19-06-2025, 05:24 PM
(This post was last modified: 19-06-2025, 05:39 PM by prady12191. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Pathan's lighter clicked three times before the flame caught, illuminating the hollow beneath the stairwell where he and Vishnu had taken refuge from the afternoon supervision rounds. The smoke from his cigarette curled up into the dusty air, dissipating into the smell of chalk and sweat that permeated the college's forgotten corners. His silver tooth caught the dim light as he exhaled, eyes narrowed in concentration. Beside him, Vishnu traced patterns in the dust with his shoe, both of them replaying the way Professor Devika's saree had clung to her curves as she wrote formulas on the whiteboard that morning.
"I can't concentrate in her class," Vishnu confessed, his voice low and rough at the edges. "Yesterday, she bent over to pick up that marker, and I forgot my own name."
Pathan nodded, taking another drag. "We need a strategy. A proper plan." His voice had the calm certainty of someone who had charmed his way out of multiple suspensions. "Women like her don't just fall into your lap."
"She's married," Vishnu reminded him, though the observation lacked conviction.
"Married to a ghost," Pathan replied. "Have you seen him? Has anyone? For all we know, he's some banker in Dubai who hasn't touched her in months." He tapped ash onto the floor. "Women have needs, Vishu. Even professors with PhDs."
The heat pressed in around them, thick and unrelenting. Through a small window near the ceiling, they could see a sliver of the quadrangle where students moved in lazy patterns between classes. Vishnu closed his eyes, imagining Devika in her cream-and-maroon saree, the way her voice carried across the laboratory, both soft and sharp at once.
"So what's the plan?" Vishnu asked, turning to face his friend. "We can't just walk up to her and say, 'Excuse me, ma'am, but we'd like to corrupt you.'"
Pathan's laugh was smoke and silver. "No, but we can make her notice us. Make her see us as men, not just students." He crushed his cigarette beneath his shoe. "First, we excel in her class. Show her we're not just slackers. Women like her respect intelligence."
"And after that?"
"Then we create situations. Opportunities for conversation outside of class. Maybe offer to help her carry books, or stay after to clean the lab equipment." Pathan's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Trust me, Vishu. I've studied women since I was twelve. They all want the same thing—to feel special, to feel seen."
Vishnu nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to follow Pathan's lead, as he always had.
"Tomorrow," Pathan said, standing up and brushing dust from his jeans, "we become model students."
The next day, they arrived early to Biology lab, having actually completed the assigned reading—a first in their academic careers. Vishnu had even shaved and put on a clean shirt, a pale blue button-down his mother had bought him for his cousin's wedding. Pathan wore a pressed white shirt and had slicked his hair back with extra gel, the scent of which mixed uneasily with the formaldehyde lingering in the lab air.
Devika arrived five minutes after the bell, a stack of papers balanced against her hip, her hair braided more severely than usual. Today's saree was a deep forest green with a thin gold border, dbangd with the same meticulous precision that characterized everything she did. She paused when she saw them, clearly surprised to find students already seated and ready.
"Good morning," she said, setting her papers on the desk. "You're... eager today."
"We completed the reading, ma'am," Pathan announced, his voice pitched to carry just the right note of enthusiasm. "Chapter four on cellular respiration. Fascinating stuff."
A flicker of suspicion crossed Devika's face, but she nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps you can explain the Krebs cycle to the class when they arrive."
Pathan's smile faltered. He hadn't expected to be called upon so directly, having skimmed rather than truly read the chapter. "Ah, yes. The Krebs cycle. Definitely... cycles."
Vishnu jumped in. "It's about energy production, right, ma'am? The conversion of, um, food into ATP." He'd stayed up until 2 a.m. watching YouTube videos on the topic, determined not to embarrass himself.
Devika raised an eyebrow. "That's a very simplified version, Mr. Patil, but essentially correct." She turned to the whiteboard, and Pathan shot Vishnu a grateful look.
