I'm Priyatama Sharma, nineteen, and currently losing my mind in the best possible way.

The room is chaos-hairpins flying, bangles clinking, and my three traitors (aka my best friends) are circling me like hyenas while I try to perfect my winged eyeliner.

The mirror in front of me is fogged from all the giggling and the AC struggling against twenty excited girls.

"Priya, babe, if you poke your eye one more time, we're going to have to perform Sheila ki Jawani with a pirate patch," says Riya, snatching the kajal from my hand.

"Excuse me, this is art," I snap back, swatting her away.

"And unlike some people, I don't want to look like I applied makeup with a broom."

That earns me a collective gasp and a pillow hurled at my head.

"Drama queen," mutters Sana, adjusting her red dupatta.

"You're literally performing the most dramatic song in existence tonight. Save some theatrics for the stage."

I grin, finally satisfied with the sharp flick of my liner. I stand up, twirl once in my black-and-gold lehenga (short enough to move, blingy enough to blind), and strike a pose.

"Tell me I don't look like a full-on item bomb."

"You look like trouble," says Neha, smirking. "Especially for a certain someone who's been asking about you all week."

I freeze mid-pose. "Who?"

They all exchange looks and burst out laughing.

"Oh, you know who," Riya sing-songs. "Tall, annoying, thinks he's God's gift to economics department-Mr. Ekaksh Rai Singhania."

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see my brain.

"Please. That man lives to irritate me. Last week he corrected my presentation in front of the entire class like I'm some toddler."

"And yet," Sana leans in, "he couldn't stop staring when you walked past him in the corridor yesterday."

"Delusional," I declare, but my stomach does a tiny flip. Whatever. Not thinking about him.

We rush out to the lawn where the sangeet is in full swing-lights everywhere, dhol beating loud enough to wake the neighbors, and my sister- Priyanshi looking like a literal queen on stage with her groom.

Our turn comes. The DJ announces us, the lights dim, and the opening beats of Sheila ki Jawani drop.

I take center stage, chin high, smirk locked and loaded.

The second the lyrics hit-"My name is Sheila... Sheila ki Jawani..."-I let go.

Hips, hair flips, attitude dialed to a hundred. My girls are killing it behind me, matching every step, but I know all eyes are on me because I'm serving main-character energy tonight.

I scan the crowd mid-spin, and there he is.

Ekaksh. Standing near the bar, arms crossed, looking annoyingly perfect in that black kurta. And he's staring. Not casually glancing-full-on staring. Like he forgot how to blink.

Good.

I lock eyes with him and hit the part I've been waiting for.

I point straight at him (dramatic, yes, but I live for this) and mouth the lyrics with extra spice:

"Paisa, gaadi, mehenga ghar... I need a man who can give me all that... Jeb mein khali, fattichar-no no, I don't like it!"

The crowd screams. My friends lose it behind me. I toss my hair, turn away like I just rejected the entire male species.

And then-oh my God.

The beat shifts. Someone jumps onto the stage.

No. Not someone.

Him.

Ekaksh freaking Rai Singhania strides right up to me, grabs my hand like he owns the place, and starts dancing.

The DJ (bless him) switches to the male part of the song, and Ekaksh's deep voice joins in, low and teasing:

"Chal, yahan se nikal... Tujhe sab laa dunga... Kadmon mein leke tere jag rakh dunga..."

He spins me out, pulls me back in, one hand firm on my waist, eyes locked on mine with that stupid half-smirk he always wears when he knows he's winning.

The crowd is going feral. My friends are screaming. My sister is laughing from her seat. And I?

I'm trying not to smile like an idiot.

But I can't help it-I match his energy, step for step, throwing in extra sass just to mess with him. I push him away playfully on beat, he pulls me right back.

We're basically having a full dance battle-slash-flirt session in front of three hundred people.

When the song ends, we're both breathing hard, inches apart, and the applause is deafening.

He leans in just enough that only I can hear.

"Fattichar, huh?" he murmurs, voice all low and amused.

I tilt my head, grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"Prove me wrong, Rai Singhania."

And then I walk off stage like I didn't just set the entire night on fire.

But I feel his eyes on me the whole way.

Game on.

I'm a Moron, and right now I'm regretting every single life choice that led me to this economics lecture at 9 a.m. the morning after the sangeet.

My head is still buzzing from last night-the lights, the screams, the way Ekaksh's hand felt on my waist when he spun me like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times.

I didn't sleep properly. Kept replaying that stupid smirk and his "Prove me wrong, Rai Singhania" line I threw at him.

And now here he is, sliding into the seat right next to me like the universe is personally trying to ruin my day.

I don't even look at him. I pull out my notebook, flip it open with extra force, and start doodling random swirls like I'm super focused.

"Morning, Sheila," he says, voice low and way too amused.

I freeze. Pen stops mid-swirl.

Slowly, I turn my head and give him the deadliest side-eye in my arsenal. "Excuse me?"

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly relaxed in a plain white shirt that somehow makes him look even more annoying. "You heard me. Thought it suited you after last night's... performance."

I scoff loud enough that the girl in front turns around. "Please. That was just a dance. Don't flatter yourself into thinking it meant anything."

"Oh, it meant something," he says, tilting his head.

