# Chapter 8 — Static in the Walls
Rohan had barely shut the door when Pooja turned from the mirror, one hand already tugging at the hem of his oversized T-shirt. The fabric had slipped off one shoulder, then the other, leaving her in that careless, stolen-between-moments kind of look that made the room feel smaller and warmer at once. Under the loose cotton, a flash of black lace peeked through, just enough to make his throat go dry.
“Bas itna hi?” he said, trying for casual and failing completely.
Pooja gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Kya? Tumhari T-shirt mein hi zyada comfortable lag rahi hoon.”
“Comfortable?” Rohan let out a short laugh, eyes tracing the soft shape of her through the shirt, the way it clung in some places and fell away in others, teasing more than revealing. “That’s not the word I’d use.”
She walked closer, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight when she sat down at the edge of the bed, then looked up at him with that maddeningly calm expression of hers. “Toh kaunsa word use karoge?”
Rohan stepped in front of her, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin just above her shorts. “Dangerous,” he said. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Pooja leaned back on her palms, tilting her head. “And you know exactly where to look.”
He did. God, he did. The T-shirt had fallen enough to reveal the line of a black strap, the neat edge of her lingerie beneath the borrowed fabric. Nothing more than a glimpse, but somehow that made it worse. Better. His gaze stayed there a second too long, and when he looked back at her face, she was watching him with a tiny smile that said she noticed everything.
“Tumhare bas ki nahi hai mujhe tease karna,” he murmured.
“Really?” She arched a brow. “You look pretty affected for someone so confident.”
Rohan bent slightly, bringing his forehead close to hers. “Main confident hoon,” he said, voice low, “bas tumhare saamne thoda distract ho jaata hoon.”
Pooja’s smile softened, and for one brief second the teasing slipped into something quieter, heavier. Her fingers caught the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric. “Then don’t look away.”
He didn’t. He looked at her like he’d been given permission to, like every curve hidden beneath his T-shirt was a secret he had no right to know and no intention of forgetting. His hands moved slowly along her sides, careful, reverent, as if the whole point was to feel the shape of her without breaking the moment.
Pooja inhaled, her lashes lowering for a beat. “Rohan,” she said, almost a warning, almost not.
He smiled against her temple. “Hmm?”
“You’re making this very difficult.”
“Achha?” He brushed his nose along her cheek, then kissed the corner of her mouth, unhurried and deliberate. “Then let me make it a little worse.”
Her laugh came out soft and breathless, and when she pulled him closer by the collar, the room seemed to fold around them..
Lecture khatam hote hi corridor ek saans mein bhar gaya—chairs ki kharrahat, books ke thap-thap, aur bahar girti hui baarish ki halki, steady tapping. Media lab ke saamne wala passage late afternoon ki peeli roshni mein aur bhi lamba lag raha tha, jaise campus ka har corner aaj kuch zyada hi chup ho. Arjun ne collar seedha kiya aur Kabir ke saath crowd mein ghul gaya, dono ka step casual tha, par dono ke dimaag mein ek hi naam ghoom raha tha.
Kunal.
Do din se gayab, aur administration ka jawab wahi polished sa: “Inquiry chal rahi hai. Please don’t spread rumors.” Itna bland bolte the jaise missing hona bhi attendance ka issue ho. Corridor mein students ki awaazein phir bhi kam nahi thi—koi hostel ki power cut pe complain kar raha tha, koi assignment ki deadline pe. Magar sabke words ke neeche ek aur layer thi, wohi campus-wali whispering layer, jo aaj kal har group ke beech se nikal rahi thi.
“Yaar, agar Kunal ne bas drama kiya hoga toh?” ek junior ne apne dost se kaha.
Kabir ne side glance maara. “Drama ke liye itna silence nahi hota,” usne low voice mein bola.
Arjun ne hansi dabayi, phir bhi uski aankhen corridor ke end tak ja rahi thi. “Tu bhi full poet ban gaya hai.”
Kabir ne shoulder shrug kiya. “Campus mein survival ke liye thoda rebel aur thoda poet, dono chahiye.”
Stairwell ke paas ek naya notice board chipka hua tha: STUDENT SAFETY AND RESTRICTED ACCESS. Black letters, official font, safed paper. Neeche administration ka seal bhi tha, taaki sab ko lage ki kuch kiya ja raha hai. Par notice ke right corner ka hissa kisi ne seedha phaad diya tha, ek clean, angry tear. Jo warning thi, woh already late aa chuki thi.
Arjun ne uss torn edge ko dekha aur kaha, “Someone really doesn’t care about rules.”
“Campus mein rules ka respect tab hota hai jab kisi ko dekh raha ho,” Kabir ne jawab diya. “Warna… 69 ka room ho ya rule sheet, sabka haal same.”
Arjun ne usko elbow maara. “Tu har cheez mein 69 ghusa deta hai.”
Kabir ke lips par half-smile aaya. “Because some things are permanently unavailable.”
Woh dono aage badhe. Rain windows pe patter kar rahi thi, aur corridor mein ek professor fast-walk karta hua guzra, files ko chest se chipkaye. Uski hurried footsteps ke beech Arjun ki nazar old service door ke paas zameen par padi. Wahan, concrete ke edge ke bilkul saath, ek faint chalk mark tha—half smudged, half deliberate. Wahi odd symbol. Wahi curve aur cut, jo pehle bhi unko kisi aur jagah dikha tha.
Arjun ka poora focus uss nishaan par tik gaya. “Kabir—”
Par tabhi crowd ka ek surge aaya. Do girls hanshti hui cross huiं, ek security guard ne side se path clear karaya, aur professor ka shoulder uske nazar ke saamne aa gaya. Bas ek second. Itna hi kaafi tha.
Jab Arjun ne dobara dekha, chalk mark crowd mein dilute ho chuka tha, jaise kisi ne jaanbujhkar usse campus ki normal noise mein daba diya ho.
Kabir ne uske face ko padh liya. “Kya hua?”.
Library basement ka archive room library ke baaki hisse se bilkul alag lag raha tha—jaise kisi ne campus ki saari saans yahin niche dabaa di ho. Ek bulb kone mein sark raha tha, uski peeli roshni dust ke saath milkar hawa ko aur bhi bhari bana rahi thi. Deewaron ke along purane registers, maintenance files aur student records ki metallic shelves khadi thi, sab par ek patli si sadi hui khamoshi chipki hui.
Arjun door ke paas khada tha, casual posture mein, jaise bas kisi ne usse ek rare reference book dhoondhne ko bola ho. “Bas jaldi karo,” usne dheere se kaha, aankh corridor par tikaye. “Agar librarian aunty ne dekh liya na, toh hum teenon ko seedha moral science lecture milega.”
Kabir ne ek half-smile diya, lekin uske fingers borrowed key par tight thi. “Lecture se problem nahi hai,” usne murmur kiya. “Problem hai ki agar ye key kaam nahi ki, toh hum yahan sirf notes nahi, poora future khoj rahe honge.”