20-12-2025, 10:03 PM
Chapter 10 – Nivi’s Other Side through Aravind Eyes.
The car hummed along the Chennai roads, Aara chattering in the back seat about the cake she wanted at the party.
Nivi smiled, hand on Prem's thigh. “You seem happier now.”
Prem nodded, pushing the morning's shadow away. “Yeah. Just excited for tonight.”
Aara giggled. “Surprise for Amma?”
Prem winked at Nivi. “Maybe.”
Meanwhile, across town in his glass office, Aaravind sat staring at an old photo on his phone — Nivi in college saree, fair skin glowing, smile innocent.
His mind reeled back twelve years.
Unlike what Prem thought — Nivi innocent, naive, the sheltered girl who needed protecting — she wasn't.
Not even close.
She was bolder, sharper, more confident than anyone gave her credit for — a quiet fire burning under that soft-spoken exterior, fair skin, and polite smile.
Aaravind knew that side. Only he did.
It started with her father — his own father's old friend from business circles — pulling him aside on the first day of college, voice low with concern.
“Nivi's been in girls' college her whole life. First co-ed for her. Treat her like your sister, da. Help her adjust. No boys around for twelve-plus years — she might struggle with the new environment, unseen troubles.”
Aaravind nodded, smiled the good-boy smile. “Of course, uncle. Don't worry.”
Nivi treated him special from day one — trusted instantly, no awkward pauses, no shy glances away like with other boys.
She'd call him for notes, sit next to him in canteen, share laughs without hesitation.
Maybe the "family" introduction sealed it. Or some instant bond clicked — she never felt odd with him, never pulled back.
Aaravind had been in love with Swetha, his college sweetheart — intense, all-consuming. But different colleges split them, distance turning passion to silence.
To fill the gap, he flirted — casual, harmless in his mind — with girls in his department.
Nivi was one. Beautiful, fair-skinned, soft-spoken voice that made you lean in.
He hated Prem's gang — different department, constant rivalry, cricket fights turning ugly.
Prem hated him back — glares across campus, muttered insults.
Then the cultural fest.
Prem on stage, dancing — confident moves, crowd cheering.
Nivi in the audience, watching.
Her eyes — meaningful, locked on him, soft but intense, like she saw something no one else did.
Aaravind felt it like a punch.
Furious. Strange jealousy surging.
Why him? That nobody?
That moment — urge hit hard.
I want her for myself.
Not just flirt.
Claim.
Possess.
He started flirting.
But Nivi deflected smoothly — knew about Swetha, turned topics, dropped calls for "study."
Never rude. Always polite.
One evening, Aaravind called her, voice casual but laced with intent.
"Hey, Nivi, what are you doing alone in that room? Thinking about me?"
She laughed lightly, but her tone was firm. "Aravind, stop. You have Swetha. And I have homework. Bye."
Click.
She cut the call without hesitation, no giggles, no playing along.
Aaravind stared at the phone, frustrated but impressed. She's not giggling like the others. Sharp. Confident. Doesn't need to play games to push back.
She never missed industrial visits, events — eager, participating, asking questions that showed she was thinking big.
From her words during those trips, he learned her dream: Start a company, like their fathers built from scratch.
"Look at what they did," she'd say, eyes lighting up as they toured a factory. "Starting with nothing, turning it into an empire. I want that — to create something, be my own boss."
But her father dismissed it — "Be a good girl, marry after studies. Business is for men."
Aaravind saw the fire in her, the way she clenched her fist slightly when talking about it.
He found a plot.
Another day, he called, starting with flirt.
"Nivi, you looked stunning in that saree today. Imagine if we skipped class... just you and me, somewhere quiet."
She paused, voice cooling. "Aravind, enough. That's not funny."
Before she could hang up, he switched seamlessly. "Wait, speaking of skipping — remember that company visit last week? The guy who started from a garage, now exporting worldwide? His story's incredible. No backing, just grit."
