The campus was bustling with energy. Banners fluttered in the wind, fairy lights blinked softly against the mid-morning sun, and the stage stood tall at the centre of the courtyard draped in gold and crimson. Today was the annual function and everything had been planned to perfection.
Backstage, students were rushing with last-minute touches. Dupattas being pinned, makeup hurriedly fixed, and performances rehearsed under breath.
Outside the college gates, just as the anchor’s voice echoed through the speakers announcing the beginning of the event, a sleek black Porsche purred to a halt.
Its arrival turned heads. The luxury car glinted in the sunlight like something out of a movie scene. The doors opened in smooth sync, and out stepped two men in black three-piece suits perfectly tailored, effortlessly stylish, and radiating a dangerous calm.
The Principal and senior teachers hurried toward them with folded hands and formal smiles. Clearly, the Shekhawat Brothers had arrived.
The crowd adjusted itself, whispering and murmuring who were they?
Rows of students sat cross-legged in front of the stage. Some were ready with harmoniums and tablas for the group singing, others adjusting ghungroos for the group dance. The event unfolded like clockwork. Laughter, claps, and performances filled the air.
And then came the final act.
Two girls walked onto the stage. Draped in traditional attire, one in emerald green, the other in deep maroon, their anklets chimed as they took position.
Saanvi Iyer and Aadhya Sharma.
As the music started, the courtyard went silent. Their movements were poetry. Graceful yet fierce, expressive yet serene, classical dance came alive in their gestures, their eyes, their footwork. They twirled, leaped, and struck each beat with rhythmic precision. The crowd couldn’t look away.
And neither could the Shekhawat brothers.
Sitting in the front row, Ishaan Shekhawat and Reyansh Shekhawat stiffened as they watched. Their expressions shifted from indifference to disbelief.
Because the girl with the sharp eyes and confident rhythm?
Was the same girl who had slapped Ishaan across the street that day.
Reyansh leaned forward, brows raised.
“Bhai… yeh toh wahi hai.”
Ishaan didn’t respond his eyes fixed, stunned, caught somewhere between admiration and ego.
They both sat frozen, staring at the girls. Not blinking. Not breathing.
Because on stage, under those lights they weren’t just girls anymore.
They were fire.
When the music ended, the crowd erupted in applause.
Saanvi and Aadhya bowed, hands joined, hearts racing but as their eyes fell on the front row, they froze.
Their jaws dropped.
“Wait—what the hell,” Aadhya whispered, clutching Saanvi’s arm.
“Why do they look like—”
Before she could complete her sentence, they quickly bowed to the audience one last time and darted backstage, breath shaky.
Behind the curtain, both girls peeked out like detectives behind enemy lines.
Aadhya whispered, “Mera wala toh maal lag raha hai…”
Saanvi smirked, biting her lip. “Aur mera toh patakha lag raha hai.”
They giggled… just for a second.
Until they turned and bam.
Right behind them stood Reyansh and Ishaan.
Close.
Too close.
Reyansh brought his phone to his ear dramatically. “Hello, Purush Helpline?” he said with mock seriousness. “Yahan do ladkiyaan hume sareaam ched rahi hain. Pleaseeeee helpppp.”
Ishaan chuckled. Smooth. Dangerous.
Both Saanvi and Aadhya went pale.
Saanvi instinctively took a step back, but Ishaan moved forward closing the gap between them. Slowly, deliberately.
He leaned in just enough, his breath warm, and brushed his lips near her ear.
“Thappad… zor se marti hai aap,” he whispered.
Saanvi stood frozen. Heart pounding. Words jammed in her throat.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Aadhya looked over — stunned, confused, half-angry, half-scared.
Reyansh’s eyes met hers. He tilted his head and softly asked,
“Aapka Leg thik hai abhi? Miss limpyyy”
Aadhya narrowed her eyes. “Limpppyyyy???? Ek to itni tej dhakka de diya car se to Leg to tut hi jayegaaaa or limpyyyyy bolrheeeee.”
Reyansh raised his hands. “Sorry sorry, Miss volcanoo wo to tum mere car ke samne aagai thi.”
“Ohh to ye bhi meri galtiii haiiii?” she shot back.
“100%."
Aadhya was speechless partly because she wanted to throw slap, and partly because, well… he looked so good in that suit.
Meanwhile, Saanvi was still trying to recover from Ishaan’s whisper. She looked up at him, finally finding her voice.
“You— What are you doing here?”
Ishaan’s lips curled into a smirk. “Chief Guests, remember? We fund this college now.”
“And stalk girls you get slapped by?” she shot back.
He grinned. “No stalking. Just… coincidence or fate.”
“You deserved that slap.”
“I agree,” he said, surprising her.
She blinked.
“I deserved the slap. But now… I deserve you.”
“Whaaatttttttt?”
Ishaan looked at the her in admiration "Aapko pasand karte hai hum.”
Saanvi blinked once. Twice.
"Hame.. pasand?" she echoed, her voice suddenly a whisper.
His eyes held hers intense, unwavering. No smirk this time. Just quiet honesty wrapped in danger.
“Aapko pasand karte hai hum,” he repeated.
“Tabse... jab se aapne woh thappad maara aaj tak kisiki himmat nahi hui hamse tej awaaj me baat karne ki aur aapne to sidhee........”
Saanvi’s breath caught.
This had to be a joke, right?
Behind her, Aadhya had fallen suspiciously quiet. Because Reyansh? He was just… staring at her like she’d walked straight out of a dream.
“Dekho,” Reyansh said casually, “Mujhe tumse bas yeh kehna tha ki tum jab waha gir gai thi to chota Ha thi lagri thi.”
Aadhya squinted. “Excuse me?”
Reyansh grinned. “Matlab baby elephant.”
“Ek chamat me isko hi Hathi ka baccha na bana du mai,” Aadhya muttered, but her cheeks betrayed her.
Back in the corner, Saanvi stepped away from Ishaan, shaking her head lightly.
“No. No no no. You’re just..this is a joke. You don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to,” Ishaan said gently. “That’s why I came.”
“To a college function?” she scoffed.
“To your house,” he said.
Saanvi froze. “Whaaatttttt?”
Ishaan glanced at his watch. “You should probably head home. Your uncle-aunt must be waiting.”
He turned to Reyansh. “Chalein?”
Reyansh gave Aadhya one last glance. “Bye, baby elephant.”
“Bye” she snapped.
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