As class began and other students trickled in, Pathan and Vishnu competed to answer questions, their hands shooting up for even the most basic inquiries. Pathan managed to cobble together a semi-coherent explanation of cellular respiration, while Vishnu correctly identified all the parts of a mitochondrion on the projected diagram.
But their newfound academic enthusiasm wasn't having the desired effect. Devika acknowledged their answers with professional politeness, but there was no spark of interest, no moment of connection. If anything, she seemed more guarded than usual, her explanations shorter, her movements more contained.
By the end of class, both boys were deflated. As they packed up their notebooks, Pathan muttered, "Plan B. We need to catch her attention outside the classroom."
"How?" Vishnu asked, watching Devika erase the board with quick, precise strokes.
"You'll see. Meet me at the lab tomorrow, fifteen minutes before class."
The next day found them hovering outside the biology lab well before anyone else would arrive. Pathan carried a small bouquet of marigolds, stolen from the campus garden. "You take these," he instructed Vishnu, "and leave them on her desk with a note."
"What note?" Vishnu asked, suddenly panicked.
Pathan produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "I wrote it for you. It says, 'Your teaching inspires us. Thank you for opening our minds to the wonders of biology.' Signed, 'Your dedicated students.'"
"That's... actually not terrible," Vishnu admitted, taking the note and flowers.
"I told you, I understand women," Pathan replied with a wink. "Now hurry, before anyone sees."
Vishnu slipped into the empty lab, placed the flowers and note on Devika's desk, and rejoined Pathan in the corridor. They waited around the corner, peering occasionally to see if she had arrived.
When Devika finally appeared, she entered the lab, then emerged moments later with the flowers in one hand and the note in the other. Her expression was troubled as she looked up and down the corridor. Then, with a sigh, she walked directly to the rubbish bin at the end of the hall and dropped both items in.
"Fuck," Pathan whispered, watching their offering disappear. "She didn't even keep them."
Vishnu felt a twist of embarrassment in his gut. "Maybe anonymous gifts are too creepy."
"Or maybe we need to be bolder," Pathan replied, though his usual confidence had dimmed.
Their third attempt was Vishnu's idea. He had noticed that Devika always carried a heavy bag of books and papers between her classes. "We offer to help her, show her we're gentlemen," he suggested.
The opportunity came two days later, as they spotted her struggling with an armful of lab manuals while trying to unlock her office door. They approached casually, Pathan leading the way.
"Let us help you with those, ma'am," he offered, reaching for the stack before she could respond.
Devika stepped back, clutching the manuals closer. "That's not necessary, thank you."
"It's no trouble," Vishnu insisted, moving to take her bag. "We were heading this way anyway."
She fixed them with a look that froze them in place. "Mr. Khan, Mr. Patil, I appreciate the sudden interest in being helpful, but I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own materials." Her voice was polite but firm, leaving no room for argument. "If you're genuinely interested in assisting, you might consider actually completing your lab reports on time."
With that, she managed to unlock her door, step inside, and close it behind her, all while maintaining her grip on the manuals. Through the frosted glass, they could see her shadow moving away from them.
Pathan cursed under his breath. "This isn't working. She's too... professional."
Vishnu leaned against the wall, deflated. "Maybe we should give up. Find some first-year girls who are easier to impress."
"No," Pathan replied, a stubborn edge to his voice. "I don't give up. We just need leverage, something that changes the game."
But after three failures, both boys retreated to lick their wounds. The weekend arrived with no new plan in sight, their conversations turning to other matters—the upcoming cricket match, a new shipment of weed from Karad, the flash drives still unsold in Pathan's drawer.
Sunday found them at the Satara market, not for any particular purpose but because the college dormitories became unbearable in the afternoon heat. The market was a maze of narrow lanes crowded with vendors selling everything from brass cooking pots to fake Nike shoes. The air smelled of frying jalebi and incense, punctuated by the calls of hawkers and the occasional bleat of a goat tethered to a post.
