Chapter 4: Hostel Showdown and Kunal’s Challenge

"Arjun?" My roommate waved a hand in front of my face.

I’d been lost in thought, staring at nothing. His palm snapped me back.

"If you don’t want to talk, just forget I asked."

He dropped his voice, a little guilty for prying.

I smiled, repeating my Priya excuse for him.

I faked a grin, but the lie tasted bitter. "My dad won’t let me date a girlfriend from another city, so we broke up."

It wasn’t even a full lie. Dad always said, “Beta, local girls are best. Bahu should be from our city, samjha?”

My roommate looked surprised. "Arjun, I didn’t expect you to listen to your dad."

He stared like I was a rare animal. No one in the hostel obeyed their parents that easily.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I always listen to my dad."

I forced a laugh, hoping he’d let it go.

His phone rang again. He looked at me, then just muttered it was a pity and hung up.

He wandered off, probably to tell the common room. News would spread like fire in dry grass.

Outside, the rain had started without me noticing.

Monsoon had arrived—thunder, lightning, and relentless Mumbai downpour.

Classmates kept knocking on the door, reminding me Priya was downstairs.

Some knocked gently, some banged impatiently—word travels fast when there’s drama. One even offered to talk to her for me.

Annoyed, I went out to the balcony.

I stepped over wet clothes, shivering in the cold air. The city below was a blur of headlights and umbrellas.

As soon as I poked my head out, I met Priya’s gaze. My heart tightened.

She stood at the gate, drenched, looking heartbreakingly stubborn. Her dupatta clung to her like a second skin.

Even in the dim light, I saw her broken look.

Her eyes found mine, and for a second, I almost ran down. But pride—or fear—kept me rooted.

I started to hesitate, thinking I should go explain.

Maybe I owed her that much. Or maybe I was afraid to see her cry.

Then I saw someone holding an umbrella for her.

A tall figure, hunched awkwardly, sheltering her. Didn’t take a genius to guess who.

Under the dim light, the umbrella was tilted almost entirely toward Priya.

She didn’t look at him, but he stayed close—like a loyal dog, faithful to the end.

The barrage appeared again.

[Side character ki madad se, hero ne himmat ki umbrella pakadne ki.]

[Kitna pyaara scene hai. Heroine, hero ko dekho—side character ko chhodo.]

My hesitation vanished. I turned back to my room.

I shut the balcony door harder than necessary, as if that could keep out the commentary—both from the world and from inside my head.

[Heroine se bardaasht nahi hota. Hero itna sincere hai, umbrella leke khada hai, par heroine usko bhaga deti hai.]

[Abhi toh chasing phase shuru hoga. Jitni abhi thandi hai, utna zyada baad mein tadpegi.]

I muttered, "Bas karo yaar..." and flopped on the creaky hostel bed.

My mind was in turmoil, so I put on headphones and started playing games.

My fingers moved aimlessly. The hostel power flickered, threatening darkness. I almost wished for it.

A few minutes later, someone yanked off my headphones and shouted.

The jolt nearly made me drop my phone. It was Kunal—no one else barged in like that.

"Priya is downstairs in the rain waiting for you, and you’re here playing games?"

He glared, hair wild, eyes blazing.

I covered my aching ear and frowned at Kunal, who looked icy cold.

He stood arms crossed, like he owned the place. Typical.

"This is between me and her. Aren’t you overstepping?"

I tried to stay calm, but patience ran thin.

He didn’t care, staring at me sharply. The room felt crowded with just us.

"Haven’t you had enough? Are you proud of playing with people’s hearts?"

His voice shook—anger or jealousy, I couldn’t tell.

"She’s so out of control because of you. Is your vanity still not satisfied?"

He made it sound like I’d committed a crime, not just broken up.

The barrage was full of praise for him.

[Bhai, hero ki love itni open hai. Heroine ko dukhi dekhkar, side character ko bhi samjhata hai.]

[Hero bechara, side character kitna bura hai—kitna dukh diya dono ko.]

I laughed in anger, hollow. "This isn’t your business, bhai."

"Priya and I broke up. If you feel sorry for her, take her yourself instead of coming to me."

My words were sharp, but needed. He hovered like I was fighting for my own space.

I never liked Kunal from the start.

From day one, his presence was a thorn—always lurking, never speaking directly, always judging.

When I was chasing Priya, he watched from the corner, dark look on his face.

His glare was full of accusation, never a challenge. Just... there.

When I brought Priya food, he’d throw it away when she was out.

Once, I made her favourite pasta and left it on her desk. Found it in the dustbin later.

When I caught him, he said Priya didn’t like sweets.

He acted like he knew her better than I could, and maybe he did.

I knew he liked Priya, but just saw it as rivalry.

Boys will be boys, my friends said. But with Kunal, there was always an edge.

I’d seen him pick up things Priya didn’t want and secretly smell her dupatta.

That haunted me for days, making my skin crawl.

It made me uncomfortable, but what could I say? He was the underdog; I was the privileged brat.

Even after I got with Priya, he kept showing up.

Every function, every event—always on the edges, never far.