Her smile hit me like a punch I didn't see coming.

One second I was fine—steady, controlled.
The next, everything inside me gave way.

How could she do that?
How could one smile pull me apart and stitch me together in the same breath?

Why does she get to me like this?
Why her?

Is this love?
Because if it is... it's terrifying

-Zaid

(ALIGANJ, LUCKNOW)

(ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL)

Gauri stood in the hallway, eyes fixed on the notice board.

"Diwali Celebration — St. Mary Secondary School. Looking for girls to dance in cultural event."

Her heart lit up at the words. Dance had always been her escape — the place she ran to when the world felt too heavy or when life bruised her in ways she didn't have words for. She would dance until everything inside her felt light again.

Because when her body moved with those movements - she forgot every pain that bruised her.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she read the notice again. Just then, two figures bumped into her from behind. She turned to see Zoya and Akshara, both grinning like they were hiding a universe of mischief between them.

"Kya kar rahe ho yaar tum dono," she whispered, pretending to sound annoyed — but her eyes softened, the corners of her lips twitching into a reluctant smile.
(Translation: What are you both doing?)

"Gauri sun, mujhe tujhe kuch batana hai," Zoya whispered, sharing a very suspicious look with Akshara.
(Translation: Gauri listen, we have to tell you something.)

Gauri's curiosity flared immediately. She leaned in.
"Kya hua?"
(Translation: What is it?)

But they only giggled harder.

"Yaar batao toh sahi."
(Translation: Tell me now.)

"Tu yaqeen nahi karegi but it's true," Zoya insisted dramatically, only making Gauri lean even closer with narrowed eyes.
(Translation: You won't believe it, but it's true.)

"Yaar batao na..."
(Translation: Come on, tell me.)

"Lunch break mein, promise. Abhi chalo class." Zoya said, already dragging Gauri away while Akshara laughed.
(Translation: I'll tell you during lunch break. Let's go to class now.)

"Yaar this isn't fair..." Gauri sulked with a small pout, which only made both girls laugh more.
(Translation: This isn't fair.)

Periods passed — and she barely heard a single word in class. Her distraction grew so obvious that she actually ended up getting detention from Mrs. Shalini. The entire class stared, shocked. Gauri — the smart, quiet, rule-following Gauri — in detention? It was practically historical.

And that was exactly how Gauri — the topper, the teacher's favorite — ended up getting detention from Mrs. Shalini.
HER? Detention?
A once-in-a-lifetime event.

And in the corner of the classroom sat Zaid, legs stretched out, pen spinning between his fingers, a permanent half-smirk on his face. He noticed everything.
The way Mrs. Shalini pointed at Gauri.
The way Gauri rolled her eyes before walking out.

God, she was sassy.
He had never seen that side of her.

But what caught him most wasn't her attitude — it was her smile.

She was smiling.
Really smiling.

Not crying like yesterday. Not broken, not quiet, not hurting.
She was smiling — and something in his chest warmed at the sight.

A real smile tugged at his lips. Not his usual cocky one. Something softer, something he wasn't used to showing.

Then it hit him —
She would be alone in detention.

Shit.
Shit.
Shit.

He couldn't leave her alone.

So he did what any backbencher legend would do.

So, of course, he did the one thing Zaid Iqbal was famous for.

He tore a page from his notebook, crushed it into a ball, grinned like the devil, and lobbed it right at the blackboard — where Mrs. Shalini was standing.

She froze. The paper dropped. Her expression darkened.

Everyone else stopped breathing.

"ZAID IQBAL. DETENTION. NOW."

Of course.
Who else?

Only the infamous Zaid Iqbal could do this.

Zaid only smirked, shoved his hands in his pockets, flipped his pen once, and walked out like he was the hero making a grand entrance.

Vikram and Akshay just stared, half impressed, half horrified.

Only Zaid could turn detention into a victory. A punishment into a moment of victory.

DETENTION - LIBRARY

Gauri stood inside the library, arranging dusty books on the shelves — her detention task. She sighed loudly.

