entrance, welcoming the esteemed guests, exchanging pleasantries, and directing them towards their designated areas.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome to our annual charity gala. Please, this way," I said, offering a polite smile as I gestured towards the seating arrangement. Avika stood beside me, her voice carrying the same poised professionalism, though her eyes sparkled with mischief whenever she caught my gaze.
As more guests arrived, a few junior students scurried toward us, looking a little overwhelmed.
"Senior, humein food management ka kaam de diya gaya hai. Kya karna hai ab?" one of the juniors, Aarav, asked nervously.
("Senior ,we've been assigned food management duties. What should we do now?")
I exchanged a knowing glance with Ria, who sighed dramatically before patting Aarav's shoulder. "Bas yeh dhyan rakhna ki koi VIP guests apne plate lekar bhaag na jaye. Sabko achi tarah serve karna aur politely baat karna," she said, trying not to laugh.
("Just make sure no VIP guests run away with their plates. Serve everyone properly and speak politely.")
Aarav gave a nervous nod and hurried off with his group. The event was running smoothly; the fragrance of gourmet dishes filled the hall, while guests engaged in intellectual conversations about medicine, innovation, and charity.
As the performances began, the lights dimmed slightly, and the soft strumming of a sitar filled the air. Dancers, dressed in traditional attire, took the stage, their movements fluid and mesmerizing. I watched in awe, momentarily forgetting my exhaustion.
Just then, I felt a presence beside me. Arjun.
"You look..." He hesitated, his eyes scanning my face before he continued. "Breathtaking."
I turned to face him, finding his expression unusually soft. He wasn't smirking, wasn't teasing. Just looking.
"I know," I replied with a playful smirk before walking away to join my friends. I could still feel his gaze on me, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. Tonight was about something bigger than whatever silent battle Arjun and I constantly fought.
The night continued seamlessly, with guests taking an active interest in our college's medical achievements. Some of them asked about our research projects, our clinical experiences, and even future aspirations. I found myself engrossed in these discussions, genuinely proud to be part of this institution.
Hours passed in a blur of conversations, laughter, and an undeniable sense of pride. The gala was proving to be a grand success. And for once, despite the fatigue, I felt like all our hard work had been worth it.
The performances unfolded seamlessly, the hall filled with the rich cadence of classical music, the rhythmic beats of traditional dance, and the occasional applause of an enraptured audience. Everything was going perfectly-until the air shifted.
It was subtle at first, like a slight drop in temperature, an unspoken tension slithering into the atmosphere. My fingers curled around the pleats of my saree, an inexplicable shiver running down my spine.
Then, I saw him.
Vihaan Singh Oberoi .
A name that commanded both reverence and unease. A man who didn't need to announce his arrival-his presence alone was a declaration. He stepped into the hall, and the room responded in kind. Conversations faltered, laughter dimmed, and an almost involuntary hush rippled through the space.
Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, he was a stark contrast against the warm glow of the chandeliers. His movements were unhurried, precise, as if he owned the very air we breathed. His gaze swept across the room with an unsettling coolness-calculating, unreadable, almost indifferent.
I swallowed hard. It wasn't just his power that made him intimidating. It was the sheer authority in his stance, the way even the most esteemed guests of the evening straightened in their seats when his eyes fell upon them. Professors, board members, renowned doctors- people who thrived in control- seemed momentarily out of their depth in his presence.
A waiter hurried forward, offering him a drink, his hands visibly steadying themselves as he held out the tray. Vihaan accepted it with a slight nod, his fingers wrapping around the crystal glass with an elegance that seemed almost lethal.
"Sir, this way," a faculty member guided him toward the best VIP seat in the house-front row, center, with a perfect view of the ongoing performances. He didn't even glance at the man, merely moved in the direction indicated, exuding the kind of silent command that made people want to clear the path for him before he even arrived.
"Damn," Ria whispered beside me, her voice barely above a breath. "That man walks like he has the power to ruin lives with a single glance."
"Who says he doesn't?" Avika muttered in response, eyes still locked on him.
I wasn't sure what disturbed me more-his presence or the way he made everyone else feel small without even trying. I had read about him before, of course. Vihaan Singh Oberoi wasn't just one of the top five businessmen in the world; he was a force, a name whispered in both admiration and fear. A man whose empire stretched far beyond what any of us could comprehend.
And now, he was here.
But nothing about him excites me and neither do I care about his presence, he is just another powerful and demanding man for me.
