...****************...
...POV: Rudra Malhotra...
...****************...
The moment she smiled at him in that lab—unguarded, surprised, warm—Rudra knew it was working.
Saanvi had no idea.
No idea that he’d known her long before she ever logged into ByteBattles.
No idea he’d once rewritten segments of her gaming AI just for practice—then slowly, deliberately, embedded his own logic patterns into hers until she unknowingly began mirroring him.
No idea that the laptop she used had been silently infiltrated months ago with observer scripts.
And certainly no idea that she was the one girl in this entire, code-drenched campus he couldn’t delete from his mind.
“Nice to finally meet you, Viper,” she said, laughing softly.
Her voice echoed in Rudra’s mind long after it left her lips.
He played shy, brushing a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d agree to compete offline.”
Saanvi shrugged, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her palms. “Well, I figured it’s just another game, right? Same rules. Just… no screen between us.”
> There was never a screen between us, Saanvi.
Only you didn’t know that.
“Right,” Rudra replied, his voice was warm. Just enough charm to disarm.
They walked together to their assigned station—Table 7.
He had made sure of that. Weeks ago, he’d bribed a junior tech assistant on the summit team to rig pairings and station maps.
Now, they were side by side.
Perfect view. Perfect control.
As they sat, Rudra glanced over at her posture—straight back, curious eyes. Her fingers stretched, eager for the keyboard.
“Here,” he offered her a hair tie from his hoodie pocket. “You always tie your hair before a serious match.”
She blinked. “How do you—?”
“Lucky guess,” he said with a grin.
> Lie. He’d watched her do it on countless old livestreams she’d forgotten to delete.
Saanvi took it, her cheeks slightly flushed.
The competition began: twenty teams. Ten minutes.
Build a defense system using live logic scripting to protect a simulated data vault while attempting to breach others’.
Points for originality, efficiency, and syntax clarity.
Rudra typed quickly, then slowed—just a little. He wanted her to lead.
To feel like the star.
He glanced sideways. Her eyes narrowed in focus. Lips pursed in concentration. She muttered strings of code like spells.
He could’ve watched her forever.
But the danger of obsession wasn’t in staring too long.
It was in forgetting to pretend you weren’t.
...----------------...
An hour later, they were declared first place winners.
As applause filled the lab, Saanvi turned to him—flushed, glowing, victorious.
“I’ve never felt this synced with someone in code before.”
He smiled, slow and soft.
“It’s not just code, Saanvi.”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Rudra leaned in slightly, just enough to feel the hum of confusion shift into thrill in her chest.
“When two minds align—when logic and instinct match perfectly—it stops being a game. It becomes...”
His voice dropped, deliberate.
“Inevitable.”
She didn’t reply.
But her breath hitched.
And that was enough.
......................
Later that night – Campus Café
Saanvi stirred her cold coffee as Ananya stared across the table at her.
“Okay. Explain it again,” Ananya said, clearly unimpressed. “You found out RogueViper is actually that hot-but-quiet Rudra guy from your software systems class?”
Saanvi nodded.
“And he just happens to be your anonymous gaming partner for months. And now you’re winning competitions together like it’s some Bollywood hacker romance?”
Saanvi smirked. “You’re being dramatic.”
Ananya crossed her arms. “You’re being naïve. Don’t you think it’s a little too… convenient?”
“He’s just good at the game,” Saanvi replied, trying not to sound defensive.
Ananya’s eyes narrowed. “And he knew you tie your hair before matches because what? Divine insight?”
Saanvi faltered.
“I don’t know. Maybe he just… notices things. That’s rare. And honestly? Kinda sweet.”
> No, Saanvi, Ananya thought grimly.
That’s not sweet. That’s dangerous.
......................
Elsewhere – Rudra’s Room
Back in his dorm, Rudra opened a locked drawer beneath his bed. Inside were:
A hard drive labeled Saanvi_Livestreams_2019–2022
An old notebook filled with scribbled lines: her former usernames, passwords guessed through brute force, school achievements
A worn-out photo from her 10th-grade science fair, pixelated but precious
He touched the edge of the photo gently, as if it might vanish.
“She thinks she chose me,” he murmured.
On his monitor, a mirrored window showed Saanvi’s system in real time—her keystrokes, her screen, her audio.
She was talking to herself again.
> “He’s nice,” she said softly. “Different. I don’t feel so alone when he’s around.”
Rudra smiled.
She didn’t feel alone.
Good.
Because she wasn’t.
And she never would be again.
End of Chapter Two.
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