Hey Dreamers,
Welcome to a new chapter of Hidden Affection.
Happy Reading!
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Chapter 3
So, my curious minds... You all assumed that these two had some great backstory, didn’t you? A past filled with stolen glances, fairy lights, soft violins, and fate dipped in sugar?
Yeah. Definitely not her story. Hers began with a seat. Yes, a chair. A stupid, four-legged piece of furniture.
But before we dive into that historic event, let’s rewind just a little.
After being kicked out of her first class of the semester — thanks to Mr. Egotistic aka Professor Athrav Desai — Meher had absolutely nothing to do. Library? Please. She’s not your typical topper who’d spend hours buried in books that don’t even have pictures. So, what does she do?
She needs strong, soul-saving coffee — stat — or her head might explode, and the death certificate will list Professor Athrav as the cause.
She steps into the cafeteria, claiming her favorite cozy seat near the window — the one that feels like peace in a cup.
But today? Today, the coffee doesn’t bring peace. It brings memories. Strong ones. Just like the caffeine.
The moment she takes that first sip, it hits her — this was where it all started. And Meher Sharma? Yeah, she’s still cursing the day she walked into that café.
Flashback Mode: ON
Almost a month ago
It was a regular day. No plot twists. No signs from the universe. Just Meher, her caffeine cravings, and a head full of academic stress.
Meher stepped into Café Serene — a place that pretends to be cozy but secretly breeds passive-aggressive coffee addicts.
This café wasn’t just any café. It was her café. Her go-to escape. Her second home. Her therapy. The owner’s known her since She was in 8th class, the staff treats her like royalty, and yes, She had a designated spot — that sun-kissed window table with the perfect view and the comfiest chair. Meher's seat. Her throne.
But that day?
It was occupied. By... someone.
Someone? Oh, you guessed it right. Professor Athrav Desai. Except she didn’t know that then.
There he was — sleeves rolled up, headphones on, black shirt looking sinfully good, coffee in one hand and a book in the other. His laptop, charger, a mess of notes — everywhere. He’d basically colonized the whole table, including the other chair.
Meher turned to her café uncle with full Main-Character energy. ( Yes, her uncle — don’t ask questions, she makes friends faster than you make tea )
Meher : “Uncle, how could you give him my seat? You know I come at this time every day!"
Uncle : “Bache, aao kahin aur baith jao. Tumhara hi toh café hai.”
Meher : “Exactly, uncle! Which is why that’s my permanent seat.”
Uncle : “Toh aaj ke liye share kar lo. Table do logon ke liye hi toh hai. Waise bhi lagta hai voh akele hi hain.”
And her? In all her wisdom? She thought, “Well, maybe I’ll get some company too. Harmless, right?”
Yeah… Biggest mistake ever.
Oh, now we’re talking. Welcome to the battlefield — Café Serene edition.
After being betrayed by her favorite café uncle and robbed of her sacred corner, our heroine, Meher — caffeine enthusiast, academic pressure cooker, and undisputed queen of dramatic entrances — decided to peacefully request her spot back.
Peacefully.
Meher walked straight up, confidence stitched into every step, pointed to the chair like a warrior pointing her sword, and said—
Meher : “Hi, can I sit here?”
And the man? The audacity on him. Didn’t. Even. Glance. Up.
He just kept reading like he was in some alternate universe where people don’t acknowledge other people. (Spoiler alert: That alternate universe was called “I don’t care”, and Professor Athrav Desai was its sole citizen.)
But Meher? She wasn’t giving up that easy.
So, she dialed the volume up a notch. Because if politeness doesn’t work — desi girl logic says, thoda zor se bolo.
Meher (a little louder) : “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
The man, finally graced her presence with a look. Removed his headphones like he was being inconvenienced in a monastery, and blinked.
Athrav (confused) : “Are you talking to me?”
Meher (sarcastically) : “Ohh really? Koi aur dikh raha hai yahan aapke alawa?”
Boom. First jab. The match has begun.
For a split second, he stared at her. Not with hate. Not with interest. Just… stared. And she hated that it threw her off more than his attitude ever could. Athrav frowned — the kind of frown that professors usually reserve for wrong answers and broken printer machines.
Athrav (offended) : “Sorry??”
Meher (with zero remorse) : “You should be. Anyway, is this seat occupied?”
Okay, by now, his ego was warming up, stretching, maybe even doing a few push-ups.
Athrav (coldly) : “Yes, it’s taken.”
Meher : “No no, I meant — by anyone other than you and your ego?”
And that’s a sixer! Straight out of the park!
He blinked once. Then twice. His lips twitched — either at her audacity or his growing urge to throw his coffee. Athrav, now personally attacked on behalf of his ego, raised an eyebrow.
Athrav : “Exactly. Me and my ego both need peace right now. And you seem too loud for that.”
