The night was quiet, almost too quiet for a girl who never stopped talking.
Aira stood outside the tall black gates of Aadvik Rathore's bungalow, heart thudding harder than she wanted to admit. She hugged her arms around herself, her loose sweatshirt barely shielding her from the breeze—or the nerves crawling up her spine.
She wasn't scared.
Just… curious. Maybe.
The gate opened on its own, smooth and soundless.
She walked in.
The house was massive. Clean white marble steps, a black door, soft lighting that made everything look expensive and out of reach—just like him. Aira took a deep breath and rang the bell.
It opened in two seconds.
And there he was.
Aadvik Rathore. In a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, barefoot, and unreadable.
"You came," he said, like he was bored by the idea.
"I didn't have much of a choice," she muttered, walking past him.
He didn't stop her.
Inside, the house smelled like cedarwood and control. Every corner was neat. Minimalist. Cold. Like him.
She dropped her bag on the couch. "So? What now? You planning to make me mop your floors as punishment?"
He walked into the kitchen without answering. Came back with two mugs.
Coffee.
She stared at him. "Seriously?"
"You spill it. You should learn to handle it."
"…Are we still talking about coffee?"
He sat across from her, sipping quietly. "You talk a lot when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You are."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and close. His gaze didn't leave her. She hated how intense it was. Like he was peeling her layer by layer without moving a muscle.
"I can't pay for your shirt," she said quietly. "I'm not rich like you."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"I wanted to see if you'd actually show up."
Aira blinked. "What?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp. "Most people get embarrassed and avoid me after I humiliate them. You didn't. That's rare."
She swallowed. "I didn't come here to impress you."
"No. But you did anyway."
Her breath caught.
A small smile played on his lips.
Then—his voice turned cold again. "Still. That shirt cost fifty thousand. And since you can't pay… you owe me something else."
Aira stiffened. "What do you mean?"
His eyes didn't waver. "Calm down. I don't mean anything inappropriate."
She relaxed a little. Barely.
He stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out a file. Tossed it on the coffee table in front of her.
"You're average in studies," he said. "Your grades dropped last semester."
Aira glared. "Gee, thanks."
"I can help. Tutoring. Private sessions. You work hard enough, you clear your papers, and I'll call it even."
Aira narrowed her eyes. "Why would you do that?"
He smirked. "Because I like having control. And you? You're the first girl in this college who refuses to give it to me."
She stood up abruptly. "You're insane."
"Maybe."
"I don't need your help."
"Then pay for the shirt."
She clenched her jaw. "Fine. Tutoring. But I'm not scared of you, Aadvik."
His eyes darkened. "That's what makes you interesting, Aira Mehra."
And somehow, that scared her more than anything else.