Arohi's POV
Five marks.
That's all.
Not fifty. Not fifteen. Just five.
I stared at the notice board until the numbers blurred.
Vedant Kapoor – 487
Arohi Mehta – 482
It wasn't failure.
It was insult.
He hadn't even looked surprised.
Just nodded, like the universe had done what it was supposed to.
I walked back to Room 306 without speaking.
Meher was already there, folding her notes like they were fragile things.
She looked up when I entered, but didn't say anything.
I sat down.
Opened my notebook.
Closed it again.
"I'm going to beat him," I said.
Meher didn't flinch. "You already almost did."
"Almost isn't enough."
She waited.
She always did.
"I'll distract him," I said. "Make him fall for me."
Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn't interrupt.
"He's focused. Too focused. If I shift that—just slightly—he won't see me coming."
Meher leaned back. "You think he'll fall?"
I looked at her.
Not with doubt.
With certainty.
"He already has," I said.
It wasn't arrogance.
It was observation.
The way he watches me when I speak.
The way he waits for my reactions.
The way he never interrupts, but always responds.
I'll give him softness.
Silence.
A glance too long.
A smile too brief.
And when he starts wondering what it means—
I'll be studying.
Because love, for him, will be distraction.
For me, it'll be strategy.
Meher didn't argue.
She just said, "Don't lose yourself in the game."
I won't.
I never do.