She stayed on the line. "Yeah... he bootstrapped everything. No loans, no family money. That's what I admire. Building from scratch, no shortcuts."
They talked for 20 minutes — her voice animated, ideas flowing about innovation, risks, scaling.
He wove in darker sides gradually, testing limits.
"Those founders... they take what they want. No apologies. Like in life — sometimes you have to grab opportunities, even if they're forbidden."
She chuckled. "Like sex before marriage? No, Aravind. That's not 'opportunity' — that's mess. Focus on the business part."
Deflected again — bold, calling it out, but steering back without breaking the conversation.
Sharp. Confident.
He pushed a little. "Come on, Nivi. Imagine the thrill — something secret, exciting. Like us skipping to a cafe, just talking... or more."
She sighed. "Aravind, you have Swetha. And I have standards. Let's stick to company stories — tell me about that startup that failed first then succeeded."
He laughed, switched back.
But he saw it — she knew his game, played along on her terms, never letting it cross her line.
Bolder than anyone realized.
Things turned awkward the day she admitted — first to him, of all people — that she loved Prem.
They were on a college industrial visit, sitting in the back of the bus on the return trip. The group was noisy, but Nivi leaned close, voice low, eyes shining with a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Aravind... I think I'm in love. With Prem."
He froze, smile stuck on his face.
Prem. That rival department guy. The one he hated.
"Why him?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
She shrugged, cheeks flushing slightly. "He... sees me. Really sees me. Not just the quiet girl."
Aaravind felt fury rise — hot, possessive.
That night, he started the rumors.
Quiet at first — whispers to his teammates.
"Nivi? Yeah, we've been hooking up. Fucked her daily after classes."
Word spread like wildfire.
Department chats, canteen gossip, anonymous notes.
"Nivi and Aaravind — doing it every day."
Some believed. Some laughed. Some pitied Prem's "rival."
But Nivi?
She never reacted.
Next day in class, she sat beside him like always, asked for notes, smiled the same polite smile.
Spoke normally — about assignments, visits, dreams.
No anger. No confrontation
.
He couldn't stand it.
One afternoon in the library corner, he asked directly.
"Why no reaction to the rumors about us? Everyone's talking — saying we... you know."
She looked up from her book, smiled calmly — confident, unshaken.
"No need to prove myself to anyone, Aravind. Rumors are just words. And just for that, I won't break a good bond."
Her eyes steady, voice firm.
She never knew he started them
.
Never suspected.
Her strength, determination — he saw it all clearly then.
The way she rose above it, focused on her path.
Knew if she loved Prem this deeply, she'd go with him one day — fight for him, leave everything.
He wanted to taste her — even if Prem married her.
Break that strength.
Make her his, just once.
The obsession hardened.
The 10 minutes before Prem burst into the indoor sports room were a blur of confusion and escalating tension for Nivi, her trust in Aaravind fracturing with every passing second.
She had followed him eagerly, excited by his promise of meeting a prominent industrialist who could offer insights into starting a company. "He's inspecting the room," Aaravind had said, leading her away from the post-match buzz. "Just us — he'll be here soon."
But as they entered the dimly lit space, decorations half-hung for the ceremony, the door clicked shut behind them. No guest in sight.
"Where is he?" Nivi asked, glancing around the empty room, her voice steady but with a hint of unease. She smoothed her saree, fair skin glowing under the flickering lights, unaware how Aaravind's eyes lingered on the curve of her waist.
Aaravind turned, his smile twisting into something darker. "He'll be here. But first… just one kiss, Nivi. That's all. Then I'll take you to him."
She froze, eyes widening. "No, Aaravind. That's not funny. Open the door."
When she tried to move past him toward the exit, he grabbed her from behind, arms wrapping around her waist like a vice. His hands slid up quickly, grabbing her breasts through the blouse, squeezing roughly. Nivi gasped, struggling, but his grip pinned her against him.
"Stop! Let go!" she shouted, voice shaking with anger and fear.
