I had lost count of how many times I sat at this dining table, waiting for a conversation that felt like more than a lecture. Tonight wasn't going to be any different. My Uncle adjusted his tie, my mother delicately stirred her tea, and my older brother scrolled through his phone as if the world revolved around him—which, in their eyes, it probably did.

"Kiara," my Uncle began, not even looking up from the pile of papers in front of him, "it's crucial that you focus this semester. Oberoi legacy students don't stumble."

I blinked. "I haven't stumbled," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "I'm doing fine."

"Fine isn't good enough," my mother chimed in. Her tone was soft, but her words hit hard. "Your grades are strong, but we need more than strength. We need... grace. Decorum. You understand, don't you?"

I swallowed hard, willing myself not to flinch. "I understand, Maa. I've kept my grades perfect, I've joined every club you've suggested. What more do you want from me?" as I gripped the edge of the table, biting back a sarcastic reply.

Decorum? Right. Wasn't it the same thing they said when my brother accidentally wrecked his car and got a pat on the back for being "young and adventurous"?

"This is important for the family, Kiara," my Uncle continued. "We can't afford a misstep. Your grandfather, your uncles, even your brother—everyone has excelled at this college. Your name comes with expectations. Your brother made us proud there, and now it's your turn."

They always said things like that. Like I was some backup plan for their legacy. Not a daughter—just an obligation. There it was again. The unspoken truth that my worth was tied to how well I fit into the Oberoi mold. my brother could do no wrong, and I? I was the wild card. The rebel.

"I understand, but stop trying to replace my dad when you can't." I said, my voice clipped.

But I didn't. Not really.

After breakfast, I left without saying goodbye. My mother would call it another act of rebellion, but it wasn't that. Not exactly. I just needed air.

Even though the Oberoi garage was a shrine to luxury—rows of cars, each shinier than the last—I grabbed my backpack and walked. The city buzzed around me, horns blaring and people rushing, but the noise inside my head was louder and walking to my destination worked as therapy for me.

What did they see when they looked at me? A liability? A checklist they couldn't tick off?

I reached the gates of the college, my sneakers scuffing against the cobblestones as I walked inside. The campus was quieter at night, the streetlights casting long shadows on the manicured lawns. I loved it here, but it wasn't because of the so-called "legacy." It was because, for a few hours a day, I could just be Kiara Oberoi—not my brother's little sister or my parents' biggest disappointment.

I sat on the stone bench near the fountain, staring at my reflection in the rippling water.

Wasn't I enough?

My morning started like any other. I slid into my usual seat in the front row of the lecture hall, ready to impress my professor and remind myself why I belonged here,a room that smelled faintly of old books and ambition. I was early, as usual, meticulously reviewing my notes when the door swung open with the kind of dramatic flair that only arrogance could produce.

And then he walked in.

The name whispered in hushed tones by the faculty for weeks before his arrival. The prodigal son of the Malhotra family. His admission mid-semester was unprecedented—a privilege that no one else could have secured.

Everything about him screamed trouble—the unbuttoned blazer, the careless smirk, the way his eyes scanned the room like he owned it. His admission was mid-semester, something the college had never allowed before, and it didn't take long to understand why.

"Mr. Malhotra," the professor announced, as if the name itself carried weight. "Take a seat."

He didn't rush. Of course not. He took his time, strolling down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the stunned silence, setting his Chai cup down on the desk right beside mine. I stiffened as he dropped into the chair, leaning back with an air of nonchalance.

When his eyes met mine, something in the air shifted.

And then he smirked.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my notes. But I couldn't ignore him. Not when his arrogance practically radiated off him like a neon sign. When class ended, I gathered my things quickly, hoping to escape before he could say another word. But, of course, he wasn't done. It didn't take long for the first spark to fly.

We were in a team debate that afternoon, and I was prepared, as always. My argument was flawless, my delivery sharp. The professor nodded in approval as I finished.

Then Danish stood up.

"I have to disagree," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Miss Oberoi's points are valid—on paper. But in reality? They don't hold."

My jaw clenched. He didn't just challenge me. He dismantled my argument piece by piece, his words cutting through my carefully constructed logic.

When he sat down, the class erupted into murmurs.

I stood up, my hands trembling, but not with fear. With fury.

"Well," I said, forcing a smile, "Mr. Malhotra seems to think he knows everything after being here for one day.Impressive."

The class laughed, but his smirk didn't falter.

"It's not about how long you've been here," he said. "It's about what you bring to the table."

And just like that, it was war.

"Hey," he called out as I reached the door.

I turned, annoyed. "What?"

He grinned, lazy and amused. "Just wanted to say—nice notes."

My jaw clenched as I realized he had been looking over my shoulder the entire class.

"You're unbelievable," I muttered, storming out. I had results to check out and no time to waste over him.

And just like that, my perfectly controlled world had a new variable. One that I had no idea how to solve.

The results were pinned on the announcement board, a crowd of students huddled around it like moths to a flame. Normally, I'd breeze past them, my position at the top a foregone conclusion. But today, there was a strange energy in the air, whispers that carried my name with an unfamiliar edge.

"Who the hell is Danish Malhotra ?" someone whispered.

I froze, the name hanging in the air like a storm cloud. When I finally reached the board,  I shoved my way to the front, scanning the list.

