The Space Between Hate and Want

Asher Malik hated mornings.

Too loud. Too bright. Too many people pretending to be alive.

He leaned against the cold pillar outside the main college building, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes half-lidded like he didn’t care about anything at all.

That was a lie.

Because the moment Riya Sen walked through the gates, the world narrowed.

She wore white today. Simple kurti. Hair loose. No effort. And still—every head turned.

Asher’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t look at her directly. He never did. He watched reflections. Glass windows. Shadows. Anything except her face—because if he looked too long, he forgot how to breathe.

Two boys fell into step beside her.

Laughing. Talking too close.

Asher’s fingers curled slowly.

“Disgusting,” he muttered.

Riya stopped suddenly, adjusting her bag. One of the boys leaned in, saying something low. She frowned.

And then she turned—and walked straight into Asher.

Books slipped from her arms, hitting the floor with a dull sound.

“Seriously?” Riya snapped, bending to pick them up. “Do you just stand in people’s way for fun?”

Asher crouched, picked up a notebook before she could. His fingers brushed the corner—the one with her name written in neat ink.

Riya Sen.

He handed it back without looking at her.

“Maybe,” he said lazily, “try looking ahead instead of assuming the world owes you space.”

Her head snapped up.

There it was.

Fire.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Malik,” she said sharply, “but you’ve been getting in my way since day one.”

He finally looked at her.

Big mistake.

Her eyes were angry—but tired. Like she carried too much and refused to show it.

“My problem,” he said quietly, “isn’t you.”

She scoffed. “Funny. Because you sure act like it is.”

She walked away without another word.

Asher stayed frozen for a second too long.

Then he punched the pillar.

The classroom was suffocating.

Riya sat near the window, chin resting on her hand, pretending to listen. She could feel eyes on her. Always could.

A boy slid into the empty seat beside her.

She stiffened.

“Hey,” he said, smiling too easily. “You’re Riya, right?”

She didn’t respond.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he continued. “You seem—”

“Not interested,” she said flatly.

He laughed. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I don’t need to.”

Asher watched from the back row.

The way the guy leaned closer.

The way Riya’s shoulders tensed.

His foot tapped once. Twice.

“She’s not interested.”

The room went quiet.

Riya turned slowly.

“Asher,” she said warningly, “I can handle my own conversations.”

The boy looked between them. “What’s your deal, man?”

Asher stood.

He walked down the aisle, stopped right beside Riya’s desk.

Close enough to feel her warmth.

Close enough to lose control.

“My deal,” he said to the boy, voice calm but empty, “is you not understanding boundaries.”

The boy scoffed. “And who are you to decide that?”

Asher smiled.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Someone who doesn’t ask twice.”

The boy muttered something and left.

Riya stood up immediately.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “You don’t get to speak for me.”

Asher leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“Then stop letting idiots think they have a chance.”

Her breath hitched.

She hated that.

Hated that he affected her like this.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, grabbing her bag. “I can’t stand you.”

She walked out.

Asher didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because if he followed her, he’d do something he couldn’t undo.

That evening, the sky was already dark when the boys gathered behind the abandoned canteen.

They laughed too loudly. Talked about girls like trophies.

“I swear,” one said, “she’ll say yes eventually.”

A shadow moved.

The first punch came out of nowhere.

Bone met bone. A cry. Someone fell.

“What the hell—”

Asher grabbed the second boy by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

“Say her name again,” Asher said softly.

The boy spat blood. “What—Riya? What about—”

Asher’s fist connected.

Again.

Again.

The third boy tried to run.

Asher caught him, twisted his arm until he screamed.

“Stay,” Asher whispered, eyes empty, “away from her.”

“She’s not yours!” the boy cried.

Asher froze.

For half a second.

Then his voice dropped.

“She doesn’t need to be.”

He let them fall.

Walked away with bloodied knuckles and a shaking chest.

He washed his hands in the sink near the hostel.

Red spiraled down the drain.

He stared at his reflection.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

Because no matter how much he denied it—

Every part of him already belonged to her.

End of Chapter One