Naye sheher ka pehla savera,

Dilon mein darr, aankhon mein basera.

Ek taraf tha ghamand ka raaj,

Ek taraf thi masoomi ka aaghaaz.

Jab takraaye do alag jahaan,

Kahani ne li ek nayi udaan.

The whistle of the train echoed across the crowded platform as Amrita Sharma stepped down, clutching her small suitcase to her chest. Her wide, innocent eyes brimmed with wonder—and a tinge of fear—as she took in the chaos of Delhi. For a girl from Varanasi, this world of rushing crowds, blaring horns, and shouting vendors felt overwhelming, yet somewhere deep inside, she carried a flicker of hope.

No sooner had she crossed the station gates than a group of cab drivers surrounded her.

Cab Driver (mocking): “Arre madam, hum chhod dete hain aapko…”
(Madam, we’ll drop you off…)

Their laughter had a sly edge.

Cab Driver 2 (smirking): “Arre, aap toh ghabra gayi… Delhi mein kaise survive karogi?”
(You’re already scared—how will you survive in Delhi?)

Amrita’s throat went dry. Clutching her bag tighter, she darted away from their jeers, her slippers clattering against the concrete. Finally, she found refuge in an auto, sinking into the seat with trembling relief.

By the time she reached her hostel, the sun had begun its steady climb. Inside, the receptionist’s kind smile soothed her nerves, and the warden—a soft-eyed woman—guided her to her room.

The room was simple, but to Amrita, it felt like a luxury suite. She touched the polished desk, smiled at the pale curtains, and let out a quiet sigh.

Warden (gently): “Kahan se ho, beta?”
(Where are you from, child?)

Amrita (shyly): “Ji… Varanasi.”
(Yes… Varanasi.)

The warden chuckled knowingly.
Warden: “Acha… pehli baar ghar se door aayi ho.”
(Ah… your first time away from home.)

Amrita nodded. The woman squeezed her shoulder before leaving, her words soft as a mother’s touch:
“Dhyan rakhna.” (Take care of yourself.)

Alone in her new world, Amrita unpacked slowly, humming under her breath—hope fluttering like a caged bird in her chest.

On the other side of the city, an alarm shattered the silence of a sprawling mansion. Madhav Rathore, tall and striking, rose with precision. Even half-asleep, he looked carved out of marble. After an intense workout, he emerged, towel draped casually, only to find Ranbeer Kapoor barging in without knocking.

Ranbeer (grinning): “Bhai, chal! College ka time ho gaya.”
(Brother, come on! It’s college time.)

Madhav gave a curt nod. Together, they slid into his sleek black car, drawing eyes the moment they entered Imperial Heights University. Giggles, whispers, and hopeful glances trailed them, but Madhav’s sharp eyes were unbothered.

Later that morning, after class, the Dean summoned Madhav.

Dean: “Mr. Rathore, freshers will be submitting documents at noon. And this evening, we’ve arranged a welcome party. As Student Council President, I expect you to oversee both.”

Madhav nodded once—his silence louder than words—and left. Ranbeer was already waiting.

Ranbeer: “Bhai, kya hua?”
(What happened, brother?)

Madhav (flatly): “Freshers’ administration duties. Party in the evening.”

Ranbeer (smirking): “Shaam interesting hone wali hai.”
(The evening will be interesting.)

By noon, the sun blazed over the grand gates of the university. Freshers poured in nervously. Among them was Amrita, clutching her neatly pressed documents and wearing a peach kurti with oxidized jewelry. Her small-town simplicity stood in stark contrast to the designer bags and flashy outfits around her.

The moment she stepped through the gates, Madhav walked past her. For a fleeting second, he caught the faint scent of her perfume, his eyes darting back—only to glimpse her peach kurti before senior girls swarmed her. With a dismissive shake of his head, he walked away.

Senior Girl (mocking): “Arre yeh kaun aaya? Fresher?”
(Who’s this? A fresher?)

Amrita nodded nervously.

Senior Girl 2 (sneering): “Hmm… fashion sense toh zero hai.”
(Hmm… zero fashion sense.)

Senior Girl 3: “Ugly bitch.”

Senior Girl 4 (giggling): “Maybe here to trap a daddy.”

The girls burst into laughter. Amrita blinked, confused. Trap someone’s father? The insult didn’t even make sense to her.

Another senior added mockingly,
“Lagta hai gaon se seedha Delhi Fashion Week mein aa gayi.”
(Looks like she came straight from a village to Delhi Fashion Week.)

Their laughter was cruel, slicing through her fragile confidence. She clutched her folder tighter, humiliation burning in her chest.

Then—

Ranbeer’s voice cut through, sharp as a whip: “Enough.”

The girls froze. Whispers spread instantly—everyone knew Ranbeer Kapoor. He walked toward them, hands in his pockets, eyes glinting.

Ranbeer (mocking): “Ugly? Please. She’s prettier than half the makeup masks you’re hiding behind.”

Gasps. Their smiles faltered.

Ranbeer (smirking): “ At least she is natural…tum log toh bina filter aur 3kg makeup ke front camera khol bhi nahii sakte. Real beauty doesn’t need filters. She’s already out of your league.”