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The gala had reached its peak, the air thick with the mingling scents of gourmet dishes and expensive colognes. Laughter and polite conversation filled the grand hall, but I barely registered any of it as I made my way toward the food counter, the hem of my saree brushing against the polished floor.
I needed a break-just a sip of something cold to ground myself. The weight of the evening pressed on my shoulders, and my heels, though elegant, had begun to feel like instruments of torture. I reached for a glass of chilled juice, the condensation cool against my fingertips. Taking a sip, I turned, intending to make my way back to where Ria and Avika stood chatting.
But then-
My foot caught on the pleats of my saree.
Time stretched and twisted as my balance wavered. The glass slipped from my grip, and I lurched forward, bracing for impact, for humiliation, for sticky liquid ruining the perfection of my attire.
And then, everything stopped.
A firm hand caught my wrist in a grip that was neither harsh nor gentle but absolute. The world tilted back into place as I found myself steadied by an unfamiliar presence. My breath hitched as I lifted my gaze-and met eyes colder than the night sky outside.
Vihaan Singh Oberoi.
For the first time in the night, the air stilled. Around us, the gala continued- laughter, conversation, the clinking of glasses- but between us, silence reigned.
He didn't speak. Neither did I. His hand lingered just a moment longer before releasing me, and I took an instinctive step back. My heartbeat stammered, but I forced my face into indifference.
Just another powerful man. Just another person I wanted nothing to do with.
"Sorry" I murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the music.
He didn't respond. Not with words, at least. His gaze lingered, unreadable, assessing-as if trying to place something that didn't fit into his world. And then, just as abruptly as he had appeared, he turned, walking toward the exit, his steps unhurried, precise.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Something about him unsettled me, an unspoken warning curling at the edges of my mind. But I pushed it aside. There was no reason for my thoughts to linger on a stranger.
As I stepped back into the grand venue, the world around me buzzed with celebration. Chandeliers bathed the hall in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows on the marbled floors. The scent of freshly cut roses mixed with the lingering aroma of delicacies from the buffet tables. Conversations hummed around me, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and polite formalities exchanged between esteemed guests.
But my mind refused to settle. The brief encounter, the piercing gaze, the unsettling awareness-I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. He was just another guest, another powerful man who held no significance in my life.
I reached into my clutch for my phone, my fingers grazing against the cool glass. A new message.
Unknown Number: You looked beautiful tonight.
A chill curled down my spine. My pulse quickened, but I refused to react. This wasn't the first time I had received an anonymous message, and it likely wouldn't be the last. I let out a slow breath and locked my phone, shoving it back into my purse. Whoever it was, they didn't deserve my attention.
A round of applause erupted through the hall, pulling me back to the moment. The dean stood on stage, a proud smile on his face. Professors, doctors, and VIP guests stood beside him, looking out at us-the students who had put their hearts into making this event a success.
"Tonight," the dean began, his deep voice resonating through the speakers, "is a testament to the dedication and hard work of our students. This charity gala is not just about donations-it is about the future of healthcare, about young minds who will one day lead with compassion and knowledge."
A soft murmur of appreciation spread through the crowd as the dean gestured towards us. "And thanks to your efforts, we have successfully raised nearly 12 crore rupees for the hospital. This will go towards advanced medical equipment, patient care, and scholarships for underprivileged students."
The room erupted into cheers and applause, and for the first time that evening, I allowed a genuine smile to tug at my lips. It was exhausting, but we had done something meaningful.
As the final speeches concluded, I felt the heavy weight of the night settle over me. My feet ached from the relentless standing, my head buzzed from the chaos, and my saree, elegant as it was, felt like a restraint I was desperate to be free from.
Avika nudged me, yawning. "Can we go now? I swear if I don't get out of this saree soon, I'll set it on fire."
Ria laughed, rubbing her neck. "Agreed. My spine is permanently damaged."
We made our way out of the venue, the cool night air greeting us like a balm. The once-bustling college grounds were now calmer, the sounds of distant voices fading as the guests began departing. The glow of streetlights lined the pathway back to our hostel, the occasional rustle of leaves the only disturbance in the silence.
"I still can't believe we pulled this off," Avika mused, stretching her arms. "We were running around like headless chickens, but somehow, we made it work."
Ria groaned. "I don't even want to think about tomorrow. We'll be drowning in post-event work."
I smirked. "That's a problem for future us. Tonight, we celebrate surviving."
With tired laughs, we trudged back to our rooms, the weight of the day pressing heavily on our shoulders. As soon as I stepped inside, I kicked off my heels and let out a deep sigh, stretching my sore muscles.
