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The following days unfolded like a whirlwind, with the push-and-pull between Ishaani and Professor Arun intensifying. Ishaani couldn’t help herself—each class brought a new opportunity to toy with him, and she found herself craving his reactions more and more.
One morning, she strolled in late, as usual. She’d been expecting his sharp reprimand, but today, Arun’s expression was colder than ever.
"Miss Verma, you’re late. Again." His voice was clipped, but instead of engaging her with witty banter, he handed her a pink slip—a disciplinary report.
Ishaani blinked. "What’s this?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"It’s a formal complaint to the dean. Your attendance issues, combined with your persistent disrespect, have crossed the line," Arun said, his tone icy.
For the first time, Ishaani’s grin faltered. She hadn’t expected him to take it this far. The class fell silent, sensing the shift. Her friends exchanged uneasy glances.
She cleared her throat, determined to recover. "Oh, come on, Professor. You’re not seriously going to involve the dean, are you? I thought you enjoyed our little… back-and-forth."
"I don’t enjoy being disrespected in my own classroom," he said sternly. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, showed a flash of frustration that thrilled her—despite the warning.
Ishaani’s lips curled into a daring smile. "Maybe you should learn to enjoy it. You know, live a little, Professor."
Arun’s jaw clenched. "Out. Now. Dean’s office. Immediately."
This was new. The thrill Ishaani usually felt when teasing him was replaced by a tiny knot of anxiety. But beneath that anxiety was an excitement she couldn’t deny. She pushed back her chair slowly, standing up with deliberate grace, and made her way toward the door, aware of the eyes following her.
"See you soon, Professor," she called over her shoulder, flashing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
*****
The dean’s office was a sterile, stuffy space that reeked of authority—something Ishaani had always avoided. As she sat across from the dean, a stern woman in her late fifties, Ishaani felt something she rarely experienced: nervousness.
"You’ve been written up by Professor Singh," the dean said, reading the complaint. "Your behavior in his class has been disruptive, disrespectful, and inappropriate."
Ishaani opened her mouth to defend herself but realized she had no good excuse. She had been pushing it.
"You are one of the brightest students here, Ishaani. Don’t throw that away over some childish game," the dean added, her eyes softening just a bit.
"I didn’t mean for it to go this far," Ishaani admitted, swallowing her usual bravado. "I was just…"
"Playing with trouble?" the dean finished. "It’s obvious you enjoy testing boundaries, but Professor Singh isn’t the man to push. You’ve crossed a line. He’s requested you be suspended from his course for a week. You’ll return only if you complete an essay on professional conduct and respect for authority."
Ishaani’s heart sank. A week out of Arun’s class? The thrill of their game had been one of the few things she genuinely looked forward to. But the realization that she had pushed too far was undeniable.