ENGINEERING LIVES
CHAPTER 1: BACKLOGS & BREAKUPS
The monsoon clouds hung low and heavy over the sprawling campus of Horizon College of Engineering, threatening a downpour that matched Professor Aryan Sanyal’s mood.
From the second-floor window of the Faculty of Civil Engineering, Aryan watched the swarm of returning students. The humid air smelled of wet asphalt, freshly cut grass, and the distinct, metallic scent of teenage anxiety. At forty-two, with a marriage dissolving into silence and legal paperwork back home, Aryan found the exuberant noise of the reopening day jarring. He adjusted his spectacles, his eyes scanning the courtyard below. To him, these students were variables in an equation he no longer understood — full of potential, yet desperate to complicate their lives.
Down in the quadrangle, the world was vibrant. It was the first day of the third semester.
Mohini stepped out of a silver hatchback, instantly becoming the center of gravity near the canteen. She was the kind of girl who didn’t just enter a room; she announced herself. Dressed in a pristine white kurti that defied the muddy weather, she flipped her hair, her eyes scanning the crowd for approval.
Surrounding her were Malati and Kamini, her “inner circle.” They were the architects of her summer, the voices that had filled the silence of the holidays with poison.
“Remember what we discussed,” Malati whispered, linking her arm through Mohini’s. “Don’t let him talk you out of it. You’re out of his league, Mo. Two months apart proved that.”
Mohini nodded, though her stomach churned. “I know. I’m doing it.”
“He’s just… ordinary,” Kamini added, reapplying her lip gloss. “You need a fire, not a flickering candle. Vijay is just so… safe.”
Mohini liked ‘safe.’ But she liked approval more. Over the last two months, the constant drip-feed of criticism — he’s not cool enough, he’s too quiet, he doesn’t dress right — had calcified into a decision. She was going to break up with Vijay.
As if summoned by the thought, Vijay rounded the corner of the Mechanical block.
He was dressed simply in a checked shirt and jeans, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Vijay wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, nor the flashiest. He possessed a quiet, observant intelligence that often unsettled people. He didn’t speak ill of others, not because he was naive, but because he rarely found others worth the energy of judgment.
He spotted them. The smile that touched his lips was genuine, reaching his eyes.
“Hi, Mohini. Hello, everyone,” Vijay said. His voice was calm, cutting through the chatter.
“You look very happy,” Malati said, her tone dripping with faux sweetness.
“Of course I am,” Vijay replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “College is open. I get to see my friends. And,” he turned his gaze to Mohini, “I get to see my girl.”
The air grew thick. Mohini felt the pressure of her friends’ eyes boring into her skull. Do it now.
“Vijay,” Mohini started, her voice trembling slightly. “We need to talk.”
Vijay stopped. He looked at the group — the smirking faces of Malati and Kamini, and the nervous shifting of Mohini. He was an intelligent young man; he could read the room better than he could read a circuit diagram.
“I’m all yours,” Vijay said.
“Here?” Mohini asked, glancing around. “In front of everyone?”
“They are your friends, aren’t they? We have nothing to hide.”
“No,” Mohini snapped, louder than she intended. “It’s personal. Come with me.”
She walked toward the walkway lined with ancient Gulmohar trees, away from the prying eyes of the canteen crowd. Vijay followed, his pace leisurely. He reached out to hold her hand — a reflex from three years of habit.
Mohini flinched. She jerked her hand away, crossing her arms defensively.
Vijay stopped walking. The silence between them was louder than the distant traffic.
“What’s the matter, Mohini?” he asked gently. “You’ve been distant all summer. What’s going on?”
Mohini took a deep breath, reciting the script she had rehearsed in front of her mirror. “Vijay, let’s break up.”
Vijay stared at her. A leaf drifted down between them. “Break up?”
“I’m serious. I want to end this.”
“Is this a prank?” Vijay tilted his head. “Did Kamini put you up to this?”
“It’s not a prank!” Mohini’s voice rose, shrill and desperate. “Can’t you see? I’m done. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
She braced herself. She expected tears. She expected him to beg, to plead, to ask how could you throw away three years? She expected the drama that fueled her friend group’s existence.
