ep 4

Amrit shot her an annoyed look, but Tanu just winked. "Sorry, dude, but you had that coming."

Ritu, trying hard not to smirk, crossed her arms. "Karma."

Amrit gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply, clearly trying to control his temper. "You’re lucky this is just coffee. Agar yeh kuch aur hota na, toh—"

"Toh kya?" Ritu challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Amrit huffed. "Kuch nahi." He turned away, pulling at his wet shirt, muttering, "Mujhe change karna padega."

Ritu couldn't help the tiny victorious smirk that played on her lips as she watched him walk away.

Tanu nudged her. "Dushman ya kuch aur?"

Ritu glared at her. "Shut up."

But as she turned back toward her coffee, she felt a strange anticipation bubbling inside her.

Because if history had taught her anything, it was that Amrit never let things slide that easily.

And this war?

It had only just begun.

...................................................................................

Later that evening, Ritu stepped into the campus library, thinking she’d get a head start on their group project. But as she rounded the corner of the study tables, her steps faltered.

Amrit was already there.

In a fresh t-shirt, hair still slightly damp, and—of course—sitting at her usual spot, acting like he owned the place.

He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

Ritu narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know we had a schedule.”

“We do now,” he replied coolly, tapping his pen against the notebook. “Also, I may or may not have taken the last iced Americano from the café downstairs.”

Ritu blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he said, finally glancing at her with that infuriatingly smug smirk. “Consider it... karma.”

Tanu’s words echoed in her head: Dushman ya kuch aur?

Ritu dropped her bag and leaned in closer than necessary. “You just declared war, malhotra”

Amrit leaned forward too, voice low and teasing. “Correction: I’m winning it.”

She smiled sweetly. “We’ll see about that.”

Ritu spent the next two hours pretending not to be distracted by Amrit’s annoyingly neat handwriting, the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking, or how his brow furrowed when he got stuck on a detail.

She hated that she noticed.

Worse, she hated that she kind of... didn’t hate it.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m judging your handwriting. It’s too neat. Like serial-killer neat.”

Amrit snorted. “Wow. Compliment disguised as an insult. Classic Ritu.”

“Please. That was a straight-up insult.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking. “But you didn’t deny staring.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but just then, her stomach growled—loudly.

Amrit blinked. Then grinned.

“Was that your battle cry?” he teased.

She groaned and covered her face. “I skipped lunch, okay?”

Without a word, Amrit reached into his bag and pulled out a small tiffin box. He pushed it toward her.