Anika stormed out of Vikram's office, her chest heaving with ragged fury. Her hands trembled as if his touch still clung to her skin, a phantom violation that refused to fade. The corridor walls seemed to close in as she walked swiftly, desperate to outpace his shadow. For three long years, she had clung to the hope that his drunken haze had erased the memory of that night—the horror he had forced upon her. But no, his recall was cruelly sharp, every vile detail etched into his mind. And now, he dared to degrade her further, twisting her plea into something sordid.
Worst of all, he hadn't approved her absence from the field trip. Without his consent, she had no choice but to face the dean again. Her legs felt weak, but she forced them forward.
The dean appeared to have been expecting her. He looked up from his desk, a knowing smile softening his tired features. "Anu, did Vikram...?"
The mere mention of his name shattered her fragile control. Rage spilled out before she could rein it in. "That filthy pervert! He didn't even—"
She froze mid-sentence, realizing her outburst. Clamping her mouth shut, she lowered her head, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That... that... uncle... Professor Vikram didn't agree," she stuttered, her words barely masking the lingering anger.
But it was too late. The dean had heard. His brows lifted in surprise, then he chuckled softly. "Filthy pervert, you said? You meant Vikram, didn't you?"
As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the doorway. Anika, too caught up in salvaging her mistake, didn't notice. She shook her head quickly, her wide eyes blinking innocently. "How could I dare, uncle? I... I met a filthy pervert on my way here, that's all." Forcing a strained smile, she pushed forward to change the topic. "By the way, uncle... isn't there any other way?"
The dean studied her for a long moment, conflict etched in his expression. He hesitated, then sighed. "Anu, there is another way. If your parents directly request your leave, I can accept it."
Her lips curled bitterly. "Uncle, have you taken money from my old man to chase me away? Is that what this is?"
The dean sighed again, a quiet laugh escaping him. "That's why I didn't mention it earlier. I was hoping you'd find another solution. But it seems... you've forced my hand."
Her eyes reddened, her teeth gritting so tightly that her jaw ached. Lowering her head, her voice broke. "Uncle, I'm willing to give up my scholarship."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. For her child, she could abandon anything—even her future, even the scholarship that was her lifeline. She could never abandon her little pudding.
The dean didn't look surprised, but from the corner of the room, the man leaning against the door stiffened. Vikram's dark eyes widened, his fury coiling beneath a calm exterior. He had expected resistance, perhaps even crumbling, but not this—her willingness to sever her own path so decisively.
The dean's sigh was heavy and resigned. "I knew you'd choose this path. That's why I already prepared them." He slid a folder across the desk. "Sign."
Her trembling hands opened it, eyes scanning the words. Her chest ached, but she didn't hesitate. She signed her name firmly, the pen scratching against the paper in a final, irreversible stroke.
She closed the file and pushed it back. "Uncle, if there's nothing else, I'll leave now."
"Go ahead," he said softly.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she turned toward the door—only to freeze. Vikram stood there, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. For a heartbeat, her breath stopped. But she quickly regained her composure, lifted her chin, and walked past him as though he were nothing more than a shadow.
The corridor was empty, the faint echo of her footsteps her only company. She didn't see him at first, but when she realized he was following, it was too late. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He yanked her to the side and slammed her against the wall, his arms caging her in like a prison of heat and dominance.
"Vikram!" she hissed, struggling against him. "Are you insane? This is a college! Let me go!"
His voice was low and dangerous, each word scraping like steel. "Am I insane, or are you? You gave up your scholarship for a man?" His jaw clenched, anger twisting his features. "I already warned you, Anumma. And you dared. You really dared."
Anika froze. The misunderstanding had deepened—he truly believed she was sacrificing everything for a lover. She stopped struggling, fixing her disheveled shawl with shaking hands. When she spoke, her voice was calm and steady, cutting through his arrogance like a blade. "You thought I wouldn't dare? You thought you could control me, a village girl, just because you touched me once?"
A hollow laugh escaped her throat, bitter and scornful. "Yes, perhaps you weren't wrong to think so. In our village, when a girl comes of age, she is called a woman—whether she understands what it means or not. If she makes even the smallest mistake, if her shawl slips, if she exposes even a fraction of her skin, her life is ruined forever. Only one man is allowed to see her body—the man who truly owns her. That's the respect she gives her man."
Vikram's lips curved into a dangerous smirk.
Her eyes blazed brighter, her voice dripping with fury. "But you... you stripped me of my shawl in front of my brother. Both of you—men—saw me exposed. And you... you dared to touch me with your vile hand."
The smirk faltered slightly, but he remained silent.
She continued, her laughter now mocking and cruel. "Any other woman would've begged you for responsibility. Would've clung to you, demanded you marry her to save her dignity."
He narrowed his eyes, studying her like a puzzle he couldn't solve.
Her voice grew sharper, each word a dagger. "But I'm not that woman, Vikram. You're wrong about me. You think I belong to you because you touched me once? No. I already belong to someone else. A man who genuinely owns me. Your humiliation, your vile hands—they can't erase that truth. Even if my body is filthy, it belongs only to him."
Her words struck like a whip. For the first time, Vikram's expression flickered. His eyes hardened, disbelief tightening his jaw. Then he laughed darkly. "So you're saying I wasn't the first? That another man touched you before me? That you were already his woman before I claimed you?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Yes! You didn't brand me as yours. You only tainted me as his woman."
Silence hung heavy between them for a moment. His pride fractured, disbelief hardening into rage. Then he laughed again, the sound harsh and brittle. "Tainted as his woman? Anumma, you truly dare say this to me!"
Her voice was sharp as steel. "I was never yours, Vikram. I never will be."
His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Never mine? I made your skin burn for three years with just a single hand, without even taking you completely. And you tell me you belong to another?"
Her rage burst forth. With all her strength, she slapped him across the face. "Shut up!" she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "Shut your filthy mouth!"
He stood still, rubbing his cheek where her hand had struck, the smirk curling back darker and sharper. His voice dripped with venom. "Anumma, the moment your body responded beneath my hand... you were already mine. You can lie with your tongue, but your body never lies."
Her breath came in ragged bursts, fury and disgust choking her. Yet his words seeped like poison, clawing at her heart. She longed to scream, to silence him, but her trembling hands and burning skin betrayed her shame.
Vikram leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "You can give up your career, your future, your hard-earned scholarship—even your life—for him, but Anumma, believe it or not, you're not walking away from me, Vikram!"