Vishnu paused at a stall selling bootleg DVDs, flipping through titles while Pathan haggled with a man selling knockoff sunglasses. The crowd parted momentarily, and through the gap, Vishnu spotted a familiar figure across the way—Professor Sharada, her grey-streaked hair tucked into a simple bun, wearing a plain cotton saree in muted blue.
"Pathan," he hissed, grabbing his friend's arm. "Look who's there."
Pathan squinted through the crowd. "The psychology witch? What about her?"
"She's not alone."
Beside Sharada stood a thin, stooped man with sparse white hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes to owlish proportions. He wore a faded brown kurta and loose cotton pants, the uniform of academic poverty. His hand rested lightly on the small of Sharada's back as they examined a display of metal cooking spoons.
"Isn't that the librarian?" Pathan asked, moving closer for a better look. "The one who's always sleeping behind the reference desk?"
Vishnu nodded slowly. "Raghavan or something. Must be sixty if he's a day."
They watched as Sharada laughed at something the old man said, her head tilting back, her hand coming to rest on his forearm with casual intimacy. The librarian leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she swatted at him playfully, the gesture unmistakably affectionate.
"That's not how you act with a colleague," Pathan observed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Look at how close they're standing."
As if to confirm his suspicion, the librarian's hand slid from Sharada's back to her waist, drawing her closer as they moved to the next stall. She didn't pull away.
"Holy shit," Vishnu breathed. "Isn't she married? I've seen her husband at college functions—that big guy with the mustache who works for the railways."
Pathan's face split into a grin, the silver tooth catching the sunlight. "Oh, this is good. This is very good." He pulled out his phone, opening the camera app. "Get closer. I want clear evidence."
They wove through the crowd, keeping their distance but angling for a better view. The couple had stopped at a fruit vendor's stall, and the old librarian was selecting pomegranates, holding each up to the light before handing them to Sharada, who placed them in her basket. Their movements had the easy synchronicity of long practice.
Pathan raised his phone, framing the shot. He waited until the librarian leaned in to say something to Sharada, his lips close to her ear, her expression softening into something that could only be described as tender. Click. He took three more in quick succession, capturing the moment the old man's hand came to rest on Sharada's hip, the way she leaned into his touch rather than away from it.
"Got it," Pathan whispered, reviewing the photos with satisfaction. "Clear as day."
"What are you going to do with those?" Vishnu asked, suddenly uneasy.
Pathan's smile was all predator. "Remember what I said about leverage? I think we just found some." He scrolled through his phone. "We need her number."
"Why would we have her number?"
"The staff directory," Pathan reminded him. "Remember when we stole a copy from the admin office to prank-call Professor Seenu?"
Recognition dawned on Vishnu's face. "It's in your locker."
"Let's go."
They retreated from the market, careful not to be spotted by Sharada or her companion. The walk back to campus was quick, fueled by the thrill of discovery and possibility. In Pathan's dormitory room, they found the dog-eared staff directory buried under a pile of papers and empty cigarette packs.
"Sharada Kulkarni," Pathan read, running his finger down the list. "Here it is." He punched the number into his phone, then selected the clearest of the photos and hit send.
They waited, watching the screen until the message showed as delivered, then read. Seconds later, Pathan's phone buzzed with an incoming call.
"Put it on speaker," Vishnu urged, leaning in close.
Pathan answered, his voice deliberately casual. "Hello?"
"Who is this?" Sharada's voice was tight with tension. "How did you get this picture? Who are you?"
"Professor Sharada," Pathan replied smoothly. "This is Pathan Khan, from third-year commerce. My friend Vishnu Patil is with me. We happened to be at the market today and saw something... interesting."
There was a pause, then a sharp intake of breath. "You were spying on me? Taking photos without permission? This is harassment. I'm going to report this to the disciplinary committee immediately."
"That would be unwise," Pathan countered, his tone hardening. "Especially since we have more photos. Very clear ones. The kind that might interest your husband. Or the college administration. Fraternization between staff members is against college policy, isn't it?"
