Royal Scandal

Chapter 4: Locked

Siya did not sleep a single wink that night.

It wasn't because of the rain heavy against the windowpane, nor was it because the ceiling of her small rented room in Laxmi Nagar had developed another slow leak in the corner.

It was because his jacket was hanging over the back of her wooden chair.

Black. Expensive. Heavy. It still carried the distinct, unmistakable scent of wet cedarwood, rain, and him.

She had spent her evening washing her blue dress, carefully drying her scholarship letter with her roommate's iron set on the lowest heat setting, and hanging Rehansh's jacket far away from the damp wall.

Throughout the night, her eyes kept drifting back to it. She had even reached out to touch the heavy fabric of the sleeve once or twice. It was far too big for her. Wrapping herself in it earlier had made her feel small — and somehow marked.

At 6:00 AM sharp, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"8:00 AM. Don't be early. Don't be late. Table 1. Bring my jacket. Ironed. - R"

Siya stared at the screen in disbelief. Who demands an ironed jacket when it was drenched in a downpour just hours ago?

She ironed it anyway. She laid out a clean white cotton handkerchief over the material to protect the fabric, carefully pressing out every minor wrinkle.

Her two roommates watched her from their mattresses, giggling softly. "Siya, ironing a guy's jacket on your second day of college? Who is this rich boy?"

Siya had ignored them, her face burning, but her heart had pounded all morning.

By 9:45 AM, she was standing outside the stone entrance of the old library. The campus grounds were quiet, glistening with leftover morning dew. He wasn't there yet.

The heavy front door was unlocked, resting slightly ajar.

She stepped inside. The air was cool and smelled of aged paper and floor wax. She walked over to Table 1 — the exact same long wooden table from yesterday.

Two high-backed wooden chairs faced each other. Her folder was tucked neatly into her canvas bag, and the joint project sheet from Dean Rathore still lay right where Rehansh had left it the previous afternoon.

She set the ironed jacket carefully over the back of his chair, sat down, and waited.

At 10:00 AM, the elderly librarian, Mr. Das, shuffled out from behind the archives. He checked his ledger, peered over his wire-rimmed glasses, and nodded.

"Dean's mandatory project pair, ten to twelve, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Siya said quietly.

10:03 AM. Still no sign of Rehansh.

10:07 AM. Her screen lit up with another notification.

"Dean stopped me in the hallway. 2 mins. - R"

At 10:10 AM, the heavy oak door creaked open. Rehansh stepped inside.

He wasn't wearing the black shirt from yesterday. Today, he wore a crisp white button-down with the sleeves neatly folded up to his forearms, revealing the pale line of a silver watch and the subtle veins on his wrists.

Dark trousers, sharp shoes, his dark hair styled back, though a few stray strands fell onto his forehead. Yet despite his sharp look, there were faint dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept much either.

His gaze swept the quiet room, landing first on Siya, and then on his jacket draped over the chair. Neatly folded. Smooth. Ironed.

He stopped beside the table. "You actually ironed it."

"You ordered me to," Siya replied, holding his gaze.

"I didn't think you'd actually listen."

"You say that a lot," she said softly.

He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down. He didn't pick up the jacket immediately. Instead, his eyes lingered on her.

She wasn't wearing the ruined dress from yesterday; today she wore a simple light blue cotton dress dotted with small white flowers. Dry, clean, modest. Her long, dark wavy hair hung loose over her shoulders, and a simple silver ring sat on her right hand.

"You look... okay today," he noted, his voice low in the silent room. "Not drenched."

"Thanks to your jacket," she countered subtly.

A momentary silence fell between them. Before Rehansh could respond, Mr. Das walked over, placing two thick, aged hardcovers of Pride and Prejudice onto the center of the wooden desk.

"Ten to twelve," Mr. Das reminded them sternly, tapping his index finger on the wood. "I lock the main entrance at 12:05 sharp from the outside. If you are still inside, you stay until two o'clock when I return from my lunch break. The master key remains with me. Do not attempt to call the desk; I do not carry a mobile phone."

With a final stern nod, the librarian turned and retreated toward the rear office.

Rehansh pulled one of the heavy books toward himself, flipping to the introductory chapter. "We need to outline two pages of notes today. The primary topic is initial impressions."

"Like your first impression of me?" Siya asked before she could filter the thought.

Rehansh paused, one dark eyebrow lifting as he looked up from the page. "My first impression of you was a girl who drops her life's work into a mud puddle."

