Forty-eight hours after the Announcement, the tension hadn’t disappeared.

It had simply migrated—to the darkest, most isolated corner of the college library’s basement.

The Wi-Fi was unreliable there. Spotty enough that their parents couldn’t track them through shared family apps.

Navya was already pacing when Aarav arrived, carving a restless five-foot track in front of a neglected bookshelf layered in dust.

She didn’t greet him.

She attacked.

“Explain to me,” she demanded, holding up her phone, “why your father called us ‘soulmates’ in his latest LinkedIn post.”

Her voice dropped to a hiss.

“The comments are filled with industry leaders congratulating the ‘Power Couple of NIT.’ My skin is crawling.”

Aarav set his bag down on the wooden table with a controlled thud.

“My father believes life is a legacy system,” he said flatly. “He’s running inherited code without questioning the architecture. He doesn’t see two individuals. He sees the merger of two high-performing assets.”

“Well, this ‘asset’ is about to enter permanent liquidation,” Navya shot back, halting her pacing. “I told my mom I’m relocating to Antarctica. She asked if they have strong enough reception for a virtual wedding. They’ve lost it.”

Aarav opened his laptop, the screen casting a cold blue glow across his face.

“Emotional appeals are inefficient,” he said. “We need a tactical shutdown. If we can’t persuade them, we destabilize the merger.”

Navya leaned over his shoulder, irritation briefly replaced by intrigue.

“How?”

“There’s a clause in the logistics company’s merger bylaws,” Aarav continued, fingers moving across the keyboard. “‘Reputational risk.’ If the alliance threatens corporate image or investor confidence, the board can suspend integration.”

Navya’s eyes sharpened.

“You’re suggesting we sabotage the company’s image?”

“Not the company’s,” he corrected calmly. “Ours. We make ourselves publicly incompatible. Disastrous. A liability.”

A slow, dangerous smile formed.

“I can do disastrous,” she murmured. “I could ‘accidentally’ leak a video of us screaming at each other during the pre-wedding dinner.”

“Or,” Aarav countered, “I could deploy a bot network to circulate rumors about our ‘irreconcilable coding philosophies.’ Headlines like: Tech Heirs at War Over Tabs vs. Spaces.”

Navya let out a sharp laugh despite herself.

“That’s almost creative.”

She straightened.

“But we need scale. Something that forces them to cancel immediately.”

For a brief, unfamiliar moment, they locked eyes.

No ranking.
No competition.
No ego metrics.

Just two rivals temporarily aligned against a shared catastrophe.

“Fine, Malhotra,” Navya said, lowering her voice. “We pretend to cooperate. We sabotage every ritual. Every function. Every photo-op. We turn this wedding into a 404 error.”

Aarav closed his laptop with precision.

“Agreed. Temporary alliance only. Once this is terminated, you return to being a nuisance. I return to ignoring you.”

“Deal,” Navya replied sharply, extending her hand.

Aarav stared at it like it contained corrupted firmware.

He didn’t shake it.

He stepped past her instead.

“Don’t touch me, Kapoor,” he said coolly. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the keyboard.”

Navya watched him walk away, jaw tightening.

Temporary alliance status: Activated.
Trust level: Zero.
Mission objective: Mutual sabotage.

Wedding countdown: 19 days.