The silence on the other end of the line was thick with fear.
"What do you want?" Sharada finally asked, her voice barely audible. "Money? Is that it?"
Pathan laughed. "We don't need your money, Professor. We have a different kind of assistance in mind."
"What kind of assistance?" The wariness in her tone was palpable.
Vishnu leaned closer to the phone. "It's about Professor Devika. The new biology teacher."
"Devika?" Sharada's confusion was evident. "What about her?"
"We like her," Pathan stated simply. "And we want you to help us get closer to her."
Another pause, longer this time. "She's a married woman. And a faculty member. This is absurd and inappropriate. She's not some—"
"We know she's married," Pathan cut in. "Just like you're married. But that doesn't seem to stop you from enjoying the company of the college librarian, does it?"
Sharada's breath caught. "You don't understand. My situation is—"
"We don't need to understand," Pathan interrupted again. "We just need your help. You're friends with her, aren't you? She trusts you."
"She's a decent woman," Sharada protested. "Conservative, traditional. She wouldn't—"
"That's where you come in," Vishnu interjected, finding his voice. "You can change her mind. Open her up to... new experiences."
"You want me to what? Corrupt her? Push her toward you?" The horror in Sharada's voice was genuine. "She's my friend. I won't do that to her."
Pathan's voice dropped, becoming silky and dangerous. "Then maybe your husband would like to see these photos. Or Principal Dixit. I'm sure they'd be very interested to know what you do on your Sundays."
"You wouldn't." But her tone suggested she knew they would.
"We would," Vishnu confirmed, surprising himself with his own boldness. "Unless you help us."
"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Sharada asked, defeat creeping into her voice.
Pathan smiled at Vishnu, triumphant. "Talk to her about us. Plant the seed. Make her see us as men, not just students. Tell her stories, get her thinking about... possibilities."
"You want me to sexualize you to her? That's disgusting."
"We want you to open her mind," Pathan corrected. "She's lonely here, anyone can see that. Her husband is thousands of kilometers away. She needs connection, just like you do with your librarian."
Sharada's voice trembled slightly. "This isn't the same thing at all."
"Isn't it?" Vishnu asked, gaining confidence from Pathan's success. "You found someone who makes you happy, even if society would disapprove. We're just asking for the same chance."
"She won't be interested," Sharada insisted. "She's not that kind of woman."
"Every woman is that kind of woman with the right approach," Pathan replied, his certainty absolute. "You just need to plant the seed. Make her curious. The rest will happen naturally."
There was a long silence, broken only by Sharada's uneven breathing. "And if I refuse?"
Pathan's finger hovered over the screen, ready to forward the photos. "Then these go to everyone in your contact list. Starting with your husband."
Another pause, then a sigh that carried the weight of surrender. "Fine. I'll... talk to her. But I won't promise anything beyond that. And if you ever try to blackmail me again—"
"We won't need to," Pathan assured her. "As long as you hold up your end. Start tomorrow. Find a way to bring us up in conversation. Make her curious about us."
"This is wrong," Sharada said, her voice small.
"So is cheating on your husband with the college librarian," Vishnu retorted. "We all have our vices, Professor. Some are just more hidden than others."
After they hung up, Vishnu stared at the phone, an uncomfortable heat spreading through his chest—guilt, he realized, mixed with excitement.
"You think she'll actually do it?" he asked.
Pathan nodded, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "She has no choice. She loves that old man—you could see it in her face. She won't risk losing him, or her reputation."
"And if Devika finds out what we're doing?"
"She won't," Pathan said with certainty. "Not until it's too late. By then, she'll be too invested to care."
Vishnu wasn't convinced, but the image of Devika in her forest-green saree, the memory of her voice explaining cellular division—it was enough to quiet the voice of conscience. He leaned back on Pathan's bed, staring at the ceiling fan that turned lazy circles in the afternoon heat.
"We're really doing this," he said, more to himself than to Pathan.
