Chapter 2:
Chapter 2 Trending Trouble
Accidently Married To My ArchRival
The morning after the fair, St. Xavier’s campus didn’t feel like a school anymore—it felt like Bollywood paparazzi central.
Students didn’t walk; they ran toward Aarav Malhotra and Rhea Sharma the moment they stepped in through the main gate.
Phones were out, flashes blinking.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra!” a boy from Class 11 yelled dramatically, bowing.
“No no,” a girl corrected him, “it’s Mrs. Sharma-Malhotra. Hashtag couple goals.”
Rhea froze in her tracks. Her jaw fell open. Aarav, walking beside her with his laptop bag and trademark poker face, didn’t even blink.
“Oh my God,” Rhea muttered. “They’re actually serious.”
Aarav adjusted his glasses. “Correction—they’re unserious. Which is worse.”
Before Rhea could explode, Zoya appeared out of nowhere, sliding between them with her phone. Her face glowed brighter than the morning sun.
“Guys, GUYS. You’re trending. Look!” She shoved her screen under their noses.
On the school’s social media page, the hashtag #PresidentVicePresidentShaadi had crossed 20,000 posts overnight.
The top post was a meme:
A photo of Aarav’s expressionless face at the marriage booth, captioned: “Shaadi ho gayi, still chill.”
Next to it, Rhea screaming with her hands in the air, captioned: “Biwi mode activated.”
Students around them burst out laughing.
Rhea’s face turned red. “Main mar jaaungi but tumhari biwi nahi banungi! (I’d rather die than be your wife!)”
Aarav, calm as ever, replied, “Don’t worry. I also don’t believe in afterlife marriages.”
The crowd lost it.
Phones clicked, videos recorded, hashtags exploded. Aarav kept walking steadily toward his classroom, while Rhea stormed beside him like a thundercloud.
“This is all your fault,” she hissed.
“Logically speaking,” Aarav said, “this is the booth operator’s fault, the projector’s fault, and maybe Zoya’s fault for dragging us there. But not mine.”
“YOU—”
“Shh,” Aarav said, holding a finger up. “There are memes being made. Don’t ruin the captions.”
By afternoon, the scandal had already reached the parents’ WhatsApp groups. And if there was one thing more terrifying than exams, it was Indian moms with internet access.
Rhea’s phone buzzed non-stop.
Mom: “RHEA. Tumne shaadi kar li??!! (You got married??!!)”Dad: “Beta, tell me this is fake news.”Mom again: “Log kya kahenge?!” (What will people say?!)
Rhea groaned. She called home.
“Mom! It was a prank. Just a stupid booth. I am NOT married.”
“But the photos—”
“PHOTOSHOP!” Rhea shouted. “It’s all editing!”
Her mom lowered her voice. “Still, beta… the whole kitty party group is talking. Mrs. Verma just asked if she should send a wedding gift. Do you know the embarrassment?”
“MAA!” Rhea nearly threw her phone.
On the other side of town, Aarav sat in his study, sipping chai while typing. His uncle, Kunal Malhotra, leaned against the doorframe, smirking.
“So… shaadi, huh?”
Aarav didn’t look up. “Not legally valid. Just entertainment.”
Kunal chuckled. “Entertainment for you, maybe. But the business circle is buzzing. Malhotra heir and Sharma heiress—accidentally married at a school fair? Media will love it.”
“I don’t care about media,” Aarav said flatly, fingers moving across the keyboard.
But in his head, he made a mental note. If this silly accident reached business gossip, someone could easily use it against them.
Kunal added casually, “Your sister would have laughed at this, you know.”
For the first time, Aarav’s hands paused on the keyboard. His throat tightened, but he masked it quickly. “Maybe. But she isn’t here to see it.”
Kunal shrugged and left, leaving Aarav staring at the laptop screen—where SIA, the unfinished AI, blinked silently back at him.
The next morning, Zoya called an emergency student council meeting.
“Agenda: The accidental wedding of our President and Vice President has shaken the school’s reputation. Solution: Crisis management.”
The group sat around a circular table. Rhea was still fuming. Aarav typed silently.
Zoya cleared her throat. “So, I suggest you two… act like a couple. Just for one week. To control the narrative.”
Rhea nearly jumped out of her seat. “WHAT?! Never!”
“It’s perfect,” Zoya said, ignoring her. “If you deny it too hard, people will gossip more. But if you play along, they’ll get bored faster.”
