The college fest was in full swing—music, lights, chatter buzzing through the courtyard—but Junaid wasn't hearing any of it.
His gaze was fixed on her.
She stood by the water counter, hair tucked behind one ear, her pink short dress catching the light breeze like it was part of a movie scene. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just her. Effortless. Deadly.
He swore under his breath, tugging at the chain around his neck.
Damn.
She turned slightly, caught him looking. Of course, she did.
That smug, knowing little smirk on her face?
He was done for.
Junaid walked up, casually slow, like he wasn't already spiraling internally.
"Sunshine," he said, low and familiar.
She arched a brow. "Yeah?"
He tilted his head, eyes skimming her from head to toe with absolutely no apology.
"That dress is giving me a problem."
She blinked. "Oh? What kind of problem?"
He leaned in, close enough to make her shift her weight to the other foot—nervous? No. Flustered? Definitely.
"The I'm trying to behave kind," he murmured.
She looked up at him, mouth slightly parted. No comeback. No witty retort.
Which only made him grin wider.
Junaid stepped even closer, lowering his voice until only she could hear.
"I'm really trying, you know. But you show up in that… and suddenly, I'm thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking in public."
Her cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. Barely.
"Maybe you should try harder," she muttered.
He laughed, soft and shameless. "Maybe. But I never said I was a gentleman."
She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he caught the tiny smile playing on her lips.
He reached for her water, took a slow sip, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like he wasn't breaking five personal space laws.
Then he said, "You gonna scold me for that, sunshine? Or you gonna give me something sweeter to taste?"
She froze. Her shoulders stiffened for a second—and then she walked away, shaking her head, hiding her face.
Junaid stayed where he was, watching her go, biting back a grin like it physically hurt.
"That's right," he said under his breath. "Walk away. Save me from myself.
The sun hung high, the campus buzzing with fest prep chaos. Simran had been running around finalizing the backstage checklist when a familiar grip caught her wrist—warm, firm, and entirely too confident.
"Simran," Junaid murmured close to her ear, the crowd too loud to hear anything subtle, "come with me for a sec. Urgent." The glint in his eyes? Not even pretending to be professional.
She rolled her eyes but followed, because it was him, and because a part of her already knew this wasn't about a missing mic or tangled wire.
He pulled her through the corridor, past the auditorium, until they slipped into the old storeroom—the one no one touched unless something exploded or caught fire.
The door clicked shut.
The air was thick with the scent of cardboard and that odd metal-sweet scent of old stage props. Sunlight streamed through the high window, catching the dust motes like glitter in slow motion.
Junaid turned to face her, a smirk already climbing up his face. "God, you have no idea how distracting you've been all morning."
Simran folded her arms. "You dragged me in here to tell me that?"
"Nope," he said, stepping closer, voice dropping lower. "I dragged you in here to do something about it."
Her breath caught as his fingers brushed her waist like a tease, not quite pulling her closer, just letting her feel it. His eyes didn't stray from hers. That cheeky grin? Dangerous.
"You keep walking around like that," he whispered, "and I'm supposed to pretend I'm not going crazy? Not fair, sunshine."
Simran's pulse spiked, but she kept her tone cool. "Then don't pretend."
He chuckled, low and sinful. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."
Before she could reply, he took a half step closer, their bodies now in that charged zone—where if either moved an inch, sparks would fly. His hand brushed up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.
"You're blushing," he murmured, clearly proud of himself.
"And you're annoying," she shot back, voice shaky despite the sass.
"But you like it," he grinned.
Silence hummed between them. The light from the window made her eyes shine, and his gaze dropped, lingered—jaw tightening like he was holding something back.
"You're dangerous, Junaid," she said quietly, half a smile on her lips.
"And you're mine, Sunshine," he said without missing a beat. "You just don't know it yet."
He was leaning in.
So close that Simran could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with hers, heart thudding like it knew something was about to shift forever. His eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes and back again, and for once—she didn't look away.
His hand hovered by her jaw, fingers grazing her skin like it burned to touch her but he was holding himself back. Barely.
"Simran..." he whispered.
Her name had never sounded like that before.
She didn't breathe.
Neither did he.
The world slowed down.
His face inched closer—closer—
Knock knock.
Sharp. Dull. Against the door.
The spell shattered.
Both of them froze.
Junaid's forehead rested against hers, like even the universe interrupting wasn't enough to make him step away. His jaw clenched. "Seriously?"
Simran's eyes fluttered open, wide and stunned. Her lips parted, the moment lingering on them like a ghost.
The knock came again. Followed by a muffled voice:
"Hey, is someone inside? We need this room for the props."
Junaid's hand dropped reluctantly. He stepped back, the fire in his eyes still burning but banked for now. He didn't say a word. Just gave her one last look—heavy, unreadable—and turned toward the door.
Simran exhaled. Finally.
But her heart?
Still stuck in that moment.
Simran followed him out, still feeling like the walls of the storeroom were clinging to her skin. Her heartbeat was all over the place, and Junaid? That boy walked like he hadn't just come within a breath of kissing her. Casual. Too casual.
But his hands were stuffed in his pockets. Like he didn't trust them anymore.
Outside, a couple of juniors were shuffling past, arms full of thermocol sheets and festoon strings. They barely looked at the two seniors emerging from the storeroom—but Junaid paused, tilted his head toward Simran with that infuriatingly lopsided smirk.
"You good?" he asked, voice low, teasing.
She raised a brow, crossing her arms—trying to act unfazed. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"That knock came just in time," he murmured, leaning closer again—close enough for only her to hear. "Another two seconds and you'd have kissed me."
Her eyes widened. "I would've kissed you?"
He gave her the softest chuckle, so smug it practically winked at her. "You were looking at my mouth like it was the last piece of chocolate cake on Earth, sunshine."
Her breath hitched—not because it was true, but because he knew it.
She shoved his arm lightly, cheeks burning, trying to step past him, but Junaid blocked her path with a casual lean on the wall.
"And hey," he said, voice dipping into something warmer, a bit real underneath the mischief, "next time… I'm not stopping. Knock or no knock."
Simran looked up at him—eyes narrowed, but heart doing cartwheels.
"Next time," she muttered, "you'll be the one looking at me like that."
He grinned. "Deal."
With that, he stepped aside and let her walk ahead—only to call after her, loud enough for nearby students to hear:
"By the way, cute dress today."
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