### Nandu's POV

Mornings are always a blur during finals, but today I was determined: proper kurti and pajama, dupatta draped prim and perfect—at least that's how I started. No matter what, my big boobs and the ever-present hint of cleavage have a mind of their own, refusing to be tamed by three layers of fabric. I huffed but raced through breakfast. Teja dropped me at college, doing his best fake "good luck" as he sped off for a morning packed with street food and a movie while I wrestled with maths.

The classroom was rearranged to shuffle everyone—no copying today! My nerves jangled, but Sowmya's tricks from yesterday echoed in my head, and for once, I felt ready to wrestle algebra head-on. As the exam began, I took a slow breath, rolled up my sleeves ever so slightly, and lost myself in formulas and memory tricks.

The invigilator stalked the aisle, eyes sharp—no one would dare talk or pass a chit under his gaze. I focused on my paper, scribbling fast. Somewhere in my calculation haze, a waft of air shifted my dupatta to the side, baring a little more cleavage than intended, but I was too lost in numbers to notice.

After a while, I glanced up to request more paper. The invigilator was right there, staring. For a second, his eyes were frozen—locked shamelessly on my chest, clearly distracted by the curve peeking from my neckline. Annoyed, I adjusted my dupatta in one quick movement and shot him a look that said, "Eyes up, mister." He looked away, fake-coughing behind his register.

Back to maths—no time for games, not with flying dreams waiting outside this classroom. I attempted every single question, refusing to leave a blank, and then pulled out my favorite exam trick: always stay until the bell rings. You never know when an invigilator loses focus and a last-minute answer or hint from their wandering mind helps seal your marks.

Bell rang, papers in. I let out a sigh of relief, packed my bag, and dove into the thick, excited swirl of friends. The entire corridor buzzed with anxious energy—"What did you get for question 14?" "I think my graphs are upside-down!" We checked answers, shrieked, and celebrated our small victories. Deep inside, I knew it: I'd conquered maths today.

As I headed outside, I spotted the same invigilator staring at me from across the quad—eyes still too curious for comfort. I straightened, gave him a cold shoulder, and joined my friends. Let old pervs stare; I know where to draw the line. My future is up in the clouds, not trapped in these corridors.

### Invigilator's POV

Routine duty: walk the aisles, watch for cheaters. You think you've seen it all until something—someone—disrupts the monotony. There she was, seated near the window. Her kurti, traditional and proper, but those curves betrayed every attempt at modesty. When her dupatta slipped aside, the full shape of her breasts and deep, inviting cleavage turned my mouth dry and my mind blank for a heartbeat.

I regained composure, pacing the row, every excuse to linger "just checking" her sheet. Was it wrong? Absolutely—but sometimes the beauty in one student's confidence rattles even the most seasoned teachers.

She asked for extra paper, meeting my gaze—sharp, unflinching—and I snapped out of my trance, grateful she noticed and covered herself. I cleared my throat and kept moving, face burning. No one else made me forget the rules the way she did. But her focus, her drive, the way her pencil tore across pages—she was built for more than just pretty glances. She was going places.

Exams ended. She left animated.