Vijay looked at her for a long, stretched minute. He looked at the way she stood, angled away from him. He looked at the toxicity waiting for her back at the canteen.
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“Okay,” Vijay said.
Mohini blinked. “What?”
“I said, okay.” A faint, sad smile played on his lips.
“You… you’re okay with it?”
“It’s your decision, Mohini. I respect you. If you want out, so be it.”
“You don’t even want to know why?” Mohini felt a strange mix of relief and insult. “You’re not going to fight for us?”
Vijay stepped closer, not to touch her, but to look her in the eye. “Mohini, a relationship is a partnership, not a prison. Two people stay together because they want to, not because one forces the other. If you aren’t happy, you are free. In fact,” he sighed, looking toward the heavy clouds, “you were always free.”
“But…”
“I won’t ask for reasons,” Vijay interrupted softly. “Because reasons can be argued with, but feelings can’t. Just remember one thing — we were friends before we were lovers. If you ever need me, really need me, I’m still here. I’ll always help you.”
He checked his watch. “I have to get to class. Aryan Sir locks the door right on the bell. Bye, beautiful.”
With that, he turned and walked away. His stride didn’t falter. He didn’t look back.
Mohini stood frozen under the Gulmohar tree, the anti-climax washing over her like cold water. She walked back to her group, dazed.
“Well?” Malati practically pounced on her. “What happened? Was it messy?”
“He said… okay,” Mohini whispered.
“What?” Kamini shrieked.
“He just accepted it. He smiled and walked away.”
“What the hell?” Malati scowled. “He didn’t even argue? He wasn’t upset? See! I told you he didn’t really love you. He has no passion.”
“Oh, shut up, Malati.”
The voice came from behind them. It was Rahul, a bright student and Vijay’s academic rival. He was leaning against a pillar, a notebook in hand, shaking his head.
Rahul walked into the circle, looking at the girls with open disdain. “It’s Vijay. You lot will never understand him.”
He turned to Mohini. “Honestly, Mohini, I wasn’t expecting you to actually go through with it. I thought you knew him. But clearly, you don’t.” He scoffed. “I used to think he was too good for the rest of us. Now I know he’s definitely too good for you.”
“Rahul!” Sophia, Rahul’s girlfriend and a childhood friend of Malati, stepped forward. “How can you be so rude? She’s my friend.”
“I’m rude because I’m the only one here telling the truth,” Rahul snapped. “Mohini, use your brain. Your ‘best friends’ have been gaslighting you all summer because they’re miserable and they can’t stand seeing you happy with a decent guy.”
“Rahul, stop it!” Sophia grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back. “Why do you even care? You don’t even like Vijay!”
Rahul gently removed her hand from his arm. “I don’t like him because he is the best. He is the only competition I have in this entire college. I want to beat him, but I respect him. And I’m terrified that one day,” he glared at Malati and Kamini, “you girls will play these same toxic mind games with me.”
“It’s not like that…” Sophia started, her eyes tearing up.
“I love you, Sophia,” Rahul said, his voice dropping to a warning whisper. “But stay away from this poison. These people… they feed on drama. I don’t have time for it.”
The bell rang, echoing across the concrete quadrangle.
“Class time,” Rahul muttered. “I’m not going to miss Professor Aryan’s lecture for this nonsense.”
As Rahul walked away, leaving the group in stunned silence, the first drops of rain began to fall, sputtering against the dry earth.
Up in the classroom, Professor Aryan Sanyal watched Vijay enter. The boy looked calm, but Aryan saw the tightness in his jaw, the way he gripped his pen a little too hard. Aryan recognized that look. It was the look of a man who had decided to endure pain with dignity rather than make a scene.
Welcome to the club, kid, Aryan thought, turning away from the window to write ‘Thermodynamics’ on the blackboard.
“Alright, settle down,” the Professor’s voice boomed, drowning out the sound of the rain. “Let’s see what broke and what survived the summer.”
END OF CHAPTER 1
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