Twelve years ago, when Kanika moved back to Rajasthan—her homeland—she joined Royals High School as a 7th-grade transfer student.
Her first day seemed ordinary enough. The school looked decent, and the classroom dynamics weren’t much different from her old school in Uttar Pradesh. Girls and boys were arranged in two neat columns—as if gender segregation was part of the syllabus.
Then came lunch break.
With no friends and no clue where the canteen was, Kanika wandered the corridors. That’s when a group of older boys approached her. Despite the uniform, they wore their arrogance like a badge—loud and glaring.
“Looking for something?” one of them asked with a smirk.
“Yeah, actually. The canteen,” she replied, casually.
“We’re going that way. Come with us,” said the tallest one. “You’re new, right? Mid-session?”
She gave a polite smile. “Yeah. My dad’s job.”
They walked together. The boys chatted about random things. Kanika didn’t think much of it—she’d had guy friends back in UP too. But something about this group felt off.
Her steps faltered as they veered into a shady part of the school—half-constructed and clearly abandoned.
Frowning, she asked, “Wait… where are we? This doesn’t look like a canteen.”
The tall boy stepped closer, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes locked arrogantly on hers.
“Listen, baby girl,” he said, oozing faux charm, “we were playing truth or dare. My dare was to kiss the first girl I saw. That turned out to be you. Not my fault. So drop the attitude and let me do it. I promise I’ll be gentle. Or you won’t like the alternative.”
Something snapped inside her.
She glared, a slow burn rising in her chest.
There were three kinds of boys she absolutely despised:
First — the ones who thought they were God’s gift to Earth just because they had a dangling pipe between their legs.
“Newsflash, champ — that little plumbing fixture doesn’t give you divine rights over anyone.”
Second — the ones who believed that just because they had money, girls would magically drop their morals and panties.
“Spoiler alert — cash might buy you snacks, not self-respect. Try again.”
And third — the pretty boys, the ones so used to seeing their own reflection they believed every girl must be dying to get with them.
“Honey, your face might belong in a catalogue, but your personality belongs in the trash.”
And this guy? He was a deluxe combo meal of all three.
Her eyes narrowed as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “And what made you think you could have your way with me, baby boy? Don’t mistake friendly for easy. And don’t take my decency for a damn invitation.”
She shoved him hard and turned to walk away—but the other two boys blocked her path.
“Ae chori, samajhti bhi hai kisse panga le rahi hai?” one sneered. “Jyada ud mat. Sikka chalta hai hamare baap ke naam ka. Jubaan aur pankh dono kaat denge.”
Kanika gasped dramatically, hand over her mouth, dripping sarcasm.
“Prabhu! What era was your father born in—Satyug? Dwapar Yug? Because as far as I know, coins haven’t carried anyone’s personal name since ancient mythology!”
Her tone dropped, firm and fierce.
“Nowadays, sweetheart, currency only bears the name of the Central Government of India.” She tilted her head. “Haww! You mean your baap is the entire Indian government? Impressive. Daddy issues in bulk, I see.”
Their faces twisted in anger. The tall boy lunged at her—but before he could get close, someone stepped between them.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure—unbothered, calm, and clearly commanding.
He raised one eyebrow at the attacker. Questioning them about the matter . His personality needs not to roll words through his tongue as his existence is itself enough.
The three boys froze, their tone suddenly respectful. “Hukum... she insulted my family.”
Hukum looked unimpressed. “Go on.”
“She called me a bastard... said I had many fathers.”
Kanika cut in before the drama could escalate.
“Haww, jhuthe ! I never said that—you’re the one who implied it.”she said, sweet and savage.
The boy tried to protest, “Hukum, see? Again she—”
“Enough!” Hukum roared, eyes blazing. “Since when did men of respect charge at girls—alone—and expect to be called honorable? Don’t speak of your family’s respect if they’ve never earned any.”
“But Hukum—”
“I SAID NOT. ANOTHER. WORD,” he growled. “I don’t repeat myself.”
