The heavy wooden door to Principal Sharma's office clicked shut with a finality that made Sneha's stomach drop. The clock on the wall read 7:15 PM. The rest of the college campus was empty, the corridors silent after hours. She stood there in her tight white shirt that hugged her full breasts a little too obviously and the short navy skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, shifting nervously on her heels.

"Miss Sneha, 19 saal ki ladki ho tum, college mein padhti ho, phir bhi uniform code follow nahi kar sakti?" (You're a 19-year-old girl studying in college, yet you can't follow the uniform code?) Principal Sharma's deep voice rumbled from behind his massive oak desk. At 52, he was a tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair, a thick mustache, and a body that still carried the remnants of his wrestling days—broad shoulders and a slight belly that spoke of authority and age.