He ignored her, burying his face in her neck, kissing forcibly — lips pressing hard, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Nivi twisted, trying to pull away, but the touch sent an unwanted shiver through her — a moan escaping her lips despite the revulsion.
Aaravind paused, realizing. Neck's her weak spot.
He spun her around to face him, trying to hug from the front, hands fumbling to pull her closer. "See? You like it. Just give in."
She resisted fiercely, pushing at his chest. "No! Stop!"
That’s when the door burst open — Prem charging in, fist connecting with Aaravind's jaw, sending him reeling. The grapple, the iron rod, the scar — the rest was history.
They proposed because of him.
Ironically, his twisted plan in the indoor room — the grab, the force — brought Prem and Nivi together.
Prem's rescue turned fear into gratitude, gratitude into confession.
The hidden letter, the proposal under streamers.
All because Aaravind pushed too far.
She distanced after.
Nivi pulled back — polite but firm.
No more long calls. No sitting together in canteen.
Eyes averted when passing in corridors.
She knew something changed, even if she didn't suspect him fully.
Aaravind seethed, watching her with Prem — stolen glances turning to secret meetings.
Months later, he struck again.
Quiet whispers to mutual contacts, "exaggerated" stories to her father through family channels.
The beating on Prem — four men in shadows.
The rushed arranged marriage — 38-year-old hotel owner, "stable."
Spoiled their plans perfectly.
Almost.
They eloped anyway.
Now, twelve years later.
Prem has her — married, child, building company.
With orders that could come from him? Aaravind's firm in position to approve or block.
No.
Pending story.
Unfinished business.
This time, he'll make them surrender.
Force Prem to give her up — even for a week.
Take her.
Break her.
Aaravind resolute, jaw set.
He grabbed his keys, suit jacket.
The party hall — Prem's place., He got to know from a man whom he send to follow Prem..
He'd arrive uninvited.
Make his demand.
Watch Prem crumble.
Smile as Nivi's eyes widened.
This time, she will suck my cock before Prem..
That's his plan....
The car hummed along the Chennai roads, Aara chattering in the back seat about the cake she wanted at the party.
Nivi smiled, hand on Prem's thigh. “You seem happier now.”
Prem nodded, pushing the morning's shadow away. “Yeah. Just excited for tonight.”
Aara giggled. “Surprise for Amma?”
Prem winked at Nivi. “Maybe.”
Meanwhile, across town in his glass office, Aaravind sat staring at an old photo on his phone — Nivi in college saree, fair skin glowing, smile innocent.
His mind reeled back twelve years.
Unlike what Prem thought — Nivi innocent, naive, the sheltered girl who needed protecting — she wasn't.
Not even close.
She was bolder, sharper, more confident than anyone gave her credit for — a quiet fire burning under that soft-spoken exterior, fair skin, and polite smile.
Aaravind knew that side. Only he did.
It started with her father — his own father's old friend from business circles — pulling him aside on the first day of college, voice low with concern.
“Nivi's been in girls' college her whole life. First co-ed for her. Treat her like your sister, da. Help her adjust. No boys around for twelve-plus years — she might struggle with the new environment, unseen troubles.”
Aaravind nodded, smiled the good-boy smile. “Of course, uncle. Don't worry.”
Nivi treated him special from day one — trusted instantly, no awkward pauses, no shy glances away like with other boys.
She'd call him for notes, sit next to him in canteen, share laughs without hesitation.
Maybe the "family" introduction sealed it. Or some instant bond clicked — she never felt odd with him, never pulled back.
Aaravind had been in love with Swetha, his college sweetheart — intense, all-consuming. But different colleges split them, distance turning passion to silence.
To fill the gap, he flirted — casual, harmless in his mind — with girls in his department.
Nivi was one. Beautiful, fair-skinned, soft-spoken voice that made you lean in.
He hated Prem's gang — different department, constant rivalry, cricket fights turning ugly.
