The college campus had transformed.
Gone were the carefree laughs and endless chai breaks—now it was pages flipping, murmurs of last-minute formulas, and pens scribbling faster than the clock ticked. The air felt tight with stress and unspoken prayers.
Simran walked in with her head high, a bottle of water in one hand and confidence in the other. Her hair was tied back, sleeves rolled, kohl just enough to hide how little she slept. This wasn't about impressing anyone. This was war—and she was here to win it.
First paper: Biology.
She crushed it.
Second: Chemistry.
A tricky section, but her gut told her she'd held her ground.
Physics came like a storm—fast, brutal, but she'd stayed steady. No panic. No blank-outs.
Each day, she entered with focus. No overthinking, no distractions. Zain had tried to catch her eye in the corridor once, maybe to wish her luck, maybe something else—but she didn't stop. Didn't look back.
There were whispers in the exam hall—people noticing her zone-in mode, some surprised she wasn't laughing with Alzan like usual. But Simran didn't care. For once, she wasn't living in anyone else's story. She was writing her own ending.
By the final exam, she left the room feeling weightless. Not because it was over—but because she knew… she'd given it her all.
The exams were finally over — ink-stained fingers, sleepless nights, and caffeine-fueled breakdowns were now things of the past. The weight had lifted. Campus was alive again. Laughter echoed through the corridors, and the party buzz was already pulsing through every student's veins.
Simran stepped into the hall where the post-exam bash was taking place — lights low, bass heavy, and bodies already swaying to the beat. Her smile was easy, her steps confident. For the first time in a while, she wasn't hiding from her own mind. She was glowing.
She danced first with Zain — quiet, observant Zain, who gave her that small smirk and offered his hand like he'd been waiting. He wasn't one for crowds, but for her? He showed up.
Then came Alzan — the charmer. "Didn't think you could outshine the disco lights," he teased, spinning her once with that trademark wink. Simran laughed, twirling in sync with the beat. She was the moment, and they all knew it.
And then there was Junaid.
He hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening. There was something unreadable in his gaze — like he wanted to say something but kept biting it back.
When their eyes finally locked, the crowd blurred.
He didn't ask. He just reached for her hand.
Their fingers brushed. Electricity.
The song slowed — the kind of beat that made it hard to breathe. He pulled her close, not in some cheesy way, but with that calm intensity only he carried. One hand rested lightly on her waist, the other held hers like she was something precious.
"Didn't think you'd actually dance," she said, voice soft, teasing.
"Didn't think you'd look at me like that," he replied, dead serious.
And then... silence. Just the music. Just their steps. Just them.
The world could wait. Tonight, she was allowed to feel light.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow they'd face it all again. But tonight, she danced with every boy — and still somehow, always ended up in his arms.
The library was quieter than usual. The fans hummed above, pages turned like whispers, and sunlight spilled across the wooden floor like golden silk. Simran walked in with a purpose — she had promised herself she'd focus today. No distractions.
She scanned the usual corner where she liked to sit. Empty. Perfect.
But as she stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. There was only one chair.
She looked around. Nowhere else to sit.
And just like fate itself was playing tricks on her, footsteps echoed behind. She didn't need to turn — she felt him.
Junaid.
"You're late," she murmured, sliding her bag onto the table.
He smirked. "You're early."
His voice was smooth, low, and way too close. She didn't answer, just looked at the one chair between them like it held all the answers and none.
He raised an eyebrow. "So, who's sitting?"
She didn't respond.
He leaned against the table, eyes twinkling. "Unless you want to sit on my lap—"
"Shut up."
He chuckled, but there was heat beneath it.
Simran sighed and moved to sit down.
"Sit properly, I'll stand," he said, suddenly more serious.
But when she sat and opened her book, he didn't move away. He stood behind her, leaned down slightly to read over her shoulder, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck.
"Stop breathing so close," she muttered without looking up.
"Then stop smelling like peaches."
She froze.
He didn't back away.
For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire library. His fingers brushed the edge of her book as if to flip the page, but they lingered near hers.
"Do you even understand this topic?" he whispered.
"I was until you came and made it feel like a Wattpad scene."
He chuckled again, low and deep. "You love it."
She did.
But she wasn't going to say it.
Instead, she elbowed him gently. "Go sit somewhere else."
"Then give me your lap," he said, deadpan.
"Junaid—"
He laughed, finally moving a little, but not too far. "Fine. But I'm not leaving this spot. Get used to me."
And just like that, the silence returned. Pages turned again. But the air? It was still buzzing. And her heart? Oh, it didn't know peace.