THE National Law University, Delhi.

The lecture hall was buzzing with low murmurs, the kind of dead energy that comes from a group of students who have collectively given up on life but still show up because attendance is a thing baby.

I tightened my hair ribbon, rubbing my frozen fingers together inside the sleeves of my white oversized cardigan. Delhi winters were cruel, but law school? Law school was a different kind of suffering. The heater in our classroom was about as reliable as a politician's promises-always there, never working.

Dixit, the most unserious gym bro charm of our campus, legally known as Devyansh Krit Verman but call him that, and he'll block you in real life-slumped into the chair beside me with all the grace of a man who had just survived a war. His bag hit the floor with a thud, his black hoodie was slightly askew over his white T-shirt, and his ever-present silver chain rested against his collarbones. In one hand, he held his protein shake bottle-oh and let me tell you he don't drink gym protine shake he drink Cerelac. Yup, baby food. Please don't even question why.

"Nahella, I had an existential crisis today."

"You have those every day." I said.

"No, but this time it was serious," he insisted. "I looked at my law books, and for the first time... they looked back."

Alisha- my bestie on the other hand, scrolling through her phone- probably Instagram, barely looked up. "You mean the cover was reflective?" She rolled her eyes.

"Exactly," Dixit whispered, as if he had just discovered fire. "I broke the seal for the first time."

I exhaled and glanced around the room at my fellow inmates-sorry, classmates. NLU Delhi had a way of draining the life out of people. We had entered with dreams of justice, and by the time we graduated, we'd be nothing but caffeine-dependent insomniacs with permanent back pain.

We were only in our second year, but mark my words-one day, someone would find our lifeless bodies under a pile of criminal law books. And the postmortem report would simply read: Death by Bare Act.

Suddenly the door creaked open, and the lecture hall fell into silence. Dr. Angad Agnihotri walked in.

Now, let me clarify something- most professors look like they were from a factory that exclusively manufactures middle-aged men. But Dr. Agnihotri? Sharp-featured, with the kind of presence that made people sit up a little straighter. His neatly pressed black suit and the white shirt underneath gave him the air of someone who had either just walked out of a courtroom or a high-stakes corporate deal.

"Look a Criminal himself teaching us Criminal Law." Dixit scoff.

Professor Agnihotri and Dixit have a separate war between them. Why? Dixit used to crush on professor's wife.

Alisha leaned toward me and whispered, "He looks like he belongs in a legal k-drama, not here ruining our lives."

I couldn't disagree.

Professor placed his leather folder on the podium and adjusted his glasses. "Good morning, everyone." His voice was strict and carried the authority of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about. "Today, we're discussing something different. An opportunity."

That got my attention. Opportunities in law school usually meant two things- internships where you did free labor for months or competitions where your sleep schedule went to die. Either way, suffering was guaranteed.

Dr. Agnihotri continued, "NLU Delhi, in collaboration with the Ministry of Home Affairs, is initiating a research project on prison education. The objective is to analyze the impact of educational programs on inmates, their rehabilitation, and legal awareness. A select group of students will be allowed to visit Central Jail Delhi under strict supervision to conduct interviews and research."

"Bítch. They're actually letting us into a prison? I don't wanna smell dirt and sweat there." Alisha perked up. Dixit started grinning. "Bro, imagine Mr. Agnihotri in Jail uniform." He said. I rolled my eyes. Typical Dixit behaviour.

Dr. Agnihotri's gaze roam across the room.

"Only the top-performing students will be considered. The selection process will be merit-based, and participation will be voluntary. If you're interested, you'll need to submit a statement of purpose explaining why you should be selected."

Alisha nudged me. "Sali kutti, you're definitely getting in. If they don't add my name with you I will put 0 stars in the University faculty feedback."

"What do you mean? I don't even want to go." I frowned and Dixit looked at me like I had just committed a serious crime.

"Nahella, you are the topper. They're probably going to select you whether you like it or not. For the University reputation ofcourse." He shrugged.

I groaned, slumping in my chair. Researching prisoners? Interviewing them? What part of that sounded like a good use of my time? But can I blame when I choose this degree for myself? But I also knew that refusing an opportunity like this- especially one backed by the university faculty would be seen as career suicide.

