The final round wasn't just about outfits now — it was drama, passion, chemistry. The theme? "Couple Couture."
Everyone had to walk in pairs again, but this time… it had to feel real. And guess who got paired together?
Simran and Junaid.
The organizers randomly picked names, but the second Simran heard it, she knew — this wasn't random. This was fate playing with fire.
Backstage, tension sizzled like static in the air. She was touching up her lipstick when he walked up behind her.
"You look dangerous," he murmured, eyes raking over her reflection in the mirror.
She smirked without turning. "Scared?"
He stepped closer, chest almost grazing her back. "Excited."
Their eyes met in the mirror — both holding back smirks, sparks flying in silence.
---
Then the music changed. Slower. Sultrier. Dim lighting. All eyes on the runway.
Junaid stepped out first, in a tailored black suit, no tie, shirt slightly unbuttoned. Cool, confident, but clearly looking for someone.
And then she came out.
Simran walked down the ramp in a wine-red satin slit dress, one leg bare, silver heels clicking with purpose. Her hair was up now, neck exposed, and a delicate chain shimmered at her collarbone. Her aura? Untouchable.
But the second she reached him, Junaid offered his hand — she took it.
They didn't smile. They didn't pose.
They told a whole story just with body language.
His hand rested low on her back.
Hers on his chest.
They walked as one — not stiff, not forced — but like they were in their own world. At one point, he leaned down as if to whisper something. Their faces were this close. The crowd held their breath.
He didn't speak. Just let his lips hover next to her ear, making her shiver, before gently pulling her closer.
The final pose? She was in front of him, his arms around her waist from behind, her hands resting over his. Her head tilted slightly back against his shoulder — and their eyes met again, this time off-stage, in the shadows of the lights.
It wasn't acting.
It was… them.
---
Backstage exploded once they walked off.
Nabeeha, watching from the side, looked like she was chewing glass.
Rahil? Silent. Very silent.
Zain? "Bro. B-R-O. Are you seeing this chemistry? Khatam."
Alzan just cackled. "They didn't walk the ramp — they made love to it."
Junaid, standing beside her now, leaned in and whispered, "Still think you're winning?"
She gave him a slow once-over. "You tell me."
The college fest still buzzed in the distance, but the fashion show was over, the crowd had thinned, and the after-parties had started to lose their charm.
Simran stood under the fairy lights near the exit gate, heels in one hand, tired smile on her face, that red lipstick still untouched, still powerful. Her bun had loosened a little, strands curling around her flushed cheeks.
Junaid came up beside her without a word, just offering his water bottle with a soft look in his eyes.
Alzan was already there, crouched at her feet, slipping her sandals back on gently like it was his job.
Zain leaned against the wall, arms folded, smirk playing on his lips. "We should leave them," he said to the two boys, who looked up, confused.
Simran raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by them?"
Zain looked at the crowd behind them—drunk, messy, too loud, too late.
"The rest of the world," he replied, his tone low and final. "Let's call it a night."
Junaid stepped closer, brushing a hand down her arm with a small smile.
Alzan pulled her into his side, his voice low, "Best night ended with you in the spotlight, anyway."
And just like that, the three of them walked off, side by side under the stars—leaving the noise, the stage, and everyone else behind.
[The Next Morning – 11:42 AM]
Simran wakes up to her phone buzzing nonstop. The group chat is blowing up.
Vineeta:
"OMGGG last night was CRAZYY 😭😭🔥🔥"
Sejal: "Gurlllll,you rocked the shit out of everyone 😭💘"
Aayan:
"Simran, you destroyed the runway in those 4-inch heels. Literally every guy in that hall malfunctioned 💀💀"
Zain:
"I still think we should've gotten best dressed, but whatever. At least Simran made half the crowd forget their own names."
She grins, lazily stretching under her soft beige comforter. Her limbs ache in the most satisfying way—from the heels, from the adrenaline—but the memory of last night lingers like perfume on skin: the runway lights, the flash of cameras, and the way Junaid,Zain and Alzan couldn't tear their eyes off her.
She gets up, hair messy but gorgeous, ties it into a loose bun, slips into an oversized satin robe, and walks out to the balcony with a cup of coffee. The sun is soft and gold today, the breeze smells faintly of sea and jasmine. It's an off day. No lectures. No assignments. Just straight-up vibe unlocked.
And then—
buzz buzz.
Not the group chat.
Junaid:
"Come outside."
She blinks. What?
Another ping.
Alzan:
"We're downstairs. Don't make us come up."
She runs to the window, leans over—
And there they are.
Parked right outside is a sleek black Mercedes G-Wagon, engine humming low. Junaid's lounging against the passenger door, in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, sunglasses on—looking like he walked out of a Vogue shoot. Alzan's leaning on the hood, hair perfectly tousled, already glancing up like he knew she'd peek.
And then she spots it: on the roof of the car, a tray with her favorite breakfast—croissants, strawberries, and iced coffee from that overpriced café near campus. All just... waiting.
They're not letting her out of their sight today.
Not after last night.
Not when she looked like that.
She bites her lip, heart doing flips.
Today? Today is theirs.
She walked to her closet, fingers dancing across fabric till they stopped at the lavender maxi dress. Soft chiffon, backless with delicate cross-tie strings, and a thigh slit that whispered danger. Dreamy but powerful. The kind of outfit that says, "Yes, I woke up like this—and I look better than your imagination."
She slipped into it, the cool fabric hugging her skin like silk mist. She tied her hair into a low ponytail, letting a few tendrils fall loose at the front—messy, intentional, magnetic. Dewy skin, clear lip oil, a hint of perfume behind her ears.
One last glance in the mirror.
Lavender. Barefoot beauty. Low ponytail.
And a look that said, "They're not ready."
She slipped on strappy flats, grabbed her phone, and headed down.
Simran stepped out into the sun, the lavender fabric catching the breeze and swaying around her like magic. Her low ponytail bounced with each step, giving off effortless "I woke up stunning" energy.
Junaid was leaning against the car—grey tee, messy hair, sunglasses halfway down his nose. But the moment he saw her, he froze. Coffee cup halfway to his lips. Eyes dragging down from her ponytail to the slit in her dress and staying there.
Alzan, sitting on the hood, whistled low. "Okay, we definitely didn't bring enough caffeine for this level of hot."
Junaid didn't even blink. Just murmured, "She looks like a fever dream."
She smirked, walking up casually, "You boys gonna stare or hand me my coffee?"
Junaid extended the cup, but his fingers brushed against hers… lingered.
"You're gonna kill me in that dress."
Alzan groaned playfully from behind, "God, get a room. But like—not yet. We need to drive to the food truck spot before you two start eye-sexing again."
Simran rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the grin tugging at her lips.
She slid into the passenger seat beside Junaid, her thigh grazing against his as she settled. His jaw tightened just slightly.
He glanced at her legs, then muttered under his breath, "That slit's going to be the end of my self-control."
She raised an eyebrow, lips curling, "Then drive fast, Romeo."
As they pulled away, music playing low and breeze catching her hair, Junaid couldn't stop glancing at her. Like he still couldn't believe last night had happened—and this morning was real too.