Chapter 3 – Questions, Glances & Quiet Storms

HALLWAY HEAT

The bell rang sharp as a whip, echoing down the marble-floored halls of the university's arts and business wing. Max Romano exploded out of the classroom first, voice already high with frustration.

"Forty slides, Ayush! And now he wants a prototype storyboard by Monday. MONDAY!"

Ayush, clutching his tablet, jogged to catch up. "Max, it's Thursday. That's three whole days."

"Exactly! Three days is practically tomorrow in creative time." Max flailed, nearly smacking a passing student in the face with his wildly gesturing hands.

Behind them, Beck Serrano Munoz strolled out with earbuds in, all in black as usual—a long-sleeved tee, worn jeans, silver rings glinting faintly. He looked like a walking monochrome mood board and said absolutely nothing.

"Seriously, who assigns group work with no time, no clarity, and expects genius?" Max continued, still venting. "I'm a musician, not a miracle worker!"

Ayush chuckled, offering his water bottle. "Drink. Breathe. Rant less."

Max sighed, taking it. "Sunshine, if I didn’t love you, I’d scream."

They turned toward the central courtyard and nearly collided with a taller student cutting across their path. Max wobbled forward, just barely catching his balance—and would have crashed headlong if not for a steady hand grabbing his elbow.

Beck, without a word, pulled Max back.

"Whoa… thanks, dude," Max said, blinking.

Beck gave him a glance—one that lasted only a second longer than necessary—and kept walking.

Ayush grinned. "See? Silent assassin comes through."

"He’s mysterious and useful. I like him," Max said too casually. Beck, just ahead of them, did not respond.

~ Group Chat Summons ~

The trio ducked into a nearby cafe and snagged a booth by the window. While they sipped iced cappuccinos, Ayush’s phone buzzed.

> Evan: Heads up. Guest lecture today. 2 p.m. Business Q&A in the main auditorium. Might be worth attending.

> Theo: Can’t. Midway through rendering my model. C ya.

> Max: Ooh, yes. Free advice for my future studio empire.

> Beck: Going.

> Ayush: I’ll come too.

Moments later, Evan De Luca arrived, as if summoned by fashion. Crisp white shirt, designer blazer, patent shoes that clicked smartly on the tile. He looked effortlessly immaculate.

They left together for the auditorium. Max and Ayush, dressed more casually but well, walked beside Evan and Beck, both of whom attracted attention like magnets. Evan always looked red-carpet ready; Beck looked like a magazine ad in grayscale.

"How are you two so damn fashionable without trying?" Max muttered.

"Some of us just suffer for art," Evan said dryly, adjusting his cufflinks.

THE AUDITORIUM & THE SHADOWS

The room filled quickly. They grabbed seats mid-row. Evan opened a folder and reviewed notes. Beck plugged in his stylus and began sketching something on his iPad. Ayush looked around at the rows of bustling students.

Max leaned toward Ayush. "Watch. Half this room's gonna start whispering about Beck and Evan. Again."

Ayush followed his gaze. He wasn’t wrong—a cluster of students across the aisle were clearly peeking over.

Max leaned back, faux-annoyed. "I'm hot too, right?"

Ayush snorted. "You're volcanic."

Max grinned.

Then, the lights dimmed, and a voice announced the guest:

"Please welcome, CEO of Russo Vantage Group, Mr. Vincent Russo."

Footsteps. Then a figure emerged onto the stage.

Ayush froze.

Tall. Crisp black suit. Understated authority. Grey eyes like winter.

No. Not him.

Vincent accepted the bouquet from the host with minimal expression. His gaze swept the room—and Ayush swore it paused, just barely, on their row..

Max nudged Ayush. “Yeah, he’s handsome, but you’re gawking, bro.”

Ayush snapped forward, cheeks warm. Low profile. Just learn something.

The Q&A began. Vincent’s answers were efficient, perfectly worded. Students raised hands. He deflected some, challenged others

The lecture rolled: market share, risk strategy, controlled growth. Students fired questions; Vincent answered with skin‑prickling precision, as if he’d solved them yesterday.

