A few days later, under the still night sky, Piya sat in her room staring at the ceiling. Her BCA degree was finally complete, but she couldn't shake the emptiness that followed.
Three years. And yet, she often joked to herself that all she really knew was how to print "Hello, World" on the screen.
Her mother's voice broke her thoughts.
"Piya, you should do MCA."
Piya sighed, her frustration spilling over.
"But Mom, I don't know if I can tolerate that anymore. I'm so done with all this studying. Even if I try, I won't understand anything like always."
Her dad, always calmer, joined in.
"Then apply for jobs and PSCs. A government job will give you stability and peace."
"But Dad, I studied BCA for three years. I want a job related to this, not something else."
Her father's gaze softened.
"Then try for it. Don't give up just because of your emotions right now. You'll understand things eventually. Don't stress so much."
Piya nodded, though her chest still felt heavy. Later, in her room, she curled up by the window, whispering to herself: "What is my future really going to be like?"
Meanwhile, at 11 p.m. across the city, fists collided with a punching bag in rhythmic fury. The sound of leather striking echoed in the empty gym. A man with strong, veined arms kept hitting harder and harder, his left arm covered in tattoos. Sweat dripped down his temples, his breath ragged but relentless.
"Stop it, man. It's already late," came a voice from the corner.
The boxer didn't even look. He just kept punching.
"Bro, I'm talking to you and you're ignoring me? This is not fair!" the other voice whined dramatically. "At least hum, nod—something. Here I am, wasting my beauty sleep just to keep you company!"
The man finally stopped, chest rising and falling, and pulled off his gloves. His deep, husky voice cut through the silence.
"Don't whine like a girl, Joe. Go home."
Joe's jaw dropped in mock offense.
"What! Me, whining like a girl? Are you serious? You... you're the one who doesn't know a thing about girls!"
The man grabbed his towel, but Joe wasn't done.
"Do you know how many girls are after me?" Joe flicked his non-existent hair like a drama king. "I'm telling you, bro, the list is endless. Meanwhile, you—handsome face, perfect body, dangerous aura—and still single. Pathetic."
The man's eyes finally met his, calm and steady, carrying a weight that made Joe falter for a second.
Joe blinked, then smirked.
"What, no comeback? Don't tell me you're waiting for some princess to descend from heaven."
The man's voice was low, deliberate, almost otherworldly.
"Some things aren't meant to be rushed. A king doesn't need a crowd to prove his crown."
Joe stared at him, then threw his arms up dramatically.
"See? This is exactly what I mean! You open your mouth and suddenly it's like I'm in the middle of a Marvel movie."
The man smirked faintly, finally picking up his keys.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep praising yourself."
He headed out, sliding into his sleek Aston Martin DBS Superleggera, its glossy black body gleaming under the streetlights.
"Hey, don't leave me!" Joe shouted, running after him. He hopped into the passenger seat with a mutter.
"I don't think any girl in this world could actually handle a godly handsome dude like me."
The engine roared to life, drowning him out.
The man's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as the city lights blurred past.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the city, someone else's life was about to take a completely different turn.