Then: (11 years ago)

"Welcome Fall Freshman batch! It is with great pleasure that we open IBSA's doors to four years of loafing- cough- learning for yet another bunch of starry eyed idiots- err- wallets- err-letsjustskipthispart.
Dear readers, yours truly has come to know that this year's freshman batch includes celebrity progeny. Not revealing names, but if you find her, do lemme know. I could do with some free designer-wear! *Wink*...." (Nitty Gritty Issue number 321, Dated 4th September 2013)
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It's hard to hide when you arrive at school in an armored vehicle. Institute Of Business Science And Arts (IBSA) is Karachi's top ranked school, and caters to students from all sorts of backgrounds. There are scholarship winners from destitute families, ambitious middle class population who have invested their all in this pricey education...
...and then there are people like me. People from 'old money' families, whose mothers are too damned overprotective to send them away to Oxford (despite endless pleading, and tantrums)

I am wearing a nondescript dress shirt with baggy jeans. A thin brown cashmere shawl helps hide my upper torso; my heart-shaped face almost hidden by the huge hipster glasses Mom got for me. They keep slipping off my tiny nose. #Fashion. My long dark hair is severely tied into a neat bun. I look the opposite of approachable with my blank expression. Perfect for my agenda.

People stopped staring at me once I stepped away from my Land Cruiser and the posse of guards Mom insists on traveling with.

First day of University, and I can't wait to be rid of this place. There are so many eager people here, it'll be difficult to avoid contact with other humans. I wordlessly accepted society brochures from overly helpful senior students. Male seniors were on the lookout for freshman damsels in distress.

"May I guide you to classes?"

"Will you allow me to carry that heavy bag?"

"Oh, you're looking for the cafeteria? I was just heading that way..."

I imagined what it would sound like if everyone actually spoke their minds for today.

"I really don't give a shit what teacher you have for the next slot, but you're kinda hot, so I'll pretend to care...atleast until I find another damsel."

"You do realize that we have huge-ass maps posted in each building's foyer don't you? but I won't ruin your blonde moment; instead, my goal is to send you a facebook request before we reach the library."

"Yes, I'm a fairly intelligent female freshman species. Yes, I'm fully aware where the Auditorium is located, but I curled my hair specially for today, so I'll take any sort of attention I can manage to get from you."

"I'm trying so hard to be nice to you without being bro-zoned for the next four years...."

The same overly gracious seniors were treating male freshmen like deers at a hunt. I saw two guys being thrown unceremoniously in a highly unsanitory looking pond. The ritualistic teasing is affectionately termed "Ragging". It was sort of like the Freshman population's rite of passage, which went on for the first few days of starting university. Even though the School registrar was supposedly very strict about such things, as a retired army general, he only answered to "General" and possibly "Herr Hitler".

I overheard a bunch of Bimbos actually ecstatic about being ragged. That's when I first heard his name.

"Ohmigaah! Syra! This really cute sophomore ragged me *insert giggle* He made me sell boxer shorts to some freshman guys." She blushes like she just got proposed or something. "He even gave me his cell phone number in case I need help. See, Azaan Malik." She waves her cellphone under her friends' nose.

Her friend scrunches up her nose in recognition. "I know this dude. Daniyal's brother is a friend of his. Trust me, that's not why he gave you his number..."

I managed to avoid prolonged, personal contact with most people for two days straight. I attended classes, pecked at my lunch in some lonely corner during one of my study gaps, and fled home as soon as my classes ended. However, On day three, my luck ran out.

My business undergraduate degree included an Introduction To Management course. The teacher hadn't showed up for his first class, and there were no signs of him in today's class either. I sat patiently staring at the wall clock along with a bunch of other agitated students.

"You know, we can leave after twenty minutes if the prick still doesn't show up." A burly dark skinned guy muttered to his friends. "It's university policy..."
My eyes flitted to the Micheal Kors watch on my wrist. 14 minutes.

A cute, pony tailed girl seated in front of me turned to face me.

"Hi there. I'm Pareeshae. I'm a hostelite from Islamabad. You have really smooth skin y'know..." She had huge exotic eyes and a very self-assured aura about her.

