My hands were moving rapidly across the kitchen counter. I had developed a very efficient rhythm for cooking over the years. I was in a hurry to finish the morning meal so I could pack my lunchbox. I made sure the vegetables were seasoned correctly and that the chapatis were soft. I wanted everything to be just right for my husband and son before I left the house.

Rohan was in the bathroom. I could hear the sound of splashing water and the giggles of our little boy. Rohan was giving him a bath. Since my husband worked from home, he was able to help me a great deal with the daily chaos of raising a child.

However, the kitchen was strictly my domain. I took great pride in my cooking. I was fast at it, and I enjoyed the process of preparing food for the people I loved.

Today was a slightly important day. It was my very first day going back to the college office after the endless months of the COVID lockdown. The restrictions had finally eased enough for a limited staff presence.

“Priya, are you almost done in there?” Rohan called out from the hallway. He walked into the kitchen with our son, who was wrapped in a small blue towel.

“Just packing the lunchbox now,” I replied. I snapped the lid onto the stainless steel container. “I should be out the door in five minutes.”

“You seem a bit more rushed than usual,” Rohan noted. He leaned against the counter and watched me. “Are you nervous about going back to office?”

“I am the first one called in,” I explained. “It is mostly for administrative tasks and paperwork. My actual teaching for the girls has been going very well online, so that will continue from home. But today, I have to handle the physical files that have piled up. It should only be four or five hours at most.”

“Well, do not overwork yourself on the first day,” he said with a smile and a kiss on my chicks.

“I will try not to,” I said trying smiling.

I was rushing for more than just the work schedule. The rain had been pounding against the roof all night long. It had only stopped a short while ago. I wanted to get to the college before the storm started up again. But that was not the only thing making my pulse quicken. I felt a flutter of nerves in my chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

I thought about our principal, Mr. Deshmukh. He was a respected and authoritative man. Every time I thought about meeting him today, my heart would skip a beat. My nerves were twisting because I knew that today, it would just be the two of us in the entire college building.

I paused near the door and glanced at my reflection, a smile came to my face not because I was admiring myself, but because Meera’s voice echoed in my head. She had once laughed and said, “You don’t look like someone married for seven years. It’s unfair, honestly.” I had rolled my eyes at her then, but the comment had stayed.

At thirty two, I never thought much about how I looked until someone else pointed it out. Friends would tease me about how I had “managed to keep everything in place,” as they liked to put it. Rheya once adjusted my dupatta and whispered that I had the kind of curves people notice without meaning to. I had brushed it off, pretending not to care.

Even strangers had their way of staring a second too long. Another colleague once remarked on my skin tone and said my face was too soft to ever look strict, which amused me.

Rohan used to be the most direct of all. On quieter evenings, he would cup my face and say my smile did most of the talking before I ever spoke. “That smile,” he would tell me, “is trouble.” I never knew whether he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

Looking at myself now, I didn’t see what they all saw. I just see a woman who had learned to carry herself with quiet awareness.

I felt content in my life. Rohan showered me with love, and we had a good rhythm in our home. But the past few months had stirred something unsettling inside me.

It had started when Mr. Deshmukh arrived at our college as the new principal. I had noticed his attention lingering on me more than on the other female staff members. It was not overt or unprofessional, but I could feel it. It left me feeling flustered and confused.

“I am heading out now,” I said to Rohan. I grabbed my bag and my keys.

“Have a good day, Priya,” he said. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek again.

I walked out to my scooter. As I started the engine, I wondered what the empty college building would feel like. I wondered how Mr. Deshmukh would greet me when I walked through the door.

The college campus was mostly deserted when I arrived. As I walked toward the administrative wing, I remembered a conversation I had shared with my friend and colleague, Meera, just a few weeks before the lockdown began. We had been sitting in the staff room during a quiet afternoon, sipping tea.

“He is giving me a lot of extra tasks lately, Meera,” I had whispered, leaning closer to her. “He asks me to stay back for reviews or to help him with digital filing. It feels... pointed. I am not sure if it is just because he thinks I am efficient.”

Meera had a way of looking at people that made you feel like she knew a secret. She smirked and set her cup down on the wooden table.

“Oh, Priya, do not be so naive,” she said. “He has a reputation, you know. I have heard stories from his last posting. Wherever that man goes, a scandal seems to follow him. There was a rumor about a very intense affair with a junior lecturer at his previous college.”

I felt a jolt of surprise. I looked at the closed door of the principal’s office. “I find that hard to believe. He is so dignified.”

“Now, maybe it is your turn,” she laughed. It was a light, teasing sound, but it made my skin crawl slightly.

“That is not going to happen,” I said firmly, trying to brush off her words. “As long as I am straightforward and maintain my boundaries. That is how I see it. This is a professional setting and we all are professionals, aren’t we?”

“You will stay that way, sure,” Meera replied, her tone turning a bit more serious. “But from what I have heard, he does not force anyone. He lays his traps so cleverly and so subtly that the other person just... gives in. They find themselves wanting to help him, and then things escalate.”

Her words echoed in my mind as I reached the office door. Over the past few months, the pattern she described seemed to fit. Mr. Deshmukh did assign me more work. He kept me close during meetings. But he never crossed into anything unprofessional. He never made a comment about my appearance or tried to touch me. In fact, he was almost overly cautious.

I noticed that when we spoke, he would often look away. He avoided a direct gaze, focusing instead on the papers on his desk or the view outside the window. I respected his position immensely. He was a man at a peak of his career.

“Why would a man like that risk everything?” I asked myself as I stood in the hallway.

I began to wonder if Meera’s stories were just the kind of poison that people spread about successful men. Mr. Deshmukh was in his early 50s, but he was very well built, lean, and fit, as if he worked out every day. He was about 5 feet 8 inches tall with a brown complexion. He was always impeccably groomed. He was clean-shaven, and his thinning hair was always neatly combed with a precise part. He carried himself with a fresh and cheerful energy, speaking to everyone with a calm poise that commanded respect.

I decided that I would judge him based on my own experiences, not on staff room gossip. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in, madam,” his voice called out. It was steady and welcoming.

I pushed the door open. He was sitting at his large mahogany desk, surrounded by stacks of files. He looked up and gave me a brief, polite nod.

“Good morning, sir,” I said.

“Good morning, Priya. I am glad you arrived safely. The weather is quite unpredictable today,” he said. He gestured to the computer terminal at the side of the room. “Please, begin with the enrollment data for the new semester. I have a few calls to make.”

I sat down at the desk and logged in. The room was silent except for the clicking of the keys and the soft hum of the air conditioner. I felt his presence behind me, and despite my resolve to stay professional, I could not help but feel a lingering sense of curiosity about the man behind the title.