The dim fluorescent lights of the university chemistry lab hummed softly, casting long shadows across the cluttered workbenches. It was well past 10 PM, and the campus had emptied out hours ago. Manju, a bright-eyed 19-year-old second-year chemistry student, hunched over her project notebook, her white lab coat stretched taut over her petite frame. The coat, a size too small from repeated washes, hugged her curves—her full breasts straining against the buttons, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh over her simple skirt. Her long black hair was tied in a messy ponytail, a few strands sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead as she mixed reagents for her organic synthesis experiment.

She hadn't noticed the lab assistant, Mr. Rajesh Sharma, watching her from the corner. At 48, he was a grizzled veteran of the department—tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual stubble. His eyes lingered on the way her lab coat clung to her body, the outline of her bra visible through the thin fabric. "Aaj bhi der tak kaam kar rahi hai, Manju?" (Working late again today, Manju?) he called out, his voice low and gravelly as he approached.