Was this what they did in detention?

Seriously? Cleaning? 

Ugh. Boring.

Even worse, her mind kept drifting back to Zoya and Akshara's gossip. God, she needed to know.

Then she heard footsteps and turned.

Zaid.
A few strands of hair falling over his forehead.Hands in pockets.

A lazy smirk that made her heartbeat trip over itself.
Hair messy in the perfect way.
Freckles dusting under his eyes.

Her heart skipped — actually skipped — and she almost scolded it for misbehaving.

God. Why was he... pretty?

She blinked hard, snapping herself out of it.

He looked... annoyingly handsome.
Freckles soft beneath his eyes.
That stupid smirk that somehow looked better up close.

And that's when she remembered —
Yesterday.
Him fainting.
Him giving her his handkerchief while she cried.

"Aap theek hain?" she asked softly, her voice more nervous than she wanted full of guilt
(Translation: Are you okay?)

His smirk faded immediately. Something gentler settled in his expression. He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly shy under her gaze.

"Aap kal behosh gaye the..." she added carefully.
(Translation: You fainted yesterday.)

"Don't worry, I'm okay. Bas weakness... breakfast nahi kiya tha," he said, reassuring her.
He knew she blamed herself. He would never let her keep that guilt.

Gauri exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing as a small smile returned.

"Aapko bhi detention mili?"
(Translation: You got detention too?)

"Haan, m-mujhe b-bh-bhi," he smiled.
(Translation: Yes, me too.)

Silence settled — thick, warm, strangely intense.
He found himself staring at her longer than he should. Longer than was probably allowed in any holy book.

But he was Zaid Iqbal.
He had never cared about what was right or wrong.

So why would he start now?

Feeling the silence grow awkward, Gauri gently cleared her throat.
"I guess I should get back to work," she said, nodding at the pile of dusty books.

"Uh... I'll h-help," he said quickly.

Her eyes widened — surprised — but she nodded.

And just like that, they worked side by side.

Zaid kept stealing glances — every chance he got.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
The way she bit her lip when deciding where a book went.
The way her lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks.

Ya Allah.

How could someone be this beautiful just... existing?

He forced himself to look away, chest tight, breath uneven.
"I... uh... washroom," he muttered before rushing out.

Inside, he closed the door behind him, pressing a hand over his chest.
He could feel his heartbeat through his shirt — too fast, too real.

God, what was happening to him?

But even in his confusion, a smile pulled at his lips.
Her face kept flashing in his mind — her nose scrunch, her smile, her innocence.

God. She was cute.
Painfully cute.

And at this rate...
She was going to be the end of him.

Back in class bored out of their minds- Akshay , Vikram and Zoya, Akshara shared understanding glances.

Detention? Haan, chalo.

Of course they'd follow their bestfriends. Trouble came as a package. Because are you even bestfriends if you don't follow your bestfriends everywhere. Even if it meant going to detention.

One by one four crushed papers sailed towards the board. Then there it was Mrs Shalini's fury.

''FOUR OF YOU. DETENTION. NOW.''

They shuffled out with fake guilt pasted on their faces... and the moment the door shut behind them, they burst into laughter.

LIBRARY

They reach the library and see Gauri wiping the dust off the books while Zaid is arranging them according to the serial number. But they notice how Zaid's eyes keep lingering on Gauri again and again when she is not watching.

Zoya and Akshara rush towards her but as Akshara is rushing she is jerked back by force as she sees braclet caught in a watch. She looks up to 

She didn't need to look up to know.

To see its Akshay.

Of course - who else would it be.

And then there it is the smirk - slow and wickedly satisfied, on his face as he stares at her. Akshara gritted her teeth, tugging at the bracelet — except every pull only tangled it more.

''Dekh lo, Akshara even fate wants you to be close to me.'' Akshay whispers leaning in a whisper almost in her ear - taking in her frustrated expression and the way she bites her lips and of course time to time glaring at him looking up.

