# Chapter 12 — Static in the Walls
The corridor outside Room 69 had gone quiet in that strange, suspended way campus corridors did after midnight, when even the ceiling fans seemed to be gossiping in slow motion. Inside, the only light came from the desk lamp, pooled warm over scattered notes, a half-finished cold coffee, and the red hoodie Pooja had thrown over the chair like she was pretending she had not already made herself at home in Rohan’s mess.
Rohan shut the door with his foot and leaned back against it for a second, looking at her properly. Pooja was standing by the window, fingers hooked into the strap of her tote bag, pretending to check her phone. But the smile at the corner of her mouth had already betrayed her.
“Tu sach mein aayi,” he said softly.
Pooja glanced up. “Haan. Main bhi kabhi kabhi impulsive hoti hoon, believe it or not.”
He laughed under his breath and crossed the room slowly, as if the distance itself had become a dare. “Mujhe lagta hai tum impulsive kam, dangerous zyada ho.”
“Good,” she said, setting the phone aside. “Boring logon ke saath time waste nahi karna.”
That earned her the look he only gave when he was thinking too much and saying too little. Rohan stopped a step away from her, close enough that the air between them felt charged, close enough that Pooja’s teasing expression softened into something quieter. She tipped her chin up, fearless for exactly two seconds, then glanced away as if the sudden intensity had caught even her off guard.
“Pooja,” he murmured, and her name sounded like a hand on skin.
She looked back at him. “Hmm?”
He lifted one hand, paused just before touching her cheek, giving her the chance to move away. She didn’t. So he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, slow and careful, like he was learning the shape of her by heart. Pooja’s breath hitched, tiny and unmistakable, and the smallest smile touched his mouth.
“Ab kya?” she asked, but her voice had changed. Less sharp. More honest.
“Ab?” Rohan’s thumb skimmed along her jaw. “Ab tum decide karo.”
Pooja held his gaze for a long second, then reached up and caught his wrist, guiding his hand to rest against her neck. Her pulse was racing under his palm. That did it. The room seemed to shrink around them, all the clutter and noise of campus life fading into the background until there was only her steady gaze and the heat rising between them.
“Tu always this dramatic hota hai?” she whispered.
“Sirf jab tum saamne hoti ho.”
That was enough. Pooja stepped in first, closing the last inch with a confidence that made Rohan’s breath stall. He kissed her like he’d been waiting all evening to stop pretending otherwise, and she answered with the kind of certainty that turned teasing into surrender. The desk lamp hummed, the curtain stirred with the night breeze, and somewhere far off, a bike passed below with a fading honk that sounded absurdly distant.
Pooja’s fingers tightened in his shirt. Rohan’s hand settled at her waist, steadying, holding, not rushing..
Monday morning ka corridor usually noise se bhara rehta tha—bags ki zip, shoes ka scuff, juniors ki over-enthusiastic greetings. Aaj sab kuch thoda muted tha, jaise campus ne bhi raat bhar kuch sun liya ho aur ab bolne se bach raha ho.
Department block ke notice board ke paas attendance sheets clip thi, aur paper pe sab normal lag raha tha. Names, roll numbers, signatures. Par har student ki nazar ek beat zyada der tak faces par ruk jaati thi. Stairwell ki taraf bhi log dekhe ja rahe the, jaise Kunal kisi moment pe wahan se casually walk karke nikal aayega, attendance dene ki late aadat ke saath.
Arjun ne apna backpack ek shoulder se dusre par shift kiya aur corridor mein aage badha, expression light rakhne ki koshish mein. “Back to class,” usne half-smile ke saath murmured kiya, jaise khud ko convince kar raha ho.
Rohan ne bina dekhe jawab diya, “Paper pe back to class. Reality mein back to panic.” Uski voice low thi, aur aankhon mein wahi nerdy alertness jo ab kisi bhi missing detail ko miss nahi kar rahi thi. “Kunal ka found-alive hona relief hai, but it’s not the end. Kisi ne usse chupaya. Ya kisi ne usse shift kiya. Dono cases mein system ke andar koi hai.”
Kabir ne corridor ke end par ek security guard ko dekha, phir ceiling ke camera dome ko. “System,” woh snorted softly. “Yahan system ka matlab hota hai—koi bhi bolta hai, koi bhi sunta nahi. Aur phir sab kehte hain, ‘college hai, itna bhi kya sochna.’” Uski tone sharp thi, but restless. “Ab dekhna, koi na koi isko rumor bana ke khatam karne ki koshish karega.”
Imran sabse peeche chal raha tha, hands in pockets, face almost unreadable. Lekin uski nazar corridor ke glass panel mein reflected movement pe thi. “Rumor se pehle fear aata hai,” he said quietly. “Aur fear se log galti karte hain.” Bas itna bolkar woh chup ho gaya, jaise usne apne words ko bhi extra attention se bachana ho.
Classroom ke bahar crowd thin ho chuki thi, but tension thin nahi hui thi. Tabhi Dr. Meera Kapoor corridor mein aayi—files in one hand, heels ka controlled rhythm, aur uss kind of calm posture ke saath jo students ko hamesha thoda extra alert kar deti thi. She paused just enough to scan the boys, then the hallway beyond them.
“Attendance is not the same as presence,” she said, voice smooth but firm. “Institutional ethics ka pehla lesson yahi hai. Jo cheez paper pe complete lagti hai, zaroori nahi woh actually complete ho.” Her eyes rested on the boys for a second longer than necessary. “Missing time leaves evidence. Log bhoolna chahte hain, lekin records, routines, CCTV, witnesses—sab yaad rakhte hain.”
Arjun ne expression steady rakha. Rohan ka mind already words ko note kar raha tha. Kabir ne floor tiles count karne jaisa pose banaya. Imran ne sirf ek small nod diya.
Dr. Meera ne lecture hall ki taraf gesture kiya. “And remember, students—jab koi cheez room 69 jaisi numbered ho aur phir bhi confusion create kare, toh samajh lo problem room mein nahi, interpretation mein hai.”.
Library annex ka late morning bhi strangely restless tha. Main reading hall ke shor se thoda alag, yeh corner hamesha jaise campus ke bhool gaye secrets ko sambhal ke rakhta tha—purane notice boards, stapled circulars, faded event sheets, aur ek glass cabinet jisme seasonal trophies ke saath kuch torn pamphlets bhi pade rehte the. Dust ki halke si smell aur printer ink ka purana sa residue hawa mein mix tha.
Arjun ne ek stack uthaya aur bolaa, “Dekho, yahan pe sab kuch date-wise hai. Agar Kunal koi pattern follow kar raha tha, toh yahin dikhega.”
Kabir ne apni sleeve upar ki, rough sa tone liya. “Pattern toh campus ko bhi tab yaad aata hai jab koi gayab ho jaata hai. Pehle koi notice nahi padhta, phir sab detective ban jaate hain.”
Arjun ne usko side-eye diya. “Tu sarcastic kam, useful zyada ho ja.”