Chapter 1: The Shelf and the Surprise Lift
The emergency lights cast a dim, orange glow across the computer lab, painting long, distorted shadows that stretched towards the exit signs. The air was thick and still, heavy with the hum of idle servers and the faint, dusty scent of old textbooks. Rohan Sharma stood alone, the silence pressing in on him. His own reflection stared back from the dark screen of monitor number twelve—glasses, a face he considered unremarkable, a frame that was more wire than muscle.
He sighed, the sound swallowed by the room’s low drone. The project file he needed was on the top shelf of the storage unit, a good foot and a half beyond his reach. He’d tried dragging a chair over, but the industrial wheels were locked solid. He’d even attempted a clumsy, one-footed hop, his sneaker squeaking on the linoleum, only to feel a familiar pang of frustration. It was always something like this. His mind could deconstruct complex algorithms, but his body struggled with basic physics.
The lab door swung open with a soft whoosh, breaking the silence.
Rohan flinched, turning to see Arjun Patel fill the doorway. He was backlit by the brighter hallway lights, a broad silhouette that seemed to take up all the available space. He moved inside, the door sighing shut behind him.
“Hey, man. Forgot my charger,” Arjun said, his voice a relaxed rumble. He spotted Rohan by the shelves. “What’s up? You look stuck.”
“I’m… yeah. A little stuck.” Rohan adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit. He hated asking for help, especially this kind of help. It always felt like an admission of a specific deficiency. “It’s just that blue binder up there. The one for the Advanced Networks project.”
Arjun followed his gaze. “Oh, right. The one Gupta was waving around.” He walked over, his steps easy and confident. He didn’t even look at the chair. He just stood beside Rohan, his presence somehow both comforting and intimidating. He smelled faintly of fresh sweat and soap, like he’d just come from the gym.
Rohan braced himself for the usual. Okay, I’ll give you a boost. He’d have to endure the awkwardness of being hoisted, the feel of another person’s hands, the strained grunt of effort.
But Arjun just smiled, a quick, easy flash of white. “No worries.”
Before Rohan could process it, Arjun’s left arm—thick and corded with muscle beneath his college hoodie—hooked around his waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, he lifted Rohan clear off the ground.
It wasn’t a strain. It wasn’t a heave. It was like Rohan weighed nothing more than a backpack.
The air left Rohan’s lungs in a soft gasp. His feet dangled. The world tilted. His shoulder was suddenly level with Arjun’s head. One arm was all it took. The sheer, casual power of it was staggering. He could feel the solid, unyielding strength in the arm wrapped around him, a band of pure stability.
“Which one?” Arjun asked, his voice perfectly even, as if he were holding up a phone, not a full-grown person.
Rohan’s mind went blank for a second, the sensory input overwhelming. The warmth of Arjun’s arm through his shirt. The solid wall of his chest against Rohan’s side. The dizzying height. “The… the blue one. With the white tab.”
“Got it.” Arjun’s free hand snagged the binder. He didn’t even stand on his toes.
Then he was lowering Rohan back down, the descent just as controlled and easy. Rohan’s sneakers touched the floor, but his knees felt unsteady. The entire event had lasted maybe five seconds.
Arjun handed him the binder. “Here you go.”
Rohan took it, his fingers numb. He could still feel the ghost of that arm around his waist, a brand of effortless force. He stared at Arjun, who was already turning to grab his charger from a desk, completely oblivious. For him, it was nothing. A trivial gesture. For Rohan, the entire geometry of the room had shifted. The air felt different. Thinner.
Arjun pocketed his charger and gave a casual nod. “See you in class, yeah?”
Rohan just managed a sound, something between a cough and a “yeah.”
The door closed, leaving Rohan alone again in the humming silence. He stood there, the cool plastic of the binder in his hands, his heart hammering a strange, frantic rhythm against his ribs. He looked at the empty space where Arjun had been, then down at his own slight frame. The shadows on the wall seemed deeper now, the silence more profound. He took a slow, shaky breath, trying to reclaim the air in his lungs, trying to make sense of the dizzying, weightless feeling that had nothing to do with being lifted off the ground.
The binder felt cool and slick in his hands. Rohan stared at it, not seeing the label, only feeling the phantom pressure of an arm around his waist. The lab’s hum seemed louder now, accusatory. He needed to get out.
He shoved the binder into his backpack and left, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound of finality. The hallway lights were bright, fluorescent, and harsh after the lab’s gloom. He walked quickly, his mind replaying those five seconds on a loop. The ease of it. The sheer, unthinking physical competence. It was a different language, one his body didn't speak.
He turned a corner, lost in thought, and collided with a solid wall of muscle and fabric.
“Whoa, easy there.”
The voice was a familiar rumble. Rohan stumbled back, his glasses askew. Arjun stood there, a grin spreading across his face. He held a half-eaten protein bar in one hand.
“Rohan, right? You alright? You shot out of that lab like it was on fire.” Arjun’s eyes were friendly, crinkling at the corners.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just… distracted.” Rohan adjusted his glasses, his face warming. “Heading to the caf?”
“Nah, gotta get to the gym. Coach is riding us hard before the semifinals.” Arjun finished the protein bar in one large bite and dusted his hands together. “Hey, good running into you, though.”
He extended his right hand. A casual, automatic gesture.
Rohan’s own hand moved to meet it. The difference was instantaneous, almost comical. His slender, programmer’s fingers disappeared completely into Arjun’s grasp. Arjun’s hand was a landscape of calluses and hard ridges, a network of power forged from gripping rugby balls and weights. It was warm, dry, and utterly encompassing.
Arjun gave a friendly squeeze. “See you around, man.”
It wasn’t a aggressive grip. It was just… his normal handshake. But to Rohan, it felt like his bones were being gently compressed in a vise. There was a brief, startling pressure, a compacting of the small bones in his hand.
Then Arjun was releasing him, giving a final nod before striding down the hall, his footsteps echoing with a confidence Rohan could only dream of.
Rohan stood frozen, his right hand hanging limply at his side. A dull, throbbing ache had already begun to pulse in his knuckles and metacarpals. He flexed his fingers slowly, wincing at the sensation. It was a raw, physical reminder stamped into his skin.
Hours later, sitting in his quiet dorm room, the ache persisted. A subtle, deep soreness that flared every time he curled his fingers around a pen or typed a line of code. He’d look at his own unremarkable hand, then at the space where Arjun had stood, and feel the echo of that casual, crushing power.