"Tum pagal ho," she muttered, trying for annoyance, but her voice wasn't steady.

TRANSLATION - ''YOU ARE CRAZY.''

Her breath hitched. Her heartbeat misbehaved.

''Haan hoon pagal.'' He leans in more closer until his face is inches from her then a softer. ''Lekin tumhara pagal hoon main.''

TRANSLATION - ''YES I AM MAD BUT I AM YOUR MAD.''

Akshara freezes when she sees him so close to her - a inch more and their noses would touch. One tiny movement and then - brush of his skin against her. The thought itself sends a shivers down her spine.

Her fingers scrambled to free her bracelet, wrist brushing his again and again — each accidental touch sending a jolt straight through her.

What the hell was happening to her?

God, what was wrong with her.

Akshay watched like he already knew - because he always did, when it came to her - he did.

''Tum jitna mujhse bhaagogi'' He whispers with a smile - a real one which says he knows and she should know it. He isn't going anywhere neither is she.

TRANSLATION - ''THE MORE YOU WILL RUN.''

"Utna hi paas paogi."

TRANSLATION - ''MORE YOU WILL FIND ME CLOSE.''

And then, with one easy flick, he untangled the bracelet — like it had never been stuck at all. Well, easy peasy for him.

He tapped her nose lightly, stepping back with that smirk she always claimed to hate.

Except today...

It didn't annoy her.
It made her heartbeat stumble.

And just like that — he walked away, leaving her standing there with her pulse racing

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

TRIPATHI NIWAS

Mandakini stood at the entrance of the house, fingers slipping against the rough jute of the flour sack. She tried again, breath straining, shoulders trembling.

There was a time she could lift two sacks at once.
Now, even one refused to budge.

She sighed, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Then a voice—warm, polite, unfamiliar—came from behind.

"Ji, aapko help chahiye?"

TRANSLATION - ''DO YOU NEED HELP?''

She turned.
A man stood a few steps away, shirt sleeves rolled up, hands in pockets, a small smile on his lips.

With no choice left, she nodded softly.
"Yes... I do. Thank you."

He lifted the heavy sack with ease, carried it inside, and then placed the rest of the groceries neatly near the kitchen.

Mandakini offered him a grateful smile.
"Thank you so much."

"Bas, ek insaan doosre ki madad kar raha hai," he replied.

TRANSLATION - ''JUST ONE HUMAN HELPING ANOTHER.''

"By the way, I'm Aksh. New neighbour."

"Oh!" she smiled back. "Welcome to the neighbourhood. I'm Mandakini. I live here with my husband and three kids."

He nodded. "I should leave—"

"Arre nahi, pehli baar aaye ho. Kuch toh kha ke jaiye."

TRANSLATION -''YOU HAVE COME FOR THR FIRST TIME. PLEASE WAIT I WILL GET SOMETHING.''

He froze at her insistence, but she was already somewhere between habit and hospitality, putting water to boil for tea. Six minutes later she handed him a cup.

Aksh smiled, taking it—his gaze lingering a little too long on her face.
Mandakini didn't notice; she was busy adjusting her pallu.

He finished his tea and handed the cup back.

And just then—

CREAK.

The door opened.

Bharat stood there.

Home earlier than expected.Dust from travel clinging to his uniform.
Jaw tightening the moment he saw Aksh... and the empty teacup in Mandakini's hand.

Aksh felt the weight of that stare instantly and slipped out quickly.

The moment he left—

THUD.
The door shut hard.

Mandakini swallowed.
"You came early...?" she whispered, as she turned back to put vegetables in the fridge.

She didn't even get the bag inside.

Bharat's hand wrapped around her arm—firm, unshaking—and in the next heartbeat her back was pressed to the wall, his body pinning her gently but unavoidably in place.

"Bha—"

Her words vanished as his mouth slammed onto hers.

The kiss was rough, hungry, almost angry.
But beneath it—hurt. Fear. Possessiveness.
The ache of a man who had been away too long.