"We are," Pathan confirmed, his silver tooth flashing as he smiled. "And by this time next month, Professor Devika will be seeing us very differently."
Outside, the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the campus. In the distance, temple bells rang for evening aarti, the sound carrying on the warm breeze. Vishnu closed his eyes, imagining Devika's face, the soft curve of her mouth as she spoke his name—not as a student, but as a man.
"I can't concentrate in her class," Vishnu confessed, his voice low and rough at the edges. "Yesterday, she bent over to pick up that marker, and I forgot my own name."
Pathan nodded, taking another drag. "We need a strategy. A proper plan." His voice had the calm certainty of someone who had charmed his way out of multiple suspensions. "Women like her don't just fall into your lap."
"She's married," Vishnu reminded him, though the observation lacked conviction.
"Married to a ghost," Pathan replied. "Have you seen him? Has anyone? For all we know, he's some banker in Dubai who hasn't touched her in months." He tapped ash onto the floor. "Women have needs, Vishu. Even professors with PhDs."
The heat pressed in around them, thick and unrelenting. Through a small window near the ceiling, they could see a sliver of the quadrangle where students moved in lazy patterns between classes. Vishnu closed his eyes, imagining Devika in her cream-and-maroon saree, the way her voice carried across the laboratory, both soft and sharp at once.
"So what's the plan?" Vishnu asked, turning to face his friend. "We can't just walk up to her and say, 'Excuse me, ma'am, but we'd like to corrupt you.'"
Pathan's laugh was smoke and silver. "No, but we can make her notice us. Make her see us as men, not just students." He crushed his cigarette beneath his shoe. "First, we excel in her class. Show her we're not just slackers. Women like her respect intelligence."
"And after that?"
"Then we create situations. Opportunities for conversation outside of class. Maybe offer to help her carry books, or stay after to clean the lab equipment." Pathan's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Trust me, Vishu. I've studied women since I was twelve. They all want the same thing—to feel special, to feel seen."
Vishnu nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to follow Pathan's lead, as he always had.
"Tomorrow," Pathan said, standing up and brushing dust from his jeans, "we become model students."
The next day, they arrived early to Biology lab, having actually completed the assigned reading—a first in their academic careers. Vishnu had even shaved and put on a clean shirt, a pale blue button-down his mother had bought him for his cousin's wedding. Pathan wore a pressed white shirt and had slicked his hair back with extra gel, the scent of which mixed uneasily with the formaldehyde lingering in the lab air.
Devika arrived five minutes after the bell, a stack of papers balanced against her hip, her hair braided more severely than usual. Today's saree was a deep forest green with a thin gold border, dbangd with the same meticulous precision that characterized everything she did. She paused when she saw them, clearly surprised to find students already seated and ready.
"Good morning," she said, setting her papers on the desk. "You're... eager today."
"We completed the reading, ma'am," Pathan announced, his voice pitched to carry just the right note of enthusiasm. "Chapter four on cellular respiration. Fascinating stuff."
A flicker of suspicion crossed Devika's face, but she nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps you can explain the Krebs cycle to the class when they arrive."
Pathan's smile faltered. He hadn't expected to be called upon so directly, having skimmed rather than truly read the chapter. "Ah, yes. The Krebs cycle. Definitely... cycles."
Vishnu jumped in. "It's about energy production, right, ma'am? The conversion of, um, food into ATP." He'd stayed up until 2 a.m. watching YouTube videos on the topic, determined not to embarrass himself.
Devika raised an eyebrow. "That's a very simplified version, Mr. Patil, but essentially correct." She turned to the whiteboard, and Pathan shot Vishnu a grateful look.
As class began and other students trickled in, Pathan and Vishnu competed to answer questions, their hands shooting up for even the most basic inquiries. Pathan managed to cobble together a semi-coherent explanation of cellular respiration, while Vishnu correctly identified all the parts of a mitochondrion on the projected diagram.