"Especially the part where you pointed at me and basically announced your dowry demands to the entire family."

My cheeks heat up, but no way am I letting him win this.

"Dowry demands? Wow, someone's ego is writing cheques his jeb can't cash."

He grins-actual full grin, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle and my stomach do traitorous flips.

"Careful, Priyatama. Keep talking about my jeb and people might think you're interested."

I choke on air. "In your dreams, Malhotra."

"Funny," he murmurs, leaning in just a little, "because you were definitely in mine."

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Nothing comes out. My brain has officially short-circuited.

He notices-of course he does-and his grin turns smugger.

Professor walks in at that exact second, thank God, and starts droning about supply curves or whatever.

I immediately face forward, pretending to take notes like my life depends on it.

But I can feel him watching me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him tap his pen against his notebook, then slide it over-right into my space.

There's a tiny note scribbled on the corner of his page:

"Still waiting for you to prove me wrong."

I glare at the words. Then at him.

I grab my pen, scribble underneath in bold letters:

"Dream on, fattichar."

I shove the notebook back toward him.

He reads it, chuckles quietly, and writes something else before pushing it back.

"Tonight. Library rooftop. 8 p.m. Bring your attitude."

I stare at it. Then at him.

He's already looking at the professor, face perfectly innocent, like he didn't just declare war.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the stupid smile trying to break free.

Fine.

Game on, Ekaksh Rai Singhania.

I write one final line, underline it three times, and slide the notebook back.

"Don't be late. I hate waiting."

And then I spend the rest of the lecture pretending I'm not counting down the hours.

🏵️❖═❖🏵️

I swear if one more person tells me "rooftop at 8" like it's a cute little invitation, I'm going to yeet myself off one.

But here I am, 8:05 p.m., climbing the library stairs with Riya, Sana, Neha, and-because the universe loves drama-Kabir.

My bestie since forever, the one guy who actually gets my sarcasm without getting offended.

He's laughing at something Sana said, his arm casually slung over my shoulder like it's no big deal.

It is a big deal to someone, apparently.

The second we push open the rooftop door, I spot Ekaksh leaning against the parapet, surrounded by his usual squad.

And right next to him, glued to his side like she's scared he'll vanish, is Rhea.

His girlfriend.

Tall, pretty, Instagram-perfect Rhea who keeps throwing side-eyes at every girl who breathes in his direction.

Great. This is going to be fun.

His eyes find me instantly.

They flick to Kabir's arm around me, narrow for half a second, then slide back to my face with that infuriating half-smirk.

"Late as usual, Priyatama," he calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Fashionably," I shoot back, shrugging Kabir's arm off only because I don't want to give Ekaksh the satisfaction of looking bothered.

"Some of us don't just roll out of bed looking... whatever this is."

I gesture vaguely at his fitted black shirt and jeans.

Rhea laughs like I just paid him a compliment. I ignore her.

Our groups merge awkwardly-small talk, forced laughs, someone cracks open a bag of chips

Kabir stays close, whispering dumb jokes in my ear that actually make me laugh out loud.

Every time I do, I feel Ekaksh's stare like laser beams.

After twenty minutes of this weird tension, Ekaksh pushes off the wall and saunters over, hands in his pockets.

"Truth or dare?" he asks the circle, but his eyes are locked on me.

Everyone cheers like this is the best idea ever.

Bottles are spun, secrets spilled, mild dares fly around.

Then, of course, the bottle lands on me, and one of his friends-grinning like an idiot-says, "Dare."

Ekaksh doesn't even hesitate. "I dare Priyatama..." he pauses for effect, "...to kiss me."

The rooftop goes dead silent for two full seconds before his friends erupt in hoots and whistles.

Rhea's smile freezes on her face.

My girls gasp.

Kabir raises an eyebrow at me like, you good?

I laugh. Short, sharp, dangerous.

"Bold of you to assume I'd want your germs, Rai Singhania," I say loudly, standing up.

Everyone's watching now.

But I walk straight up to him, close enough that he has to tilt his head down to hold my gaze.

His smirk wavers-just a little-when he sees whatever's on my face.

I lean in slow, deliberate, like I'm actually going to do it.

I watch his eyes darken, his breath catch.

Rhea shifts uncomfortably behind him.

My hand comes up, fingers brushing his jaw like I'm about to cup his face.

And then-

CRACK.

My palm connects with his cheek in a clean, perfect slap. Not hard enough to really hurt, but sharp enough to echo across the rooftop.

The entire group inhales collectively.

I step back, smiling sweetly.

"There. My palm kissed your face. Dare completed."

Ekaksh blinks, stunned, cheek already turning pink. Then-unbelievably-he starts laughing. Low, surprised, genuine.

"Damn, Priyatama," he says, rubbing his jaw, eyes sparkling with something that looks annoyingly like admiration.

"You win this round."

Rhea looks like she's about to cry or explode-I can't tell which.

His friends are losing their minds laughing. My girls are screaming

"YAS QUEEN" behind me. Kabir just gives me a slow clap like he's proud.

I flip my hair, turn on my heel, and walk back to my side of the rooftop.

"Next time," I call over my shoulder, "dare me to do something I actually want to do."

I don't look back, but I swear I can feel his eyes burning into me the rest of the night.

And honestly? Best dare ever.

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