His fingers gripped her waist beneath her saree, burning hot, while the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head exactly where he wanted her.

She gasped, and he devoured that sound—
breathing her in
like she was the only air he needed.

"Meri..."
He kissed her again, harder.
"...biwi."

TRANSLATION - ''MY WIFE.''

His lips dragged to her jaw, breath shaking.

"Dusron ki..."
A kiss to her throat.
"...madad nahi leti."

'TRANSLATION - 'SHE DOESN'T NEED OTHERS HELP.''

She tried to push lightly at his shoulders, breath trembling. She tried to understand what was wrong - why was he this desperate.
"Bharat—"

He didn't let her speak.
His mouth returned to hers, deeper, claiming, punishing himself more than her.

"Main hoon na..."
His whisper vibrated against her skin as his lips trailed to her collarbone.
"...sab uthane ke liye... sab sambhalne ke liye..."

TRANSLATION - ''I AM HERE TO HANDLE EVERYTHING.''

Mandakini's eyes softened.
He wasn't angry at her.
He was angry at himself.

He pressed another kiss—gentle, trembling—to her cheek.

"Woh... tumhari taraf dekh raha tha."
A kiss to the corner of her lips.
"Aur main..."
His voice cracked.

TRANSLATION - ''HE WAS STARING AT YOU''

''Yeh seh nahi sakta, Mandakini.''

TRANSLATION - ''I CANNOT TAKE THAT, MANDAKINI.''

Her breath caught.

He kissed her again, soft but desperate.

"Meri biwi."
Another kiss.
"Sirf meri."

TRANSLATION - ''MY WIFE...ONLY MINE.''

Her hands finally came up, gripping the hard fabric of his army uniform.

He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing unevenly.

In a whisper that sounded like an apology and confession at once, he muttered:

"Main duty pe hota hoon... tum sab akeli karti ho..."

TRANSLATION - I AM ON DUTY YOU ALWAYS HANDLE EVERYTHING ALONE.''

He kissed her throat gently—this one full of guilt.

"...aur aaj jab main nahi tha..."
A shaky breath.

TRANSLATION - ''AND WHEN U WASN'T HERE''

''Tumhe kisi aur ko madad ke liye bulana pada.''

'TRANSLATION - 'YOU HAD TO TAKE HELP.''

He kissed the corner of her mouth again, voice rough.

"Aur main bardaasht nahi kar paaya."

TRANSLATION - ''I COULDN'T TAKE IT.''

Before she could even react, he pulled her into a deeper kiss—the kind that said everything he didn't know how to speak aloud.

Hot. Fierce.
Raw with longing.

And between those final breathless kisses, he growled against her lips:

"Meri biwi ko kisi aur ki zaroorat nahi."
A final, desperate kiss.
"Woh sirf mujhe chahti hai."

TRANSLATION -'' MY WIFE DOESN'T NEED ANYONE SHE ONLY WANTS ME.''

Mandakini's arms slowly slid around his neck, pulling him closer—closer than he already was.
The moment her fingers curled behind his nape, Bharat exhaled a shuddering breath against her skin, his whole body trembling with the release of a tension he hadn't admitted he carried.

Her touch undid him.Completely.

His lips softened for a second, brushing her throat like an apology, then pulled back to capture her mouth again—kissing her slower, deeper, as if her arms around him had given him permission to stop being the soldier and just be... her husband.

Her Bharat.

He kissed her until they were both out of breath, and then he broke away only enough to look at her—eyes dark, voice hoarse.

"Tumne mujhe yaad bhi kiya tha...?"

''DID YOU MISS ME?''

The insecurity in his voice cut through her chest.

She cupped his jaw gently, nodding. She tried to reassure him she really did.

He closed his eyes for a moment, relief washing through him, and when he opened them again the jealousy was still there—but it had changed.
Softer now.
More vulnerable.

His thumb brushed the corner of her swollen lips.

"Main bas... tumhe kisi aur ke saath dekh nahi sakta."