Meher (mock offended) : “Wow. Till date nobody ever said this to me.”
Athrav (dryly) : “I’m honored to be the first.”
Meher (in disbelief) : "Is rudeness your default setting or do you switch it on just for women?”
Athrav (sipping his coffee with the calmness of a retired villain) : “Only for people who barge in and assume entitlement.”
Meher : “Well congratulations. You just made it to my hate list.”
Athrav (smirking) : “Perfect. I was tired of being on everyone’s favorite list anyway.”
Have you heard this level of petty? If sparks could kill, the café would be ash right now.
Meher (crossing arms, power pose activated) : “Listen, Mr. Reserved Rights, it’s a public café, not your personal property.”
Athrav : “Then publicly wait for another table.”
Meher (annoyed) : “Aapke saath table share karna toh door ki baat hai, mujhe aapki shakal tak bardasht nahi hai.”
Athrav (offended professor mode ON) : “One second, table share… aur woh bhi tumhare saath? Pagal ho gayi ho kya? Samajhti kya ho khud ko, huh?”
Meher (clenched jaw) : “YOU!!!”
Athrav (losing the last drop of patience in his coffee cup) : “Just shut up. You’ve successfully wasted my 15 minutes. Can you just leave or should I —”
Meher (coolly) : “It would be great if you leave, Mr. Self-Centred.”
Athrav : “Self-centred? Me? Wow. I really don’t want to drag this stupid topic. I can’t bear you one more second. Yeh seat tumhe mubarak ho, main jaa raha hoon yahan se!”
Meher : “Badi kripa hogi aapki. Jaldi jaaiye.”
And with that, Professor Athrav Desai — the mysterious, broody, grammar-nerd nightmare of Mumbai College — picked up his laptop, his charger, his carefully folded notes, and stood up.
But of course. Of course, he had to have the last word.
Athrav (coldly) : “Galti se bhi Dubara mil mat jaana, Miss… whatever your name is.”
Meher (rolling her eyes, queen of ‘whatever’) : Gestured toward the door like she was bidding goodbye to expired milk.
But little did they know… This wasn’t an ending. It was the pilot episode. And trust me, folks, the universe was already brewing the next encounter — with extra sugar, steam, and chaos.
Because fate doesn’t care about your hate list.
And love? Well, love sometimes walks in wearing a black shirt, sipping cold coffee, and pissing you off on sight.
Flashback Mode: OFF
After the whole scene played like a movie in her mind, she remembered every detail of that day. How could she even forget that fateful day when the devil named Athrav Desai walked into her life?
And okay — that was just their first meeting. It shouldn’t have been that important, right? But oh, my dear readers... You have no idea what happened the next time they met.
If the first impression was a disaster, then the second one? That was a straight-up crime.
Because today — yes, today itself, before college even started — our certified Drama Queen Meher Sharma decided to raise the bar — correction, throw the bar out of the universe.
Oh, I haven’t told you what she did yet? Grab your popcorn.
Meher was already running late for college. Her scooty zoomed down the road like a rocket, weaving through traffic with the urgency of a girl on a mission. Suddenly, a sleek, brand-new black Rolls-Royce Phantom cut past her a little too close for comfort.
Her eyes narrowed. Meher (muttering to herself): "Acha bachu… Meher se smartness? Abhi batati hoon!"
She twisted the accelerator with determination, pushing her scooty to its maximum speed. Oh Meher, you silly girl — did you really think you could compete with a Rolls Royce on that tiny scooty? But it seemed even the universe wanted to see how this race would unfold, because just ahead, the traffic light turned red.
Perfect timing.
Meher saw her chance. Her scooty, small and agile, darted through the traffic as she attempted to overtake the car — from the wrong side, of course. She grinned like a champion — until she misjudged the distance. Screeech! A sharp sound of contact.
Ho gya Siyapaa !!!
Both vehicles screeched to a halt. Meher’s heart pounded — Oops, I messed up. She braced herself, guilt flooding her chest, expecting the worst. But the moment the car door opened, everything changed.
Out stepped him.
Tall. Sharp. Dressed in an expensive suit. His aura screamed authority. He removed his sunglasses slowly, his eyes inspecting the scratch like it was a personal insult. His jaw tightened.
He turned to her, his voice firm, cold.
Man : “Tumhara dimaag kharab hai? Yeh kya kar diya tumne?”
And just like that, Meher’s guilt melted away. Pride took its place — like she had done something brave, something bold.
And the man, you ask? None other than Athrav Desai.
Yes, the Athrav Desai. The young, successful, ultra-disciplined professor who values peace and perfection like oxygen. And Meher? The chaos he never signed up for.
