BHU - Final Semester

The air in the Banaras Hindu University sociology department was heavy with late-summer heat and anticipation. The old ceiling fans groaned as they pushed warm air around, barely disturbing the sheet of paper freshly pinned to the department notice board.

The final semester examination schedule.

Within seconds, students gathered like bees to nectar, eyes scanning, voices rising.

"Urban Sociology first?"
"We've barely got three days!"
"This is brutal..."

From her place in the second row of the classroom, Ishki didn't rush to see it. Her pen moved steadily across her notebook, the neat, disciplined script that had always been her trademark. She knew that in a few minutes Misha would come to her with every detail anyway.

She was right.

A familiar weight dropped into the seat beside her. Misha - bright-eyed, hair pulled into a loose braid - leaned close enough that her perfume mixed with the chalk dust in the air.

"Schedule's out," she said, her voice low but tinged with mischief. "First paper, day after tomorrow. Urban Sociology. You ready?"

Ishki's lashes lifted briefly, brown eyes warm but calm. "I've been revising for weeks."

Misha's grin widened. "Sure. And I'm guessing your... private tutor has been keeping you on track?"

The heat rose in Ishki's cheeks before she could stop it. She lowered her gaze back to the notebook, but the smile tugging at Misha's lips told her the damage was done.

No one else in the department knew. Only Misha - her best friend, her classmate, and, secretly, her sister-in-law - knew that Ishki's husband was none other than Professor Rajveer Singhania. The man half the department feared, respected, and whispered about in the corridors.

The Professor Arrives

The door opened with a solid, old-wood creak. Silence rippled through the class before his voice even touched the air.

Rajveer Singhania walked in with the measured stride of someone who owned every inch of the space he stepped into. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the faintest scent of sandalwood and something sharper - the kind of fragrance that clung to authority.

He set his leather-bound notes on the podium and scanned the room.

"Settle down."

The low, commanding tone drew the last whispers to a halt. His eyes moved over the rows, cool and assessing. To everyone else, they were just the watchful eyes of their strictest professor. But to Ishki, two rows down, they were the same eyes that had been softer that morning, when his hand had rested at the small of her back in their kitchen, his voice warm against her ear as he'd promised, "Tonight, my study. We'll go through Methods until it's burned into your mind."

She lowered her gaze, forcing herself to listen as he continued.

"Exams begin in three days. Your dissertations must be ready for submission with your final paper. Any delay will not be tolerated."

The statement was meant for everyone, yet his glance in her direction lingered for just a second longer than it should have - a subtle, dangerous thread of awareness between them that no one else noticed.

Study Night

That evening, Ishki and Misha sat on the room floor, books and notes spread in a chaotic half-circle around them.

"You've got entire chapters color-coded," Misha said, shaking her head. "You're over-prepared. Honestly, what more can you possibly revise?"

Ishki kept writing. "It's not about memorizing. It's about structuring the answers."

Misha grinned knowingly. "Oh, right. Structuring. That what Bhai says?"

A soft, warning "Misha..." left Ishki's lips, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

By nightfall, she was unlocking the door of her room.

He was in his study, sleeves rolled, glasses low on his nose as he read her dissertation draft. Without looking up, he gestured to the chair beside him.

"Sit. Page 43. Your comparative framework on Burgess and Hoyt - weak. Rewrite."

His voice was all professor, but his nearness wasn't. As she worked, his arm brushed hers when he leaned over the desk to make a note. His hand lingered at the back of her chair when he moved to stand behind her.

"You're distracted," he murmured.

"No, I-"

His palm covered hers, stilling her pen. The other hand tilted her chin until her eyes met his.

"I know when my wife is thinking about something other than the syllabus," he said, voice dropping lower. "Finish the rewrite. Then we'll... address it."

The way he said "address it" sent a shiver down her spine.

She finished. He read. And when he set the pages down, the professor's mask slipped. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his mouth claiming hers in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepened until the notes on the desk were forgotten.

Exam Day

The exam hall was a world of its own - old wooden desks in even rows, the faint scent of chalk and damp stone walls.

Ishki sat at her desk, pen poised over the blank sheet, willing herself to focus.

Then she heard the steady rhythm of his footsteps.

Rajveer entered with the invigilation register, expression unreadable. He scanned the hall with professional detachment, moving between rows. The sound of his shoes against the floor echoed in her chest.

When he passed her desk the first time, his gaze flicked over her paper without slowing. No one else would see the fraction of softness in that glance.

Half an hour later, he stopped at the desk behind her to check a student's admit card. His hand rested briefly on the edge of her desk. To the rest of the room, it was nothing. To her, the nearness of his fingers was a silent promise..... Then rajveer came to sign on students answer sheets..... When he came to ishki's desk, he gently touched ishki's hand pounding her heart

"Bchcha answersheet dena"..... Said gently low voice only she can hear

After the Last Paper

By evening, the city was wrapped in the sound of rain. Droplets streaked the balcony glass, the air cool and heavy.

Ishki stood at the kitchen counter, still in her simple kurti, question paper in hand. She was replaying answers when she felt him - the warmth of his chest at her back, the familiar weight of his arms sliding around her waist.

"It's over," he murmured into her hair. "You did well. I saw."

Her breath caught. "You... watched?"

"I've been watching you for two years," he said, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "In lecture halls, in the library... And now, there's nothing left to hold back for."

He turned her in his arms, and the careful restraint he'd worn for months was gone. His kiss was deep, unhurried yet claiming. The rain outside blurred into a steady hush as his hands traced the lines of her back, pulling her closer until she could feel the strength in every inch of him.

He lifted her to sit on the counter, his mouth moving from her lips to her jaw, to the sensitive curve of her neck. Each touch was deliberate, a reminder of the control he kept in public and the intensity he unleashed in private.

"Tonight," he said against her skin, "you're not my student. You're mine. Only mine."

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😍😘 aaj keliye bs itna hi..... To be continued tomorrow..... Hope you like it...... Pardon my mistake..... Till then keep loving and supporting me and my stories......😘😍

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