Delhi University, North Campus. 1:15 PM.

​The DU canteen was always a sensory assault, but today it was operating on peak chaotic energy. Steel plates clattered against marble tables, the air was thick with the smell of frying oil and cheap coffee, and laughter bounced off the peeling yellow walls. In the corners, overly affectionate couples shared single plates of momos as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

​Slicing through the crowd were two boys operating on entirely different frequencies.

​Vishvas Patil tall, broad-shouldered, radiating the absolute, unshakeable calmness of a monk from Kolhapur held a scalding steel tumbler of chai like it was his last tether to sanity. Beside him, practically vibrating with chaotic energy, was Rihaan Mehta.

​With his mess of bouncing curls, big expressive brown eyes, and a grin that practically screamed 'I am about to make a terrible decision', Rihaan was a walking, talking disaster. And his mouth? It never took a day off.

​"Bhai, I swear, these canteen samosas are the biggest scam in Delhi," Rihaan complained, waving a half eaten, tragic looking pastry in the air. "Ninety percent aalo-hawa, ten percent disappointment. Aur yeh chutney? Bro, yeh chutney taste karti hai jaise expired heartbreak." [Ninety percent potato-air, ten percent disappointment. And this chutney? Bro, this chutney tastes like expired heartbreak.]

​Vishvas took a slow sip of his chai, not even blinking. "Rihaan, kabhi socha hai tu har doosre mahine single kyun hota hai? Yeh teri iss kaali zubaan ki wajah se hai." [Rihaan, have you ever wondered why you are single every other month? It is because of this cursed tongue of yours.]

​Rihaan gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "EXCUSE me? Meri zubaan national treasure hai. UNESCO ko ise protect karna chahiye." [EXCUSE me? My tongue is a national treasure. UNESCO should protect it.]

​Before Vishvas could point out that UNESCO didn't protect liabilities, Rihaan’s gaze drifted across the crowded room. Instantly, his animated smile flatlined.

​At the far end, dangerously close to the buzzing Pepsi fridge, stood his girlfriend, Kuhu Shekhar. She was laughing a high, tinkling sound while flipping her glossy, salon treated hair like she was auditioning for a Sunsilk commercial.

​And the guy making her laugh? Tejas Verma.

​Delhi University’s certified, gold-medal fuckboy. The guy who changed partners faster than the campus WiFi dropped connections. The one whose trademark smirk made half the student body swoon, and made the other half want to introduce his face to a brick wall.

​Rihaan froze. The half-eaten samosa slipped from his fingers onto a paper plate.

​He leaned sideways, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Vishvas. Meri chai pakad." [Vishvas. Hold my tea.]

​Vishvas’s eyes widened in genuine panic. "Nahi, Rihaan, mat kar. Bhai, lafda mat kar, mujhse aur nautanki nahi dekhi jaayegi." [No, Rihaan, don't do it. Brother, don't start a fight, I cannot watch any more drama.]

​But it was too late. The missile had launched.

​Rihaan stormed forward, cutting through the crowded tables like a cyclone in Converse sneakers. His curls bounced aggressively with every step, his jaw was locked tight, and when he finally spoke, his voice cut through the canteen chatter like a hot knife through butter.

​"KUHU! Yeh kaunsa sasta circus chal raha hai yahan?" [KUHU! What cheap circus is going on here?]

​Absolute silence. Every chewing mouth stopped. Every eye in the canteen snapped toward them.

​Tejas turned slowly, raising a perfectly threaded eyebrow with lazy arrogance. "Relax, bro. Hum bas baat kar rahe hain." [Relax, bro. We're just talking.]

​Rihaan’s filter which had never existed to begin with evaporated completely. He spat pure fire.

​"Baat? Oh wow. Isse baat karna kehte hain? Kyunki yahan se toh yeh National Geographic ka ‘Mating Rituals of Delhi’s Cheapest Species’ lag raha hai." [Talking? Oh wow. Is this what you call talking? Because from here it looks like National Geographic’s ‘Mating Rituals of Delhi’s Cheapest Species’.]

​The canteen erupted. A sophomore in the front row actually choked on his Chole Bhature from laughing.

​Tejas’s practiced smirk faltered, a flash of real anger replacing the smugness. Kuhu’s perfectly lined eyes narrowed into furious slits.

​"Stop it, Rihaan!" she snapped, her South Delhi accent clipping every syllable. "Tum humesha apni aukaat kyun dikhate ho? Why are you embarrassing yourself? Leave him and don’t make a scene." [Stop it, Rihaan! Why do you always show your class? Why are you embarrassing yourself? Leave him and don't make a scene.]

​But Rihaan was just getting warmed up.

​In a flash, he stepped into Tejas's personal space, grabbing the collar of his expensive Zara jacket and yanking him forward until their noses were inches apart.

​"Sun be, Verma showroom ke reject piece," Rihaan hissed, his voice echoing in the dead quiet room. "Cheat codes aur girlfriends hi hain jo tu collect karta hai. Par yeh mat soch ki tu meri girlfriend ko apni list mein add kar lega." [Listen here, Verma showroom's reject. Cheat codes and girlfriends are the only things you collect. But don't think you can add my girlfriend to your list.]

​Gasps echoed off the walls. Half a dozen smartphones instantly popped up over the crowd, camera lenses gleaming as they hit record.