With that, he turned to Kanika, his voice softening.
“Chaliye. Aap hamare sath aiye.!”
**"Aap chaliye hamare sath."**
That was the first time she looked at him properly.
He was… too handsome for a thirteen-year-old. An authoritative aura clung to him like a second skin. Those deep, dark eyes looked like they held entire oceans. Tall, well-built, with a gold stud glinting in his left ear and a complexion that rivalled hers.
Masculinity dripped from his raspy voice like honey over gravel.
He was a whole visual. Her eyes had every right to be grateful.
And that voice… soft yet commanding—left her with no room to refuse. Without a word, she followed him like a lost puppy. Neither of them spoke. He didn’t ask anything, being a man of few words. She, still trying to figure out what exactly to say after his earlier intervention.
But before she could frame anything, he stopped.
Abruptly.
She collided into his back and let out a frown. *Why the hell did he stop?*
He tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward the signboard in front of them.
“Your classroom,” he said simply.
*7-C.* Her class.
She blinked, stunned. *How the hell did he know?* She wasn’t even wearing her ID card.
But what shocked her more was what came next—he walked inside and sat down. On *his* seat.
Wait.
He had been in the classroom the entire time?
They were classmates?
She murmured in disbelief, “What a coincidence…”
Quietly, she walked to her own seat. The lunch break had ended, and classes resumed. Period after period passed, but her eyes kept sneaking glances toward the mysterious boy who had returned to ignoring her existence. As if he wasn’t the one who’d come to her rescue, as if his voice hadn’t invited her to follow him like a prince would summon a lost warrior.
*Maybe he’s upset. Maybe he thinks I’m ungrateful,* she thought. *I never even thanked him.*
She tried calling out to him a few times—but she didn’t even know his name. And with the classroom arrangement—boys and girls seated in separate columns, a walkway in between, and individual chairs—asking a neighbor was out of the question.
As soon as the final bell rang, her eyes locked onto him.
The moment he stepped out, she chased after him.
“Wait!” she called, panting slightly. She tapped his shoulder.
It was like the entire world froze.
Every student nearby paused—expecting a full-blown drama.
Because *no one* touched *Anakveer Rajput.*
He didn’t like people near him, let alone touching him. And yet—here was a girl, a newcomer, committing blasphemy in front of half the school.
**POV:**
*Like always, I was leaving school. And someone dared touch me. No one does that. Not here. Not ever. I turned around, ready to kill—with a glare sharp enough to slice steel. But then our eyes met.*
*Light brown. Her.*
*The same girl.*
*She’s been sneaking glances since class. Feisty. Bold. Kind of reckless. But real. She handled those goons without flinching, but still... I didn’t trust those bastards. I had to step in. Doesn’t mean she needed saving. Girl’s pure fire.*
*Interesting… let’s see what storm brews in that pretty head.*
“Yes?” he said, calm but guarded.
She smiled, stepping closer, and grabbed his hand for a handshake. “I’m Kanika Guhilot. You can just call me Kanika.”
Her sudden touch silenced the surrounding crowd like a dropped pin in a cathedral.
“I really wanted to thank you—for earlier. I didn’t even know your name, so I didn’t know how to get your attention. And in class… well, I didn’t want to shout ‘hey, savior guy,’ you know?” she laughed sheepishly.
He looked down at their joined hands, surprised.
“…Anakveer,” he said. “Anakveer Rajput.”
Only now did he respond to her handshake. Before, it was just her holding his hand. Now he was gently gripping back—with pride in his voice.
The murmurs around them grew louder.
*The untouchable Anakveer Rajput just shook hands with someone?*
She beamed. “So… friends?”
She leaned in playfully, “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your old buddies. You’re literally the only person I know here.”
He stayed silent for a moment.
Then, cool as ever: “I don’t have friends. I don’t mix with… low creatures.”
Her brows shot up. She yanked her hand away.
“Oh, so I’m a *low creature* now?”