But their newfound academic enthusiasm wasn't having the desired effect. Devika acknowledged their answers with professional politeness, but there was no spark of interest, no moment of connection. If anything, she seemed more guarded than usual, her explanations shorter, her movements more contained.
By the end of class, both boys were deflated. As they packed up their notebooks, Pathan muttered, "Plan B. We need to catch her attention outside the classroom."
"How?" Vishnu asked, watching Devika erase the board with quick, precise strokes.
"You'll see. Meet me at the lab tomorrow, fifteen minutes before class."
The next day found them hovering outside the biology lab well before anyone else would arrive. Pathan carried a small bouquet of marigolds, stolen from the campus garden. "You take these," he instructed Vishnu, "and leave them on her desk with a note."
"What note?" Vishnu asked, suddenly panicked.
Pathan produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "I wrote it for you. It says, 'Your teaching inspires us. Thank you for opening our minds to the wonders of biology.' Signed, 'Your dedicated students.'"
"That's... actually not terrible," Vishnu admitted, taking the note and flowers.
"I told you, I understand women," Pathan replied with a wink. "Now hurry, before anyone sees."
Vishnu slipped into the empty lab, placed the flowers and note on Devika's desk, and rejoined Pathan in the corridor. They waited around the corner, peering occasionally to see if she had arrived.
When Devika finally appeared, she entered the lab, then emerged moments later with the flowers in one hand and the note in the other. Her expression was troubled as she looked up and down the corridor. Then, with a sigh, she walked directly to the rubbish bin at the end of the hall and dropped both items in.
"Fuck," Pathan whispered, watching their offering disappear. "She didn't even keep them."
Vishnu felt a twist of embarrassment in his gut. "Maybe anonymous gifts are too creepy."
"Or maybe we need to be bolder," Pathan replied, though his usual confidence had dimmed.
Their third attempt was Vishnu's idea. He had noticed that Devika always carried a heavy bag of books and papers between her classes. "We offer to help her, show her we're gentlemen," he suggested.
The opportunity came two days later, as they spotted her struggling with an armful of lab manuals while trying to unlock her office door. They approached casually, Pathan leading the way.
"Let us help you with those, ma'am," he offered, reaching for the stack before she could respond.
Devika stepped back, clutching the manuals closer. "That's not necessary, thank you."
"It's no trouble," Vishnu insisted, moving to take her bag. "We were heading this way anyway."
She fixed them with a look that froze them in place. "Mr. Khan, Mr. Patil, I appreciate the sudden interest in being helpful, but I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own materials." Her voice was polite but firm, leaving no room for argument. "If you're genuinely interested in assisting, you might consider actually completing your lab reports on time."
With that, she managed to unlock her door, step inside, and close it behind her, all while maintaining her grip on the manuals. Through the frosted glass, they could see her shadow moving away from them.
Pathan cursed under his breath. "This isn't working. She's too... professional."
Vishnu leaned against the wall, deflated. "Maybe we should give up. Find some first-year girls who are easier to impress."
"No," Pathan replied, a stubborn edge to his voice. "I don't give up. We just need leverage, something that changes the game."
But after three failures, both boys retreated to lick their wounds. The weekend arrived with no new plan in sight, their conversations turning to other matters—the upcoming cricket match, a new shipment of weed from Karad, the flash drives still unsold in Pathan's drawer.
Sunday found them at the Satara market, not for any particular purpose but because the college dormitories became unbearable in the afternoon heat. The market was a maze of narrow lanes crowded with vendors selling everything from brass cooking pots to fake Nike shoes. The air smelled of frying jalebi and incense, punctuated by the calls of hawkers and the occasional bleat of a goat tethered to a post.
Vishnu paused at a stall selling bootleg DVDs, flipping through titles while Pathan haggled with a man selling knockoff sunglasses. The crowd parted momentarily, and through the gap, Vishnu spotted a familiar figure across the way—Professor Sharada, her grey-streaked hair tucked into a simple bun, wearing a plain cotton saree in muted blue.
"Pathan," he hissed, grabbing his friend's arm. "Look who's there."