"You have two days to decide. If you're interested, submit your statement to my office." Dr. Agnihotri clasped his hands.

Dixit took a slow sip Cerelac from his protein bottle and smirked. "If it makes you feel better, I heard prisons have really good rotis." He said casually and Alisha adjusting her pink hoodie shot him a disgusted look. "Why do you know that?"

"Because my uncle was in Tihar for tax fraud, and he said the dal was mid, but the rotis? Slapped."

I dropped my head on the desk.

Meanwhile, Professor Agnihotri had started handing out a sheet with details about the program. When he reached my row, he paused.

"Miss Nahella Agarkar."

"Yes Sir?" I straightened automatically and my law-student instincts kicking in. His dark eyes were unreadable. "You're the top-ranked student in your batch, correct?"

I should've lied. I should've lied. But my stupid, law-abiding self nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Dr. Agnihotri handed me a copy of the document, his expression unreadable. "Then I expect a strong application from you. I have high hopes from Justice Agarkar's niece."

What. I blinked at him. Did he sending me there because he knows my chacha is the supreme court judge. "But Sir I haven't even decided if I'm-"

He was already walking away.

Dixit was grinning. Alisha was grinning. I was doomed.

"Ohhh, Miss you're going Jailllll whether you like it or not," Dixit singing, shaking his Cerelac bottle like an a*shole. Alisha patted my shoulder. "I hate this. They seperate us again but I hope to see you in jail, babe."

At this rate, I don't want academic comeback, I want to just die.

⚖️

To Whom It May Concern,

I do not wish to apply for this research program. However, due to academic pressure, peer coercion, and the sheer unrelenting force of my fate, I am writing this application. I do not like criminals, I do not wish to study them, and I most certainly do not want to spend my weekends in a jail smelling like despair. But since my law school wants to prepare me for the worst, I suppose this is fitting.

Sincerely,
A Future Unpaid Intern.

Okay, but we are not sending this.

I showed it to Dixit and Aisha. Dixit wiped a fake tear. "Bro. Poetry. 10/10. You've captured the tragic suffering of a law student beautifully."

Alisha, on the other hand, was horrified.

"Nahella. NO. This is not how you apply! You need to sound...uh...intellectual! And passionate! And-and professional!" She snatched my laptop and started typing aggressively. "Prison education is a crucial step towards the rehabilitation of inmates-"

"Alisha, you sound like an NGO pamphlet."

"Shh. I Am Manifesting Your Success."

After what feels like eternity, submitting our statements of purpose for the prison education project, Alisha and I made our way to the campus cafeteria- the best place in our whole campus.

The place was packed with students in various stages of burnout-some students typing assignments, some dead inside, and some like us pretending everything was fine.

Dixit, was nowhere to be found and it's a good thing. No Dixit is equivalent to peace.

We set in a table by the window, and Alisha immediately started one of her dramatic monologues."You know, Nahella, I've been thinking."

"Your thinking is dangerous but continue." I said.

She ignored me.

"What if we just... drop out?"

I rolled my eyes. "Uh-huh. And do what?" Aisha's eyes sparkled with hope. "Open a street stall in Delhi. LLB Panipuri wala."

"Alisha-."

"Picture this. You, me, and Dixit. You will poke the Puri, I will fill the Pani —"

Before I could respond, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen-Chachi.

"Hello?"

"Nahella!" Chachi's said with excited voice. "Guess who's back?" Chachi laughed. "Your Karhan bhaiyya! He just reached home."

My eyes widened. "Wait-he's back?!"

"Yes! He got a short break before his next phase of training." Alisha gasped again, but this time genuinely. "The fighter pilot is home?! That's so cool!"

I was still processing. Karhan Bhaiyya-my overly protective, annoyingly smart, and somehow still effortlessly cool cousin-was back. Chachi continued, "He's been training so hard at Dundigal, and now he finally got some time off. I can't wait to see my babies together!"

I smiled.

"I can't wait either, Chachi. I'll come home tonight."

As soon as I ended the call, Alisha grabbed my shoulders. "Nahella. Your fighter pilot bhaiyya is home. Do you understand how badass that is?"

