Siya POV:
It was only Tuesday, and I was really bored of college. Also, my best friend Roshni was absent today. A day without her felt like thousand years in desert. I wanted to go home, lie down on my bed, watch K-dramas or read books. I started doodling in my book. It was my only hobby which helped me escape from shackles of boredom. While I was busy doodling, a boy supposedly new came to me and asked,
"Can I sit here?"
"Yes Sure, my friend is absent. You can sit here for today."
The boy sitting behind me, Rahul warned me in a short whisper," Siya! Don't let him sit here! He is a bit of a weirdo. He usually sits in the back alone and talks with no one and no one talks to him."
I realized what these guys were trying to do to a lonely friend. I would never allow anyone to bully him again!
I quickly pickled my bag from my Best-friend's desk and kept it on my side. He took seat next to me. When I looked at him again, I recognized him.
"Ohh! You are the same boy who I stomped at the corridor yesterday!"
He looked down perhaps a bit shy and nodded in a yes.
"I am so sorry for that day. Actually, you left a book with me by mistake.. It is with my friend, but she is absent today. I will tell her to return it to you. By the way, what, is your name?"
"Rishabh."
"Hello Rishabh, I am Siya! Nice to meet you. new buddy!"
We shook hands with each-other and I introduced him to my other friends and continued doodling in my book.
The air in the room was thick with boredom. Chalk dust floated lazily in the sunlight as I scribbled half-hearted doodles in the corner of my notebook. Another professor, another hour of staring at the clock.
Then the door opened.
And he walked in.
I didn't even hear his footsteps—just felt the sudden shift in the room, like something magnetic had entered. My pen froze mid-stroke.
He was tall. Effortlessly tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong, veined forearms. His dark trousers fit him a little too well for any academic setting, and the watch on his wrist looked expensive but not flashy.
But it was his face that did it.
Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and lips that looked like they'd never raised their voice. His hair was neatly styled, yet somehow tousled like he'd just run a hand through it walking in. And those eyes—dark, intelligent, unreadable—swept across the room once, then stopped.
On me.
I swear the air left my lungs.
He looked away, calm and in control, walking to the front with quiet authority. My heart, on the other hand, had apparently gone into full-blown cardiac drama.
He turned toward us, clearing his throat.
"Good morning. I'm Professor Maheshwari. I'll be taking over your Narrative Psychology classes for this term."
His voice was deep, smooth, with just the right amount of gravel to make every syllable feel... expensive. He wasn't trying to be charming—he just was.
I didn't hear anything else after his name. I didn't even write it down. I was too busy watching the way his lips moved when he spoke, the curve of his wrist as he adjusted his marker, the faint dimple in his cheek that showed when he almost smiled.
What the hell was happening to me?
He turned back to the class.
"Any questions before we begin?"
"Yes, Professor. Just one: Are you even real?", I thought to myself. I was lost in him completely.
"Siya! Siya! Pay attention in class!", David who is our class representative said to me. Thankfully, I gained consciousness and avoided being a laughingstock in front of the entire class and my first 'Crush'.
Our eyes met. Only for a second. Maybe half. But in that moment, I felt like the rest of the room faded away. Did he—did he smirk? Or was that just my brain short-circuiting?
Siya! You are definitely in love!
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Arjun:
As Arjun stepped into the classroom, the casual murmur of voices fell into a hush. The late morning sun filtered in through the tall windows, casting a soft halo around him like some divine spotlight had chosen to follow his every move. His shirt sleeves were rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms, and his hair, deliberately tousled, gave him an effortless charm that made it hard to look away.
He paused by the door, letting their eyes take him in. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze swept over the room.
Most of the girls were staring. Some with open curiosity, some biting their lips, others pretending not to look—but failing miserably. Even a few guys looked impressed, or maybe threatened. But Arjun wasn't here for their admiration. Not entirely.
In the third row, a girl had clearly lost the battle with herself. Her jaw was slightly slack, a pen dangling between her fingers as she stared like she was watching a star fall from the sky. Arjun smirked ever so slightly. She'd be easy to use, he thought.
The more they fancy me, the more they'll listen. The more they'll help. Obsession is a powerful tool when wielded right. He walked to his seat with confidence laced in every step, his posture telling the world he belonged anywhere he chose to be.