''I CAN'T SEE YOU WITH ANYONE ELSE.''

She shook her head softly, trying to reassure him, but he didn't let her speak; he kissed her again, slower and more intense, like he was trying to erase every trace of another man's presence.

His mouth trailed down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat.
His voice was a whisper pressed into her skin:

"Main hoon na, Mandakini... tumhare liye. Hamesha."

'' I AM HERE. ALWAYS.''

His hands slid around her waist, pulling her firmly against him, and she held onto his shoulders tighter, her nails digging into his uniform. He groaned softly at the sensation—raw, unfiltered.

His forehead came to rest against her collarbone as he breathed her in, his grip tightening.

"Tum sab kuch akeli karti ho..."
A kiss to her shoulder.
"Aur main bas... har saal... tumhe chhod kar chala jaata hoon."

''YOU DO EVERYTHING ALONE AND EVERY YEAR I LEAVE YOU ALONE.''

Her fingers threaded through his hair. She tried reassuring she really did.

"Bharat—"

He lifted his head sharply, eyes blazing with emotion.He shook his head, jaw clenched.

"Main nahi de sakta tumhe kisi aur ke saath."

''I CAN'T BEAR TO SEE YOU WITH SOMEONE ELSE.''

His lips found hers again—hot, desperate—every kiss a mixture of apology and possession.

Then, between kisses, his words broke out in fragments:

"Tum... meri ho..."
He kissed her deeply.
"...sirf meri."
Another kiss, harder.
"Samjhi tum?"

She tightened her arms around his neck, drawing him even closer, whispering his name—breathless against his lips.

He groaned, burying his face in her neck as he held her like he had been starved of her for years.

And maybe he had.

He kissed her again, slower this time, every touch trembling with the weight of his guilt, his longing, his love.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered against her lips, voice breaking.
"Par main tumhe kisi ko dekh kar... apne aap par control kho deta hoon."

''I AM SORRY BUT SEEING YOU WITH SOMEONE ELSE I LOSE CONTROL.''

His fingers slid into her hair again, tilting her head gently as he kissed her one more time—so soft it hurt.

"Tum meri jaan ho, Mandakini."
A kiss.
"Meri saans."
A deeper kiss.
"Meri sab kuch."

Y''OU ARE MY LIFE. MY BREATH. MY EVERYTHING.''

Her grip on him only tightened.

And that ruined him entirely.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL

Gauri sat in the cafeteria beside Akshara and Zoya—though all her attention was fixed on Zoya, dying to know that one gossip.

The one gossip that had cost her a detention.

A bright, disciplined student like her... well, everyone has their firsts.

Akshara and Zoya, meanwhile, were far more focused on the lunchbox in front of them—Zoya had brought the famous sandwich her mother, Aisha, made so delicious that people practically worshipped it.

But Gauri was losing her patience now.

With absolutely no self-control left, she snatched the lunchbox from between them. Akshara and Zoya instantly froze... then glared at her like she had committed a crime.

"Kya hai yaar, Gauri?" Akshara narrowed her eyes, already mourning the stolen sandwich.

''WHAT ARE YOU DOING GAURI.''

"Chup kar tu. And Zoya—please—batao na kya baat thi?" Gauri demanded.

''SHUT UP AND ZOYA PLEASE TELL ME.''

Both girls went utterly still.
Of course she was impatient—curiosity was eating her alive.

"Oh haan, yaar! Main bhool gayi." Zoya smacked her forehead, muttered a sorry, then leaned in with a mischievous grin. She hooked her arms through Gauri's and Akshara's as if they were about to discuss top-secret government intel.

''OH SORRY. I FORGOT.''

"Acha, shock mat hona. And you cannot tell anyone. Promise?" Zoya whispered, all seriousness.

Gauri nodded quickly.

Zoya dropped the bomb.

"My brother likes you."

Gauri froze. No—she went completely still.

Zaid likes... her?

Her brother's best friend?

