Chapter 5: The Old Fox’s Mask

5

My girlfriend’s advisor is Rajeev Mehra. I’d met him two or three times before.

He’s in his fifties, but stands tall, looks cultured—nothing like a sleazy uncle from outside.

I’d heard that Rajeev Mehra and his wife were supposed to be a loving couple, with two daughters.

I’d even checked his background before.

The old fox really had credentials—awards in India and abroad, respected in his field.

Happy family, successful career, students who adore him.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing, no doubt.

Bas karo na.

If I don’t expose this hypocrite, I’ll never get peace.

Ananya usually came home around seven or eight, but that day she returned early.

The moment she walked in, she asked if I’d seen her tablet.

I acted clueless and helped her search. In the end, we "found" it under the shoe rack.

She grabbed it immediately.

“As long as it’s at home. I thought I’d lost it outside.”

Then she took the tablet into the bedroom.

I watched her with a cold stare, saying nothing.

So desperate to come home, just to delete her chat history with the old fox.

When she came out, she looked relieved.

That night, Rajeev Mehra even called her.

She answered right in front of me, cool as ever.

“Professor Mehra, I’m at home, kya hua?”

“Nahi, I’m not tired.”

“Thik hai, I’ll come to your office tomorrow morning when I reach college.”

After cutting the call, she told me, like everything was normal, “Spent the afternoon helping my advisor with some files, and now he wants help again tomorrow. Arre, postgrad students are just professors’ assistants.”

Then she started ordering me around. “Honey, I couldn’t say it in front of my teacher, but my arms, legs, and knees are killing me—come give me a massage.”

I nearly cursed out loud.

Why do you hurt? How can you shamelessly boss me around?

Massage yourself, yaar.

I made an excuse and went to the bathroom.

Earlier, I’d have believed every word she said.

But now I knew: they were playing with fire, right under my nose.

Fine, you want to act? Let’s see who wins.

Sitting on the commode, the bathroom tiles closing in, I let the tap run so no one could hear me if I cried. I stared at my reflection—red eyes, jaw tight, the face of a man made a fool. I splashed cold water on my face, the chill waking me up. If they want to act, I’ll show them what real drama looks like. This game was just getting started.