29th June, 2025

Kinza had mastered the ancient art of reverse ghosting. It was simple: spot Zidan Ali from a hundred feet away, instantly disappear behind the nearest pillar, vending machine, or overly leafy bush, and reappear only when the coast was clear.

In the few days since the basketball court incident-where she had accidentally, publicly existed in Zidan Ali's path-she had earned herself a strange status on campus. People stared. Whispers followed her like perfume. Some girls looked impressed; others annoyed, like she had committed a crime by even talking to the unattainable, mysteriously brooding Zidan Ali and lived to tell the tale.

Zidan, meanwhile, remained the campus iceberg-stoic, silent, and cold enough to send chills down your spine. His daily routine was as fixed as a timelapse reel: drive in with unapologetic arrogance, park beside the Forbidden Spot without ever daring to touch it, walk in with his backpack slung low and a resting face that could make mirrors crack, and only ever speak to three people-Shahan, Zaan, and Muaaz.

If Kinza hadn't already formed a strong opinion of him being obnoxiously arrogant, she might've actually wondered what made a guy that good-looking look so... sad sometimes.

But that wasn't her problem.

Kinza was attempting invisibility. She avoided Zidan like he was a contagious disease. If she spotted that signature leather jacket in the hallway, she did a full 180. If she heard Shahan's nonchalant laugh echoing through the canteen, she ducked behind vending machines. If Muaaz or Zaan appeared anywhere within her vision, she practically blended into walls like an undercover ninja with social anxiety.

She stuck to class, avoided common areas, and had convinced herself that caffeine could fix everything. Which is why, on one oddly quiet Thursday morning, she found herself at university earlier than usual, clutching her first cup of coffee like a lifeline while she waited for Maya and Noor.

The campus was unusually still. The usual chorus of honking, chattering, and someone badly playing a guitar hadn't started yet. Kinza strolled slowly, enjoying the silence, her eyes sleepy but her mind already narrating things like she was in a drama serial.

She plopped down on her favorite bench-the one with the least amount of bird poop-and took a sip of her coffee. Just as she was scrolling through memes on her phone, she heard the low purr of an engine.

Her eyes wandered lazily toward the campus gates, which opened to reveal-

A car.

But not just any car.

No, this was the car. The kind that didn't belong in a student parking lot. Midnight black. Chrome trim. Matte finish. Low hum of the engine that practically purred money. It glided across the pavement like it owned every square inch of it.

Kinza stared at it, unimpressed.

"Oh yes," she muttered. "Dubai called. It wants its show-off back."

She chuckled at her own sarcasm, took another sip, and scrolled lazily through her phone, tapping aimlessly at reels she didn't even care about.

Until-

The car rolled past a few lots, straight toward that spot.

The Forbidden Spot.

Her thumb froze mid-scroll.

No. No, no, no, no-not again.

She looked up. Watched.

The car came to a halt, tires kissing the pavement of the infamous parking space. The very space that remained sacred to a mystery member of Zidan's clan. The one no one parked in. Ever.

Her jaw tightened. "Is this some kind of joke? Did they all take a vote to test my blood pressure this month?"

Then the door opened.

And for a moment, Kinza forgot to breathe.

The guy who stepped out of the car wasn't just good-looking. He was the kind of good-looking that felt illegal at 8:00 in the morning. Tall-definitely over six feet-with broad shoulders wrapped in a structured black coat over a gray sweater. His physique looked effortlessly athletic, like someone who worked out just enough to stay sharp but not bulky.

His face was sharp, all angles and shadows, with a strong jawline dusted with light stubble. High cheekbones. Velvety soft skin. Thick eyebrows that sat perfectly above dark, observant eyes. And his hair-messy, raven-black waves swept back as if the London wind styled it on purpose.

He didn't wear arrogance the way Zidan did. No smug grin. No obvious attitude. Just... quiet intensity.

Kinza blinked hard.

Then blinked again.

What on earth was he doing in that spot?

As he reached into the passenger seat for a black sling backpack, her brain kicked back into gear.

"Not my problem," she told herself.

But her legs twitched.

"I am not going over there," she muttered.

But her spine had already straightened.

"I'll ignore it."

She was already standing.

"Not my concern!"

She took three steps forward.

"Oh my God, I'm actually doing this again."

Yes. Yes, she was.

As the guy slung the bag over one shoulder and shut the car door with a clean thunk, Kinza cleared her throat.

"Hey!" she called out.

He turned his head lazily toward her. Slight smirk. Zero alarm. No guilt.

Kinza stopped short for a split second before recovering with a deep breath.

"That spot," she began, pointing at his car, "it stays empty for a reason. No one parks there."

The guy raised a brow, said nothing.

She continued, "I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's kind of a rule on this campus. That spot belongs to-well-not belongs, but is always kept vacant for a certain student. Zaheer. You might not know him but he is the ex-member of Zidan Ali And his gang."

He blinked. Slowly.

