"Some kisses start wars.

And some slaps?

Make them go viral."

Kapoor Mansion – Morning

The sun poured into the massive glass windows of the Kapoor Mansion, but it didn't bring peace.

Saanvi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Lips still tingling. Wrists still warm. Mind? Still screaming.

"Kya tha woh?" she muttered, almost spitting.

("What the hell was that?")

She touched her lips.

And immediately pulled her hand away like she'd touched fire.

"He kissed me."

"Usne kiss kiya mujhe. Woh bhi zabardasti."

("He kissed me. That too, without permission.")

"And I let him..."

"Mujhe usse thappad maarna chahiye tha... aur main bas..."

("I should've slapped him... and I just...")

She sat up, rage in her veins.

But her cheeks? Still burning red.

Just then, Dadi knocked and peeked in—

"Saanvi? Beta, uthi?"

("Saanvi? You awake?")

"Haan Dadi... bas... headache ho raha hai thoda."

("Yes Dadi... just... a bit of a headache.")

"Paani pi, aur neeche breakfast ke liye aa ja. Aaj teri class bhi hai na."

("Drink some water and come down for breakfast. You have class too today.")

She nodded. But the thought of seeing Aryan Mehra again?

It made her stomach turn.

And her heartbeat race.

Mehra Estate – Personal Gym

Punch.

Breathe.

Punch.

Harder.

Aryan's knuckles were already red.

But he couldn't stop.

Flashes of her lips. Her eyes. That slap she almost gave.

That wall he pinned her against.

And her lips, parting under his.

"Shit."

He punched harder.

Aman entered, holding a protein shake.

"Bro? Tu theek hai? Lagta hai kisi ne raat ko thappad nahi... emotions jadd diye."

("You good, bro? Looks like someone didn't get slapped—

but caught some deep-ass feelings instead.")

Aryan threw the gloves aside, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Woh ladki... pagal bana degi mujhe."

("That girl... she'll drive me insane.")

"Mujhe chahiye woh. Har tareeke se. Har naam se."

("I want her. Every way. Every name.")

Aman whistled.

"Aur usse kya chahiye?"

("And what does she want?")

Aryan smirked darkly.

"Mujhse door rehna."

("To stay away from me.")

He leaned closer to the mirror.

Wiped the sweat.

And stared into his own dangerous eyes.

"Toh wahi toh chheenna hai usse."

("That's exactly what I'll take from her.")

Aman tossed the protein shake at Aryan.

"Dekh bhai, main abhi bhi keh raha hoon — usse door reh."

("Bro, I'm still telling you — stay away from her.")

Aryan caught the bottle. Didn't respond.

Aman sat down, elbows on knees, serious now.

"Woh koi random ladki nahi hai jise tu club mein line maar raha hai."

("She's not some random girl you're flirting with at a club.")

"She's Meera's cousin, Aryan.

Aur Meera usse bachi ki tarah manti hai."

("And Meera treats her like a child.")

Aryan scoffed, rolling his neck to loosen it.

"Uski aankhon mein bachi wali masoomiyat nahi...

Aag hai, Aman.

Woh mujhe dekh ke jalti hai."

("There's no innocence in her eyes, Aman...

There's fire. She burns when she sees me.")

Aman stood up.

"That's not passion, Aryan. That's hate."

"Aur tu us hate ko turn-on samajh raha hai."

("And you're mistaking that hate as a turn-on.")

"Woh ladki seedhi hai.

Na club girl, na one night stand.

Na woh tere jaisi kisi toxic fantasy ka hissa banna chahti hai."

("She's a straight girl.

Not a club girl, not a one night stand.

And she doesn't want to be part of your twisted fantasy.")

Aryan's jaw clenched.

He walked toward Aman.

"Tu kya samajhta hai mujhe?"

("What do you think I am?")

"Kya main usse sirf fuck karna chahta hoon?"

("You think I just want to fuck her?")

"Uske naam se meri neend ud jaati hai, Aman."

("Her name takes away my sleep, Aman.")

"Main har ladki ka naam bhool gaya hoon...

Par woh ek naam – Saanvi Kapoor –

woh mera obsession ban gaya hai."

("I've forgotten every other girl's name...

But that one name – Saanvi Kapoor –

has become my obsession.")

Aman looked away for a second. Then spoke softly.