Pathan squinted through the crowd. "The psychology witch? What about her?"
"She's not alone."
Beside Sharada stood a thin, stooped man with sparse white hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes to owlish proportions. He wore a faded brown kurta and loose cotton pants, the uniform of academic poverty. His hand rested lightly on the small of Sharada's back as they examined a display of metal cooking spoons.
"Isn't that the librarian?" Pathan asked, moving closer for a better look. "The one who's always sleeping behind the reference desk?"
Vishnu nodded slowly. "Raghavan or something. Must be sixty if he's a day."
They watched as Sharada laughed at something the old man said, her head tilting back, her hand coming to rest on his forearm with casual intimacy. The librarian leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she swatted at him playfully, the gesture unmistakably affectionate.
"That's not how you act with a colleague," Pathan observed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Look at how close they're standing."
As if to confirm his suspicion, the librarian's hand slid from Sharada's back to her waist, drawing her closer as they moved to the next stall. She didn't pull away.
"Holy shit," Vishnu breathed. "Isn't she married? I've seen her husband at college functions—that big guy with the mustache who works for the railways."
Pathan's face split into a grin, the silver tooth catching the sunlight. "Oh, this is good. This is very good." He pulled out his phone, opening the camera app. "Get closer. I want clear evidence."
They wove through the crowd, keeping their distance but angling for a better view. The couple had stopped at a fruit vendor's stall, and the old librarian was selecting pomegranates, holding each up to the light before handing them to Sharada, who placed them in her basket. Their movements had the easy synchronicity of long practice.
Pathan raised his phone, framing the shot. He waited until the librarian leaned in to say something to Sharada, his lips close to her ear, her expression softening into something that could only be described as tender. Click. He took three more in quick succession, capturing the moment the old man's hand came to rest on Sharada's hip, the way she leaned into his touch rather than away from it.
"Got it," Pathan whispered, reviewing the photos with satisfaction. "Clear as day."
"What are you going to do with those?" Vishnu asked, suddenly uneasy.
Pathan's smile was all predator. "Remember what I said about leverage? I think we just found some." He scrolled through his phone. "We need her number."
"Why would we have her number?"
"The staff directory," Pathan reminded him. "Remember when we stole a copy from the admin office to prank-call Professor Seenu?"
Recognition dawned on Vishnu's face. "It's in your locker."
"Let's go."
They retreated from the market, careful not to be spotted by Sharada or her companion. The walk back to campus was quick, fueled by the thrill of discovery and possibility. In Pathan's dormitory room, they found the dog-eared staff directory buried under a pile of papers and empty cigarette packs.
"Sharada Kulkarni," Pathan read, running his finger down the list. "Here it is." He punched the number into his phone, then selected the clearest of the photos and hit send.
They waited, watching the screen until the message showed as delivered, then read. Seconds later, Pathan's phone buzzed with an incoming call.
"Put it on speaker," Vishnu urged, leaning in close.
Pathan answered, his voice deliberately casual. "Hello?"
"Who is this?" Sharada's voice was tight with tension. "How did you get this picture? Who are you?"
"Professor Sharada," Pathan replied smoothly. "This is Pathan Khan, from third-year commerce. My friend Vishnu Patil is with me. We happened to be at the market today and saw something... interesting."
There was a pause, then a sharp intake of breath. "You were spying on me? Taking photos without permission? This is harassment. I'm going to report this to the disciplinary committee immediately."
"That would be unwise," Pathan countered, his tone hardening. "Especially since we have more photos. Very clear ones. The kind that might interest your husband. Or the college administration. Fraternization between staff members is against college policy, isn't it?"
The silence on the other end of the line was thick with fear.
"What do you want?" Sharada finally asked, her voice barely audible. "Money? Is that it?"
Pathan laughed. "We don't need your money, Professor. We have a different kind of assistance in mind."
"What kind of assistance?" The wariness in her tone was palpable.