​Tejas’s wingmen immediately pushed back their chairs, cracking their knuckles and ready to jump in. But before a single punch could be thrown, Rihaan did something entirely unexpected.

​He shoved Tejas backward with a look of utter disgust. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a folded paper tissue, meticulously wiped his hands as if Tejas carried a highly contagious disease, and then casually tossed the crumpled tissue onto the chest of one of Tejas’s goons.

​The crowd went feral.

"Ohooo!"

Someone in the back yelled, "Savage, bhai!"

​Kuhu was vibrating with rage, her face flushed a blotchy red. She stomped her foot. "God, Rihaan, shut your filthy mouth! You’re unbelievable. Tumhare mooh se sirf bakwaas nikalti hai. I can’t do this anymore." [God, Rihaan, shut your filthy mouth! You're unbelievable. Only nonsense comes out of your mouth. I can't do this anymore.]

​Rihaan blinked, the adrenaline suddenly stalling. "Kya?" [What?]

​"Mujhe break up chahiye," her voice was ice-cold. [I want a breakup.]

​The canteen let out a collective, dramatic gasp. Ouch.

​For one agonizing second, Rihaan actually looked broken. The bravado melted, leaving his big brown eyes looking young and hurt. But then, the defense mechanism kicked in. The nonsense mouth took the wheel.

​He took a step back, spreading his arms out wide like Shah Rukh Khan, his curls falling dramatically into his eyes.

​"BREAK UP? Fine!" he bellowed, pivoting to face the entire canteen. "Suno sab log! MAIN KUHU SE PEHLE BREAK UP KARTA HOON! Yeh mujhe deserve nahi karti, mere aalo waale samose mujhe zyada deserve karte hain!" [BREAK UP? Fine! Listen up, everyone! I BREAK UP WITH KUHU FIRST! She doesn't deserve me, my potato samosas deserve me more!]

​Half the canteen burst into a roaring fit of laughter, thumping their tables. The other half was whispering furiously, already uploading the footage to Instagram. Kuhu hid her face, absolutely humiliated, while Tejas crossed his arms, his smirk returning in full force.

​Before Rihaan could open his mouth to declare another legendary, unhinged one-liner, a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder.

​Vishvas had had enough.

​Without a word, the muscular Maharashtrian spun Rihaan around, hooked an arm under his armpit, and quite literally dragged him out of the canteen while Rihaan's sneakers squeaked uselessly against the floor.

​"Bas kar, bhai!" Vishvas muttered through gritted teeth as they hit the sunlight outside. "Kisi din tu mujhe pakka Tihar jail bhijwayega." [Stop it, brother! Someday you will definitely send me to Tihar jail.]

​Jay’s Dorm. 2:00 PM.

​Poor Jay Sachdev, Rihaan’s oldest and most exhausted best friend, sat hunched over a chaotic desk buried in thick medical textbooks, highlighters, and four empty mugs of black coffee. He was desperately trying to memorize the terminology of ovarian cysts for his upcoming gynecology mid-term when his dorm door violently banged open.

​In stormed Vishvas, dragging a limp, wailing Rihaan like a very stubborn, very loud goat.

​Rihaan threw himself forward, face-planting dramatically onto Jay’s unmade mattress. He began flailing his limbs. "She dumped me! My girlfriend dumped me for a walking STD with excessive hair gel!"

​Jay slowly lowered his yellow highlighter, staring blankly at the wall. "Main yahan fallopian tubes aur ovaries par exam ke liye padh raha hoon. Aur tu mere paas yeh bakwaas le kar aaya hai?" [I am studying for an exam on fallopian tubes and ovaries here. And you bring this nonsense to me?]

​Vishvas unceremoniously dropped Rihaan's legs onto the mattress with a heavy thud. "Apne dost ko sambhal. Mera ho gaya. Main Kolhapur se yahan degree lene aaya tha, Delhi ki sabse badi drama queen ko babysit karne nahi." [Handle your friend. I am done. I came here from Kolhapur to get a degree, not to babysit Delhi's biggest drama queen.]

​Rihaan instantly rolled over and sat up, glaring at Vishvas with red-rimmed eyes. "Drama queen? Please. Main toh tragedy king hoon na. Meri life basically ek sasta Netflix show ban chuki hai jiska writer nashe mein hai." [Drama queen? Please. I am a tragedy king. My life has basically become a cheap Netflix show whose writer is drunk.]

​Jay groaned, pressing the heels of his hands deep into his exhausted eyes. "God, kill me now."

​Rihaan flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling fan, a sad, bitter smirk playing on his lips. "Don’t worry, Jay. Destiny is already doing that for me."

​Somewhere in the North...

​Hundreds of miles away, far removed from the petty heartbreak and loud chaos of Delhi University.

​Deep within the ancient, frozen primordial forests of Himachal Pradesh, where the mist clung to the pines like a shroud and the silence was absolute... the shadows shifted.

​A pair of burning, amber-golden eyes suddenly flickered open in the dark.

​The colossal beast let out a low, tectonic rumble that vibrated through the freezing earth. It wasn't anger. It was an awakening. Almost as if a string connecting two souls across the universe had just been violently plucked by the sheer, unadulterated chaos of a boy named Rihaan Mehta.

To be continued