Four guys connected by family.
Four girls connected by friendship.
???.? ???.????.? ???.????.? ???.?
"Dont give me that look." I say, trying to break the eye contact.
"Like what?" He steps closer.
"Like if I ask you to burn this world, you...
~Nasha mohabbat ka ho ya sharaab ka, Hosh dono mai kho jate hai, Farq sirf itna hai, sharaab sula deta hai Aur mohabbat rula deta hai~🕊️🐚🪞
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Song: Blinding Lights🎶
I start my bike, the engine roaring to life, vibrating through every bone in my body. The familiar rush of adrenaline hits instantly, and I roll my shoulders, ready for the usual chaos. Saif's already grinning, probably imagining himself sipping cocktails on my yacht this weekend after he wins-if that ever happens.
"Azlan, not today, buddy," He says, adjusting his gloves with a self-assured grin. "Looks like you're gonna lose the bet, and I'm gonna be living the high life on your yacht."
I sigh, not even trying to hide the boredom in my voice. "Keep telling yourself that while you lose again." I turn to Faraz, who's already chuckling, probably plotting some kind of failed strategy to finally beat me.
"Not so fast, Faraz," Zian's voice cuts in, pulling up next to me. "You forget, I'm the one who gives Azlan a run for his money."
True, Zian's tough. The guy's got speed. Saif and Faraz, though? They're good for nothing more than being distractions.
Every race ends the same way-me in the lead, them fighting for second place.
I can already feel the win slipping into place, but then-Zaina (Zian's sister) is at the front now, counting down with that familiar gleam in her eyes.
"Three... two... one!"
I don't waste a second. Full throttle. The roar of my bike fills the air as I leave them all in my dust. Easy overtakes, effortless speed-today will be no different than any other. The finish line is just ahead, the university parking lot coming into view. A quick race to the end, and I've won. Again.
But then, as I get closer to campus, I spot her.
She's running. Not fast enough to be impressive, but fast enough to look like she's in some kind of panic. Her legs are small, but she's pushing them, her hair flying behind her. It's almost comical how determined she is to get to wherever she's going-until she's right in front of me.
I slam the brakes. The bike jerks to a sudden halt, the momentum slamming through my body.
Her scream is immediate, high-pitched and dramatic, as her laptop flings out of her bag. Her phone follows suit, skidding across the pavement like a dropped toy.
"Are you blind, or is this some kind of game?" I ask, pointing to the sign on the side of the pavement. "This isn't a crosswalk, trouble."
