Xavier’s College stood like a dream in the middle of Mumbai — grand, sunlit, buzzing with energy.

Old architecture wrapped in youth.

It wasn’t just a college. It felt like a whole world.

Zoya stood at the gate with her backpack clutched tightly, her heart thudding loud in her ears.

She wasn’t scared of people — just the newness of everything.

New city.

New crowd.

New identity.

> “Don’t worry,” Aarfa whispered beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder. “You’re going to own this place.”

Zoya smiled. A small, shaky one. “Let’s just survive day one, yeah?”

---

As they entered the main building, Zoya felt watched.

Not in a bad way — but like everyone was noticing the “new girl” energy she carried.

She kept her head down, letting Aarfa lead the way.

The classrooms were lively, the corridors smelled like coffee and books, and every corner felt like it had a hundred stories.

Aarfa dragged her to the canteen during break.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the gang.”

Zoya hesitated. “Maybe I can meet them later—”

But it was too late.

---

They walked to a large table outside under the shade, already full of voices and laughter.

> “Guys! This is Zoya,” Aarfa said with a grin. “She’s my best friend from Jharkhand. Be nice or I’ll bite.”

Zoya gave a small wave, unsure what to say.

The group was loud, colorful — and suddenly quiet when she spoke.

One of the girls, with a little too much makeup and an obviously fake smile, raised an eyebrow.

> “New admission, huh? From where again?”

Her name was Jiya.

Zoya answered calmly, “Bokaro.”

Jiya gave a tight smile. “Cute.”

But someone else, a soft-looking boy with headphones around his neck, grinned.

> “Welcome to the jungle. It’s crazy here — you’ll fit right in.”

Zoya smiled. Okay. Maybe not everyone was bad.

---

And then came him.

The noise shifted before he arrived.

Heads turned. Laughter lowered.

Zoya glanced up and froze.

Black tee. Sharp jawline. Messy hair. Basketball tucked under one arm like it was part of him.

He didn’t speak when he joined the table — just sat down casually and took a sip of water. His eyes scanned everyone — fast — like he always knew what was going on.

For a second, they landed on her.

Zoya blinked.

It wasn’t a romantic stare.

No violins. No butterflies.

But it stung.

Like he could already see past her silence.

Aarfa leaned in and whispered, “That’s Akif Malik. Final year. Captain of the basketball team. Quiet, intense, top of the class, and completely allergic to drama.”

Zoya whispered back, “Good. I’m not here to cause any.”

Aarfa smirked. “Yeah, well… drama tends to find him anyway.”

---

Akif didn’t speak to her.

Not even a nod.

But before he left the table, he gave her one last glance.

A sharp, unreadable one.

And that was it.

No sparks. No sparks at all.

But somehow, she couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes later that night.

---

That day, she wandered the Xavier campus alone during lunch, notebook in hand. She wanted to sketch, maybe write.

She found herself near the basketball court — empty now.

A breeze passed.

She sat on the bleachers and opened her notebook.

And just like that…

The ball hit the rim.

Zoya looked up — and there he was again.

Akif. Alone. Playing like the court was his temple.

His movements were smooth. Sharp.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

And he… didn’t look at her once.

But she stayed.

Not because she was curious.

But because for the first time in Mumbai, she felt still.

---

> She didn’t know his name just hours ago.

But now, something about him was stuck in her chest like a heartbeat she hadn’t noticed before.

---

To be continued...

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