Vishnu leaned closer to the phone. "It's about Professor Devika. The new biology teacher."
"Devika?" Sharada's confusion was evident. "What about her?"
"We like her," Pathan stated simply. "And we want you to help us get closer to her."
Another pause, longer this time. "She's a married woman. And a faculty member. This is absurd and inappropriate. She's not some—"
"We know she's married," Pathan cut in. "Just like you're married. But that doesn't seem to stop you from enjoying the company of the college librarian, does it?"
Sharada's breath caught. "You don't understand. My situation is—"
"We don't need to understand," Pathan interrupted again. "We just need your help. You're friends with her, aren't you? She trusts you."
"She's a decent woman," Sharada protested. "Conservative, traditional. She wouldn't—"
"That's where you come in," Vishnu interjected, finding his voice. "You can change her mind. Open her up to... new experiences."
"You want me to what? Corrupt her? Push her toward you?" The horror in Sharada's voice was genuine. "She's my friend. I won't do that to her."
Pathan's voice dropped, becoming silky and dangerous. "Then maybe your husband would like to see these photos. Or Principal Dixit. I'm sure they'd be very interested to know what you do on your Sundays."
"You wouldn't." But her tone suggested she knew they would.
"We would," Vishnu confirmed, surprising himself with his own boldness. "Unless you help us."
"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Sharada asked, defeat creeping into her voice.
Pathan smiled at Vishnu, triumphant. "Talk to her about us. Plant the seed. Make her see us as men, not just students. Tell her stories, get her thinking about... possibilities."
"You want me to sexualize you to her? That's disgusting."
"We want you to open her mind," Pathan corrected. "She's lonely here, anyone can see that. Her husband is thousands of kilometers away. She needs connection, just like you do with your librarian."
Sharada's voice trembled slightly. "This isn't the same thing at all."
"Isn't it?" Vishnu asked, gaining confidence from Pathan's success. "You found someone who makes you happy, even if society would disapprove. We're just asking for the same chance."
"She won't be interested," Sharada insisted. "She's not that kind of woman."
"Every woman is that kind of woman with the right approach," Pathan replied, his certainty absolute. "You just need to plant the seed. Make her curious. The rest will happen naturally."
There was a long silence, broken only by Sharada's uneven breathing. "And if I refuse?"
Pathan's finger hovered over the screen, ready to forward the photos. "Then these go to everyone in your contact list. Starting with your husband."
Another pause, then a sigh that carried the weight of surrender. "Fine. I'll... talk to her. But I won't promise anything beyond that. And if you ever try to blackmail me again—"
"We won't need to," Pathan assured her. "As long as you hold up your end. Start tomorrow. Find a way to bring us up in conversation. Make her curious about us."
"This is wrong," Sharada said, her voice small.
"So is cheating on your husband with the college librarian," Vishnu retorted. "We all have our vices, Professor. Some are just more hidden than others."
After they hung up, Vishnu stared at the phone, an uncomfortable heat spreading through his chest—guilt, he realized, mixed with excitement.
"You think she'll actually do it?" he asked.
Pathan nodded, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "She has no choice. She loves that old man—you could see it in her face. She won't risk losing him, or her reputation."
"And if Devika finds out what we're doing?"
"She won't," Pathan said with certainty. "Not until it's too late. By then, she'll be too invested to care."
Vishnu wasn't convinced, but the image of Devika in her forest-green saree, the memory of her voice explaining cellular division—it was enough to quiet the voice of conscience. He leaned back on Pathan's bed, staring at the ceiling fan that turned lazy circles in the afternoon heat.
"We're really doing this," he said, more to himself than to Pathan.
"We are," Pathan confirmed, his silver tooth flashing as he smiled. "And by this time next month, Professor Devika will be seeing us very differently."
Outside, the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the campus. In the distance, temple bells rang for evening aarti, the sound carrying on the warm breeze. Vishnu closed his eyes, imagining Devika's face, the soft curve of her mouth as she spoke his name—not as a student, but as a man.
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