The girl who is love with her crush who is also her best' friend but story' takes turn when new guy enter in her life . how will it goes ?
After a series of misunderstandings, flirty banter, and undeniable chemistry, the protagonist finally realizes...
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Riyansh pov
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Stepping out from behind the professors, I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on me.
Whispers buzzed through the crowd like static, excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
It’s amusing, really—how predictable people are.
All it takes is a sharp suit, a confident walk, and suddenly, you're the most important person in the room.
I spot the crowd of juniors, and as I glance over them, I know exactly who I’m looking for.
My Aahana.
The moment I saw her name on the student roster for this college, it felt like fate. Out of all the places I could have been sent for my “senior year experience,” it had to be here—where she was.
Maybe the universe really has a twisted sense of humor.
As I approach the podium, I see her—frozen, wide-eyed, standing with her friends.
Ah, that look.
Fear. Confusion.
I can almost read her thoughts.
Why him? Why here
I’ve changed, and I don’t just mean the suit or the confidence.
The Riyansh she knew back then—the boy who teased her, stole her diary, made her life miserable—well, he’s still here, but there’s more to me now.
Now, I have a reputation to uphold. I’m no longer some kid playing pranks—I’m Riyansh Rajvansh, future CEO of Rajvansh Industries.
I’ve grown up. But Aahana? She still looks at me like I’m that same boy, and I can’t help but smirk.
When I start my introduction, I keep my eyes on her longer than necessary, just to see her squirm.
"Hey, I’m Riyansh Rajvansh, your new senior." The words roll off my tongue, but my gaze never leaves hers. I can see the panic in her eyes, the way she grips her hands, trying to steady herself. It’s kind of cute, honestly—how much I still affect her.
I finish my little speech and step back from the podium.
The girls in the crowd are practically swooning, hanging on every word.
I’ve seen it all before—girls giggling, whispering about how “hot” I am, how “rich” I am. It’s always the same, and it’s always easy. But none of them matter. None of them know the real me.