"And my first impression of you was an arrogant boy who shoves people out of his way."

"I didn't shove you."

"You brushed past me hard enough to knock my folder out of my hands. It's the exact same thing."

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost forming a small smirk before he controlled his expression and cleared his throat.

"Write," he instructed, pushing a clean lined pad toward her side of the table. "You draft your section on Elizabeth, I'll analyze Darcy. We'll combine the notes before noon."

For the next forty-five minutes, the silence in the old library was broken only by the rhythmic rustle of turning pages and the scratch of pens against paper.

Outside, the rain had paused, though heavy grey clouds hung low over the stone window arches.

Siya wrote quickly, her handwriting small, neat, and precise. Rehansh wrote more slowly, leaning back slightly, holding his pen in his left hand as his broad strokes filled the page.

At 11:00 AM, Siya glanced toward the tall arched windows. Outside, walking along the courtyard path toward the main building, were Mehek and Advik.

Mehek noticed Siya through the glass and gave a subtle, encouraging wave. Beside her, Advik offered a curt nod toward Rehansh.

By 11:30 AM, Siya's phone hummed quietly against her notebook. It was a message from Kabir.

_Where are you right now? Eisha is looking around the quad asking people about R's jacket. She's claiming you took it from his locker or something??

Siya read the screen, her brow furrowing in frustration. Beside her, she felt Rehansh's posture shift. He was watching her screen, his jaw tightening as he read the pop-up text over the table.

"Tell Kabir you gave it back," Rehansh said, his voice flat.

"I haven't yet," Siya replied quietly. "It's still sitting right there on your chair."

"Then give it back right now."

He extended his hand across the wide mahogany table, palm open.

Siya picked up the folded black jacket, reaching across the gap to hand it to him.

For a brief second, their fingers brushed. His hand was warm and broad; hers were cool and small. His fingers closed around the cloth, but neither of them pulled away immediately.

His dark eyes shifted down, watching where her fingertips rested against his knuckles.

"You really do have small hands," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing its sharp edge.

Siya looked at him. "You said that yesterday in the rain."

"I know."

The grandfather clock near the archive section chimed softly, marking 11:55 AM.

"We should wrap this up," Siya said, pulling her hand back and gathering her loose papers into her folder. "It's five minutes to twelve. The librarian said he leaves at twelve."

Rehansh didn't move immediately. He held the ironed jacket in his lap, his gaze fixed on her face, analyzing the quiet resolve in her features.

"You ironed this well," he observed quietly.

"My mother taught me," Siya replied, sliding her pen into her bag. "She irons all my father's clothes."

Rehansh shifted slightly. "Your father?"

"Yes. He works as a clerk."

Something subtle changed in Rehansh's expression — the harsh guard behind his eyes softened just a fraction. "My father would never let my mother iron his shirts. He sends everything out to the estate staff. He always told her that her hands were made for wearing diamond rings, not for holding irons."

Siya looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected glimpse into his life. She didn't know how to answer that.

12:00 PM.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the outer hallway. The sound of keys jingling was followed by the solid, unmistakable thud of the massive wooden entrance door swinging shut.

Siya snapped her head toward the door, her heart skipping a beat. "Wait — he's closing it early!"

She sprang up from her chair, her flats slapping against the floorboards as she rushed to the heavy oak exit. She grabbed the brass handle and pulled.

It didn't budge.

She pulled harder, placing both hands on the lock assembly. "Mr. Das!" she called out, her voice tight with rising panic. "Wait! We're still in here!"

Rehansh stood up slowly, stepping around the long table and walking to the door. He knocked his knuckles hard against the solid wood. "Mr. Das! Open the door!"

No reply came from the corridor. Outside the narrow window slit, the faint, rhythm ringing of a bicycle bell — ting, ting — faded away as the old librarian pedaled off toward the campus cafeteria for his two-hour break.

He was gone. Taking the only master key with him.

Silence settled over the old library.

No signal on their phones inside the stone walls. No staff. No other students. Just Table 1, two copies of Pride and Prejudice open to Chapter One, and two hours ahead of them.

Siya turned around slowly, her back against the locked door, her breathing shallow.

Rehansh stood three feet away from her. His black jacket rested over the chair behind him. His eyes were dark, steady, and fixed entirely on her face.

He didn't look panicked at all. In fact, a slow, unreadable expression crossed his features as he looked down at her.

"Looks like," Rehansh said, his voice smooth and dangerously calm, "your two hours start now, Scholarship."