The ladder wobbled slightly as she stepped onto the third rung, arms reaching up to pin the banner across the top of the stall. The fabric was huge—bright red with golden lettering—and just annoying enough to slip each time she tried to pin the corner.
"Need help, sunshine?" came that voice. Deep. Close.
She glanced down.
Junaid stood at the base of the ladder, one hand gripping the side, the other hovering near her calf, as if ready to catch her. His eyes weren't moving from her thighs.
She smirked. "You're just looking for an excuse to be under me."
Junaid tilted his head, jaw clenched. "Maybe. But if this ladder shakes even once, I am grabbing you."
She paused. Slowly pinned the left corner. "You're all talk."
Then it shook. Slightly. More like trembled—probably from her nerves—but it was enough.
In a second, his hands were at her waist.
He didn't pull her down.
He didn't say anything.
Just stood there, hands steady on her waist, fingers slightly curling against the thin fabric of her dress.
She didn't move.
He looked up at her, and for once, the air between them crackled.
"Junaid," she said, voice low.
"Yeah?"
"Let go."
His grip didn't move. "Say please."
"Seriously?"
His eyes darkened. "Say. Please."
She locked eyes with him. "Let go… or hold tighter. But choose fast."
His hands dropped. Not out of fear. But because the fire in his eyes said, not yet. Not here. Not with Zain and Alzan so close.
She stepped down slowly, brushing against him on purpose, the corner of her mouth twitching.
From the side, Zain caught it all.
"Yo, y'all wanna chill with the foreplay and actually finish the banner?" he called out, teasing but slightly annoyed. He twirled a roll of tape in his fingers. "I'm not tryna be the third wheel of a ladder scene."
"Four wheels, babe," Alzan added. "You forgot me."
Zain rolled his eyes. "Yeah, poison's here too."
As they continued decorating, a group of seniors walked by—loud, laughing, and very male.
One of them did a slow once-over when he passed her.
"Damn, where'd they find this piece of candy?" he muttered to his friend.
Junaid froze.
She didn't respond, didn't flinch. But the air changed.
Zain, usually carefree, turned serious. "What did you say?"
The guy laughed. "Relax, bro. Just appreciating the view."
Alzan's smile was slow, dangerous. "Say that again, but this time without your teeth."
Junaid didn't say a word.
He just walked up—slowly, calmly—and stood in front of her. Blocking her from the guy's view. Entire body tensed. Eyes fixed.
"You say one more thing about her," he said, voice low enough to send a chill down her spine, "and I'll make sure you're off campus by morning. Try me."
The guy scoffed, but he backed off.
She blinked.
She had seen Junaid angry before.
But possessive?
That was new.
And it was intoxicating.
(Day 2: Stage Duty Vibes — Reality Check Edition)
The college fest had stretched into its second day, but the energy? Still electric. If anything, it was hotter, messier, louder.
Simran showed up to the event area a little late — the white crop top she wore hugged her just right, exposing a sliver of skin above her high-waisted, light-wash jeans. Simple. Casual. But somehow, it screamed main character.
Junaid saw her before she even clocked him. His jaw tightened slightly. He was in black, of course. Leaned against the edge of the stage, arms crossed, his ID lanyard hanging loose, sleeves rolled up. His eyes dragged over her — from the way her top hugged her, to how her hair was a little messy from the humidity, to that silver chain brushing her collarbone.
"You're late," he muttered when she got close.
"You're always early. Balance," Simran said, flashing him a half-smirk as she grabbed the duct tape roll from the supplies table.
He didn't reply. But his eyes lingered longer than necessary, especially when she knelt to sort the wires near the speaker stand.
Elsewhere, Alzan was busy stringing up lights across the bamboo poles. He noticed her too — and didn't even pretend to hide it.
"Oye oye," he whistled low, "College's about to set curfew if you keep looking like that."
Simran looked up from the stage, not even pretending to be flustered. "Go step on a thumbtack, Alzan."
He laughed, holding his chest like she shot him. "Every day I fall harder for this woman, ya Allah."
Zain wandered in late, holding a cold drink. He did a double take when he saw her, almost dropped the cup. "Uff... this fest's getting dangerous."
"You boys get any more dramatic, I'm writing a play about you," Simran teased, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
Junaid wasn't laughing. He was quiet. Still.
The way his jaw clenched every time another guy looked at her. The way his knuckles turned pale gripping the clipboard. He didn't like this attention she was getting — not from them. Not from the random crowd whispering things she couldn't hear but could feel.
And Simran? Oh, she knew. She could feel the heat from him like a storm cloud creeping behind her, even when he stayed meters away.
P.s: It's just friction so please don't hold any grudges on mentioning of any religion.
And pretty please support me 🙏🏻 with power stones please please 🥺