I just blinked in shock. Is she talking to me?

I'm so used to people ignoring me, it's bizarre that someone would willingly single me out for a conversation. Sometimes, when people finally notice me, I want to make a creepy face, and whisper, "You can see me?"

"Uh, thanks." I nervously tug my shawl closer to my face. My looks are absolutely unremarkable. Regular brown eyes, regular brown hair, regular tanned caramel skin. The added midgetness of Five-Feet-nothing, coupled with my skinny limbs added to the travesty. The poor girl probably had to rattle her brains to think of a compliment as an ice-breaker.

When people learn who my mother is, the first thing they do is, scrunch up their noses in shock, and go, "Wow. you look nothing like her!"

It's hard to compete with someone who was voted Vogue Pakistan's "Timeless Beauty Of The Year" five times in her life.

I just kept fiddling with the tassles at the end of my shawl, and avoided eye contact with her. She didn't get the message though.

"So. What's your name?" She chirped.

"Layla." I muttered shortly.

"Hi Layla! It's good to know you!" She extends a heavily ringed hand towards me. I politely shook it. "So. Are you a day scholar? Or a hostelite?"

"Day scholar." I replied. I was wistful at her luckiness. She gets to come here from another city to study. Her mother didn't dent her career out of paranoia.

"I'm loving the hostel life! It's so much fun with all the instant friends, parties, junk food...." She chatters on about a life I have no interest in. "...miss my family a lot though. My Mama says I talk a lot. She thinks my roommate will murder me in my sleep or something. Do you think I talk a lot?"

"Yes. You do." I shrugged. Maybe this will shut her up. Sometimes, my rudeness pushes people away too. They're so confused when a seemingly shy person like me shoots a blunt comeback.

Here's a fact about introverts like me: We're not shy. We're just not all that excited about socializing.

She stares at me, surprised. "Well that's direct. I like you. My older sister Hanna says that University friends won't always be straightforward. I think I'll keep you around." She grins widely at me, making me groan inwardly.

My distress was interrupted by the arrival of a file carrying student. The idle chatter in class died down as he whipped out a marker and began scrawling the course name on the white board. He was really tall, his dark hair shorn in the close-shaved army buzz favored by most guys these days. His lean muscles were pronounced in the casual T-shirt he wore under an open shirt. He was also, kind of hot. Like a serious 9/10 on a hotness scale.

"Salam class! My name is Khizer Butt. And I'm Professor Ghani's Teaching Assistant." There was a smattering of snickers at his name.

The guy sitting beside me leaned over to his friend's desk, "Kissher Butt?" They fell into immature snorts of laughter. Boys.

"Yes, yes. My name is hilarious. Thanks a lot Mom and Dad." He grinned back, the dimple in his left cheek deepening. "My sisters Qisma and Rubya have it worse."

Even I cracked a smile at that one, as the class howled with laughter.

"Management with professor Ghani, is one of the very few easy A's you'll scrape out in this PressTeeGeeUss institution." He rolled his tongue with the psuedo accent he was trying to mock. He spent the next ten minutes giving us shortcut advice on acing this course.

"Decentralization, value-addition, communication barriers, SWOT analysis...." He scrawled the words on the board. "These four words. Use them everywhere in your essays and reports, and he'll probably adopt you." he winked at a pretty girl seated in the front row.

"Now. Maybe you don't know this, but Ghani doesn't like being addressed by his actual name." The TA flung himself on the chair behind the teacher's desk, and propped his feet on the desk.

Pareeshae frowned at this info, "What do we call him then?"

"Your Highness." He shot back casually, tossing markers and catching them.

"Excuse me?"

"Address him as your majesty or your royal highness. He's pretty crazy." He pointed at the burly guy sitting in the front row, "You. Dinesh. How will you address him? Pretend I'm Ghani."

Dinesh scowled at him, "I'm not doing this crap. Who does he think he is? Queen Elizabeth?"

"Well someone here doesn't want an A." The TA sang out annoyingly. I saw a tiny metal piercing studded in one of his ears. I had a sudden urge to touch it. Weird.

