By the time morning rolled around, the campus honestly felt like it had been hit by a jolt of electricity. Not the scary kind—just, you know, different, like everyone was plugged into the same weird current. And right smack in the middle of all this buzz?, Arjun Mehra, who, let's be real, was probably about the last person who wanted to be noticed right now.
He moved across the quad, head dipped, clutching his battered notebook to his chest like it could block out all the stares. It really couldn't, though. Whispers zipped around him, louder than ever. Couldn't have missed 'em if he tried.
"Yo, did you hear about Arjun? Don't tell me you missed it."
"He shut up Vikram. Can you believe it?"
"That's the guy from the cafe, right?"
"No, but for real, he quoted some law stuff even the prof fumbled with!"
Arjun could practically feel every stare drilling into him. He'd spent years turning himself into wallpaper around here, and now it felt like he'd strutted in wearing neon lights. Pretty overwhelming, honestly.
And that's when Neha showed up, like she had a sixth sense for drama. There she was, hustling to fall in step beside him, camera swinging at her side, eyes sharp with curiosity and maybe a hint of glee.
"Okay, spill!" she said, not missing a beat. "Did you really do that yesterday? How'd you manage to cut Vikram down like that? Seriously, that's legendary."
Arjun worked his jaw, trying to play it cool, but you could tell he was uncomfortable. "I, uh, just studied a bit. Not much to it."
Neha laughed. "You really think I'm that easy to fool? You've been Mr. Nowhere Man for years and suddenly you're tossing out case law like confetti? Come off it, Mehra. What's your secret?"
He sort of shrugged, still not lifting his gaze. "Just a lucky day, that's it."
She squinted at him, giving him this 'sure, bud' look. "Luck, huh? That's what we're calling it now? Luck's got a library card and a fetish for legal acts from the '90s, apparently."
Right then, Riya showed up, carrying so many notes she looked like a walking stationery store. She flicked a glance at Neha, then Arjun, looking a little irked. "Hey, Neha, he's not an article you can just pull quotes from. Ease up, okay?"
Neha just raised her eyebrows, like, "Fine, be that way," but she still wore this amused smirk. "Hey, I'm just curious! I mean, the campus is going nuts. Isn't this what you'd do if it was someone else?"
Before things got too heated, Arjun jumped in, all earnest and kind of desperate to make it blow over. "Really, you guys, it's nothing. I just answered a question. No big thing."
But obviously, to literally everyone else, it kinda was a big thing. It wasn't just an answer—it was a statement. Almost like the entire pecking order just wobbled for a second, you know?
Later, after classes wrapped up, Professor Nair called Arjun over. The guy had those professor glasses that made him look impossibly wise or needlessly intimidating, depending on whether you'd done the reading.
"You caught me off guard yesterday, Mehra," he said, voice steady but with something almost like pride in it. "Folks don't usually stand toe-to-toe with Vikram or his pals. You did."
Arjun shuffled around, almost shrinking. "Didn't mean to stir up anything, sir. Was just trying to answer."
Nair squinted at him, like he was weighing Arjun's soul or something, but his voice was warm. "Sometimes, trouble finds you when you stop hiding from it. Be wary, Mehra. The Singhanias—they're not fond of... embarrassment."
Which, okay, not exactly comforting advice. But hearing that from a professor? That meant things had moved beyond campus legend. This was ripple-to-tsunami sort of stuff now.
Meanwhile, at this fancy, velvet-lined spot where only the trust fund folks hung out, Vikram was holding court, but honestly, you could see the pride dent from a mile off. He was doing that annoying finger-drumming thing, like he wished his coffee mug was Arjun's face.
"Did you see that? Kid's got nerve," one friend growled. "Talking back like that—he needs knocking down."
Vikram didn't smile. Well, maybe he tried, but it was one of those cold, not-really-smiling smiles. "It's not what he said so much as people watching. Can't just let it go. Tomorrow, someone else gets ideas."
Another guy leaned in, like he was proposing the world's most original plan. "Just scare him, boss. A few calls, boom—he's back running tea deliveries."
But Vikram shook his head, eyes all sharp. "Too obvious. He got me in public. I'll make sure he feels it, piece by piece. He'll wish for those tea stalls before I'm done."
Everyone whooped it up, but honestly, you could feel the iciness underneath all that laughter.
Late that night, Arjun was hunched at his desk, surrounded by dim lamplight and a glow from his "System" thing, which looked all high-tech in the gloom. In the next room, his mom's soft, labored breathing kept this whole drama from spinning too far away from what mattered.
"System," he whispered, frustration leaking through, "this aura thing... how tough does it make me?"
The system popped up a message, all clinical:
[Beginner Negotiation Aura] is... situational. In regular debates: +18%. For formal negotiations: +12%. People will feel a little more like listening to you, that's all.
Arjun groaned. "So, not brainwashing. Not a cheat code."
The answer came in flat: No, just a nudge. Makes you a bit tougher to ignore. You still gotta talk sense.
He leaned back, frowning at the screen. So it wasn't magic. Just—like, leverage. A little more muscle for his words, but he'd still have to fight for every inch.
Another ping, and suddenly a thread-map unfurled: connections shooting out from his name to Riya, to Neha, to patterns flitting through campus gossip. One bright, angry red line drew his eyes—Singhania Group – Minor Alert.
His hands went a little cold. "Already? They know already?"
System: Yep. Yesterday changed how people see you. You're on their radar, and it's only climbing.
He pressed his hands to the desk, heart thumping. This was bigger than a heated debate now. Anonymity was gone, replaced by dangerous attention. In a city like Mumbai—well, friendly or not, the right kind of notice could flip your world on its head.
Outside, Mumbai kept roaring—the honks, the neon stripes, the swirl of a million other stories. And right now, Arjun's story was just getting started, even if he wasn't sure he liked being on center stage.