Leaving the gates of the colony, Rohan rode the Stinger like it had always belonged to him - poised, calm, in control. The city unfurled around him - newspaper vendors, cyclists in starched white uniforms, rickshaw pullers pedaling slowly beneath the green canopies.
As he approached the campus gates, the buzz of first-day electricity was unmistakable. Groups of students clustered under trees; last semester's fest posters still clung to fences like forgotten vines.
Rolling to the front gate was a flamingo-pink sports car, sleek and spotless, gleaming beneath the Delhi sun.
The kind of car that didn't park. It arrived.
Conversations paused. Phones tilted discreetly for better recording angles.
The back door clicked open with soft precision - and out stepped Shia Oberoi.
Even among Delhi's most stylish students, she stood apart.
No makeup, yet luminous. A pale beige co-ord set that whispered international fashion. Her hair - loose, glossy, effortless. A simple gold bracelet shimmered on her wrist. Her eyes, hidden behind oversized sunglasses, caught Rohan's glance once.
But once was enough.
She wasn't trying to be noticed.
The world already had.
And somehow, she had grown tired of it.
The campus corridors hummed with the electric energy of a new academic year - eyes wide with ambition, freshmen clutching orientation flyers, bursts of laughter bouncing past freshly painted walls.
In the Economics lecture hall, Professor Pandey, a man whose spectacles seemed permanently etched with the wisdom of ledgers, squinted at the array of sleep-lined faces.
"What, precisely," he began, "is a fiscal deficit?"
From the back, a student stifled a yawn.
"Sir," he ventured, "it's rather like my monthly allowance - more expenses than budget. Every single week."
A wave of chuckles rippled through the room.
Professor Pandey's gaze settled on Rohan.
"Mr. Rohan," he said dryly, "can you offer an explanation without involving snack consumption?"
Rohan straightened, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
"It's the same principle, sir - as when I exceed my personal allowance. My parents call it mismanagement. Economists, I believe, call it a fiscal deficit."
Even the professor smirked. The room cracked into amusement.
Later, Pandey scribbled a complex problem on the board.
"Who among you can unravel this - or were your summer studies confined to meme fest?"
Rohan, intense and focused, solved it in minutes.
A classmate leaned over, whispering, "Your answers, bro, load faster than my hostel Wi-Fi."
By the final period, English Literature offered a different kind of rhythm.
Ms. Sen, with her infectious grin and flowing kurtas, addressed the class:
"Today, let's dive into Shakespeare - not superheroes. No dramatic soliloquies about imaginary villains, please."
The class chuckled.
Shia, poised elegantly in the front row, offered a confident smile.
"Ma'am," she quipped, voice clear and even, "Shakespeare's heroes wore emotional masks. No capes required."
Ms. Sen beamed.
"Beautifully said. But do promise me, no Hamlet-themed Instagram Reels."
As the class debated Hamlet's psychological spiral, Shia shrugged lightly.
"The real villain isn't Claudius," she said. "It's procrastination. Overthinking - humanity's greatest enemy since 1603."
Even Rohan paused, a grin tugging at his lips.
The bar for collegiate wit had been set. And it was far higher than he'd imagined.