Simran's POV
Orientation was loud.
Too many people trying too hard.
Too much perfume. Too much neon.
And way too many boys who thought smirking was a personality trait.
I walked in late — but not because I was nervous.
I just liked entering when heads were already turned, so I wouldn't have to turn mine.
Black tee. Low bun. Lip gloss.
Minimal effort. Maximum damage.
I took a seat in the third row. Didn't speak. Didn't smile. Just pulled out my pen and started doodling on the corner of the paper like I wasn't aware of the dozen eyes stuck to me.
Except one pair.
His stare?
Hot. Still. Undeniable.
I looked up once.Big mistake.
He didn't look away.He tilted his head — like he already had plans.
I smirked.
Because I knew boys like him.
But he didn't know girls like me.
Junaid's POV
She walked in like she didn't owe anyone a damn explanation.
Didn't laugh. Didn't fumble. Didn't even look around.
Black tee. Sharp collarbones. Lip gloss that made sin look cute.
My jaw clenched the second I saw her.
Sameer whispered beside me:
> "New girl. You see that walk? Bro. Bro."
I was already seeing too much.
The way her shirt hugged her waist, the slight sway of her hips, that no-nonsense glare she threw when someone brushed too close to her.
My type. Too much. All at once.
I watched her take a seat. Didn't sit with anyone. Didn't speak.
She wasn't trying to get attention.
Which is exactly why she got mine.
I leaned back, biting my lip.
"She's trouble.
"So go get into it," Armaan nudged.
"No rush," I smirked. "Girls like that? You don't rush. You suffer."
And I was ready to suffer.