"Is this some joke?" She stared at Zoya, but the look on both their faces told her this wasn't a prank.

Her heart began thudding painfully.
Someone had a crush on her?
That had never happened before.

"How do you know?" she whispered, breath caught in her throat.

"Well... Zaid told me," Zoya said, shrugging like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Akshara nearly squealed. "Oh my god, you both should date! You'd be the perfect couple, I swear!"

"So you're a matchmaker now?" Zoya raised a brow at her, amused.

But Gauri barely heard them—she was still staring at Zoya, trying to process the impossible.

And suddenly... things started clicking.
Why he was so soft with her.
Why he gave her his handkerchief.
Why he had helped her in the library today.

"Wait, you don't believe me?" Zoya smirked. "Fine, I'll give you proof."

"Proof how?" Gauri leaned closer despite herself. So did Akshara.

"As soon as lunch ends, we'll walk past the hallway... and you'll see how Zaid pauses to look at you."

Gauri's breath hitched.

The thought of someone stopping—just for her—made her chest flutter in a way she didn't know she was capable of.

God... it felt almost unreal.

The moment lunch break ended, the girls slipped into the corridor—pressing themselves against the corner like they were about to witness a crime instead of a teenage crush.

And there he was.

Zaid.

Leaning against the wall, hands tucked casually into his pockets, talking to Vikram with that annoyingly confident smirk he wore like second skin. His posture relaxed... completely unaware he was seconds away from losing every bit of that composure.

Gauri took one hesitant step forward—

And Zaid froze.

Not slowed.
Not paused.
Stopped.
As if the air had been knocked out of him.

His eyes snapped to her instantly—instinctively—like he was built to find her in every room without effort, without thought.

His breath hitched, sharp and quiet.

And then, under his breath, so soft only he could hear it—

"Ya Allah... how can someone be this beautiful?"

It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't cheesy.
It was stunned. Honest.
Like the words escaped before he could stop them.

Gauri didn't hear it.
But she saw everything else.

The way his smirk melted right off his face.
The way his chest rose in a shaky inhale.
The way something tender and completely unguarded flickered in his eyes.

Oh god.
It was true.
It was all true.

Zaid liked her.

Zoya and Akshara squealed behind her—but he didn't notice. He didn't notice anything.

Because for Zaid, the hallway dissolved.
Vikram's voice faded.
Every other person blurred into nothing.

All he saw was her.

His gaze softened to a degree she had never seen on him before—warm, almost aching with emotion he didn't dare name out loud. His fingers twitched at his sides, trembling slightly, as though he had to force himself not to reach out.

His heart was hammering.
So was hers.

His eyes skimmed over her face—slow, reverent, disbelieving—like he couldn't understand how someone like her existed, much less stood a few steps away from him.

God... what was she doing to him?

Why did she make him forget the world?

And why did he look at her like she was something he could never get enough of?

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

IQBAL RESIDENCE

Aisha sat on the edge of her bed, phone cradled in her trembling hands, her eyes fixed on the one message that had ripped through her peace like a blade.

"YOUR HUSBAND ISN'T LOYAL TO YOU."

Seven words.
From an unknown number.
Yet enough to make her entire world tilt.

She had brushed it off at first—because she knew her husband. Or she believed she did. A lifetime together, three children, years of shared prayers, laughter, and soft, unspoken promises. He had never once given her a reason to doubt him.

But the woman mentioned his dog tag.

Something only she and Iman knew.
A detail no stranger should ever know.

Aisha felt her breath falter, her fingers trembling around her phone. If the woman knew that... then she knew him. Knew him closely enough to touch what belonged only to Aisha.

Her eyes blurred as tears slipped down, heavy and hot.

No... it couldn't be. Iman wouldn't... right?

Her mind refused.
Her heart refused.
But fear squeezed around her ribs with merciless force.

Her thoughts drifted—helplessly, painfully—to their beginning.