Prem hated him back — glares across campus, muttered insults.
Then the cultural fest.
Prem on stage, dancing — confident moves, crowd cheering.
Nivi in the audience, watching.
Her eyes — meaningful, locked on him, soft but intense, like she saw something no one else did.
Aaravind felt it like a punch.
Furious. Strange jealousy surging.
Why him? That nobody?
That moment — urge hit hard.
I want her for myself.
Not just flirt.
Claim.
Possess.
He started flirting.
But Nivi deflected smoothly — knew about Swetha, turned topics, dropped calls for "study."
Never rude. Always polite.
One evening, Aaravind called her, voice casual but laced with intent.
"Hey, Nivi, what are you doing alone in that room? Thinking about me?"
She laughed lightly, but her tone was firm. "Aravind, stop. You have Swetha. And I have homework. Bye."
Click.
She cut the call without hesitation, no giggles, no playing along.
Aaravind stared at the phone, frustrated but impressed. She's not giggling like the others. Sharp. Confident. Doesn't need to play games to push back.
She never missed industrial visits, events — eager, participating, asking questions that showed she was thinking big.
From her words during those trips, he learned her dream: Start a company, like their fathers built from scratch.
"Look at what they did," she'd say, eyes lighting up as they toured a factory. "Starting with nothing, turning it into an empire. I want that — to create something, be my own boss."
But her father dismissed it — "Be a good girl, marry after studies. Business is for men."
Aaravind saw the fire in her, the way she clenched her fist slightly when talking about it.
He found a plot.
Another day, he called, starting with flirt.
"Nivi, you looked stunning in that saree today. Imagine if we skipped class... just you and me, somewhere quiet."
She paused, voice cooling. "Aravind, enough. That's not funny."
Before she could hang up, he switched seamlessly. "Wait, speaking of skipping — remember that company visit last week? The guy who started from a garage, now exporting worldwide? His story's incredible. No backing, just grit."
She stayed on the line. "Yeah... he bootstrapped everything. No loans, no family money. That's what I admire. Building from scratch, no shortcuts."
They talked for 20 minutes — her voice animated, ideas flowing about innovation, risks, scaling.
He wove in darker sides gradually, testing limits.
"Those founders... they take what they want. No apologies. Like in life — sometimes you have to grab opportunities, even if they're forbidden."
She chuckled. "Like sex before marriage? No, Aravind. That's not 'opportunity' — that's mess. Focus on the business part."
Deflected again — bold, calling it out, but steering back without breaking the conversation.
Sharp. Confident.
He pushed a little. "Come on, Nivi. Imagine the thrill — something secret, exciting. Like us skipping to a cafe, just talking... or more."
She sighed. "Aravind, you have Swetha. And I have standards. Let's stick to company stories — tell me about that startup that failed first then succeeded."
He laughed, switched back.
But he saw it — she knew his game, played along on her terms, never letting it cross her line.
Bolder than anyone realized.
Things turned awkward the day she admitted — first to him, of all people — that she loved Prem.
They were on a college industrial visit, sitting in the back of the bus on the return trip. The group was noisy, but Nivi leaned close, voice low, eyes shining with a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Aravind... I think I'm in love. With Prem."
He froze, smile stuck on his face.
Prem. That rival department guy. The one he hated.
"Why him?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
She shrugged, cheeks flushing slightly. "He... sees me. Really sees me. Not just the quiet girl."
Aaravind felt fury rise — hot, possessive.
That night, he started the rumors.
Quiet at first — whispers to his teammates.
"Nivi? Yeah, we've been hooking up. Fucked her daily after classes."
Word spread like wildfire.
Department chats, canteen gossip, anonymous notes.
"Nivi and Aaravind — doing it every day."
Some believed. Some laughed. Some pitied Prem's "rival."
But Nivi?
She never reacted.
Next day in class, she sat beside him like always, asked for notes, smiled the same polite smile.
Spoke normally — about assignments, visits, dreams.
No anger. No confrontation
.
