Chapter 3: When Eyes Met Through a Canvas

I had reached college, but my mind was still clouded with the strange thoughts from earlier that morning. Why had I seen such a wild dream about Nikhil? Why him? Was I becoming obsessed with his body? Did I… like the way he looked? These questions kept swirling in my head, tormenting me, refusing to leave me in peace. I didn't understand what was happening to me, and the confusion was beginning to weigh heavily on my chest.

Just then, Simmi's voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts.

"Brother, we've reached college," she said firmly. "Please come out of the car or we'll miss class."

Her words snapped me back to reality. I nodded quickly, silently thanking her for grounding me, and stepped out of the car. That's when I saw him—Nikhil—walking past me, confidently striding through the college gates. He had arrived in style, riding a stunt board, and his entrance immediately caught everyone's attention.

The girls around me couldn't stop whispering and giggling, clearly impressed by his stunt. And maybe… just maybe… so was I. But I didn't want to be. I didn't want to fall into that same trap. So I quickly averted my gaze and made my way toward my classroom, pretending I hadn't even noticed him.

Inside the classroom, I saw that Ruchika and her usual group had also arrived. But, strangely enough, they didn't say anything to me today. No mocking, no comments. Relieved, I quietly went to my desk and sat down, hoping the day would pass without any drama.

A few minutes later, Ruchika stood up and announced to the class, "Guys, guess what? There's a fresher's party happening today in college!"

The moment she said it, the energy in the room changed. Excitement buzzed through the air as everyone smiled and exchanged glances.

"It's happening tonight," she continued, "so no one is going home today. Call your parents during the games period and let them know. Everyone's staying."

Her tone was commanding, almost like an order, and the others quickly nodded in agreement, eager to follow her lead. But then… her expression turned mischievous. A spark lit in her eyes.

"One junior," she said, her voice lowering but carrying weight, "will be given a task tonight. If that junior completes it, they will enter Nikhil's safe zone."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

"That means," she explained with a sly smile, "no one will bully them. No one will ever touch them in this college."

There was a moment of silence after that. Even though she was smiling, her words had cast a shadow over the class. Everyone knew what it meant to be chosen for a task by Ruchika's group. It was never easy. It was a test of strength, pride, and survival. And failing meant humiliation.

People looked at each other, nervous chuckles filling the room. There was fear—clear and real—in everyone's eyes. Because all of us had seen what those "tasks" had done to juniors in the past.

And in that moment, I couldn't help but wonder… who would be chosen tonight?

Would it be me?

And if it was… could I handle it?

After we finished all our classes for the day, the real excitement of the evening began. Our seniors led us through a long corridor to a room we had never seen before—a changing room filled with rows and rows of costumes, each one more extravagant than the last. The moment we stepped inside, our eyes widened in wonder. It felt like we had entered a fantasy world. There were superhero suits, fairytale dresses, traditional outfits, even futuristic looks—each costume waiting for someone to bring it to life.

I was handed a Superman costume. I looked down at the red cape and blue suit in my hands, a mix of amusement and nervousness bubbling in my chest. Everyone around me seemed thrilled, laughing and joking as they eagerly put on their costumes. The energy in the room was electric. For most, it was fun—a game. But deep inside, I could feel a strange sense of unease creeping up on me. Something told me this wasn't just about dressing up.

Once we were all changed, a senior entered and clapped his hands to get our attention. His expression was serious, which immediately made the room go quiet.

"Now listen carefully," he said, his voice echoing slightly off the walls. "We're going to split the boys and girls into separate groups."

We were then guided out, boys to one side and girls to another. I ended up standing in a line with the rest of the guys, still adjusting my Superman cape, my heart now beating a little faster.

Another senior stepped forward. His eyes scanned us with a curious glint, as if he already knew what was coming.

"Here's the rule," he said, his tone deliberate. "Whoever's costume matches with a senior's costume… will be chosen."

The word chosen sent a ripple through our group.

"Those seniors," he continued, "will assign you a task. If you complete it successfully, you'll earn their respect. And more importantly, you'll earn immunity."

A hushed murmur spread among us.

"Yes," he confirmed, almost enjoying the tension, "you'll be safe—free from ragging, from bullying, from being targeted."

Everyone around me looked thrilled. The chance to escape the harsh reality of ragging was a golden ticket, a privilege every junior secretly prayed for. This was their chance. Their way out. Their chance to rise in the invisible social hierarchy of the college.

But me?

My palms were starting to sweat. My stomach twisted in a knot. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be "chosen." I wasn't sure if I was ready for whatever task was coming my way. The excitement in the air only made my anxiety heavier.

Then came the moment.

We were led toward a stage with a massive red curtain hanging in front. The kind of curtain that hides secrets… or reveals fates.

One by one, we were told to stand in front of it—shoulder to shoulder, silent, waiting.

The tension in the air was unbearable.

Then came the command:

"One... two... three!"