"Yeah, yeah. He's cool, I get it."

"No, you don't get it. Do you know how hard it is to become a fighter pilot? Your bhaiyya is basically Top Gun, but Indian edition."

I laughed. "Okay, calm down."

Before I could fully recover from the happy news, a notification popped up on my phone. Our official University group chat. My stomach dropped. Alisha and I exchanged looks before clicking on the link.

Final List for the Prison Education Project - Selected Candidates. Selected Candidates:

1. Nahella Agarkar

2. (Other names, who cares?), etc, etc.

I groaned.

"I knew it." Alisha pouted. "Bro, I didn't get in. This is discrimination against funny people. I am definitely posting shitty review feedback."

"I didn't even want this."

Alisha dramatically placed a hand over her heart. "I'll miss you, babe. Send me letters from Central Jail."

⚖️

Since I stayed in the hostel, I needed an official leave application to stay out overnight. Easy, right? Wrong. First, I went to the warden's office. "Ma'am, I need leave for tonight. Family emergency."

She peered at me over her glasses.

"What emergency?"

"My cousin is back from training." I hesitated and she raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like an emergency."

"Ma'am" I panicked. "He's in the Air Force."

Her expression softened slightly. "Oh. Military family." I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! And, he's a fighter pilot."

She frowned. "Proof?"

"Proof?" I blinked.

"You need to submit a formal request with proof of your cousin's service."

I groaned.

"Ma'am, he just got back! I don't have his Air Force ID card on me."

She remained unimpressed by my answer.

"But wait-" Desperate, I texted Karhan: "Bhaiyya, send me a photo of your pilot uniform ASAP. Hostel warden thinks I'm lying."

He replied within seconds: sends a photo

I showed it to the warden, who squinted at it like a detective solving a crime. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But be back by tomorrow evening."

"Yes, ma'am!"

As I walked out, I texted Karhan Bhaiyya again "Send me a ride at 7:00"

few hours later...

It was already 7:00 PM, and I was still standing outside the hostel gates, waiting for my ride.

The female security guard on duty had been giving me every single facial expression known to mankind for the past ten minutes-confusion, irritation, judgment, mild concern, and now... straight-up disgust. I mean, come on. I had submitted the leave application. I had followed the rules.

As I avoid her sharp gaze, a black sports bike pulls up in front of me. The black starboy attire-of course, it's my dearest brother. He takes his helmet off, and his dark, deep blue eyes meet mine.

"Put this on."

His voice is clear and sharp as he passes me his black helmet. "Crazy, why are you here? I just told you to send a ride. Why did you come and show up here with your a/ss, and now you tell me to put the helmet on? Do you know the traffic police will beat the hell out of you if you don't wear the helmet?"

He took back the helmet from my hand and placed it back on himself. "My dear sister, you talk a little too much. The lady guard seems too pissed for some reason, so my dear sister, should I leave?"

F-ck, this guy always gets on my nerves.

Without wasting any further time, I sat on the backseat of his bike, but before he started the engine, I felt that sharp stare from the guard again. As I looked at her one last time, she was now giving me a look of pure disgust. F-ck you, lady; don't look at me like that. He is my brother. Hell to you if you think I am with some kind of boyfriend.

As the ride went on, my mind was thinking about all the delicious food I would have for dinner made by Chachi. For me, she is the world's best cook. I never had any food made by my Mother, so my Chachi's cooking is the best.

I look up at the sky and smile a little. Maybe I am a bit of an unlucky child who never gets to eat food made by her mother. It's been eighteen years, and I still regret why I was born because I wished I had died that day in place of her. Such a cursed child I am, that my mother died the same day I was born, all because of me.

At age ten, I lost my father to a brain stroke. It was a nice day; we went to watch a film at my grandpa's movie theater, and everything was great. The movie, the weather outside, the mood-but before the movie could end, I saw blood coming out of his nose, and in no time, it was all over. I never watched that movie again, and the ending is still pending for me to see, but I will never complete that ending. And just like that, my father left me to visit my mother.

When will I get the chance to visit you both? Ma, Papa, isn't it unfair? Why am I left here alone? When will I meet you both?

"My dear sister?"

