Fan of a Gangster

Back in Devgarh

The summer sun hung lazily over Devgarh, but Rudra Mehra wasn’t feeling lazy at all. His vacation was over, and as he stepped off the bus, the city seemed smaller somehow — quieter, waiting for him to return.

Rudra adjusted the strap of his backpack, his signature calm smirk in place. A few people turned to look at him. Whispers followed.

“Rudra’s back…”

“He’s here…”

The usual murmurs trailed behind him like a shadow.

He didn’t bother to respond. He never did. His presence alone was enough to announce his return.

By the time he reached Silverwood College, his gang was already waiting at their usual spot near the college gate — Kabir, the chatterbox; Aman, the joker; and Dev, the brainy strategist.

“Finally, the boss is back,” Kabir said, nudging Rudra with a grin.

Aman tossed a half-eaten samosa at him. “Hope the vacation didn’t soften you, yeah?”

Rudra caught it mid-air, flicking it casually back at Aman. “Soft? Never. You should know that by now.”

Rudra and his friends were known as the street-smart gang — never the loudest, but always the ones you didn’t mess with.

The trio followed him silently, laughing softly among themselves. Every step Rudra took drew attention. People didn’t just notice him — they stepped aside. Boys muttered under their breath; teachers avoided his gaze. Even senior students gave a subtle bow of respect, the kind that came without words.

Inside the college, Rudra walked through the halls like he owned them.

A group of juniors whispered as he passed. One of them tried to make a smart comment. Rudra stopped mid-step, looked at him with cold eyes, and didn’t say a word. That was enough. The junior paled, swallowed hard, and looked anywhere but at him.

“Seriously, boss… you don’t even have to say anything, and people just fold,” Kabir said quietly, impressed as always.

Rudra didn’t reply. A smirk was all he needed.

Later, as they reached their classroom, Aman nudged him again. “Hey, vacation over, huh? Bet you’re already thinking about scaring everyone again.”

“Someone’s got to keep this place interesting,” Rudra replied lazily, sliding into his usual seat.

Even in class, he didn’t bother to pretend to follow all the lectures. Yet, when the teacher glanced at the papers he’d submitted during vacation, the top marks on his answer sheets made everyone else groan. Fear and respect, brains and brawn — that was Rudra Mehra in one package.

After class, the gang gathered outside near the campus canteen. Kabir smirked, “So, what’s the plan this semester? Same old, same old?”

Rudra leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd. “Same as always. Keep our heads high, keep the fools in check, and make sure nobody forgets who we are.”

Aman laughed. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

Rudra shrugged. “Reality doesn’t need drama. It just is.”

The rest of the day passed like this — Rudra moving through the campus, calm, unbothered, a mix of charm and menace in every step. People whispered. Some admired. Some feared. And his friends? They trailed like shadows, loyal and knowing he was the kind of person you don’t mess with, yet someone you’d follow anywhere.

By the time the sun began to dip over Devgarh, Rudra Mehra had already reminded everyone why he was both the king and the storm of Silverwood College.