Bombay, a city that never sleeps, brimming with dreams, inhabited by dreamers, and alive with glamour and glitter. In the heart of Bombay, between the fashion, glamour, hustle, and humming, lay the prestigious IIT Bombay, filled with intelligent minds and sharp brains. Where ideas meet innovation, where scholars are made and prepared to excel in their lives, in one of the college hostels, room number 405, lay a girl, born and brought up in the hearts of Lucknow, the city of nawabs, tehzeeb, and tevar. Born into a middle-class family, she lost her mother at a very young age; she was nurtured and loved by her father, a banker by profession.

The alarm buzzed faintly, its shrill sound breaking the stillness of the hostel room. Heer Mishra stirred, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The sunlight streaming through the barred window painted stripes across her face, reminding her of another day of endless lectures, notes, and whispered laughter in corridors where she rarely belonged. She got up, stretching her arms a little and rubbing her sleepy eyes. Pulling over the specs from the side table, she adjusted them over her nose and looked outside the window, where the sun was brightly shining overhead along with the chirping of the birds. She sat up, smoothing down her long hair that fell like a curtain down her waist. On the other hand, her roommate and only best friend, Ishani, was already humming a film song while rummaging through her overflowing wardrobe. Heer smiled faintly—where Ishani was loud and colorful, she was quiet and plain.

Her morning was a ritual: folding her bedsheet neatly and tying her hair into a braid, she rushed towards the bathroom. The stream of warm water dropped down from her hair; the smell of lavender spread across the bathroom. Wrapped in a bathrobe that Ishani had gifted her two years back, she slipped into a simple cotton kurti and leggings and adjusted her dupatta twice before convincing herself she looked presentable. She picked up her worn tote bag—half-filled with books, half with snacks her father had packed the last time she visited Lucknow.

Walking through the gates, Ishani and Heer entered the chattering mess. The smell of curries and milk, the loud sounds of steps walking here and there and the clinking of plates made the mess quite a mess. They took a plate, filling it with milk and cornflakes in a bowl and a vada pao; Heer silently ate the breakfast while Ishani was still chattering about how her Instagram algorithm isn't working well. After the silent breakfast, while Ishani went to the library to fetch some books, Heer decided to attend the extra class of psychology, which was supposed to be taken by Dr Sreenath Iyer, one of the best top scholars in the field of psychology. He was getting retired next week due to his health issue, so he had arranged an extra class for everyone who wanted to understand the topics, if any. Heer has always admired Dr Sree due to his intellectual nature.

By the time she reached the classroom, the energy of IIT Bombay buzzed around her. Students with expensive sneakers and louder voices filled the benches. Heer slipped quietly into the second-to-last row, hoping to remain unnoticed. But some hopes are too fragile.

A sudden burst of laughter erupted. She froze, realizing too late that her desk was actually painted with ink-blue liquid that had spilled onto her notes, which she had kept on the table. Snickers followed. One of the boys muttered something cruel about "nerds who don't belong here."

Her cheeks burned. For a moment, she wanted to disappear, but instead, she bit down on her lip, pushed her soaked notes aside, and kept her gaze steady on the blackboard. She would not cry. She would not give them that victory.

When the day finally ended, she trudged back to the hostel, shoulders heavy. Ishani flung open the door, her voice chirping.

"Arre Heer! What happened to your kurti? Did you fight with an ink bottle?"

Heer gave a tired smile, sinking into her bed. Ishani plopped beside her, chattering about her day, until finally she leaned close.

"You know, Heer... You underestimate yourself too much. People like you, with brains and courage, don't need looks or glamour. One day, they'll all know who you are."

Heer looked out the window at the flickering hostel lights. A small wish stirred in her chest, fragile yet persistent. Maybe tomorrow will be kinder.

Evenings in IIT Bombay are even better. The laughter of the students, some mocking, some flirtatious, some cheap, some modest, some chirpy, and some just like that, filled the air. Ishani insisted on Heer walking around the campus. After having tea from their regular spot, they turned their heels back to the hostel and drowned themselves in studies, talks, sharing thoughts, and exchanging snacks.

At last, she drifted to sleep with that thought, unaware of how soon tomorrow would change everything.

Across the city, the Raichand estate woke differently.

The big mansion, a little getaway from the city, stood tall and broad. With a lush green garden spread in front of the mansion, the gates opened through a big hallway with big sofas kept to accommodate more than 10 people. Across the drawing room was the dining hall, consisting of a long white marble-top table with teak wood chairs. Adjacent to that was the kitchen, the shining white modular cabinets shining like they have been polished regularly. Across the hallway was the flight of stairs leading to the floor that was banned for the strangers since it was the floor where the mighty Raichand lived.