Peeling off the saree was a battle in itself, but once I was in my nightwear, the exhaustion truly settled in. My phone buzzed again.
Another unknown message.
This time, I didn't check it. Instead, I placed my phone face down on the nightstand and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling.
Despite the triumph of the evening, the lingering unease in my chest refused to fade.
The weight of exhaustion settled over me as I curled up on my bed, my muscles aching from the long evening. But no matter how much I willed myself to shut my eyes, my mind refused to quiet down. The whispers of the gala, the grandeur of the event, and the fleeting moment that had sent my pulse into a strange frenzy played on a loop in my head.
Avika flopped down on her bed with a dramatic sigh. "Guys, tumhe pata hai? Maine suna ki total donation ka aadha hissa Vihaan Singh Oberoi ne diya hai. Pachaas percent!"
("Guys, do you know? I heard that fifty percent of the total donation was given by Vihaan Singh Oberoi! Fifty percent!")
Ria, who had been half-asleep, shot up, rubbing her eyes. "Hain?! Tu seriously keh rahi hai? Pura aadha paisa usne diya? Kya zaroorat thi bhai?!"
("What?! Are you serious? He donated half the money? What was the need for that?!")
Avika shrugged, pulling her blanket over herself. "Arey, jab aadmi ke paas itna paisa ho ki woh usse rumaal ki tarah use kare, toh charity bhi bas ek aur tareeka hai dikhane ka ke kaun kitna bada hai."
("When a man has so much money that he can use it like a handkerchief, charity is just another way to show who is the biggest.")
I listened in silence, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of my bedsheet. Vihaan Singh Oberoi. His name was already making waves even after he had left the venue.
"Toh iska matlab, jo event humne itne pyaar aur mehnat se organize kiya, usko chalane ka asli kaaran ek insaan ka cheque hai?" Ria murmured in exhaustion and sleep.
("So that means, the event we planned with so much love and effort was actually run by a single man's cheque?")
No one responded, lost in their own exhaustion. The hum of the ceiling fan filled the room, the weight of the night finally pressing down on us.
I let out a slow breath, turning on my side. The thought should have stayed longer, but fatigue was an insistent force. Slowly, the sounds of my friends shuffling under their blankets faded, and sleep finally claimed me, washing away the lingering questions.
Something told me that it was just the beginning.
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The morning after the gala arrived in a haze of exhaustion and lingering excitement. Sunlight seeped through the flimsy curtains, casting golden stripes over the mess of fabric and notes scattered across my bed. My body ached from hours of standing, my feet still protesting against the torture of heels, but more than anything, my mind refused to let go of the events of the previous night.
Vihaan Singh Oberoi.
The name had settled in the corners of my thoughts, unwelcome yet persistent. Avika had whispered that half the donation amount had come from him. Fifty percent. It was an astronomical figure, enough to fund medical equipment, research, and scholarships. But why would a man like him care? And more importantly, why did my mind keep drifting back to the way his eyes had locked onto mine for that fleeting second?
I shook my head, throwing off the covers. I didn’t have time for this.
The hostel corridor buzzed with the sluggish energy of students unwilling to leave their beds. Ria yawned dramatically as she pulled her hair into a bun.
“Ek aur ghanta so lete toh kya chala jaata?” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. (What difference would it make if we slept for another hour?)
Avika stretched, cracking her neck. “Mann toh mera bhi wahi karne ka hai, par fir classes miss karenge toh professors ka gyaan sunna padega.” (I want the same, but if we miss class, we’ll have to endure our professor's lectures.)
Dragging ourselves to class felt like a punishment, but the routine set in soon enough. The gala became a memory, buried under textbooks, practical sessions, and endless hospital shifts. Days melted into each other, punctuated by the rhythmic monotony of lectures, cafeteria gossip, and late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and desperation.
As the exam dates loomed on the calendar, an invisible weight settled over the college. The once lively chatter in the corridors dulled to murmurs of revision strategies and last-minute cramming. Notes exchanged hands like precious contraband, and the library became a second home for most students.
One evening, a week before the exams, I found myself sprawled on the hostel room floor, surrounded by open books and empty coffee cups. My head throbbed from trying to memorize drug classifications. Ria sat across from me, highlighting something aggressively in her textbook.
“Trisha, agar aaj mar gayi toh bata dena, tere naye notes kahan hai. Tujhpe bharosa nahi hai.” She smirked. (Trisha, if you die today, tell me where your new notes are. I don’t trust you.)
I shot her a tired glare. “Marne se pehle tujhe to kabhi nahi bataungi.” (I’ll never tell you before dying.)