The teacher's voice faded into the background. Arjun wasn't concerned with lessons—not the ones printed in textbooks, anyway. His eyes remained half-lidded as he glanced around the room again, already calculating. He had already received that the Murderer was in the Class A1, meaning this class.
Soon, they'd be doing far more than just looking.
Siya POV:
Besides from knowing the fact that new professor was Hella handsome, it was clear that he was immensely knowledgeable. First day of college and everyone was already glued to his lecture. The room was heavy with silence. The kind that made even the ticking of the clock feel intrusive.
Arjun Sir leaned against the desk at the front of the classroom, arms folded, eyes unreadable. On the board behind him, scrawled in sharp chalk lines:
"THE MIND OF A KILLER: IS MURDER EVER JUSTIFIED?"
He turned toward the class, his voice calm and slow, like someone coaxing a secret out of a locked box.
"Let's forget morality for a moment. Let's talk psychology. Why do people kill?"
The class shifted uncomfortably. A few students avoided his gaze. Others were too intrigued to look away.
"You," he pointed to a boy near the middle. "Why does someone kill?"
The boy swallowed. "Because… they're angry? Or sick?"
Arjun nodded slowly. "Anger. Rage. Mental illness. Sure. Textbook answers." He took a few steps forward. "But that's not always it, is it? Sometimes, people kill calmly. With purpose. Even with love."
The word love twisted strangely in his mouth. He scanned the class, eyes sharp.
"Let's say," he continued, "you knew someone who hurt your sister. Again and again. And the law didn't stop him. Would you kill him?"
Silence.
"You don't have to answer out loud," he said, smirking. "But your brain already did."
He moved along the rows like a panther in thought. "The most dangerous killer isn't the madman in the alley. It's the one who's convinced they're right. The one who believes the world is better off without their target."
He stopped in front of a girl near the back, the one who had always stared at him like he was more myth than man.
"What if I told you," he said softly, "that every human being has the potential to kill? That it just takes the right push?"
She blinked, lips parted.
Arjun turned back to the board, underlining a new word:
"JUSTIFICATION."
"Murder becomes palatable when dressed in reason. Mercy killings. Honor killings. Revenge. War. Every killer thinks they had a cause."
He faced them again, tone sharper now.
"I'm not here to scare you. I'm here to show you that psychology is a mirror. Look into it long enough, and you'll find the part of you that's capable of anything."
He let the silence hang.
"Don't ask could I kill? The real question is... what would make me?"
And as he returned to his seat, the class sat frozen—some horrified, some strangely thrilled.
Arjun Sir smiled faintly.
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Third person POv:
The bell rang.
But no one moved.
The usual rustling of notebooks, the scraping of chairs, the murmur of idle chatter—none of it came. Instead, a thick, loaded silence gripped the room like invisible hands.
Arjun capped the marker, placed it down with care, and glanced at the room of stunned students.
"I'll see you all next week," he said, voice calm, crisp.
He gave them one last lingering look, then strode out of the classroom, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
The silence shattered.
"Holy shit," someone whispered.
"I—what did we just sit through?" said another girl, clutching her notebook like it might protect her.
"That was like… a TED Talk from hell," muttered a boy near the front.
"No, seriously," another chimed in, wide-eyed. "Did anyone else feel like he was talking directly to them? Like he already knows things?"
"That really sums it all up! There is really a Psycho murderer in our college! Or else, why would they let us take these Psychology classes compulsorily.", Hafiza muttered aloud grabbing everyone's attention.
In the middle row, Siya slowly closed her notebook. Her face was unreadable—until a small, secretive smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
The boy beside her, Rishabh, however, had shrunk into his chair, arms crossed tightly as if trying to shield himself.
He leaned in closer to her, whispering hoarsely, "What kind of man teaches like that? That wasn't a lecture… that was a warning."
Siya turned her head slowly toward him, eyes glinting.
"But it was fascinating," she said softly.
His face paled. "You're joking, right?"
She just smiled again—this time more amused, more curious.
"No," she said. "I think it was the most honest lesson we've ever had."
Around them, the class finally began to stir, students exchanging nervous glances and hurried whispers. Some were shaken, others oddly inspired. But no one left untouched.
Because in that classroom, for just under an hour, they'd all looked into the darkest corners of their own minds.
And Arjun… had simply handed them the flashlight.