He couldn't stand it.
One afternoon in the library corner, he asked directly.
"Why no reaction to the rumors about us? Everyone's talking — saying we... you know."
She looked up from her book, smiled calmly — confident, unshaken.
"No need to prove myself to anyone, Aravind. Rumors are just words. And just for that, I won't break a good bond."
Her eyes steady, voice firm.
She never knew he started them
.
Never suspected.
Her strength, determination — he saw it all clearly then.
The way she rose above it, focused on her path.
Knew if she loved Prem this deeply, she'd go with him one day — fight for him, leave everything.
He wanted to taste her — even if Prem married her.
Break that strength.
Make her his, just once.
The obsession hardened.
The 10 minutes before Prem burst into the indoor sports room were a blur of confusion and escalating tension for Nivi, her trust in Aaravind fracturing with every passing second.
She had followed him eagerly, excited by his promise of meeting a prominent industrialist who could offer insights into starting a company. "He's inspecting the room," Aaravind had said, leading her away from the post-match buzz. "Just us — he'll be here soon."
But as they entered the dimly lit space, decorations half-hung for the ceremony, the door clicked shut behind them. No guest in sight.
"Where is he?" Nivi asked, glancing around the empty room, her voice steady but with a hint of unease. She smoothed her saree, fair skin glowing under the flickering lights, unaware how Aaravind's eyes lingered on the curve of her waist.
Aaravind turned, his smile twisting into something darker. "He'll be here. But first… just one kiss, Nivi. That's all. Then I'll take you to him."
She froze, eyes widening. "No, Aaravind. That's not funny. Open the door."
When she tried to move past him toward the exit, he grabbed her from behind, arms wrapping around her waist like a vice. His hands slid up quickly, grabbing her breasts through the blouse, squeezing roughly. Nivi gasped, struggling, but his grip pinned her against him.
"Stop! Let go!" she shouted, voice shaking with anger and fear.
He ignored her, burying his face in her neck, kissing forcibly — lips pressing hard, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Nivi twisted, trying to pull away, but the touch sent an unwanted shiver through her — a moan escaping her lips despite the revulsion.
Aaravind paused, realizing. Neck's her weak spot.
He spun her around to face him, trying to hug from the front, hands fumbling to pull her closer. "See? You like it. Just give in."
She resisted fiercely, pushing at his chest. "No! Stop!"
That’s when the door burst open — Prem charging in, fist connecting with Aaravind's jaw, sending him reeling. The grapple, the iron rod, the scar — the rest was history.
They proposed because of him.
Ironically, his twisted plan in the indoor room — the grab, the force — brought Prem and Nivi together.
Prem's rescue turned fear into gratitude, gratitude into confession.
The hidden letter, the proposal under streamers.
All because Aaravind pushed too far.
She distanced after.
Nivi pulled back — polite but firm.
No more long calls. No sitting together in canteen.
Eyes averted when passing in corridors.
She knew something changed, even if she didn't suspect him fully.
Aaravind seethed, watching her with Prem — stolen glances turning to secret meetings.
Months later, he struck again.
Quiet whispers to mutual contacts, "exaggerated" stories to her father through family channels.
The beating on Prem — four men in shadows.
The rushed arranged marriage — 38-year-old hotel owner, "stable."
Spoiled their plans perfectly.
Almost.
They eloped anyway.
Now, twelve years later.
Prem has her — married, child, building company.
With orders that could come from him? Aaravind's firm in position to approve or block.
No.
Pending story.
Unfinished business.
This time, he'll make them surrender.
Force Prem to give her up — even for a week.
Take her.
Break her.
Aaravind resolute, jaw set.
He grabbed his keys, suit jacket.
The party hall — Prem's place., He got to know from a man whom he send to follow Prem..
He'd arrive uninvited.
Make his demand.
Watch Prem crumble.
Smile as Nivi's eyes widened.
This time, she will suck my cock before Prem..
That's his plan....
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