The auditorium hummed with energy—whispers bouncing off high ceilings, the scrape of chairs, the soft buzz of phones under desks. Ananya Iyer sat in the front row, hunched over her laptop, typing faster than her nerves could keep up.
She hated mornings like this. A crowded lecture, all eyes on the stage, and the knowledge that she blended into none of it. Invisible, she reminded herself. Safe.
The spotlight shifted, and the noise dimmed.
Riyan Arora walked in.
Late, of course. Always late. His backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, sneakers untied, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips like he'd just scored a private victory. Half the class sighed; the other half rolled their eyes. He didn't care. Rules bent for him, professors tolerated him, and the campus practically revolved around his orbit.
Today, though, was different. Today, Riyan wasn't just the golden boy of the basketball court—he was about to present a project that could prove he had brains behind the swagger.
He connected his laptop to the projector. The big screen flickered.
And froze.
Instead of his glossy slides, rows of equations and messy bullet points sprawled across the wall in oversized font:
"Ananya Iyer – Draft Research Notes."
The hall erupted in laughter.
Ananya's blood turned to ice. Her fingers scrambled across her keyboard—she hadn't realized the wireless display was still on. She'd hijacked his presentation.
Riyan's eyes shot straight to her. A thousand people in the room, but his glare found her.
"Seriously?" he muttered, yanking the cable, but the damage was done. The professor, unimpressed, announced the verdict before anyone could recover:
"Since your work seems… connected, Mr. Arora, Ms. Iyer—you'll submit the semester's research project together. One grade. Shared responsibility."
The whispers that followed were sharp enough to cut skin.
When the lecture finally ended, Ananya packed her bag as fast as she could. But Riyan was already at her side, tall and broad, blocking her path.
"You just turned my A into a comedy show," he said, voice low, eyes flashing.
Ananya swallowed, then straightened her shoulders. "Maybe if you'd checked your setup instead of basking in attention, it wouldn't have happened."
For a moment, silence. Then—unexpectedly—his smirk returned, slower this time. "So the bookworm has teeth."
She glared back, pulse hammering. "You're stuck with me now, whether you like it or not."
His gaze lingered, daring, almost amused—but beneath it, she caught something else. A flicker of insecurity, gone as fast as it appeared.
Riyan leaned closer, his voice dropping into a murmur only she could hear. "Guess this clash is going to be fun."
And just like that, the invisible girl was dragged into the spotlight she'd spent her life avoiding—locked in a battle of wits with the boy who owned it.