The memory didn't come in fragments; it washed over Avni like a tide. Sitting at her desk, she let the cursor blink on the blank document as her mind drifted back to a time when everything felt both terrifying and electric.

"Do you remember Yunis?" she asked, her voice soft as she spoke into the headset.

Viraj chuckled on the other end, the sound warm and knowing. "How could I forget? The golden boy of the campus. Every girl had his poster in their head, if not on their wall."

Yunis was the kind of guy who moved through life as if it were a runway. He was tall, with the kind of effortless athletic grace that made him a magnet. He had dark, sharp features, hair that always looked like he’d just run a hand through it, and a way of looking at a girl that made her feel like she was the only one in the room. He was the athlete, the charmer, the one every girl wanted to be seen with.

And he had wanted Avni.

Back then, eighteen-year-old Avni hadn't needed skin to be provocative. She was a vision of budding, rounded perfection—a 32-30-34 frame that seemed to defy her petite stature. She kept her clothes modest, but she knew exactly how to wear them. A tight-knit sweater that hugged her breasts until they were a distraction, or jeans that sat just right to highlight the sway of her hips. She was a secret she hadn't quite realized she was keeping yet.

"He used to stare at me," Avni whispered, closing her eyes, reliving the memory. "In the back of the lecture hall. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and slow, tracking every move."

"He was obsessed with you," Viraj reminded her. "He didn't want the cheerleaders or the sorority girls. He wanted the quiet, curvy girl in the front row."

The Memory: The Library Archives

It happened after hours, in the dim, dusty corners of the college library. The air had smelled of old paper and the sharp, clean scent of Yunis’s cologne. He had cornered her between the stacks, his shadow looming over her.

He hadn't said a word. He just stepped close, his hand bracing against the shelf beside her head, effectively pinning her in. Avni’s breath hitched. She was wearing a simple white blouse, but it was thin, and the tension in the room made her nipples harden against the fabric, pressing firm and visible against the cotton.

Yunis had noticed. His eyes dropped from her face to the swell of her chest, his pupils dilating. He didn't ask; he simply reached out, his warm palm sliding over the fabric to cup the weight of her breast. The sensation of his thumb grazing her nipple through the material sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated fire straight to her core.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks," he growled.

He moved with a hungry, desperate precision. He didn't fumble. He unbuttoned the top of her blouse, his fingers brushing against her skin, which felt impossibly hot compared to the cool library air. When he finally pushed the fabric aside, his breath caught. He stared at her, mesmerized by the sheer, youthful fullness of her. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to tease the peak of her nipple, and then he sucked, hard.

Avni let out a small, sharp cry, her hands tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He moved his other hand to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin, pulling her hips flush against his. She could feel his hardness pressing against her belly—a solid, demanding weight.

In that narrow aisle, surrounded by the weight of books and the silence of the night, everything was sensory. The taste of his skin, the rough stubble against her neck, the way his hands explored her curves as if he were discovering a map he had memorized in his dreams. He was eager, she was compliant and flooded with desire, and for the first time, Avni realized that her body held a power that could bring even the most sought-after man to his knees.

"That was the night," Avni whispered, opening her eyes to the dark room. "That was the night I realized I had something they were all hungry for."

"And that was the night you started a pattern," Viraj replied, his tone neither judgmental nor surprised. "The start of the hunger, Avni. The start of the show.”