Rhea slammed the table. “No way. I refuse to be his fake wife.”
“Relax,” Aarav said, without looking up. “One week of compliance is more efficient than three months of denial. Accept the lesser pain.”
“Excuse me? Pain?!”
“Obviously. Marriage, fake or not, statistically causes stress.”
The council burst out laughing. Rhea’s face burned.
In the end, the motion was passed. Aarav and Rhea were officially tasked to behave like a “couple” during school hours—for reputation management.
Rhea walked out muttering, “I swear, I’ll kill him before this week ends.”
Aarav followed calmly. “Please don’t. That would trend even more.”
The next few days were nothing short of a circus.
Rhea declared a list of fake “husband-wife rules” and spread them around school.
Aarav must bring her samosas at lunch.
Aarav must say “Good morning, biwi ji” in assemblies.
Aarav must hold her bag when she feels tired.
Students ate it up. They pressured Aarav to comply.
And the shocking part? He did. Without protest. Calmly, silently, without embarrassment.
When Rhea complained, “You’re supposed to suffer!” Aarav replied, “Reverse psychology. If I don’t react, you lose interest.”
But Rhea didn’t lose interest. Instead, she escalated. Prank wars erupted daily. Chalk dust in Aarav’s locker, fake love letters from “secret admirers,” even a fake wedding ring planted in his pocket.
Every time, Aarav countered with sharp, dry humor that made her look like the clown while he remained untouchable.
---
Yet amid the chaos, a darker moment appeared.
Late one night, Aarav sat alone with his laptop. SIA’s soft voice prototype played back, glitching but still alive. He whispered updates to his comatose sister at the hospital.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
Notification: “Your Marriage Certificate was accessed by an unknown number.”
Aarav froze. Someone was watching. Someone outside the school.
He closed his laptop slowly, eyes hardening. For the first time since the accident, his calm mask cracked.
---
The next morning, Rhea woke up to find a viral post: a photoshopped image of her and Aarav in full bride-groom attire, smiling like Bollywood stars.
50,000 likes.
Rhea screamed into her pillow. Aarav, sitting in class, looked at it once and muttered, “Congratulations, Mrs. Viral Sensation.”
Her eyes flared. “That’s it. I’ll end you.”
He smirked. “Stand in line. The memes tried first.”
The war had only just begun.
Students didn’t walk; they ran toward Aarav Malhotra and Rhea Sharma the moment they stepped in through the main gate.
Phones were out, flashes blinking.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra!” a boy from Class 11 yelled dramatically, bowing.
“No no,” a girl corrected him, “it’s Mrs. Sharma-Malhotra. Hashtag couple goals.”
Rhea froze in her tracks. Her jaw fell open. Aarav, walking beside her with his laptop bag and trademark poker face, didn’t even blink.
“Oh my God,” Rhea muttered. “They’re actually serious.”
Aarav adjusted his glasses. “Correction—they’re unserious. Which is worse.”
Before Rhea could explode, Zoya appeared out of nowhere, sliding between them with her phone. Her face glowed brighter than the morning sun.
“Guys, GUYS. You’re trending. Look!” She shoved her screen under their noses.
On the school’s social media page, the hashtag #PresidentVicePresidentShaadi had crossed 20,000 posts overnight.
The top post was a meme:
A photo of Aarav’s expressionless face at the marriage booth, captioned: “Shaadi ho gayi, still chill.”
Next to it, Rhea screaming with her hands in the air, captioned: “Biwi mode activated.”
Students around them burst out laughing.
Rhea’s face turned red. “Main mar jaaungi but tumhari biwi nahi banungi! (I’d rather die than be your wife!)”
Aarav, calm as ever, replied, “Don’t worry. I also don’t believe in afterlife marriages.”
The crowd lost it.
Phones clicked, videos recorded, hashtags exploded. Aarav kept walking steadily toward his classroom, while Rhea stormed beside him like a thundercloud.
“This is all your fault,” she hissed.
“Logically speaking,” Aarav said, “this is the booth operator’s fault, the projector’s fault, and maybe Zoya’s fault for dragging us there. But not mine.”
“YOU—”
“Shh,” Aarav said, holding a finger up. “There are memes being made. Don’t ruin the captions.”
By afternoon, the scandal had already reached the parents’ WhatsApp groups. And if there was one thing more terrifying than exams, it was Indian moms with internet access.
Rhea’s phone buzzed non-stop.
