Zuhra walked across the university campus, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees and dancing across the grass. She wore a flowing red Atamfa gown with a subtle shimmer, paired with a matching headscarf — traditional Hausa attire that spoke of her roots. Headphones rested in her ears as she listened to music calmly. In one hand, she held the golden trophy; on her back hung a school backpack.
Beside her walked her two closest friends:
Rushna, dressed in elegant Indian traditional wear — a green and gold kurta with long palazzo trousers.
Amla, in a brown and gold salwar kameez, the kind popularly worn in Punjab.
A few steps behind them was Kamal — a charming and refined young man — following quietly.
He wore a sharp black suit, white shirt, and a coordinated tie. His polished black shoes gleamed, adding to his refined appearance.
His eyes were fixed on Zuhra — full of desire and admiration, his face glowing with the hope of getting closer to her.
Their walk turned heads across the campus. Some students watched in awe, others whispered. They looked like movie stars walking through a red carpet — like lead characters from a grand musical.
---
People paused to stare, as if watching a Bollywood scene unfold.
Flowers were being offered to Zuhra with smiles; some filmed with their phones, while others simply stood speechless, mesmerized by her presence.
Zuhra smiled gently — not out of arrogance, but out of peace — recognizing the world's response to the talent she had once kept hidden.
Kamal stood by the roadside with Munir, his friend. His gaze locked onto Zuhra — this girl was unlike anyone he had ever seen. His stare carried a mix of awe, craving, and confusion.
When Zuhra glanced back slightly through the crowd, her soft smile lit up his entire face.
Munir, dressed in a green T-shirt and brown jeans, tapped Kamal's shoulder.
"Kamal!"
Kamal flinched slightly, as though pulled out of a dream.
"You're totally gone…" Munir said, chuckling.
Kamal replied, "Who is that girl? She hasn't even walked past and you're already lost in her."
Kamal said nothing more — he simply kept staring as Zuhra's car pulled up beside them.
Without a word, she got in gracefully, removed her headphones, and looked into the car mirror — as if reflecting on something deeper than words.
The car drove off slowly, leaving the university grounds.
Kamal watched until it disappeared. His heart stirred with something new — not just desire, but a feeling like love.
Yet a love he couldn't tell whether it was real or merely an illusion.
Munir tugged at his arm. "Come on, Kamal."
But Kamal barely heard him. His heart was still trailing behind that car.
Munir adjusted the papers in his hand. "Don't forget we've got a test tomorrow."
Kamal turned slowly and said, "What test?"
Munir started explaining, but Kamal's mind was far away.
Munir shook his head. "Honestly, Kamal. Your mind's always on girls. Never on your studies."
Kamal snatched the paper from his hand and laughed. "Don't stress about that, Munir. I'm not in the mood for books today."
Munir glared at him. "And today is my birthday! And here you are, acting crazy."
"Well, it's your birthday, not mine!" Kamal laughed. "And when it's birthday time, there's no studying!"
He reached his motorbike and started it. "Come on, or I'll leave you here!"
Munir sighed, shook his head, and followed.
Despite the smile on his face, his heart was heavy — worried about how Kamal was changing… and how Zuhra was beginning to shake him more than anyone ever had.