While Madhuri saw a fairytale of loyalty and childhood vows, Shreya's mind was working with the cold, analytical objectivity of a woman who had seen the world for what it was. As she lay in her bed that night, listening to the steady rhythm of Madhuri's breathing, Shreya replayed the story of Amar.
She didn't see a "playful prince." She saw a predator in the making.
To Shreya, the details Madhuri had shared were like a series of flashing red lights. 'I have to reward you... marry me so you can protect me forever.' Even at ten years old, this Amar had framed his affection as a transaction.
He hadn't said he loved her; he had said she was useful. He was a boy who sought profit in his friendships, turning a life-saving act into a contract that ensured his own lifelong security.
The next few days were a struggle for Shreya. She felt a burning need to protect Madhuri from the ghost she was chasing. She began to use "indirect interventions," trying to plant seeds of doubt through the very business theories they were studying.
During a study session in their room, Shreya pointed to a chapter on Sunk Cost Fallacy. "Look at this, Madhuri," she said, her tone conversational. "It's about how businesses continue to invest in a failing project just because they've already spent so much time and money on it. They can't let go of the past, even when the market has changed and the partner is no longer there. It's the biggest mistake a CEO can make."
Madhuri looked up from her notes, her expression curious but untouched. "That's why business is cold, Shreya. But people aren't projects. Loyalty isn't a fallacy; it's the only thing that stays when everything else fails."
Shreya tried a different angle a day later. "What about 'Amar' as a person, Madhuri? People change. A boy who liked profit at ten might be a man who values only money at eighteen. What if he's not the person you remember? What if he's a jerk who uses people for his own gain?"
Madhuri simply laughed, a clear, confident sound. "He was a child, Shreya. His 'profit games' were just his way of showing his brilliance. Besides, I saved his life. You don't forget the person who pulled you out of the dark. He's out there, working just as hard as I am. I know it."
Shreya realized with a sinking heart that she was fighting a religion. Madhuri was under a spell so potent that logic couldn't touch it. She was devoted to the idea of Amar, and she had projected all her hopes and dreams onto a boy who, by all accounts, sounded like a smooth-talking shark.
That weekend, Shreya found Ravi in the library corridor. Rahul and Madhuri were inside, hunched over a complex ledger, their heads nearly touching. Shreya pulled Ravi aside, her face tight with frustration.
"I've spent the week living in that room, Ravi," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pity. "I know the whole story. I know about the pond. I know about the 'shopping mall' boy."
Ravi leaned against the wall, his eyes weary. "And? Does it sound like the destiny she thinks it is?"
"It sounds like a trap," Shreya snapped. "That boy, Amar... he wasn't playful. He was manipulative. He 'offered' to marry her because it was a way to keep his 'hero' close for free. He used her for his games and his homework. He's a jerk who saw a strong girl and decided to exploit her loyalty. And she's spent eight years polishing that memory until it shines like gold."
She looked through the library glass at Rahul. He was patiently circling a mistake in Madhuri's calculations, his face a mask of infinite, pained patience.
"The real hero is sitting right there, Ravi," Shreya said, a tear of frustration finally escaping. "Rahul is the one who stayed up with her. Rahul is the one who took the hits for her. Rahul is the one who actually loves her. But she's going to hand herself over to a ghost-jerk because of a muddy pond and a ten-year-old's lie."
Ravi sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own helplessness. "I know. But we can't tell her. If we say it directly, she'll just see it as an attack on her honor. She'll hate us, and she'll cling to the ghost even harder."
"Then we wait," Shreya said, her voice turning cold and determined. "We wait for this 'Amar' to show up. Because a guy like that—a guy who seeks profit and favors—he's going to show up eventually. And when he does, and when he inevitably tries to use her, I'm going to be there to make sure she sees him for exactly what he is. And then, I'm going to make sure she finally looks at Rahul."
Ravi nodded solemnly. The "ghost" now had a name, a face, and a personality. The second year was passing, the stakes were rising, and the "anchor" was holding steady, unaware that the sea was about to get much, much rougher.