The moment he saw her face, his eyes widened in disbelief. Athrav (under his breath): “Unbelievable. Not her again…” The very same girl who’d disrupted his peace a month ago — someone he swore never to cross paths with again — and now, here she was, scratching his Rolls Royce like fate was playing a cruel joke.
Athrav’s breath caught in his throat. No. It couldn’t be. But the universe clearly had jokes to tell — and she was the punchline. The sunglasses he had held in his hand dropped to the ground.
Athrav: “Tumse kaha tha na, dubara mil mat jaana!”
Meher (arms crossed, head held high): “Oh, so Mr. Reserved Right still doesn’t know how to say sorry?”
Athrav (exasperated): “Oh God! Kis mitti se bani ho tum? Galti tumhari, aur sorry mai bolu? Jab scooty chalani nahi aati, toh chalaati kyun ho?”
Meher: “Excuse me? Mujhe scooty chalani aati hai!”
Athrav: “Really? Aur wrong side se overtake karne ka license bhi hai tumhare paas? Dekho meri car ka kya haal kar diya!”
Meher: “Oh please! Ab driving classes bhi aapse lu kya? Itne bure din toh nahi aaye hai mere. Aap kaise gaadi chala rahe the, jaise road uncle ji ki ho!”
Athrav (confused): “What the hell? Kaun uncle?”
Meher (smirking): “Aapke papaji. Road unki hai kya, jo aise hawa mein gaadi uda rahe the? Aankhen band thi ya log dikhte nahi hai?”
Athrav (angry): “You! Meri car ka nuksaan kaun bharega? Yeh tumhari khatara scooty bech do na, tab bhi uski repairing nahi ho payegi!”
Meher : “Dekho! Meri scooty ke baare mein ek word aur bola na toh mujhse bura koi nahi hoga!
Athrav muttered in his breath: "Tumse bura koi hai bhi nahi"
Meher : “Aur haan, pehle laga tha galti meri hai, toh sorry bhi bolne wali thi aur repair bhi karwati… but you know what? Aap uske layak hi nahi hain!”
Athrav: “Tum samajhti kya ho khud ko? Itna attitude kis baat ka?”
Meher (with sass): “Attitude toh Meher mein bachpan se hai. Aur aapko jin paiso ka ghamand hai na, jaaiye… unhi paiso se karva lijiye apni gaadi bhi repair aur apna dimaag bhi!”
Just then, police arrived. The traffic jam they had caused was quickly sorted. The constable, after hearing both sides, shook his head.
Constable: “Galti dono ki hai. Court-kacheri jaane ka shauk ho toh jao, warna apas mein nipta lo.”
With a dramatic scoff, Meher hopped back onto her scooty, fired it up like her personal rocket.
Athrav (warning tone): “Yeh galti tumhe bahut mehengi padegi!”
Meher (flipping her hair): “Sasti cheeze mujhe vaise bhi pasand nahi.”
As she zoomed off, she shouted over her shoulder:
Meher (loudly): “Byeee Mr. Reserved Right!”
Athrav muttered a curse under his breath. The scent of jasmine still lingered in the air — her perfume, probably. It annoyed him that he noticed.“Yeh ladki!”
Now Picture this long story in short : a roadside showdown, complete with yelling, dramatic hand gestures, and the kind of logic that makes you question the laws of physics (and patience). And who was at the receiving end of this madness?
Professor Athrav Desai. Mr. Control-his-temper, Mr. Don’t-even-breathe-too-loud-around-me, Mr. ‘I-wear-black-and-don’t-smile’.
Let me tell you, if one murder was allowed by law, he’d have chosen Meher Sharma right there. With bare hands. On the road. In broad daylight. No regrets.
Because really — who argues like that, over that, in the middle of traffic?
Answer: Meher Sharma. Who else?
Coffee = finished.
Patience = evaporated.
Revenge-energy = fully re-charged.
She sets the empty cup down — okay, slams it — just hard enough to make the spoon clatter a dramatic high-note. A couple of freshers at the next table jump; Meher barely spares them a glance. Queen Chaos is busy plotting.
Because let’s be honest: sit quietly after getting booted from class on Day One — by Professor Athrav “Reserved Rights” Desai himself? In what universe?
She straightens her bag strap like a general adjusting a sash, flicks her dupatta over one shoulder (signature power-move), and rises. Chairs scrape; a couple of juniors track her like she’s a comet leaving the café’s orbit. She offers them a wink that says “Pray for the professor.”
She’s already decided exactly what to do next. Spoiler: it involves no apology and maximum chaos.
With that, Meher strides out — heels clicking, mind ticking, revenge brewing stronger than any espresso shot. Whatever stunt she’s planning, it’s bound to rewrite the timetable and his peace of mind.
And if you’re dying to know what she’ll pull off next?
Simple.
Turn the page.
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Thank you for reading.
Your presence here means the world to me.
Until next chapter, stay safe and keep dreaming.
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