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I notice we have reached home. I said nothing and got off the bike.

"I called you many times. You seem distracted, is something bothering you," he asked as we both started to enter the house.

"Yes, actually, your face."

I know. Deep down, I f-cking know he will not buy this excuse, but still, I don't want sad energy here. "Pretty bothersome, isn't it, my dear sister?" He let out a small smile as if he took that as a compliment. Crazy f-cker. Does he not understand the difference between an insult and a compliment?

I rolled my eyes, and when we finally made it inside the hallway, I saw Chachi coming towards me with a big smile.

"Nahella, look at you! Why do you look like this?" she said with care, scanning my body. I sighed a little because I knew what she meant.

"Chachi, look, I am not skipping meals because of any serious reason; rather, it's a very stupid reason: the hostel food is not at all tasty. I am surviving on Delhi's street food."

She shook her head.

"You should visit here more, you know, Nahella. Eat here anytime." I wish, Chachi, I really wish, but my shitty college authorities never grant much leave to spend the night outside the campus. Life would have been so much easier if my university were close to here.

"Sure, but where is Chachu?"

"He will come. You guys go and sit at the dinner table; I am serving food."

As we all sat at the huge dining table, Chachu arrived and sat in the head chair. I looked at him as he glanced in my brother's direction. His eyes were piercing through him.

Karhan bhaiya, what the hell did you do to get such a stare from Chachu?

I mean, my Chachu basically hates everyone. His eyes are always ruthless, except when he looks at me and, obviously,  Chachi. We receive special treatment.

I glance at Bhaiya and this guy-fúck, dude, why is he staring back at him with the same gaze as Chachu? This is uncomfortable.

I clear my throat.

"Chachu! How are you?" I say with excitement. His focus shifts to mine, and a big smile beams on his face as his eyes soften. "Nahella, my child, did anyone bother you at university?"

I gasped dramatically, placing a hand on my chest. "Yes, Chachu. Every day, I suffer."

"Who?"

"Dixit and Alisha," I said dramatically, shaking my head. "They bully me into eating street food, taking notes for them, and-worst of all-listening to their nonsense the entire day."

Chachi smacked my arm lightly, relief washing over her face. "Nahella! I was about to call your professor."

Chachu laughed from the head of the table, shaking his head. "You should know by now she lives to tease you."

Karhan, meanwhile, remained as unreadable as ever, quietly eating his food.

I decided it was now or never. Clearing my throat, I sat up straight. "By the way, I got selected for a research project."

That got everyone's attention. Even Karhan finally looked up. Chachu raised an eyebrow. "What kind of research?"

I put on my best 'serious scholar' face. "A legal research project under the prison education program."

Dead silence.

Chachi's hand froze mid-air, the roti still in it. Chachu leaned back, his expression unreadable. But Karhan? Karhan was staring at me like I'd just told him I was joining a criminal gang.

"Prison?" His voice was quiet, but there was a weight behind it.

I nodded.

"Yes, prison– Central Jail. For research. Not because I'm secretly a crime lord."

He didn't laugh. Not that I expected him to.

"You want to go to a place full of criminals?" His tone was controlled, but the disapproval was crystal clear.

I lifted my chin. "I want to go to a place full of legal case studies. You know right, this extra uni works counts in future too?"

Chachi exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Nahella, it's not unsafe, is it?"

"Of course not! It's an academic program, completely professional. And you know I wouldn't get into something reckless." I looked at chachu. "You trust my judgment, right?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied me for a long moment, his years as a judge making his gaze sharp, calculating. Finally, he sighed. "If you're sure about this, I won't stop you."

"Beside, she is safe under my protection." Chachu replied and I grinned. "See? Chachu understands academic brilliance when he sees it."

"But-" He held up a finger. "I want full details. Who's in charge, what the security measures are, everything."

"Done."

Karhan still didn't look convinced. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. "I don't think this is a good idea," he muttered.

I shrugged.

"Duly noted, but remind you- your opinion doesn't matter to me, dear brother." Then I turned back to my plate, pretending I didn't feel his eyes still on me.

Central Jail, I am coming, and I will ace this research. I have a great feeling that this research will be fun.