The second day broke through the thin curtains of Disha's cramped dorm room at exactly 6 a.m., the alarm on Aryan's phone blaring relentlessly. He silenced it with a swipe and immediately reached over, gripping her shoulder hard enough to make her wince. "Jag ja, haramzadi—tera routine badal gaya hai ab," he ordered, voice rough with morning gravel. (Wake up, you bastard—your routine has changed now.)

Disha groaned, every inch of her body protesting. Her thighs ached, her core still tender from the night before, skin marked with faint fingerprints and the ghost of his roughness. But hesitation earned no mercy. Aryan yanked the sheet away, exposing her naked form to the cool morning air, and hauled her to her feet. "Shower le—main dekhta hoon," he said, pushing her toward the tiny attached bathroom. (Take a shower—I’ll watch.)