The morning air inside the school felt oddly charged—as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Ridrakshika stepped through the gates with her bandaged hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, her expression unreadable. The chaos of the previous day still lingered in the whispers that followed her through the corridor, but if anyone thought she would walk in afraid or defeated, they didn’t know Ridrakshika Verma.

Eyes turned. Whispers spread like ink in water. Some pitied her, others simply watched—curious, judgmental. Ridrakshika didn’t flinch. She walked with her head held high, as if the storm had only sharpened her edges. And then her gaze caught something… or rather, someone.

Tanisha.

Leaning against the staircase railing like she owned the building, flanked by her loyal shadows, that same venomous smirk plastered on her face. The moment their eyes met, the air thickened. For a fleeting second, it felt like a showdown in silence—until Ridrakshika tilted her head slightly and offered the faintest, most sarcastic smirk. No fear. Just pure, mocking confidence. Game on. Without a word, she walked right past Tanisha, not sparing her even a second glance.

Inside the classroom, the OG Four were already seated—tension written across their faces. Sanskaar leaned forward, voice low as he spoke. “CCTV toh conveniently usi waqt glitch hua. Kisi ne system hi corrupt kar diya—ye planned tha.”

Esha’s jaw tightened. “This is going too far. Who does something this calculated?”

Ridrakshika shrugged, voice dipped in dry sarcasm. “A psycho with a vendetta… and a severe allergy to good fashion choices.” Sanskaar tried not to laugh. Esha rolled her eyes, and Adyansh shot her a look, his voice laced with disbelief. “She tried to break your hands and that’s your priority?”

“I’m just saying,” Ridrakshika replied nonchalantly, “if I’m going to be framed and nearly murdered, at least let it be by someone who doesn’t look like a human highlighter.”

The banter brought a small crack of amusement into the tension, but it didn’t last long. Ridrakshika’s smile faded, and her tone grew sharper—more focused. “She wants me scared. Wants me to feel cornered. That’s her endgame. But I’m not giving her that. She’s throwing chaos like confetti, hoping something will stick—but this ends when I say it ends.”

A heavy pause fell over them. Adyansh, sitting across from her, met her eyes—and this time, there was no arrogance, no banter. Just something quieter. Solid. “Then let’s rewrite the story.”

The bell rang, cutting through the moment. As the four of them stood, walking out side by side, they didn’t know what would come next. But one thing was certain: Tanisha had underestimated the girl she was trying to destroy. And Ridrakshika had no intention of breaking.

She was going to burn brighter.

------

The school rooftop was almost deserted—just the distant sound of classes in session below and the occasional rustle of wind tugging at Ridrakshika’s hoodie. She leaned against the railing, the city skyline stretching beyond her, but her eyes were clouded, not really seeing anything.

Footsteps behind her. She didn’t turn.

“I knew you’d come up here,” Adyansh’s voice broke the silence—calm, unreadable.

Ridrakshika sighed without looking at him. “Of course. Because stalking girls on rooftops is your secret talent?”

He ignored the jab and walked to stand beside her, leaving a deliberate gap between them. “You okay?”

She gave a dry laugh. “Define ‘okay’? Because if it means being the prime suspect in every school disaster and having my hands carved up like decorative paperweights—then yeah, I’m thriving.”

Adyansh glanced at her, and for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched. “Still got that sarcasm filter on, huh?”

“That’s the only filter I have,” she muttered, eyes still fixed forward. “The rest burned out somewhere between being stalked, framed, and nearly pushed off a staircase.”

A pause.

“I should’ve said something,” he finally said, voice lower now—honest, like it scraped against something raw. “When Tanisha started speaking… I just—”

“You froze.” Her words were quiet, but not accusing. Just… true.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

She looked at him now, her gaze sharp. “You think silence helps? You think your quiet is neutral? It isn’t, Adyansh. It’s a side. And I was on the receiving end of it.”

That hit harder than he expected.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” she interrupted, softer this time. “But not meaning to doesn’t undo the damage.

“I’m not the girl you’re used to, Adyansh,” she said after a beat.

“And I’m not the guy you think I am,” he replied.

Their eyes met—steady, uncertain, but honest. And maybe, just maybe, something shifted.

Not everything needed to be loud to matter.

------

The air inside the auditorium was stifling. Every eye was on Ridrakshika, standing in the middle of the crowd, her hands bandaged, her expression unreadable. Principal Arora stood on the stage with a grave face, while the vice principal read out the final report.