The curtain shot up.

Light flooded in. Cheers erupted from the crowd beyond. And standing across from us… were the seniors, dressed in costumes that matched ours.

My heart nearly stopped as I scanned the faces.

Now came the time to find your match—and face whatever task awaited.

Exactly what I had feared… happened.

My costume matched Nikhil's.

My heart dropped the moment I saw him standing there, wearing the exact same outfit. Out of all the people, it had to be him. The same Nikhil who had haunted my thoughts lately, whose presence made me feel things I didn't fully understand. And now, fate had thrown me right into the path I was trying to avoid.

For the very first time, Nikhil's eyes landed directly on me.

And in that moment, it felt like everything slowed down.

I froze. My body stiffened. My hands trembled ever so slightly, and I didn't know whether it was fear… or something else. I tried not to meet his gaze, but I could feel it—intense, unwavering, burning through the mask I wore.

Then, with complete confidence—so calm, so in control—Nikhil walked up to me.

Without saying a word, he reached forward and gently pulled off my mask.

I flinched slightly as his fingers brushed against my skin, and the world seemed to pause as my face was revealed.

His eyes locked onto mine.

He didn't say anything at first, but then… he smiled.

It wasn't a mocking smile or a smirk of superiority. It was subtle. Soft. Almost… warm.

Then, he turned away and faced the crowd, his voice strong and commanding.

"Boys," he said, addressing the others, "take your partners and go wherever you want. Choose your task. Just remember—no harm. No danger. No injury. Understand?"

His voice carried authority. Like a leader giving orders to his soldiers. And the response came instantly, like a rehearsed chorus:

"Yes, sir!"

The boys, one by one, began guiding their partners away—some toward the staircases, others out into the garden, the hallway, or toward empty classrooms. Laughter, nervous whispers, and the shuffle of footsteps filled the air as everyone disappeared into their chosen corners of the college.

Then it was my turn.

Nikhil didn't ask.

He simply reached for my hand and held it. His grip was firm, not forceful, but enough to make my breath catch. His touch sent a current through me, a mix of fear and curiosity dancing in my veins.

Without a word, he led me through the corridors—calm, sure, quiet. The world around us faded into a blur of colors and footsteps, my heartbeat echoing louder with every step we took.

Finally, he brought me to a quiet art class—a space I'd never entered before. The room was lit by the golden hue of the evening sun streaming in through the tall windows. Paintings and sketches hung on the walls. Canvases stood half-finished in corners. There was a strange peace in the room, as if the chaos of the college couldn't touch this place.

Nikhil let go of my hand and walked a few steps ahead before turning to face me.

His eyes were searching mine, like he was trying to read something behind them—something I hadn't said, something I didn't even understand about myself.

And as I stood there, the silence between us louder than any words, I realized this wasn't just a game anymore.

This was something else.

Something deeper.

Something about to begin.

Nikhil looked at me with a curious expression and asked softly,

"So… do you know how to paint?"

His voice was calm, almost teasing, but there was a genuine interest hidden beneath the question.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, I replied,

"Yes… a little."

The moment he heard that, his face lit up—not with amusement, but with something gentler… something real. His eyes softened, and to my surprise, he reached out and took my hand.

That one touch sent a rush through my body—something between a flutter and a jolt. My fingers twitched slightly in his grasp, and for a second, I considered pulling away. But I didn't. I couldn't.

"Then come on," he said, leading me toward the canvas.

"Paint me. Make my portrait."

I froze. Did I hear that right?

My eyes widened in disbelief. Of all the tasks… he wanted me to paint him?

I blinked, caught off guard, my heart pounding. I looked at his face, calm and collected, as if what he was asking was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Was this some kind of test? A joke? Or something else?

Still holding my hand, he sat down quietly in front of the blank canvas, his gaze fixed on me—not demanding, not impatient… just waiting.

I felt a thousand thoughts flood my mind.

Why him? Why me? Why does his touch feel like it's digging into my soul?

Why does this feel so much more intense than it should?

But there was no escaping it now. The room was silent, and it was just the two of us.

I walked slowly to the side, picked up the palette, and began choosing colors. My hands shook slightly as I lifted the brush, the bristles hovering just above the canvas. I could still feel the warmth of Nikhil's hand on mine. His presence filled the room like gravity—pulling me in even when I tried to resist.

And then, I began to paint.

Stroke by stroke. Line by line. Color by color.

Not just his face, but something more. Something deeper.

With every movement of my brush, I wasn't just creating his image—I was unravelling the tension inside me. I was painting what I felt but could never say. The softness in his eyes, the strength in his silence, the mystery that tugged at my chest whenever he was near.

I stole a glance at him.

He wasn't moving. Just watching me. Calm. Still. Focused.

But there was something in his gaze—a quiet intensity that made my breath catch.

And in that moment, I wasn't sure whether I was painting him… or trying to understand myself.

To be continue....