"Woh ladki kisi ka obsession  banne ke liye nahi hai, Aryan.

She deserves better."

("She's not someone meant to be anyone's obsession , Aryan.

She deserves better.")

Aryan smirked. A tired, bitter kind of smile.

"Mujhe chahiye Aman.

Uske jitne paas jaata hoon, utni hi door bhagti hai.

But I swear..."

("I want her, Aman.

The closer I get, the more she runs away.

But I swear...")

"Ek na ek din... woh khud chalegi mere paas."

("One day... she'll walk to me herself.")

Aand he muttered to himself:

"Aur us din — main usse pyaar nahi karuga,

uska sabr todunga."

("And that day — I won't give her love,

I'll shatter her patience.")

✦ Scene: Next Day – College Campus

The gates of Bombay's elite business university gleamed under the morning sun.

But walking through them, Saanvi Kapoor looked like the real showstopper.

Blazer fitted. Black shades on.

AirPods in. Attitude? Dripping from every step.

"Good morning, ma'am..."

"Morning, Miss Kapoor..."

Everyone she passed greeted her with a respectful nod — or a nervous blush.

Boys stared.

Girls whispered.

Professors acknowledged.

But Saanvi? Untouched. Unbothered.

She was ice.

But underneath?

That kiss still burned her skin.

⸻

✦ Scene: Inside the Corridor

She turned the corner towards her class... and paused.

Aryan.

Leaning casually against the wall near her classroom, sleeves rolled up, sipping black coffee.

Smirk? Criminal.

Eyes? Already locked on her.

Like he'd been waiting.

"Tum late ho, New York," he said without moving.

("You're late, New York.")

She pulled off her shades slowly and looked straight at him.

"Tum har jagah pehle kaise pahuch jaate ho?

Tracker lagaya hai kya?"

("How are you always there before me?

Got me tagged or what?")

He took a step closer, eyes tracing her face like he owned it.

"Dil pe chipak gaya hai tera naam,

tracker ki zarurat hi nahi."

("Your name's stuck to my heart,

no tracker needed.")

She rolled her eyes.

"Tumhe koi aur kaam nahi hai, Aryan?"

("Don't you have anything better to do, Aryan?")

"Haan." He leaned in.

"Tumse zyada zaroori kaam toh hai...

Par tumse zyada tempting koi nahi."

("I do. But nothing's more tempting than you.")

She turned sharply, brushed past him—shoulder grazing his chest.

But not before muttering—

"Touch me again without consent...

And I'll burn that smirk off your face."

He whispered behind her as she walked away—

"Kabhi kabhi...

'No' mein bhi itni sexy 'Yes' chhupi hoti hai,

main kaise ignore karu?"

("Sometimes, even a 'No' hides such a sexy 'Yes'...

How do you expect me to ignore that?")

He stood at the back of her class — leaning on the frame of the door.

Not inside.

Not invited.

Just... watching.

Smirking.

"Itna attitude kis baat ka, sweetheart?

Main toh sirf yaad dila raha hoon... tum kahan soft pad gayi thi."

("All this attitude for what, sweetheart? I'm just reminding you where you turned soft.")

Then he turned — leather jacket swinging, swagger loud —

and left her class.

Aryan sat by the window, phone in hand, tongue running along his molars as he watched a blank WhatsApp chat.

No name.

Just a video file.

No caption.

He stared at the "Sent ✔✔" mark.

"Game on, Kapoor."

He leaned back and stretched his legs out as if he'd just scored a goal.

All Over Campus

The buzz began slow — one beep, then another,

then a wave.

Phones dinged.

Screens lit up.

The sound of "HAWWWW" echoed across the corridors.

"Bro yeh dono toh...!"

"Yeh toh club ka washroom hai na?"

"Holy shit! He kissed her—she literally slapped him—then he—"

"Issi ladki ne usse thappad maara tha college ke gate pe na?"

"This is fire. They look hot together!"

"Wait... isn't she US return Kapoor heiress?!"

Laughter.

Gossip.

A storm.

And Aryan?

Still at the window — watching the chaos unfold below like a king watching his army march.

He licked his bottom lip, the side of his jaw twitching with satisfaction, and whispered:

"Jitna attitude New York se laaye ho,

Bombay mein utna hi bikhra dunga."

("Whatever attitude you brought from New York... I'll shatter it right here in Bombay.")