The next day, Aarohi Sharma showed up twenty minutes early.
Armed with a black gel pen, two extra notebooks, and a mission.
She walked into the lecture hall like a general entering the battlefield, head high, braid swinging, and marched straight to the back-left corner.
Victory.
She dropped her bag onto the chair — her chair — with the satisfaction of someone reclaiming stolen property.
She even left a sticky note on the desk:
> “Reserved for the rightful queen of this seat. Find your own throne.”
Then she sat down and waited.
She wasn’t sure he’d even show up. Maybe yesterday had been a one-time invasion.
But five minutes before class, she heard the confident footsteps.
And there he was.
Kiaan Malhotra.
Hair perfect. Backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Smirk already loading.
“Well, well,” he said, reading her sticky note as he stopped beside her.
“Queen, huh? You do realize royalty usually arrives late and expects people to bow?”
“Only if they’re insecure about losing their seat,” she replied sweetly, not looking at him.
He leaned over slightly, tapping the note.
“‘Rightful Queen’ is very bold for someone who lost the war yesterday.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean the sneak attack? Sure. Very noble.”
Kiaan chuckled, then — to her horror — sat down in the seat next to her.
Her glare was immediate.
“That’s too close.”
He shrugged. “You didn’t say reserved for the rightful queen and nobody else within a 3-foot radius.”
---
When the class began, Aarohi tried to focus. She really did.
But out of the corner of her eye, she could see him scribbling something on a slip of paper and sliding it her way.
She hesitated. Then read it.
> “This seat has bad karma now. I feel personally attacked by the cushion.”
She snorted — actually snorted — then quickly coughed to cover it.
She grabbed her pen and scribbled back.
> “It rejects your energy. Try the third row. Far right. Bad vibes welcome.”
Kiaan smiled, victorious.
“Game on,” he mouthed silently.
---
The next few days turned into a low-stakes war zone.
Day 3:
Aarohi arrived to find a sticky note already there:
> “Claimed by The Seat Liberation Army. Your reign is over.”
She added underneath:
> “Surrender or suffer reading my poetry out loud.”
Day 4:
He left a chocolate bar on the desk with a note:
> “A peace offering. Also, you're still dramatic.”
She left it untouched. But her lips twitched.
Day 5:
They both arrived at the exact same time.
Stood in front of the seat.
Stared each other down.
“Let’s flip a coin,” he suggested.
“Let’s not.”
“Arm wrestle?”
“Nope.”
“Staring contest?”
“I’d win.”
“Confident. I like that.”
She realized too late that he was already sliding into the seat.
“You’re the worst,” she muttered, sitting next to him.
“Nah,” he said casually, opening his notebook.
“That seat brings out the best in me"
Day 6:
Aarohi walked into class to find ten sticky notes covering her seat.
Ten.
Each one more ridiculous than the last.
“Property of Seat Thief Enterprises™.”
“Warning: This seat now charges rent.”
“Side effects of sitting here may include falling for law students.”
“Do not remove. This chair is emotionally attached to me.”
“Back problems guaranteed. Choose wisely.”
She stared at them, speechless. Kiaan sat two rows ahead, casually sipping iced coffee, eyes twinkling with mischief.
She peeled them off one by one… and smiled.
Game on.
Day 7:
Aarohi showed up earlier than usual, carrying a tiny, suspicious-looking box.
Inside it: a single lemon, a tiny flower, and a note that read:
“Purification ritual complete. All bad energy removed. Seat has been spiritually cleansed of smugness.”
She added:
“Please avoid re-contaminating the area.”
Kiaan walked in, read the note, and laughed out loud.
“Did you just sage my chair with a lemon?”
“Your aura needed it.” Aarohi replied calmly, opening her notebook.
Classmates started to whisper again. One girl even took a picture of the desk before the professor arrived.
Day 8: The Petty Peak
Kiaan walked in late.
He found a red velvet ribbon tied around the chair with a big card:
“Reserved for Decent Human Beings Only.”
Under it, in smaller letters:
“Arrogant law students may sit on the floor.”
He stood there, dramatically clutching his chest.
“Wow. That’s how it is now?”
Aarohi didn’t even look up.
“Actions have consequences.”
He didn’t remove the ribbon.
He sat next to her instead. Quiet for a moment.
Then passed her a note:
“I can’t even argue back. That was hilarious. Also, you forgot to untie the chair. That’s a fire hazard.”
She rolled her eyes — but a smile betrayed her.
Day 9: Everyone Notices
The entire class was watching them now.
People started leaving their own sticky notes on the desk before Aarohi arrived.
Random ones like:
“Just kiss already.”
“This is better than Netflix.”
“Team Aarohi.”
“Team Kiaan.”
One even said:
“We’ve made a fan account. @SeatWars_Official. Follow back?”
Aarohi turned bright red. Kiaan? He grinned like he’d just won a trophy.
“We’re going viral,” he whispered.
“We’re being mocked,” she hissed back.
“Mockery is just the first stage of fame.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you keep sitting next to me.”
By the end of the week, students in the class had started watching them more than the professor.
Whispers flew:
“Are they dating?”
“Is this some kind of live drama?”
“They’re totally into each other.”
Aarohi heard them. Ignored them. Or tried to.
Because when Kiaan leaned over during class and passed her a folded paper that read:
> “You have the most intense notebook handwriting I’ve ever seen. Are your letters fighting each other too?”
She couldn’t help the smile that slipped out.
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