The chandelier-lit halls echoed with the faint click of polished shoes on marble. Harshwardhan Raichand adjusted the cufflinks on his crisp white shirt, his reflection staring back at him from a full-length mirror. Tall and sharp-jawed, his light brown eyes held the quiet intensity of a man who had learned to balance power and restraint.

In the dining hall, his father, Virendra Raichand, scanned financial newspapers while his mother, Devika, directed the staff with effortless grace. His younger sister, Anaya, scrolled carelessly on her phone, barely glancing up.

"Enough of the phone and newspaper, everyone. Breakfast is set now."

Everyone glanced at the voice, and all of them settled on the chairs. The table was laden with a sophisticated breakfast consisting of black coffee, oats, fruits, cornflakes, toast, and tea.

"Board meeting at ten," as Virendra reminded, his voice low but commanding.

"I'll be there," Harshwardhan replied evenly, sipping his black coffee.

Breakfast at the Raichands wasn't chatter—it was ritual. Every gesture polished, every word calculated. For the world outside, they were royalty in business suits. Just then the phone rang, and the caller ID reflected Malika.

"God, why the hell is she calling me, Bhaiya? Aren't you picking up her call?"

"Harsh, Malika has been calling me as well since yesterday. What's the matter?"

Harshwardhan glanced up at them, rubbing his temple. He said,

"I will speak with her, Mumma, and Aanya, don't pick up her call."

"Not planning to."

He walked to the parking, leaving behind the family who were still munching their toast and oats. Devika looked at Virendra and sighed.

"Virendra, Harsh is turning 35 this year. Kab shaadi karega wo?"

"Mumma, it's better he doesn't get married to that face powder ki dukaan Malika. She gives off such negative vibes."

She is Harsh's would-be wife, the would-be daughter-in-law of this house, and your sister-in-law, Aanya. Have some respect.

Aanya rolled her eyes and went away towards her study. Virendra, observing everything, put down his paper and said calmly,

"Devika, you know Harsh doesn't like Malika, and neither do any of us. We are just bound by some shitty political and business relations. He will get married once he is ready."

By mid-morning, Harshwardhan was at the sleek glass headquarters of Edura Global, the educational empire he helmed. A folder lay open before him, its contents disturbing: leaked documents hinting at a mole embedded deep within the government's educational projects. Funds siphoned, data stolen. The threads led toward academic institutions.

Edura Global is the name that has stood tall in the past many years, aiding educational funding and benefits to various colleges and universities across the globe. Harshwardhan wasn't just a CEO of the firm; he was the chief advisor in the educational department of the government. His entire existence has been secretive; very few people know who Harshwardhan Raichand actually is, and to the world, getting a glimpse of him is just like watching a shooting star: rare and unique. He was a planner; he was a person with high intellect, a person with a sharp mind and sharp eyes.

"Shall I dig deeper?" 'Kabir, his closest confidant, asked.

Harshwardhan leaned back in his chair, his gaze cold and calculating.

"No. I'll do it myself."

He made some calls, followed up on some new information, and leaned back, his head resting on his chair's headrest. The board meeting was crucial, complex, and not appealing. Harshwardhan knew that if the mole isn't detected soon, it will tamper with the reputation of the government as well as his company.

That evening, as Mumbai's skyline flickered to life, Harshwardhan stood by the tall glass window of his office. His reflection merged with the city lights—half man, half shadow. His fiancée, Malika Oberoi, had called twice already, but he let the phone buzz unanswered. Some games were far too dangerous to involve her in. But then the last time, his phone buzzed, and he couldn't hold back. Taking a deep breath, he answered,

"Yaa Malika"

"Hey baby, where are you? Why are you not answering the call? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, all good. Tell me?"

"You are coming to Charu's party, right?"

"Sorry, who?"

"Charu, my agency owner, she personally invited you, right?"

"Sorry, Malika, I am a bit occupied with some work. Won't be able to make it."

The phone hung up after a few chats ending with the deal that Harshwardhan will compensate by sending a gift to Charu on behalf of him.

Post the call, he leaned back and watched the light of the skyscrapers glittering like stars. His decision was made. If the mole hid in the halls of academia, then that's where he would go. Not as CEO, not as government advisor, not as the name whispered in fear by the underworld.

But as Professor Harshwardhan Raichand.

The plan settled in his mind like a storm waiting to break.

The next morning buzzed louder than ever. As the class group buzzed with the news of a new professor joining today, Ishani was frantically rushing from one place to another. Heer, unknown to all this, or say, unaffected by all this, simply dressed herself in a navy blue cotton kurti paired up with pant plazzo, adjusting her glasses and her tote bag on her shoulders. The breakfast was usual, but the Department of Psychology was loud.

Her classmates were buzzing with excitement. Girls checked their makeup in compact mirrors, whispering and giggling; even the boys sat up straighter, unusually attentive. Heer, however, slipped into her usual second-last row, placing her notebook on the desk. She tugged at the edge of her kurti, reminding herself to blend into the background.

