Chapter 3 – The Reunion by Fate

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Miraal’s POV

Baba dropped me off at the college gate in his navy SUV, leaving behind the scent of his cologne and a fluttering in my chest. Maybe Ami was right—I should’ve come earlier. Now I’m wandering unfamiliar corridors, clutching my tote bag like a lifeline, asking strangers for directions like a lost tourist.

It’s 8:05 a.m.

My vintage watch ticks louder than my thoughts.

As I turn a corner, I crash into someone tall.

“Ouch!” I mutter.

“Sorry, I didn’t see anyone coming—”

“It’s okay, aou—” My words stop mid-breath.

We both pause.

I want to hurry and go but before I can go,

he clears his throat. “Are you a newcomer? Transfer student?”

I nod slowly. “How do you know that?”

“Well…” he hesitates. “A professor sent me. Said a transfer student might show up... running. So I should show her the way.”

I narrow my eyes. Then I laugh. And he weakly laughs too.

“Haha—okay, that’s oddly specific. Why would a professor know I’d be late?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Uhh, I mean… he saw you running and guessed you were the rumored transfer. So...Yeah.”

I stare at him. He starts sweating.

Dude, relax. I’m not the FBI.

“Rumored?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah. The faculty gets notified about transfers. Word spreads.”

“Hmm.” I raise a brow. “You’re awfully nervous. It was just a question.”

“Haha—yeah. It’s actually my first day too. As the assistant to the professor who asked me to guide you.”

“Mmhmm.” I don't believe him, but I let it go.

“You just need to go straight, then take two lefts. Your lecture hall’s right there.”

“Ohhh.” My tone softens. “Well, thanks. Best of luck on your... assistantship.”

“Sorry for holding you up!”

I wave and dash off, muttering,

“Weird dude…”

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Assistant’s POV

“Did she understand the directions, Ahmed?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

Professor Azlan’s voice crackles through my Bluetooth earpiece.

I exhale.

Barely escaped that one.

Sir Azlan’s plans always put me on edge—he makes the moves, I clean up the mess.

Azlan Qadeer Rajput. College biology professor by day.

Secret boss of one of Pakistan’s top covert agencies by night.

I’ve been his assistant for seven years—since he was 18.

He’s cold. Distant. Brilliant.

And until now, immune to charm.

But ever since that brief moment at the service station… he’s been different.

He noticed her. Remembered her. Ordered background checks and surveillance.

This isn’t curiosity. It’s something else.

Obsession? Or something deeper?

I just hope she recognizes him.

Because if she doesn’t… I have a hunch that all of this might break him.

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Miraal’s POV

Following the directions, I finally arrive at the lecture hall.

My eyes scan the room—and then I see her.

Emaan.

My best friend from before. From Lahore. Before I shifted to Islamabad

She’s chatting with a guy, her face animated.

Classic Emaan. I know every expression. I sneak up behind her and tap her shoulder.

“Hey!”

She turns—and gasps. “MIRAAL!?”

I smile, arms open for a hug.

She offers a handshake instead. Odd.

Still, I go in for the hug. She allows it. Barely.Because I can feel her pushing me subtly.

Weird.

I place my pink tote on a desk and start to sit when she says,

“Miraal… I’m sorry. I promised this seat to another girl.”

“Oh... okay.”

It stings. I don’t show it.

I walk away, pretending not to feel the cold in her voice.

“Hello, beautiful! Wanna sit with me?”

Ew. Instant ick.

Before I can reply, another guy jumps in.

“She’s sitting with me, actually.”

What is this, a desi Bachelor audition?

I ignore both and find a row with three empty seats near the front. Peace at last.

As I start pulling out my biology book, I feel a quiet presence. I look at the entrance and there is a girl standing.

Scanning all room and finally decides to come sit near me.

A girl with red hair and porcelain skin. She looks like she stepped out of a painting—calm, poised, untouchable.

I smile. “Assalam-o-Alaikum!”

“Walaikum salam,” she replies gently.

Her voice is so soft. Almost like music.

“Are you new? Transfer student?” I ask

“Yes. I came before you though” she replied.

She says nothing more. Quiet, but not cold. I like that.

We sit in companionable silence—until I break it.

“So… who’s this Sir Azlan everyone’s whispering about?”

I’d overheard girls literally squealing in the hallway.

She blinks at me with a look "seriously? You don't know?".

Still she replies “Biology professor.”

“Oh? Isn’t he our class teacher too?”

“Yes.”

Her answers are short, but I sense more behind them.

“But why does everyone act like he’s a K-drama lead?”

She tilts her head. “Because he kind of is.”

“Really?” I lean in. “Let me guess. 30s, tall, mysterious, never married?”

“He’s 24.”

“WHAT?”

My brain short-circuits.

“A professor at 24? Of biochemistry?”

“Yup. Every girl has a crush on him. But he’s untouchable.”

“Untouchable?” I scoff. “Men like that are usually the biggest womanizers.”

She shrugs. “Not this one. He’s... different.”

“How so?”

“He’s cold. Brutally honest. Doesn’t blink before shattering hearts.”

“Yikes.” I wince. “Emotionally bulletproof?”

“Exactly. Atleast ten girls confess every week. He rejects them all.”

I love the way she is opening up with me and how our Convo is going with flow.

“What’s his full name?”

I asked him his full name because if she knows it maybe she is one of those girls who are crushing over him.

“Professor Azlan Qadeer Rajput.”

Rajput.

Power practically echoes from the name.

“He’s rich too,” she adds. “From one of the top ten richest families in Pakistan.”

My jaw drops.

“How have I never heard of him?!”

She smiles faintly. “I wondered the same thing when you first asked.”

So the reason she knows his full name is because he is a famous and known person.

I check the time. 8:30 a.m.

“The class was supposed to start at 8. Where is he?”

She frowns. “He’s never late. Not even by a second. This is… strange.”

Then—

Silence.

The kind that ripples through a crowd like a signal.

I look toward the stage.

And I freeze.

No. No way.

This isn’t happening.

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Next Chapter Preview:

I can’t believe my eyes. My heart isn’t racing—it’s sprinting.

There he is.

Grey eyes. Stormy yet calm eyes.

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