They were so young when they married.
Full of foolish dreams and loud laughter, two people who had nothing but each other and the courage to build a future from scratch. Brick by brick, prayer by prayer, they had made their house into a home.

She could still hear his voice from those early days, soft and determined as he cupped her face and whispered:

"Mai hamare liye itna kamaunga ke kabhi kami nahi hogi."
I'll earn enough for us that you'll never know scarcity.

And he did.
He kept every word.
Every promise.

Aisha's chest tightened painfully as she remembered all the late-night conversations, his sleepy smiles, the way he held their children like his whole world lived in his arms. The perfect son, the perfect father, the perfect husband.

Never once had he given her a reason to complain.

But now... this message, this detail, this doubt—it clawed at her faith.

Her hands clasped together, her voice cracking as she whispered into the quiet room:

"Allah, please... mera ghar matt tootne dena."
Please don't let my home fall apart.

Her tears kept falling—but her heart still clung to the love she had built with him.

Because after all these years, she still believed in her Iman.
She still believed in the life they created together—
and she wasn't ready to watch it shatter.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL

Zoya stepped out of the washroom, drying her hands with her handkerchief while tucking back the loose strand that had slipped from her braid. She was about to walk away when that familiar, mocking laugh echoed down the corridor.

Her heart sank.
The mean boys. Again.

Rohan stood at the front of the group, smirking like he owned every hallway he walked through. He pushed off the wall and strolled toward her with that same irritating confidence she had grown to despise.

"Come on, Zoya," he said in a low, taunting voice. "Just say yes. Be my girlfriend. You know the whole school will adore us."

His friends laughed behind him, but Zoya felt nothing but pure disgust.

"Become your girlfriend?" she said quietly, anger tightening her voice. "Even if the world ends, I wouldn't."

Rohan's face darkened instantly.
No one rejected him — and definitely not like that.

He grabbed her wrist with a harsh, punishing grip. "How dare you reject me, you slut?"

Zoya tried to pull away, wincing as his fingers dug in, but before she could speak—

A punch cracked across Rohan's face.

She gasped and turned. Vikram stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a fury she had never seen before. His jaw tightened. His whole body coiled like a storm ready to break.

He jerked his chin at her—Move back. Now.

Zoya stepped behind him, rubbing the wrist that was already turning red.

Vikram took a step forward, voice deep and thunderous:

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH A WOMAN WITHOUT HER PERMISSION."
"SAMJHA?"

Rohan spat blood, rage flaring.
"I'll touch that slut however I wa—"

He didn't finish.

Vikram's fist crashed into him again.

And again.

And again.

Students watched in frozen silence.
Teachers shouted, rushing toward them.

But Vikram didn't hear anything.
Not Rohan's cries.
Not the teachers.
Nothing.

Until—

"Please... ruk jaiye."

Zoya's soft voice broke through everything.

Just like that, he stopped.
Her words held a power no one else had.

Mr. Gopal's voice sliced through the tension:

"PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. NOW!"

Vikram looked back at Zoya.
Her scared eyes.
Her shaking wrist.

It took everything in him not to turn around and finish what he started.

But he forced himself to walk away.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

Inside the office, the Principal slammed the file shut.

"WHAT IS THIS, VIKRAM? Reckless violence? This is unacceptable!"

Vikram lifted his eyes, calm now, but unbending.

"If beating a man who calls a girl a slut and forces himself on her is reckless, then... I'm okay being reckless, ma'am."
A pause.
"And I don't regret it."

Silence. Thick and sharp.

Because he was right—and everyone knew it.
People always blamed the one who defended a woman... never the one who hurt her.

Mandakini arrived moments later, breathless, fingers trembling as she clutched her dupatta. She had been chanting Om Namah Shivay ever since the call. Her son wouldn't hurt someone without reason—she knew that.

The Principal sighed.
"Mrs. Tripathi, your son has beaten a student—"

But Mandakini wasn't listening.
She was looking only at Vikram.

"Vikram, what happened, bacha? Tell Ma."

His voice was quiet but steady.

