The campus buzzed with the restless energy of Freshers' Week—a cocktail of nerves, excitement, and that fake confidence everyone puts on when trying to make a first impression. Lanyards swung, phones flashed, and laughter echoed across the courtyard.
And then there was her.
She walked in like she hadn't even tried—no exaggerated smile, no fake laughter, no loud energy. Just calm steps, curious eyes, and an aura so effortless, it made people pause mid-conversation. Some stared. Some whispered. But the girl? She just walked, like the chaos wasn't hers to carry.
On the other side of the courtyard, leaning against the sun-warmed wall of the canteen, stood them—a group of five seniors who didn't need to try either.
They were known. Not just by name, but by presence.
Junaid stood at the center, of course—black hoodie sleeves pushed up, smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His energy was magnetic, but guarded. Like he saw everything, felt nothing, and still made you believe you were special for getting a second of his attention.
Beside him, Riyaz leaned on one leg, hoodie strings between his fingers, quiet and unreadable. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it always hit like a mic drop.
Faizan was chaos personified—laughing loud, flirting louder, probably dared someone to prank a teacher five minutes ago.
Alzan was talking animatedly, already narrating some ridiculous gossip like it was breaking news. He noticed everything and loved drama more than peace.
And then there was Zafar—arms crossed, expression unreadable. The kind who gave off 'don't-mess-with-me-or-her' energy, even before knowing who "her" was.
And suddenly, she was all of their focus.
Junaid's smirk faltered for a beat. His eyes narrowed slightly, trailing the way her fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Who's that?" Faizan asked, following his gaze, already grinning.
"No clue," Alzan said, shifting to get a better view. "But she's definitely not here to blend in."
Zafar didn't speak, but his jaw tensed.
Riyaz glanced at Junaid, noticed how his thumb was tapping against the seam of his jeans—a habit he only had when something actually interested him.
"She's a fresher," Riyaz said simply.
"How do you know?" Junaid asked, without taking his eyes off her.
"Because she's not looking at us like everyone else does," Riyaz replied. "She's looking at the campus like it owes her something."
And for the first time in a long time, Junaid felt something shift.
He didn't know her name. He didn't know her story. But in a campus full of noise, her silence was the loudest thing he'd heard all day.
And just like that, the game had quietly begun.