The air at Indus Private University didn't smell like a college. It smelled like high-octane gasoline, expensive leather, and the kind of perfume that cost more than my father earned in a year.

I stood at the iron-wrought gates, my backpack heavy with a second-hand laptop and a stack of C++ manuals that had seen better days. To the left, a line of luxury SUVs purred, dropping off teenagers who looked like they had stepped off a runway. To the right, the sprawling sandstone arches of the campus loomed like the walls of a fortress.

They called us the "Legacy Two." Every year, the university board hand-picked two scholarship students from the "lower rungs" of society. It was a PR move, a way to keep their tax-exempt status while pretending to bridge the gap.

In reality, we weren't students. We were social experiments.

"Move it, scholarship."

The voice was like a low-frequency hum, cold and vibrating with unearned authority. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The shadow that fell over me was wide, blocking out the morning sun.

I kept my eyes on the pavement, my fingers tightening around the straps of my bag. My mother's voice echoed in my head, a frantic, desperate prayer: "Don't look at them, Rohini. Just study. Just get the degree. Don't let them see you."

A black boot, polished to a mirror finish, stepped into my line of vision. It didn't move. It stayed there, blocking my path, a physical manifestation of a wall I couldn't climb.

"I said move," the voice repeated, closer now. I could smell him—sandalwood and arrogance.

I didn't apologize. I didn't look up. I simply stepped to the side, my shoulder brushing against the cold stone of the gate. As I passed, I felt his gaze—a heavy, clinical weight that stripped me down to my bank balance.

I was a ghost in their machine. An outsider in their paradise.

I had exactly three years to survive this place. Three years to be invisible. Three years to earn the paper that would save my family.

But as the heavy gates clicked shut behind me, I realized that in a place built on ownership, being invisible was the most dangerous thing I could be. Because at Indus Private University, the things they couldn't buy were the only things they truly enjoyed breaking.