"Maa, he called Zoya a slut. He grabbed her hand without permission."
A pause.
"So I showed him his place."

Mandakini didn't question him.
She didn't need to.

Her gaze shifted to Zoya's bruised wrist, and her heart clenched—not with fear... but with pride.

In a time like Kalyug, when monsters roamed freely, a man—a Ram—had to rise to defend a woman's honour.

And her son had done exactly that.

Mandakini straightened, her voice firm:

"I don't think my son did anything wrong. And I believe you know that too."

Without waiting for a response, she took Vikram's hand and walked out—her heart swelling.

All her years of upbringing, of teaching him respect, dignity, and courage...
it had all paid off.

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IQBAL RESIDENCE

Zoya walked back home with her brothers on either side of her—Zaid ranting nonstop about Rohan and his entire gang, checking her bruise every few steps, while little Zain marched beside her with his tiny chest puffed out, trying to look fierce and grown-up all at once. Both of them were doing their best to protect her in their own ways, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She kept thinking about Vikram.

Her brothers' best friend.
The boy who never talked much, who always minded his own business, who could have easily walked away today.

But he didn't.

He stepped into the fire for her.
He fought for her.
He took the blame for everything without once defending himself.

She hadn't expected that—especially not from him. And yet, the moment he stepped in front of her, she had felt something she wasn't used to feeling.
Safe. Protected. Seen.

If only more boys in this world were like him... how much better, gentler, kinder everything would be.

But then the image of his bruised knuckles flashed in her mind. The way his hands had bled when he kept punching Rohan.

Her heart twisted painfully.

He was hurt. And she couldn't do anything.

Ya Allah... please keep him safe, she whispered silently.

Before she knew it, they were standing at the doorstep.

The moment they walked inside, Zaid launched into a dramatic retelling, acting out half the lines as if he were performing on stage. Aisha hurried over, and the second her eyes fell on Zoya's bruised wrist, her expression turned dark.

"Haaye... kidhe padhe uss ladke ko?" she muttered under her breath, anger sharp in her voice as she cursed Rohan.

But when she heard someone had stepped up for her daughter... had protected her... Aisha's shoulders loosened. A tiny breath of relief escaped her.

None of the children noticed the uneasiness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands, or the tears she had quietly wiped away before they entered. They were too wrapped up in their own emotions—anger, fear, relief.

And Aisha let them.
She kept her pain tucked away, hidden beneath her soft voice and steady hands.

Because that is exactly what she wanted—
for her children to feel protected, even on the days she felt anything but.

10:00 AM

Zaid lay stretched across the bed, his head resting on his grandmother Amna's lap. Her fingers combed through his hair in slow, soothing strokes, the way she used to when he was a little boy running around with scraped knees and impossible mischief.

But today, he wasn't that little boy.
Today, his thoughts were heavier... softer... and all centred around one name.

Gauri.

How had she become so close?
So woven into the rhythm of his days?

He didn't even realise when it happened—
when seeing her smile became the highlight of his morning,
when hearing her voice steadied his entire mood,
when simply being near her felt like breathing easier.

It scared him a little...
and yet, it settled him too.

Because the truth was simple:
He was in love with her.
More deeply, more quietly, more helplessly than he had ever imagined for himself.

He let out a slow breath and spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"Sahi thi, Badi Ammi... aap ke Mihir ko kisi ne badal diya."

Amna paused, her hand stilling for a moment as if to tell him I'm listening.

He swallowed, the confession rising from somewhere he hadn't dared touch before.

"Pyaar ho gaya hai mujhe," he said, the words carrying both wonder and surrender.

Amna's smile bloomed—soft, wide, full of a grandmother's knowing pride.
She cupped the side of his face gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead, the gesture speaking more comfort than any words could.

"Never let her go, meri jaan," she whispered, her voice warm, steady, certain.

And for the first time in a long while, Zaid felt his heart settle—
as if just saying her name aloud had brought a little peace to the storm inside him.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Deewangi Writess