Avika groaned, tossing a pillow at us. “Bas karo yrr, mujhe already dar lag raha hai.” (Stop it, I’m already scared enough.)
The next few days were a blur of hospital duties and frantic studying. The tension was suffocating, our nerves stretched thin. By the time we were just a day away from the exams, exhaustion clung to us like a second skin.
The night before the first exam, I sat by the window, flipping through my notes one last time. The cool breeze did little to soothe my jittery nerves. My phone buzzed—an unknown number again. I ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the fact that tomorrow, everything we had been working towards would finally be tested.
As I turned the page, I let out a deep breath.
Tomorrow would decide a lot, but for now, I needed sleep.
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Next morning:
The alarm blared through the dorm room, shattering the fragile silence of the early morning. My hand shot out from beneath the blanket, slapping the snooze button with a groggy determination. But sleep was no longer an option. Today was the first exam.
A deep sigh left my lips as I sat up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. Across the room, Avika groaned, rolling onto her side. "Bas paanch minute aur..."
"Five minutes and you'll be crying over unprepared answers," I shot back, swinging my legs off the bed and stretching. My muscles ached from the past few nights of relentless studying. Ria was already up, tying her hair into a messy bun, her textbook open in front of her.
The cold floor sent a shiver up my spine as I padded toward the bathroom. The mirror reflected my tired face—dark circles, slightly swollen eyes. I splashed cold water, letting it jolt me awake before brushing my teeth in quick, aggressive strokes. "Aj toh bas ek war zone hai," I muttered, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
("Today is just a war zone.")
By the time I was back, Avika had dragged herself out of bed, muttering curses under her breath. Ria handed me a cup of coffee, bless her soul, and we sipped in silence, the only sound being the rustling of notes and the occasional flipping of pages.
Breakfast was a rushed affair at the mess—a stale sandwich and lukewarm tea. The entire dining hall was buzzing with last-minute revision, frantic whispers of forgotten formulas and hurried explanations of complex theories.
“Trisha, did you go through that pathology case study?” Avika asked as we made our way to the exam hall.
I nodded. “Haan, kal raat ko ek baar revise kiya. Bas bhool na jaun.”
("Yeah, I revised it once last night. Just hope I don’t forget it.")
The hallway leading to the exam hall felt longer than usual, the tension so thick it could be cut with a scalpel. Inside, the invigilators were already distributing answer sheets. My fingers gripped the pen tightly as I took my seat, taking a deep breath to calm the racing thoughts.
The paper was...manageable. Not easy, not impossible. Just enough to leave me drained by the end of it. When the final bell rang, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Done. One down, more to go.
As we stepped out of the hall, the sun was blazing, the afternoon heat pressing down on us. “Kaisa gaya?” Ria asked, tucking her answer sheet into her bag.
“Zyada musibat nahi di paper ne,” I replied, stretching my arms. “Tumhara?”
("The paper didn’t trouble me much.")
Avika groaned. “Mat puch, mujhe toh ek do answers soch ke likhne pade.”
("Don't ask, I had to make up a few answers.")
We made our way back to the hostel, exhaustion creeping into our bones. “Library chalein? Ek book chahiye thi,” Avika suggested.
Ria nodded. “Haan, tum chalo. Trisha, tu aayegi?”
("Yeah, you go ahead. Trisha, are you coming?")
I shook my head. “Nahi, bas thodi der araam karna hai.”
("No, I just want to rest for a while.")
They left, and I was finally alone. I let out a long sigh, letting my body sink into the mattress. But sleep evaded me. Restless, I decided to take a quick shower, hoping the cold water would wash away the fatigue.
As I stepped out, towel wrapped around my hair, something caught my eye. A small box sat on my study table. My stomach twisted. Slowly, I stepped closer, hesitating before reaching out. The scent of roses hit me before I even opened the lid.
Inside, deep red roses lay in a neat arrangement, their petals flawless, almost too perfect. A small card was tucked in between. My breath hitched as I picked it up.
"You looked beautiful in the red today . This rose is for you !"
A chill ran down my spine. My fingers trembled as I closed the box and looked around the room as if expecting someone to appear from the shadows. No. No, this was not happening.
Without another thought, I grabbed the box and marched out of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. The corridor was empty, the silence deafening. I walked past a few rooms before reaching the dustbin at the end of the hall and dumped the entire thing inside.
I took a deep breath. It was just a prank. Maybe someone was playing a joke. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me.
But deep down, I knew. This wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.
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