My name was second. I felt my stomach tighten.

    1    Danish Malhotra 99.5%

    2    Kiara Oberoi 99.3%

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. My name wasn't on top. It wasn't even the way my name sat just beneath his; it was the casual ease with which he'd dethroned me. My perfect, spotless record—gone.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath, clenching my fists.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Danish appeared beside me, his blazer slung lazily over one shoulder. He glanced at the board, then at me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Tough day?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.

"Don't get comfortable," I shot back, narrowing my eyes. "This won't happen again."

He chuckled, the sound low and infuriating. "We'll see about that, Oberoi." And with that, he strolled off, leaving me seething.

Someone nudged me. It was my best friend, and my only source of sanity when the world around me felt like it was on fire. She leaned closer, her face barely suppressing a grin. 

"Kiara, it's one test," she said lightly, though her tone carried a teasing edge that made my blood boil. 

I refused to look away from the board, my name glaring at me from second place. "This isn't just a test, Lakshi. It's my reputation." My voice was sharp, but I couldn't help it. This felt like a personal betrayal by the universe itself. 

"It's a reality check," she said, nudging my shoulder. "You've been ruling the academic throne for what— years? Someone finally gave you a run for your money. Maybe it's good for you." 

I turned to glare at her. "Good for me? Oh, sure, this is fantastic. Let me throw him a parade. Maybe I should thank him for knocking me off the top. Does that sound good to you?" 

She leaned against the wall, her grin widening. "I don't know, maybe like you're human for once? Might be good for you. Builds character."

I groaned. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Not loving. Thriving," she said, bumping my shoulder. "Come on, admit it—Danish Malhotra has finally given you a worthy challenge. You've been coasting at the top for years. He's exactly what you needed to shake things up."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Shake things up? What is he, a protein shaker? He's a walking ego trip with legs."

Her grin turned downright devilish. "Fine. He's a walking ego trip. But let's be honest—he's keeping you on your toes, and it's fun to watch."

Before I could retort, a low, amused chuckle came from behind us.

"You think I'm entertaining?" 

The voice was calm, smooth, and irritatingly smug. I turned sharply to find Danish Malhotra standing there, his hands casually in his pockets, looking like he'd just walked out of a magazine spread. 

"No one was talking to you," I said, my tone clipped. 

He tilted his head, as if considering something. "Oh, I don't know. I heard and thought I'd see what the fuss was about." His smirk deepened. "So, what exactly am I good at?" 

Lakshi, ever the instigator, chimed in before I could stop her. "Keeping her on her toes." 

My face flushed instantly. "Lakshi!"

His smirk grew, his eyes lighting up with amusement as they flicked back to me. "Interesting. I wasn't even trying And here I thought I was just minding my own business. Guess I'm more talented than I realized."

My cheeks burned, but I crossed my arms, determined to stay composed. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that important."

"Oh, but clearly I am," he shot back, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

"You've been talking about me this whole time. I'm flattered, really."

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. "Don't you have somewhere else to be, Malhotra?" 

"Not really," he said with a casual shrug. "But I appreciate your concern, Oberoi." 

And with that, he walked off, leaving me standing there, fuming while Lakshi dissolved into laughter beside me. 

"You're not helping," I snapped at her. 

"Come on," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "You've got to admit, that was kind of funny." 

"Did you see his face?" Lakshi wheezed between laughs. "Kiara, you've met your match. This is going to be so much fun."

I glared at her. "Fun for you. For me, it's a nightmare."

"Oh, come on," she said, wiping away tears of laughter. "Admit it—he's good for you. You've been too comfortable for way too long. And now? You've got competition. Sexy, smirking competition."

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I hate you."

"No, you hate him," she corrected, smirking. "And that's what makes this so entertaining."

But it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. Because as much as I hated to admit it, Danish Malhotra had managed to do something no one else had in years—he got under my skin. And with that, he turned and strolled off, leaving me standing there fuming, and Lakshi laughing so hard she had to hold onto the wall.

I sat in the library, buried in textbooks, trying to decipher the one question on our recent test that I had gotten wrong—the question that had cost me the top spot. Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with notifications from our college group chat.

Danish Malhotra invited to the club tonight! 🎉 First day and already VIP material.

I stared at the message, my jaw tightening. The club was the most exclusive group on campus, a circle of legacy students who held all the power. I'd worked tirelessly for months to get invited—countless sleepless nights, impeccable grades, and endless extracurriculars.

And him?

He'd been here for all of five minutes, and they were already rolling out the red carpet.

"He just joined the college," I said, my voice dangerously low. "How does that even happen?"

Lakshi shrugged. "He's a Malhotra. People talk."

My pen snapped in half, ink smearing across my notes. "Unbelievable, It's not fair," I muttered, slamming my book shut.

Lakshi glanced up from her phone. "Life isn't fair. You, of all people, should know that by now."

"Thanks for the wisdom," I said dryly, grabbing my things.

As I left the library, my thoughts were a tangled mess. Danish Malhotra had waltzed into my life, turned everything upside down, and now he was being rewarded for it.

But if he thought this was the end of our rivalry, he was sorely mistaken.

This wasn't just about grades or clubs anymore.

This was personal.