Kinza rolled her eyes. "This spot stays empty for a reason. Apparently, it's, like... off-limits."

He finally spoke.

"No."

Kinza stared. "No...?"

"I'm not moving it."

She gawked. "You can't just say no!"

"I just did."

She was floored. People usually at least argued. Not this full stop level of rejection.

"Okay listen, I'm trying to help you here," she snapped. "That group? Zidan and his crew? They don't exactly negotiate. Their definition of diplomacy involves baseball bats."

Still no reaction.

"I'm not exaggerating," she added, almost pleading now. "There's like a whole story behind that spot-used to be for one of their friends. He's not here anymore but the spot is still, like, sacred or cursed or whatever."

The guy stared past her, clearly uninterested.

Kinza threw up her hands. "At least pretend to care."

He adjusted his sunglasses. "You talk too much."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he repeated, coolly, "you talk too much."

Kinza gasped. Loudly. Overdramatically.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted two familiar cars enter the campus at speed-Zaan's SUV and Shahan's black beast. Their engines roared like the arrival of villains in a superhero film.

"Okay," she whispered urgently, turning back to the mystery guy. "Now's your last chance to move that car before it's turned into a convertible- by force."

She watched Zaan hop out and instantly climb onto the hood of his car like he was at a street-side theatre, ready for the show. He smirked, watching them with curious amusement.

And then came Shahan.

Bat in hand. Swag in every step.

Kinza's breath hitched. She knew what was coming. The last guy who parked there had almost wept. This guy... was about to learn a lesson in campus politics.

Shahan strode up, raised the bat, and swung it with all the flair of a professional player.

Kinza squeezed her eyes shut.

But... nothing.

When she opened her eyes, she found Shahan frozen mid-swing.

The bat hung in the air, an inch from the guy's face.

The stranger didn't blink. Didn't move. Didn't even twitch.

He looked Shahan right in the eye, his jaw locked and his gaze flat. If anything, he looked bored.

Even Shahan seemed momentarily thrown off.

The air between them was electric-taut and dangerous.

Zaan let out a low whistle from his perch. "Well, well, well. Look who's here."

Kinza looked from the guy to the bat to Shahan's face, to Zaan and her breath hitched.

Was this guy for real?

What was he made of? Titanium?

Her heart was racing, but the man in front of her looked like he was about to yawn.

And Shahan.

She expected rage.

She expected something from him.

But Shahan... smirked.

And slowly, he lowered the bat.

"Tch," he clicked his tongue. "Only one person ever stood like that in front of this bat."

The guy raised a brow, still silent.

Shahan stepped back, resting the bat on his shoulder, his gaze never leaving the stranger's face.

Kinza felt like she was in the middle of some silent standoff that had meaning she couldn't even begin to grasp.

Zaan hopped off the bonnet and strolled over. "Took your sweet time, didn't you?"

Finally, finally, the guy spoke.

"London traffic."

Kinza's jaw dropped. Like actually dropped. She looked between them, blinking furiously, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Zaan laughed, clapped him on the back like they were old friends. "Still allergic to greetings, huh?"

Shahan grinned. "Welcome back, Zaheer."

Kinza's heart stopped.

Kinza blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. The scene in front of her was not computing.

Wait-Zaheer?

The Zaheer Farooqui?

The fifth, vanished member of Zidan's gang?

The reason the Forbidden Spot even existed?

The three stood there-reunited, grinning, utterly unaware of the girl beside them slowly short-circuiting.

Kinza, still frozen, stared at Zaheer as if he'd grown two heads. The bat? The drama? The blatant ignoring of the campus's most untouchable rules? All made sense now.

Zaheer Farooqui.

The Zaheer. The original fifth member. The legend whose absence created the "forbidden" status of the spot. The name that still occasionally floated in campus whispers like he was some urban myth.

And she-like a true idiot-had just tried to lecture him about his parking spot.

Zaheer finally turned, his gaze locking with hers. There was a slight smirk dancing on his lips, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head.

Spoiler: he probably did.

He pointed back toward the parking space. "That," he said, tone calm and lazy, "is mine."

Then he pointed at himself. "I." He stopped, for dramatic purpose then continued, "am Zaheer."

Just that.

Like a mic drop.

Then, without waiting for a reaction, he slung his backpack across both shoulders and walked off with Zaan, and Shahan flanking him like a royal escort, leaving Kinza behind to process the tornado that had just spun past her.

She stood there, one hand mid-air, as if still trying to explain the rules of campus to someone who had literally written them.

Her mouth opened. Then closed.

"WHAT just happened?" she whispered to herself.

Her coffee had gone cold.

Her pride had melted.

And somewhere, in the back of her head, a tiny voice said-

"You just picked a fight with the legend."

Assalamualaikum!!

Back with an update. I'm sure you'll loved it😁

So finally our main lead have been introduced! What do you think about him? Charming? Mysterious?

Lemme know your thoughts.

Until next time....hasta la vista!