Laced in Your Ruin

Chapter [VI]

The air in Saint Warriors University was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of students chattering away. The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden rays over the sprawling campus, where ambitions intertwined with fate in the most unexpected ways.

Qays Malik sat in the farthest corner of the class, his posture exuding nonchalance as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. His jet-black hair fell effortlessly over his forehead, and his sharp features remained impassive as the professor droned on about literary theories. For most, attending this extra subject class was an obligation, but for Qays, it was a distraction-an escape from the suffocating inevitability of his future.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

With offers from the world's most prestigious universities for his undergraduate studies, Qays had once dreamt of escaping India, of leaving behind the shadows of his family name and starting anew. But the bitterness festering inside him had anchored him to Delhi, chaining him to the very life he had wanted to abandon. The Malik empire was his inheritance-an empire built on wealth, connections, and ruthless business strategies. His father, a man with a heart colder than steel, had never been a father to him-only a mentor sculpting him into his successor. His mother, a name he uttered only in recollections, had long chosen business over motherhood.

He could have left. He should have left. But something in him wanted them to see-see that despite everything, he would still be the last man standing.

And now, here he was, taking this class purely out of whim, brushing shoulders with students who knew nothing of the weight he carried.

Across the room, Inara sat, scribbling notes with an intensity only she could muster. Unlike Qays, she belonged here-not by birthright, not by some reluctant choice, but by sheer determination. Born into a humble household, she had spent her entire life proving that she was meant for more. Her dream was simple yet profound-to become an assistant professor at a reputed university. Teaching, for her, wasn't just a profession but a calling.

Money had never been abundant in her life, yet she never asked for it. While other students splurged on branded handbags and international vacations, Inara spent her nights freelancing, taking up odd editing jobs to earn her pocket money. Her parents, though supportive, could not afford luxuries, and she had made peace with that a long time ago.

But one thing she never compromised on was her dignity.

Even now, as she sat in the class, her focus unwavering, her mind was miles away-calculating how she would manage the next month's travelling expenses, whether the tuition fee she had saved would be enough, and if she should take up another project for additional income.

Qays, unbeknownst to her, found himself intrigued. Not by her presence-no, he wasn't one to notice people-but by the sheer contrast between them. While he rejected everything that had been handed to him on a silver platter, she fought tooth and nail for every inch of her success.

Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

The first class ended, and students began shuffling out of the room. Inara packed her books quickly, eager to head to the library before her next lecture. But as she stood up, her bag's strap got caught on the armrest, and she stumbled forward-straight into Qays's desk.

His dark eyes lifted lazily from his notebook, eyebrows arching as if she had personally offended him.

Inara, mortified, quickly steadied herself and mumbled, "Sorry."

Qays leaned back in his chair, studying her with an unreadable expression. "You always in a hurry?"

She blinked. It wasn't the words that surprised her, but the fact that he had actually spoken to her.

"Excuse me?" she said, frowning.

He gestured towards the chair, where her bag was still tangled. "Your stuff has an interesting habit of getting in the way."

Inara narrowed her eyes. "Or maybe some people have an interesting habit of always being in the way."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, amused by her fiery response. But before he could reply, a group of students entered, effectively breaking the moment. Inara took it as her cue to leave, pulling her bag free and walking away without another glance.

Qays watched her retreating form, shaking his head slightly. She was different-not like the sycophants who surrounded him, nor like the desperate girls who threw themselves at him for a shred of his attention.

Interesting.

The day passed, and by evening, the campus was alive with students gathered around the food stalls near the main gate. The aroma of piping hot samosas and masala chai filled the air, and the chatter of students formed an ever-present background score.

Inara stood at one of the stalls, waiting for her chai. Her evening routine was simple-class, library, and a cup of chai before heading home.

Just as she reached for her cup, another hand beat her to it.

"Seriously?" she huffed, turning to glare at the thief.

Qays, in all his infuriating glory, took a sip of the chai without a shred of remorse. "Not bad."

Her jaw dropped. "That was mine!"

He exhaled, as if this was a great inconvenience. "You can get another."

Inara clenched her fists. "Why would you take someone else's chai?"

"Maybe I wanted to see if it was worth stealing."

She exhaled sharply, trying to keep her composure. "Fine. You know what? Keep it. May it be the best chai you've ever had."

Qays smirked as she ordered another. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"And are you always this annoying?" she shot back.

He chuckled, something rare for him. "You're an interesting one, Inara."

She paused at that, her name rolling off his tongue too smoothly for her liking. She had never introduced herself to him.

"How do you know my name?"

Qays simply raised an eyebrow. "I know everyone worth knowing."

She scoffed. "Wow. Such humility."

He handed her the cup of chai-the one he had stolen-and walked away without another word. Inara stared at the cup, torn between throwing it at his retreating back and just accepting her fate.

What an insufferable man.

But as she took a sip, she realized something odd-she had been fuming just moments ago, but now, she was fighting back a smile.

And that was dangerous.

Qays never looked back after a conversation, hell he doesn't even initiate a conversation himself, or talking more than two syllables but something about this girl kept replaying in his mind. She wasn't scared of him. She didn't try to impress him. She didn't care who he was.

And maybe, just maybe, that made her the most intriguing person he had met in a long time.

Little did he know, their paths were now intertwined, and there was no turning back.