“All evidence found—notes, tampered files, and the nurse room incident—point toward Meher Rawat,” the voice echoed.

Gasps. Whispers. A slow turn of heads.

Meher looked like a ghost, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What…? What the hell are you talking about?! I didn’t do anything!”

But Tanisha—sitting a few seats behind—bit back a victorious smirk, her expression carefully masked with just the right amount of confusion and concern.

Ridrakshika’s gaze scanned Meher, then shifted slowly to the OG Four. Sanskaar looked stunned. Esha’s fists were clenched. And Adyansh… was staring straight ahead, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw locked.

“This is insane!” Meher stood up now, panic rising in her voice. “I’ve been framed! Someone’s setting me up!”

“But why would someone frame you?” the vice principal asked, voice low but piercing.

And just like that, silence.

Because Meher didn’t have an answer that could stand against all the ‘evidence’—the planted notes in her locker, the recorded footage conveniently edited, the text messages routed from her phone.

OG Four exchanged glances. This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to expose Tanisha. The camera backup, the software logs, the tracker—they were all gone. Tampered. Deleted.

It had all been too easy.

Too perfect.

Tanisha had outplayed them.

“Ridrakshika,” the principal addressed, voice softer now, “you’re no longer under suspicion. We apologize for the distress caused.”

People clapped politely. Ridrakshika didn’t move.

In her gut, she knew—this wasn’t over.

------

OG Four regrouped, tension thick in the air.

“She flipped the game,” Sanskaar hissed, pacing restlessly.

“She deleted every single trace of our plan,” Esha added, her voice cold, eyes dark with frustration. “The footage, the backup, even the recovery files—gone.”

“She was ahead of us the whole time,” Adyansh muttered, still trying to process the failure. “It wasn’t just defense. It was a full-on counterattack.”

Ridrakshika stood still, eyes fixed on the wall like she could burn a hole through it. “Tanisha didn’t just protect herself… she made sure Meher went down for it.”

“And the worst part?” Esha snapped. “She made it look effortless.”

“We underestimated her,” Sanskaar said grimly.

“But not again,” Ridrakshika’s voice cut through, sharp and certain. “She won today. But now she’s cocky. Overconfident.”

“And overconfidence,” Adyansh added slowly, “is always the first crack.”

Ridrakshika’s smirk was faint but fierce. “Next time, she won’t see us coming.”

-------

The tension in Delhi's corporate world had thickened overnight. A game-changing international deal was up for grabs — one that promised power, prestige, and profit beyond imagination. And only two empires were left standing in the final race: Sachdeva Enterprises and Verma Enterprises.

In high-rise offices on opposite ends of the city, two powerhouse families prepared their final pitches.

At Sachdeva HQ, Madhav Sachdeva, crisp in his charcoal grey suit, stood in front of the projector screen. “We don’t need gimmicks. We have the numbers, the track record, and the reach. Verma’s firm won’t even see it coming.”

Beside him, Shobha Sachdeva reviewed a thick folder. “He’s clever. But not clever enough to steal this from us. Let’s not underestimate him either.”

Meanwhile, in the polished glass offices of Verma Enterprises, Yashveer Verma crossed his arms, watching his team prep the presentation. “Sachdeva’s arrogance will be his downfall. It’s time someone reminded him who built Delhi’s infrastructure before he even learned to walk.”

Suchitra Verma looked up from her notes. “I’ve worked too hard for too long. If they think this deal will land in their lap, they’re dreaming.”

Despite the growing fire between the two business giants, neither side had a clue that the storm brewing within their children’s lives was just as fierce.

Neither Madhav nor Yashveer knew that the very children they were raising to take over empires… were already tangled in a different kind of war — one of looks, words, and secrets.

A collision was inevitable. They just didn’t know how personal this deal was about to become.

------

The project had already started, and the OG4 were working as a team. But because of all the ongoing drama—the fights, the accusations, and everything else—the project had come to a complete halt. Everyone was caught up in the chaos, and the actual work was left on hold.

Just then, Mr. Mehta walked into the classroom. His eyes scanned the distracted faces before he cleared his throat and said firmly, “Alright everyone, enough of this drama. The project is back on. I want it done on time, no excuses. Focus up, and get to work.”

As the classroom buzzed back to life, Adyansh and Ridrakshika immediately slipped into their usual sharp banter. Their words were like verbal sparring—full of sarcasm, wit, and that unmistakable edge that only they could deliver. The tension in the air mixed with an oddly entertaining rhythm as the two clashed and teased each other, refusing to let the other have the last word.

