Chapter 5: The Lair of the Bad Boy

As soon as I opened the door, the blast of cold air from the old ceiling fan made me shiver.

Someone’s half-eaten Maggi cup perched on the window ledge, and a faded poster of Virat Kohli stared down from above the cupboard. The light flickered, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. I stepped in, my sandals squeaking against the wet patches near the fridge. The scent of wet earth and cheap deodorant filled the air.

The room was a mess, water everywhere.

Empty Bisleri bottles littered the floor, a towel lay in a soggy heap near the bathroom, and the curtains billowed in the warm night breeze.

Following the sound of running water, I looked over.

My gaze settled on Kabir, the campus bad boy, who sat slumped on the floor by the sofa.

The always rebellious, cool campus bad boy was now pitifully sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa.

Gone was his usual swagger. He looked fragile, almost childlike, his defences stripped away by whatever poison Yashi had slipped him.

He was pouring ice water over his head.

Droplets sparkled in the dull light, trickling down his neck and chest, soaking the waistband of his track pants.

His T-shirt was tossed aside.

His bare torso gleamed with sweat and water, each muscle taut with effort. I felt my cheeks burn at the sight.

He was only wearing a pair of grey track pants.

A small thread from a red kalava peeked out from his wrist—a silent reminder of the boy behind the reputation.

Kabir hung his head.

His shoulders rose and fell with each laboured breath. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, plastered to his skin.

His jet-black short hair was wet, plastered to his face, half covering his eyes.

He looked nothing like the fearless hero everyone idolised. In that moment, he was just a boy, scared and in pain.

Water droplets slid down his sharp jawline, dripping onto his pants.

One drop, two drops, spreading a dark patch.

The sight was oddly hypnotic, my own breath catching in my throat.

It was enough to make anyone thirsty just looking at him.

I swallowed, feeling a strange mixture of sympathy and embarrassment.

The boy’s long, well-defined fingers squeezed the plastic water bottle until it creaked.

His knuckles were white, his grip desperate. I realised he was fighting to stay in control, even now.

Kabir tilted his head back, and when no more water came out, he actually stuck his tongue inside the bottle to lick it.

The gesture was oddly vulnerable, so different from his usual cocky grin. My heart twisted at the sight.

The bright red tip of his tongue circled inside the bottle, then retracted, hidden by his full lips.

He looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for answers. I wanted to reach out, to help him, but my feet were rooted to the spot.

The Kabir in my memory had red streaks in his hair and a silver stud, his whole presence screaming arrogance and rebellion.

He was the boy who’d raced his bike down FC Road, who winked at girls from behind his aviators, who always seemed untouchable.

Now, that arrogant face was still dazzlingly handsome.

But his flushed skin and heavy, ragged breathing betrayed his abnormal state.

He was a bit slow to react, only now noticing someone had entered.

The door creaked shut behind me, and he turned his head, eyes unfocused.

Without even looking up, he snapped at me:

"Who let you in? Get out."

His voice was harsh, the words slurred. He sounded more like a wounded animal than the king of campus.

But when he turned and saw it was me, the words "don’t touch me" died on his lips.

Recognition flickered in his eyes, cutting through the fog for a moment. He froze, uncertain.

He staggered, trying to hide behind the fridge.

His movements were clumsy, almost comical. He banged his knee on the edge and winced, but kept trying to crawl away.

But his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor.

A shudder ran through him, his body wracked with chills. I felt a surge of pity, remembering all the stories that had made him a legend on campus.

I grabbed a bottle of ice water, unscrewed it, and handed it to him.

"Kabir, where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor for you."

I kept my voice calm, trying to sound reassuring. The last thing he needed was more panic.

He tilted his head back and gulped down several mouthfuls, water running down his lips and neck.

The bottle trembled in his hands, the water spilling onto the floor. He coughed, choking on a mouthful, and I reached out instinctively to steady him.

Then, dizzy, he started fumbling in his track pants pocket for his phone.

His fingers scrabbled at the fabric, missing the pocket entirely. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he muttered something under his breath.

I saw his pocket bulging, as if there was a phone inside.

But after a long time, he still couldn’t find the pocket.

He looked up at me, dazed.

His eyes were glassy, unfocused. I knelt down beside him, trying not to let my worry show.

His red lips trembled, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

The words were a jumble, half-formed and slurred. I leaned in, trying to catch a fragment of sense.

I thought he was just too clumsy.

After all, Kabir was known more for his charm than his coordination, especially after a few drinks.

So I pulled his hand away and reached in myself.

The gesture felt oddly intimate, my fingers brushing against his. I ignored the heat rising in my cheeks.

But the moment my hand went in, I regretted it.

My heart leapt into my throat as I realised what I’d just done. I snatched my hand back, mortified.

With years of biology tuition and awkward hostel stories from my previous life,

That… was definitely not a phone. Arrey, Naina, what have you landed yourself into?

Before I could scream, Kabir was already panting heavily by my ear.

His breath was hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I turned my head, trying to put some distance between us.

His hot breath brushed my ear, making me instinctively turn my head to avoid the tickle—

Just in time to meet Kabir’s flushed eyes.

His gaze was intense, burning with something I couldn’t quite name. I froze, caught in the moment.

"I... I’ll go get someone for you."

My voice shook, but I tried to sound firm. I scrambled to my feet, desperate to escape the tension.

I hurried to get up, but he pressed me down.

His hand closed over mine, his grip surprisingly strong. I stumbled, falling to my knees beside him.

His hand, through the fabric, pressed against mine.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me. I tried to pull away, but he held on tightly.

Another unbearable gasp escaped him.

His breath hitched, his body arching in pain or pleasure—I couldn’t tell which.

Maybe the stimulation brought him a moment of clarity, because his hoarse voice blurted out:

"Naina."

He said my name with such longing, such desperation, that my heart skipped a beat. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us.

I stared in shock at the dazed Kabir.

His eyes were wild, pleading. I saw the boy behind the reputation—the one who hid his pain behind a mask of arrogance.

A little surprised.

So he’d been calling my name all along.

Even in this state, he could still recognise me.

But then why did Arjun get it wrong in my previous life? Why did he mistake me for someone else?

The question gnawed at me, refusing to let go. Was I just a pawn in someone else’s game?

Or did Arjun just see me as someone he could toy with at will?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

So I stepped forward, bent down, and lifted Kabir’s chin.

Looking straight at him.

I wanted answers. I wanted the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

"Say it again. Who am I?"

My voice was sharp, demanding. I refused to be anyone’s shadow anymore.

As soon as my hand touched him, I felt burning heat.

His skin was feverish, his eyes glassy with need. But there was a clarity there too, a recognition that went beyond the haze.

When I tried to pull away, Kabir grabbed my hand with both of his, rubbing his cheek against it.

The gesture was childlike, almost pleading. My heart softened, despite myself.

His gaze slid from my lips to my eyes, until our eyes met.

For a moment, everything else faded—the party, the rumours, the pain. It was just the two of us, suspended in a moment that felt both terrifying and electric. Outside, someone banged on a steel thali—"Lights out!"—but neither of us moved. Not yet.