258Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8l7DhlRYGB
The next morning, Zoya Malik entered campus not as a student, but as a queen preparing for battle. Her friends flanked her like courtiers, buzzing with the gossip of the day, but her mind was elsewhere. She scanned the lawn, the corridor, the benches — until she found him.
Ayaan sat beneath the neem tree near the library, sunlight spilling through its branches onto his notebook. His pen moved steadily, lines of neat handwriting flowing like rivers across the page. There was nothing rushed about him. He had the patience of someone who lived without deadlines, without the constant hunger to prove himself.
Zoya walked towards him, her heels clicking against the stone path, each step deliberate. Conversations hushed around her — they always did — but this time, she wanted only one pair of eyes to notice.
Ayaan didn’t look up.
She stopped in front of him, tilting her head, a practiced smile curving her lips. “You’re in my English Lit class, aren’t you?”
He lifted his gaze then, slowly. His eyes were darker than she expected, steady and unreadable. Not impressed. Not intimidated. Just… calm. “Yes,” he said simply, and returned to his notebook.
The dismissal was so casual it left her breathless. Boys usually stumbled over their words, tripped over themselves to keep her attention. But he? He had given her the smallest acknowledgment possible and gone back to his work.
Zoya lowered herself onto the bench without invitation, crossing one leg over the other. “You didn’t tell me your name,” she pressed, refusing to let silence win.
He set his pen down, polite but firm. “Ayaan.”
“Ayaan,” she repeated, letting the name linger on her tongue like it was a secret. “You always sit alone. Don’t you have friends?”
His lips twitched at the corner — not a smile, not quite. “I have what I need.”
The words stung, though she didn’t show it. She leaned closer, her voice softening into a mock sweetness. “And what do you need, Ayaan? Books? Chai? Or maybe…” Her eyes glittered, “…something better?”
For the first time, his gaze sharpened. He studied her, not the way others did, not with admiration, but with a kind of searching. And then, he shook his head, quiet but sure.
“What I need can’t be bought, Miss Zoya.”
The words dropped between them like glass shattering. Her chest tightened, not with hurt but with something far more dangerous: humiliation.
Her friends, watching from a distance, burst into muffled laughter. She could almost hear them: “The mighty Zoya Malik ignored again.”
Zoya forced a laugh of her own, rising gracefully as though the moment hadn’t pierced her pride. “Interesting answer,” she said, her voice steady though her hands trembled at her sides. “Let’s see if you keep saying that.”
She walked away, her perfume lingering behind her. But inside her chest, a storm raged.
It was no longer curiosity.258Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHDaWQA2G9O
No longer teasing.258Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhf4QHeiBeV
This had become personal.
Ayaan’s refusal wasn’t just about him. It was about her pride, her crown, her identity.
And Zoya Malik had never let anyone strip her of that.
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