Dinesh grumbled before muttering out the salutation.

"With feeling Dinesh!" Khizer popped open a Lays packet, munching on the snacks. "Try a curtsy. It'll bring out more emotion."

"I'm not auditioning for pygmalian over here man!" Dinesh snapped back. He really was one pissed off hulk. His muscled torso made it hysterically funny to imagine him bowing and curtsying to anyone. The class was snickering again.

The TA moved around the room, asking names, making them bow, and curtsy and your majesty themselves. He'd often stop to crack jokes and generally cranked up the class's atmosphere. I was slumping in my seat, praying for a distraction. This whole scenario was grating on my nerves.

"Hey there four eyes!" He stood right in front of me, grinning his dimpled grin. My heart raced at his nearness, while my brain was furious at his jibe over my glasses. "What's your name?"
I ignored him by pointedly playing with my phone. The class craned their necks to watch the show.

He leaned over to snag the student ID card tied to my bag, and I caught a whiff of his subtle cologne in the process. I gritted my teeth, and still refused to give him the attention he craved.

"Layla Hayat." He gave a low whistle, "You probably have the coolest name ever. Isn't the literal meaning of Layla, Night? And Hayat is Life?"

I gave a tiny shrug, hoping he'd misconstrue my silence as dumbness, and move on. No such luck though.

"So, you're actually Night Life." He perched himself on the desk in front of me. "What exactly do you do at night?" He mock whispered, garnering some laughs.

I turned red with embarassment, and suppressed rage, but I managed not to retort. The last thing I wanted to do was, to establish a reputation during my first week here.

"Well then, Night Life. Give us your best curtsy." His eyes were alive with mischief.

I snorted at that, "That's not happening." The glasses perched on my nose slipped a bit, causing me to push them back up, and ruin the moment.

His eyes widened, "Oho! She speaks!"
He led a chorus of wolf whistles at this. My collar heated at this sort of attention. I wasn't used to being noticed, within large groups.

"If you want a decent grade in this class, you should really work on your attitude. Ghani doesn't tolerate non royals like us." He reminded me.

"Excuse me, but I'd rather fail than bow and scrape to some delusional crackpot Management Professor." I yanked my bag off the chair, fully prepared to storm off, but a gaping, balding, middle-aged man standing in the doorway gave me pause. The class turned silent as they noticed the newcomer.

The man turned perplexed to a tall, skinny guy following him, "Khizer? Is this the right class?"

I saw the first Khizer nonchalantly moving towards the second exit door.

Khizer 2.0 nervously rifled through some files before affirming the class number. I stared horrified at the teacher I just loudly proclaimed as a delusional crackpot, (and who looked very normal, and professional, may I add)

"YOU! HOW DARE YOU SET FOOT IN MY CLASS AGAIN?" Professor Ghani yelled when he finally spotted Khizer The First lurking at the back. "Azaan Malik! You're not allowed to sit in any of my classes! Do you realize this is part of my employment agreement with the Dean?" The teacher looked like he was about to have an apoplectic attack. A nerve was pulsing visibly in his endless forehead.

Psuedo Khizer's reponse was to exit the class after executing a smart bow, and yelling, "All's well that ends well, your highness!"

The class burst into absolute chaos after that, and it took a while for the situation to make sense. We had been the target of a communal "Ragging". I have no idea why my peers were howling with laughter, and tweeting about the incident. Almost inconsolable with grief was our management Professor, who kept muttering about "Renewed agreement papers" and "Restraining Orders"

"I think you were pretty smart not to succumb to his teasing." Pareeshae followed me out of the class when the hour ended. I gave her a tentative smile back, Hmm. Maybe she isn't that bad...

This was my first encounter with the infamous Azaan Malik. I was fully planning on making it my last.

Author's Note:
Hello there! :D it's been a while, and it's very unlike me, not to update regularly, so sorry for that. Maybe this book is a bit too different from the last one.

Anyhoo....All the flashback chapters will kick off with excerpts from the University's Gossip Column, Nitty Gritty.

Don't forget to Vote and Comment! <3