Then Vincent posed one back: “What safeguards a company’s market position through generational change?”

Silence. Until—Ayush felt the stare like a scalpel. Those grey eyes locked on him as if the room had emptied.

“You,” Vincent said, pointing. “Answer.”

A mic arrived. Ayush’s throat tightened—he wasn’t even a business major. Still, he smiled, voice steady.

“Adaptability, sir. Knowing when to pivot without losing core identity—and valuing people over products, because loyalty compounds faster than capital.”

A hum left Vincent’s lips—half approval, half curiosity. Around them, disappointed murmurs: no miracle revelation. But Ayush didn’t care; he’d survived.

Russo, he repeated inwardly. Why does that surname itch at my memory…?

CORRIDOR CHILL

Lecture dismissed. The share‑house quartet spilled into the foyer, laughter erupting at Ayush’s shell‑shocked expression.

“I swear your soul left your body,” Max cackled.

Beck, rare smile tugging, sighed. “Your face was priceless, Sunshine.”

Ayush huffed—then the air iced over again. He glanced back.

Vincent stood at the exit, security lingering behind. His gaze drilled into Ayush—no warmth, no curiosity this time, only an unsettling focus.

Max squinted. "Dude. Did you betray him in a past life? That man looks like you owe him a kingdom."

Ayush swallowed. "Maybe I... ran over his dog in a dream."

Beck muttered, "Let's go," and steered them away.

~ MISSING DIMPLES ~

At the cafe, Ayush slipped into rhythm. Orders, smiles, foam hearts in cappuccinos. Yet, every time the bell jingled, he looked up.

The little boy with dimples and dessert love. Who hadn't returned since that day.

Customers came and went, laughter buzzed, the smell of cinnamon and espresso filled the air—but Lian never appeared. Ayush made perfect drinks with practiced ease, but a part of him lingered on the memory of tiny dimples and excited eyes over sweets.

As he cleaned up for closing, he caught himself looking at the door again. Still no one. With a tired smile, he packed a few leftover desserts, promising himself maybe tomorrow would be the day.

DREAMS AND DISTRACTIONS

Back at the share house, Ayush entered to find Theo practically vibrating with excitement over his new model. Ayush admired the clean lines and balance, offered thoughtful input, then began retreating to his room.

Max leapt out from the kitchen, howling with laughter. "That moment! The mic! Your eyes! I nearly choked."

Ayush shoved a croissant in his face and walked away, shaking his head.

In his room, Ayush turned on the warm water and set up the bath. The exhaustion of the day clung to his skin like dust. When he finally slid into the tub, the heat melted into his muscles, easing the tension.

He closed his eyes.

But instead of silence, he saw him.

Vincent—towering, sharp, eyes like ice and fire. The memory of his voice filled Ayush's chest like thunder.

Then his mind betrayed him.

He imagined Vincent’s hands. Large. Veined. Strong.

He imagined how those hands might feel if they held his hips, traced his spine, cupped his jaw.

And then—his thoughts slipped lower. Those same hands gripping his thighs, his breath caught, Vincent's cold stare softening as he leaned in closer—

Ayush's eyes snapped open.

"What the hell, brain?!"

He slapped water against his cheeks, trying to dispel the image, but it lingered. That cold stare, the sheer force of Vincent's presence—it haunted him in a way no one ever had.

"I barely know the man. I don't even like him. He looked at me like I was dirt."

And yet, Ayush tilted his head back against the tub.

"What if he looked at me differently... what if he touched me like that..."

No. He shook the thought away again. No.

After his bath, he sat in his room eating pastries. The sweetness did little to distract him.

He video-called Aditi and Girish, recounting parts of the day.

"It was... a long day," he said vaguely.

Aditi narrowed her eyes. "You're dodging. What happened?"

"Nothing major. Just... weird vibe at that guest talk."

Before she could dig deeper, Girish waved. "Night, bro. You look wiped."

Later, Ayush texted him.

Thanks. Owe you.