"I swear, Heer, he must be handsome, but umeed kam hai. PhD professors are usually old age."

Heer scoffed a bit, focusing back on her notes, scribbling and writing down the notes until the classroom fell into sudden silence when he walked in.

Tall. Immaculately dressed in a slate-grey blazer with rolled-up sleeves. Light brown eyes scanning the room like he owned not just the classroom but the world beyond its walls. The air shifted with the weight of his presence.

Harshwardhan Raichand.

The name rolled off the murmuring lips of students like it belonged in legends.

He wrote his name on the board in bold strokes. Professor Harshwardhan Raichand.

Whispers erupted again.
"God, he looks like he's stepped out of a magazine."
"Are we sure he's not a model?"
"Those eyes..."

Ishani nudged Heer, which she ignored, but Ishani, being Ishani, leaned a bit and whispered,

"Bhai, mujhe 365 days yaad aa gaye. Oh my god, is he a Greek god?"

Harshwardhan ignored the chatter, his voice cutting through the noise—deep, calm, and commanding.

"Good morning. From today onwards, I'll be taking over your core modules in applied psychology. I expect discipline, punctuality, and effort. Nothing less."

The voice came deep and heavy. A small gasp left most of the girls' mouths as they whispered how husky his voice was. His gaze swept across the hall. Seeing the students, dressed all in expensive clothing, girls with ample amounts of makeup, and the strong fragrance of perfume hitting his nose deep. Heer, as usual, kept her eyes down, scribbling his words mechanically. She thought he was like any other strict professor—stern and unapproachable. She had no idea that his gaze had paused, just for a flicker, when it brushed past her. Something about her quiet composure felt... different. The simple blue kurti, the braided hairs, and the specs resting over her nose, which she was adjusting from time to time, were all familiar to her. Her face was laced with softness, innocence, and kindness.

The class continued, and soon, he announced,

"For today, I want quick presentations on aspects of mind psychology. Nothing fancy—your thoughts, your understanding. Five minutes each."

Groans filled the room, but students obliged, one by one. Most fumbled, too distracted by his presence. Heer sat nervously until her turn was called. Her heart pounded. She hated standing before a crowd, especially with eyes already mocking her behind whispered jokes.

Still, she rose, clutching her notebook.

Her voice was soft at first, but as she spoke about how the human mind often builds cages of its own insecurities and how breaking them defines true growth, a stillness fell over the room. Her words weren't flowery, but they carried conviction—raw and unpolished, yet genuine.

Harshwardhan, leaning slightly against the desk, found his attention sharpening. Out of dozens of voices that had tried to impress, hers alone cut through the noise. Not because she was loud, but because she believed every word she said.

She finished quickly, cheeks warm, avoiding the stares around her. Expecting laughter, she hurried back to her seat.

But instead—silence.

Ishani looked at the sitting image of Heer.

"Heer, tune toh kamaal kar diya. Aaj toh sab chup hi ho gaye."

And then, the deep timbre of his voice:

"Miss... Mishra, isn't it?"

Her head snapped up, startled. His eyes were on her, steady, unreadable, yet carrying a flicker of something she couldn't name.

"That was... insightful. Real."

Her lips parted in surprise. A compliment? From him? She nodded awkwardly, eyes darting back to her notebook.

Around her, girls exchanged annoyed glances. Why her?

Harshwardhan straightened, moving on smoothly with class, but a small smirk ghosted at the corner of his lips. For reasons he couldn't yet explain, the quiet girl in the plain kurti had managed to catch his attention—without even trying.

Heer, on the other hand, had no idea her ordinary day had just shifted into something extraordinary.

And so, the slow-burn spark began—innocent on one end, dangerous on the other.

The class ended, Harshwardhan leaving behind whispers and chattering between the students. Heer packed her bag, and followed by Ishani, they all left the class, moving to the hostel. On the other hand, Harshwardhan came to his cabin. A sleek, well-furnished desk seemed newly made in the department, maybe just for him.

The day dawned, and as usual, Heer and Ishani were walking down the lane with hot piping corn in their hands. Just then a sleek black Mercedes rolled beside them. The crowd was walking, some scattered, but as the car pulled over, the window rolled down, and a pair of eyes caught a glimpse of a girl sitting in the class chaos today, pouring her simplicity down like a waterfall. Harshwardhan gave a small smile and started his car, driving away from the campus, promising the place to return tomorrow to dig in deep into the real mission of joining the college. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey Sweeties !! Here's the first chapter of the story The Professor's Secret

Thanks so much for reading! Your votes and comments mean the world to me. 

If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and share your thoughts in the comments so I know what you'd like to see more of.
For extra spoilers and updates, you can find me on Instagram @dilse. daastan

Till the Love Love 💕