His composure faltered—just for a second. He swallowed. *The great Anakveer gulped.*
“I didn’t say you are,” he clarified quickly.
“Oh? Then you do consider me a friend?”
A pause.
“…I guess yes. We’re friends.”
Her mood flipped instantly.
“Woah! My first friend in Rajasthan!” she exclaimed, looping her arm through his elbow.
Students around them nearly passed out in shock.
Anakveer blinked. “You mean in school?”
“No, I mean in Rajasthan only,” she clarified, her voice still upbeat. “I left when I was just five, so I have zero friends here. Just came back about a week ago. That’s why my Marwadi isn’t as polished as you guys — I understand and speak well, but the accent still has a bit of that UP flavor.”
Anakveer gave a simple nod, his expression unreadable.
But inside, something shifted.
Her sudden closeness wasn’t something he was used to. He’d spent years drawing invisible boundaries between himself and others — boundaries no one dared cross. Yet here she was, walking beside him like those walls never existed. Holding his arm like it was hers to hold. He never let anyone this close. And here she was—touching him like she owned him. Without permission. And strangely… he didn’t mind.
.
Every cell in his body tensed, not from discomfort — but from unfamiliarity.
She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t hesitate. She just... *was*. And somehow, in her carefree presence, he felt disarmed — seen, maybe even claimed — without a single word about it.
The feeling was foreign. Not unwelcome. Just intense.
And overwhelming in the strangest, quietest way.
He never let anyone this close. And here she was—touching him like she owned him. Without permission. And strangely… he didn’t mind.
As they reached the school gate, his driver opened the car door with a respectful bow.
“Khama ghani, Hukum-sa.”
Kanika’s jaw nearly dropped.
*Wait—Hukum?*
*What kind of schoolboy gets called Hukum ?
Anakveer simply gave the driver a subtle nod — a silent command that was somehow more powerful than a shout.
Then, he turned towards Kanika.
She stood there, wide-eyed, her earlier assumptions about him unraveling like a pulled thread. Until now, she’d thought he was just another classmate — maybe a little taller, a little quieter, a lot more handsome. But in that moment, it clicked.
He wasn’t just *someone* in the school.
He was *someone* beyond it.
The kind of someone whose silence spoke louder than others’ noise.
The kind of someone whose presence made seniors drop their bravado and bow their heads like scolded children.
The kind of someone even teachers didn’t dare to make eye contact with.
One by one, all the dots began connecting in her mind.
Those bullies back there? Practically shivering the moment he showed up — and they were seniors.
The pin-drop silence in the corridor when she tapped his shoulder?
The stunned looks from classmates when she held his hand?
Even the driver’s greeting — *“Khama Ghani, Hukum sa”* — full of reverence and restraint.
Still, Kanika being Kanika, tilted her head, smirked, and told herself with a mental shrug:
*"Chahe ye ladka vampire hi kyun na ho... mujhe kya fark padta hai? Mere hisaab se toh full-on ‘friends material’ hai yeh."
He turned to her. “Want me to drop you home?”
She shook her head. “No, my school bus is probably waiting. Bye, see you tomorrow!”
She turned and ran toward the buses… but halfway there, she turned around and sprinted back.
Before he could react, she leaned in, her face inches from his.
“Waise…” she grinned, “Aaj pata chala un ladko se milke, ‘type-C’ sirf charger nahi, insaan bhi hote hain.”
She burst into laughter and ran off, disappearing like a whirlwind, without even waiting for his reaction.
Anakveer stood frozen. Still recovering from her sudden stunt .
*Did she… come all the way back just to say that stupid joke?*
He stared at her retreating form, expression unreadable.
“…She’s really something, and definitely with zero filter in her tongue.”he mattered.
He climbed into hi
s car, shaking his head slightly.
But then his eyes drifted to his hand—the one she had held.
He could still feel the warmth.
*Are all girls this soft? Or is it just her… because of her chubbiness?*
A small, genuine smile broke on his lips.
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