The inter-college business competition notice went up on the third week of October.

The Apex Business Challenge — hosted by Delhi Business Consortium, open to undergraduate teams across the city's top universities. First prize: a hundred thousand rupees, two internship placements at a top consulting firm, and the kind of entry on a resume that changed futures.

For Khushi, it was impossible to ignore. The prize money alone would cover her father's next round of treatment. The internship would make the difference between competing for jobs after graduation and being handed one.

She applied immediately.

She found out she had a partner when Professor Mehra called her into her office three days later, closed the door, and said, "I need you to understand that this pairing is non-negotiable, so please don't argue with me."

She had then slid a sheet of paper across the desk.

Khushi looked at it.

Then she looked up at Professor Mehra.

"I'm arguing," she said.

"I said don't."

"Professor—"

"Miss Gupta." The professor folded her hands on the desk with the expression of someone who had already run through this conversation in her head and won. "The university enters one team per competition. The faculty selection committee felt the strongest academic record in first year was yours. The strongest overall profile — academic, leadership, business network access — is Raizada's. Together you are the best chance this university has of winning." She paused. "And I believe you both know that, even if you'd rather not."

A long silence.

"He's going to be a nightmare to work with," Khushi said.

"Probably," Professor Mehra agreed cheerfully. "The competition is in six weeks. I suggest you get started."

— ✦ —

Arnav's reaction to the pairing, from what Khushi heard secondhand from Rohan, had been a single word.

"What."

Not a question. Just the word, said with the particular flatness of someone whose entire afternoon had just rearranged itself in a way they had not requested.

Their first official meeting as partners took place in a study room on the fourth floor of the Commerce building on a Thursday evening. Khushi arrived on time with color-coded notes and a preliminary competition analysis. Arnav arrived twelve minutes late and sat down across from her like he was doing her a favor.

"You're late," Khushi said.

"I'm here," he said.

"Twelve minutes—"

"I said I'm here." He picked up her preliminary notes and scanned them. Something in his expression shifted — just slightly — the way it did when he encountered something he hadn't expected. He set the notes down. "You've already done a competition analysis."

"First meeting. Obviously."

"Last year's winning team was from IIM Delhi's feeder program. Private school background, strong investment in pitch coaching."

"I know. It's on page two."

He turned to page two. Read it. Turned back. "What's your thinking on the market gap strategy?"

She slid the second document across the table. "Green logistics. Tier-two city distribution. The consulting trend is going that way and the judges are from KPMG and Deloitte."

A pause. He was reading. Really reading, she could tell — not skimming.

"This is actually not bad," he said.

"High praise."

"I wasn't done. The financial model is underdeveloped." He pulled the sheet toward himself and uncapped a pen. "What's your projection for Year 3 scaling?"

They argued about the Year 3 projection for forty-five minutes. It was, Khushi acknowledged to herself while absolutely not acknowledging it out loud, the best business discussion she'd had since arriving at the university. He was sharp. Infuriatingly so. He saw angles she hadn't considered and said so without congratulating himself for it.

She also saw angles he hadn't considered. And said so.

He didn't thank her. But he incorporated them.

They were still in the study room at 10:30 PM.

At some point between the sixth and seventh revision of the financial model, someone had ordered food. Khushi wasn't sure when, but there was a bag from the dhaba near the north gate on the table between them, and Arnav had pushed the paneer roll toward her side without comment.

She ate. He worked. She worked. He occasionally said something sharp, she said something sharper back, and neither of them seemed to notice that the war had quietly paused.

At 11 PM, Arnav leaned back in his chair and looked at the model on his laptop. "We need to add a risk mitigation section before next week."

"I know. I'll draft it."

"We'll draft it," he said. "Same time Monday."

"I have tutoring until eight on Mondays."

He frowned. "You have a job?"

"Tutoring. School children. Yes."

He processed this. "Eight-thirty then."

Khushi looked up at him. He was already closing his laptop.

"Fine," she said. "Eight-thirty."

He gathered his things, stood, and was at the door when she said, without entirely planning to, "You're better at this than I expected."

He paused.

"You're better at this than I expected too," he said, without turning around.

Then he left.

Khushi sat alone in the study room for a moment, looking at the equations still bright on her laptop screen, and felt something she couldn't name settle quietly in her chest.

She chose not to name it.