Adyansh leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips. “Great. Back to babysitting.”

Ridrakshika didn’t even look up from her notebook. “Funny, I was about to say the same. Just didn’t know toddlers were allowed in senior school.”

He raised an eyebrow. “At least toddlers don’t throw glass-shattering tantrums and play the victim afterward.”

She looked at him, deadpan. “And at least they don’t stand around looking pretty while the actual work happens.”

Esha, sitting between them, muttered, “Guys—project?”

But Adyansh wasn’t done. “Remind me again, what exactly are you contributing to this? Apart from the dramatic entrances and exits?”

Ridrakshika smirked, flipping her pen between her fingers. “Well, I do keep the IQ in check. Can’t let it drop to your level.”

Sanskaar chuckled softly from the side. “Y’all are unbelievable.”

Mr. Mehta, hearing the rising voices, looked up from his desk and narrowed his eyes. “Any problem, Miss Verma? Mr. Sachdeva?”

They both replied at the same time.

“No, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then turned to glare at each other again.

Adyansh whispered, “Try not to ruin this too, Verma.”

She leaned in just a little, her voice sharp as a blade, “And you try not to disappear halfway through like your spine.”

Esha scribbled something in her notebook and sighed, “We’re going to fail because our leads think they’re in a Shakespearean roast battle.”

-------

Viyansh Verma had been unusually silent the whole day. He hadn’t opened a single message from Anukriti Ahuja, even though his notifications were overflowing. “I’m sorry na, bhonduraam…” “Tumhare bina sab kuch off lagta hai…” “Dekho, ab toh sach mein serious hoon!!” — she had sent dozens of texts, voice notes, and even a series of poorly drawn doodles. One sketch had him in a cape with a crown labelled ‘Viyansh Baba’ and her clinging to his leg like a cartoon villain-turned-devotee. Viyansh had seen them all, of course. His lips had twitched multiple times, his heart secretly melting with every attempt, but his pride held strong. Not this time, Ahuja. You stood me up for your so-called “important call” and then had the audacity to post stories from the café with your gang? Tumhe toh sabak sikhana padega.

Anukriti, however, wasn’t giving up. During class, he received a flying paper plane that landed on his desk with a sketch of a fuming Viyansh and her holding a placard that read, “Maan jao na yaar!” At lunchtime, he found a box of his favourite chocolates with a note — “Even these are sweeter than my apology. Please accept both?” She even walked past him humming tragic Bollywood tunes like “Tadap Tadap Ke” dramatically while wiping fake tears. The juniors giggled. The classmates stared. Viyansh remained poker-faced. But inside? He was seconds away from cracking.

By late afternoon, the college garden buzzed with rumors — “Anukriti  kuch karne wali hai…” She stood at the center of the lawn, nervous yet determined, eyes darting around for the music guy. As the soft retro melody of “Accha Ji Main Haari Chalo Maan Jao Na” filled the air, all heads turned. And then — she danced. Unapologetically. With all her heart, arms flailing in her trademark filmy style, expressions switching between exaggerated guilt and dramatic pleading. “Main toh thak gayi hoon Viyansh ji… ab toh maan jao…” she sang with every move, twirling, laughing, occasionally slipping but never stopping. Students gathered around, some recording, some cheering.

Watching from the second-floor corridor, Viyansh froze. “Isse toh koi rok lo yaar…” he mumbled under his breath. His friend grinned, nudging him, “Jaa bhai. Tu hi iska Dev Anand hai.” A beat passed. Then Viyansh descended the stairs and walked right through the crowd. Anukriti, panting slightly, looked up mid-performance. Her cheeks were flushed, not from the dance, but from the fear of rejection. But before she could say anything, Viyansh closed the gap and pulled her into a tight hug. The garden erupted into whistles, hooting, and loud applause. Some clapped, others screamed “Bhai maan gaya! Love wins!”

In the middle of all that chaos, Anukriti whispered against his shoulder, “Pighal gaye, mere bhonduraam?”

Viyansh smiled softly, his lips close to her ear. “Tumhare drama ke samundar ke saamne kaun sa mai bach paaya hu ab tak?”

And with that, the chapter ends — on hoots, hugs, and a lot of happily ever after energy… for now.

__________________________________stay tuned for further updates 🎀

~shanshya🧿