The heavy oak door of the economics faculty office clicked shut with a finality that made Sakshi flinch. The air inside was thick with the scent of old paper, mahogany polish, and the sharp, metallic tang of Raghav’s simmering rage. Outside, the corridor of the university buzzed with the fading footsteps of post-grad students heading to the canteen, but inside this soundproofed sanctuary, the silence was a weapon. Raghav stood by the window, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow over the cluttered desk. He didn’t turn around. His white dress shirt was crisp, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with tension.
Idhar aa, Sakshi, Raghav said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in her chest.
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