Chapter 2: The Spider and the Snake

"Rohit, come in, I have something to say to you."

Priya was waiting in the abandoned classroom, leaning against a desk, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, smiling with a faint challenge.

Her dupatta hung carelessly over her shoulder, bangles tinkling lightly with each movement. The scent of jasmine oil drifted from her hair, and her school ID dangled from her neck, catching the sunlight. Anyone else might have melted under that gaze, but not me. My breath was steady, my eyes hard as stone.

She was beautiful—her gentle, affectionate look could easily charm anyone.

Even the chalk dust swirling in the sunlight seemed to pause for her. Her kajal-lined eyes sparkled, lips curving in a smile meant to disarm. But I only saw the poison hidden beneath the rose.

But my heart was filled only with endless hatred.

It pulsed inside me, a dull, relentless ache. Every memory of humiliation, every whisper, every time I saw my mother’s swollen eyes after a night of crying—everything burned like acid.

I didn’t know why she was doing this.

Maybe it was a game for her. Maybe she loved the power, the thrill of ruining someone with a single word. These rich girls, living in another world, never knowing what it meant to count coins for a bus fare.

Nor did I care to know.

All that mattered was that I wouldn’t play her game. Not this time. I kept my face blank, hiding the storm inside.

Seeing me stand unmoving, Priya pretended to be annoyed. "What are you thinking about?"

She pouted, flicked her hair back, tapping her sandal impatiently on the floor. Her voice was honeyed, but her eyes flashed with irritation. "Arrey, lost in your own world or what?"

I put on an innocent smile and asked, "Priya, what do you want with me?"

I softened my tone, letting a touch of nervousness slip in. "Accha, bolo, kya baat hai?"

Saying this, I walked in, just as I had in my previous life.

But this time, I locked the classroom door behind me.

The metallic click echoed around us. Priya’s eyes darted to the door for a second, but she recovered fast, trying not to show any surprise. My own pulse steadied. For the first time, I was in control.

Priya didn’t notice, still smiling as she took out a notebook and said softly, "Rohit, there’s a question I can’t solve. Can you teach me?"

She placed the notebook on the desk, sliding it toward me, her fingers brushing mine. Her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something expensive—hung in the air. Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "Just this once, na? You’re the topper, after all."

I acted curious. "Why not ask in your own class?"

I raised an eyebrow, voice light but skeptical. "Priya, your friends can help you. Why call me here?" I tried to sound like the old Rohit, but my gaze never left her face.

"It’s quiet here."

Priya raised her eyebrows, her eyes hinting at something, her breath sweet as she whispered, "We can... be alone together. No one will disturb us."

Her tone was teasing, her eyes full of mischief. She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. Even her voice was low, as if afraid someone might overhear. The walls closed in, the air thick with tension.

I smiled and walked over casually.

I slipped my hands into my pockets, acting relaxed, though every muscle was taut. My eyes swept the corners of the classroom, searching for shadows, for hidden faces.

The corners of Priya’s mouth curled up in pride—she probably thought her plan had succeeded.

She straightened, flashing a victorious smile, her chin held high. She must have thought I was trapped. I let her think I was trapped, but this time I was the one pulling the strings.

When I got close, Priya suddenly grabbed my wrist tightly. "Rohit, this problem is really difficult."

Her grip was stronger than I expected, her nails digging into my skin. Her bangles clinked sharply, matching the tension in her jaw. Her words came quick, almost breathless. For a moment, the mask slipped and I saw the real Priya.

She used a lot of force, her nails almost digging into my skin, leaving scratch marks on my arm.

Red welts appeared, stinging sharply. For her, it was evidence. For me, just another scar among many.

But I didn’t care at all. My eyes kept scanning the room.

I pretended to wince, but inside I was cold. I checked the windows—the back door was blocked by a pile of broken desks. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floor, and the only sound was the distant hum of the generator outside.

This was the fourth floor—no one could climb in through the window.

We were high above the playground, with only pigeons outside. The city’s noise was a distant buzz.

The back door was blocked by a pile of broken desks and chairs. Whether it was locked or not, no one could get in anyway.

The smell of old wood and iron mixed with her perfume. For once, Priya wasn’t the only one in control.

My reaction was strange—enough to make Priya uneasy.

She blinked, her grip loosening. Maybe she sensed something was different this time, that I wasn’t following her script. Her eyes narrowed, searching my face for clues.