Mom: “RHEA. Tumne shaadi kar li??!! (You got married??!!)”Dad: “Beta, tell me this is fake news.”Mom again: “Log kya kahenge?!” (What will people say?!)
Rhea groaned. She called home.
“Mom! It was a prank. Just a stupid booth. I am NOT married.”
“But the photos—”
“PHOTOSHOP!” Rhea shouted. “It’s all editing!”
Her mom lowered her voice. “Still, beta… the whole kitty party group is talking. Mrs. Verma just asked if she should send a wedding gift. Do you know the embarrassment?”
“MAA!” Rhea nearly threw her phone.
On the other side of town, Aarav sat in his study, sipping chai while typing. His uncle, Kunal Malhotra, leaned against the doorframe, smirking.
“So… shaadi, huh?”
Aarav didn’t look up. “Not legally valid. Just entertainment.”
Kunal chuckled. “Entertainment for you, maybe. But the business circle is buzzing. Malhotra heir and Sharma heiress—accidentally married at a school fair? Media will love it.”
“I don’t care about media,” Aarav said flatly, fingers moving across the keyboard.
But in his head, he made a mental note. If this silly accident reached business gossip, someone could easily use it against them.
Kunal added casually, “Your sister would have laughed at this, you know.”
For the first time, Aarav’s hands paused on the keyboard. His throat tightened, but he masked it quickly. “Maybe. But she isn’t here to see it.”
Kunal shrugged and left, leaving Aarav staring at the laptop screen—where SIA, the unfinished AI, blinked silently back at him.
The next morning, Zoya called an emergency student council meeting.
“Agenda: The accidental wedding of our President and Vice President has shaken the school’s reputation. Solution: Crisis management.”
The group sat around a circular table. Rhea was still fuming. Aarav typed silently.
Zoya cleared her throat. “So, I suggest you two… act like a couple. Just for one week. To control the narrative.”
Rhea nearly jumped out of her seat. “WHAT?! Never!”
“It’s perfect,” Zoya said, ignoring her. “If you deny it too hard, people will gossip more. But if you play along, they’ll get bored faster.”
Rhea slammed the table. “No way. I refuse to be his fake wife.”
“Relax,” Aarav said, without looking up. “One week of compliance is more efficient than three months of denial. Accept the lesser pain.”
“Excuse me? Pain?!”
“Obviously. Marriage, fake or not, statistically causes stress.”
The council burst out laughing. Rhea’s face burned.
In the end, the motion was passed. Aarav and Rhea were officially tasked to behave like a “couple” during school hours—for reputation management.
Rhea walked out muttering, “I swear, I’ll kill him before this week ends.”
Aarav followed calmly. “Please don’t. That would trend even more.”
The next few days were nothing short of a circus.
Rhea declared a list of fake “husband-wife rules” and spread them around school.
Aarav must bring her samosas at lunch.
Aarav must say “Good morning, biwi ji” in assemblies.
Aarav must hold her bag when she feels tired.
Students ate it up. They pressured Aarav to comply.
And the shocking part? He did. Without protest. Calmly, silently, without embarrassment.
When Rhea complained, “You’re supposed to suffer!” Aarav replied, “Reverse psychology. If I don’t react, you lose interest.”
But Rhea didn’t lose interest. Instead, she escalated. Prank wars erupted daily. Chalk dust in Aarav’s locker, fake love letters from “secret admirers,” even a fake wedding ring planted in his pocket.
Every time, Aarav countered with sharp, dry humor that made her look like the clown while he remained untouchable.
---
Yet amid the chaos, a darker moment appeared.
Late one night, Aarav sat alone with his laptop. SIA’s soft voice prototype played back, glitching but still alive. He whispered updates to his comatose sister at the hospital.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
Notification: “Your Marriage Certificate was accessed by an unknown number.”
Aarav froze. Someone was watching. Someone outside the school.
He closed his laptop slowly, eyes hardening. For the first time since the accident, his calm mask cracked.
---
The next morning, Rhea woke up to find a viral post: a photoshopped image of her and Aarav in full bride-groom attire, smiling like Bollywood stars.
50,000 likes.
Rhea screamed into her pillow. Aarav, sitting in class, looked at it once and muttered, “Congratulations, Mrs. Viral Sensation.”
Her eyes flared. “That’s it. I’ll end you.”
He smirked. “Stand in line. The memes tried first.”
The war had only just begun.
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