For the first time since arriving in Delhi, Amrita felt seen. She blinked at him, astonished.

Ranbeer (softer): “Come, little girl. Don’t waste your time on cheap drama.”
(Come on, little girl. Don’t waste your time on cheap drama.)

He guided her firmly toward the admin block.

Amrita (hesitant): “Thank you…”

Ranbeer (shrugging): “Relax. College ke jungle mein aise log toh milte rahenge. Don’t be scared.”
(Relax. In the jungle of college, you’ll find people like this often.Don’t be scared.)

In the corridor, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting.

Ranbeer: “Damn… urgent kaam hai. Dekho—seedha jaakr left lena wahan administration office hai. Wahin documents submit karna.”
(Damn, urgent work. Look—go straight and then left, there is administration office. Submit your documents there.)

Amrita nodded, reluctant to lose his protective presence. He winked reassuringly.

Ranbeer: “You’ll be fine, little girl.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

 Madhav Rathore.

Tall, broad-shouldered, every step of his measured gait radiated authority. His sharp jawline, sculpted as if by an artist’s hand, caught the sunlight, and his crisp white shirt clung to his frame like it had been tailored only for him. His very aura commanded attention.

And attention he got.

The moment he crossed the quadrangle, girls turned. Whispers chased him like shadows.

“Yeh dekho… President aa gaye.”
(“Look… President has arrived.”)

“Oh my God, he’s so hot, yaar. Uski body toh… uff.”
(“Oh my God, he’s so hot, yaar. His body is just… uff.”)

One particularly bold girl stepped in his path, twirling a strand of her highlighted hair.
“Hi Madhav… tumhare liye coffee laaun?”
(“Hi Madhav… should I bring you a coffee?”)

Another chimed in, her voice dripping with desperation.
“Madhav, phone number de do na… bas ek selfie de do?”
(“Madhav, give me your phone number… at least let me take a selfie?”)

Their laughter, their fake sweetness, their constant hovering—it was suffocating. Madhav’s jaw tightened. He had tolerated this every single day, but today, their shrill voices pierced his calm like nails against glass.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep walking. Not worth my time, he thought. But the girls didn’t stop. Another one tugged at his sleeve.

“Arre, at least smile for us na, Mr.Rathore…”

That was it. His patience snapped like a brittle thread.

He turned sharply, his voice cold, deep, and laced with anger.
Madhav: “Shut up! Main yahan tumhare entertainment ke liye nahi hoon. Get. Lost.”
(“Shut up! What do you all think? I’m not here for your entertainment. Get. Lost.”)

The courtyard fell silent. Gasps. Wide eyes. The group of girls instantly froze, their fake giggles vanishing as they shrank under his glare. Madhav’s temper was legendary, but few had faced it so directly.

Still burning inside, he strode toward the administration block, the storm in his chest refusing to quieten. His height, his presence—it was like a moving wall of rage.

And just then, fate played its cruel trick.

A small figure, clutching a folder of documents, stepped hurriedly around the corner—Amrita. Her eyes were lowered, nerves making her palms sweat as she rushed toward the office. She didn’t see him.

She collided headfirst into his chest. Papers fluttered from her folder, scattering across the marble floor.

The impact jolted Madhav, already seething. Without thinking, his voice exploded, harsher than intended.

Madhav: “WTF! Ab tum bhi mere number ke peeche padi ho kya?!”
(“WTF! Now even you are after my number?!”)

His words cut like knives. The corridor froze again—students turning, whispering, waiting for the girl to crumble.

But Amrita wasn’t like the others.

Her wide eyes, stunned at first, narrowed as fire sparked in them. She straightened, clutching her folder tightly against her chest.

Amrita: “Excuse me, Mister. Mujhe aapka number chahiye hi kyu? Main kyun aapka number maangungi? You good for nothing man.”
(“Excuse me, Mister? Why would I ask for your number? You good for nothing man.”)

Gasps filled the corridor. No one ever spoke back to Madhav Rathore.

But Amrita wasn’t done. Her words came fast, sharp, and laced with scorn.

Amrita: “Bhagwan ne height toh lambi de di, par ek inch bhi nahi di. Giraffe Kahin ke.”
(“God gave you height, but not even an inch of brains. You Giraffe.”)

She jabbed a finger toward him, her voice trembling but bold.

Amrita: “Hattiye samne se! Aise pahad ki tarah administration office ke samne khade mat rahiye.”
(“Move aside! Don’t stand like a mountain blocking the administration office entrance.”)

Then, muttering under her breath as she bent to pick her papers:
Amrita: “Bewakoof aadmi… samajhta kya hai apne aap ko? Pura college hi pagal hai.”
(“Stupid man… what does he even think of himself? This whole college is crazy.”)

She gathered her papers, lifted her chin, and walked straight past him—her small figure radiating unexpected strength.

For a moment, silence ruled. The seniors who had mocked her earlier stared in disbelief. Ranbeer, leaning lazily against the wall nearby, had witnessed the entire thing.

And then—he burst out laughing, his voice echoing.

Ranbeer: “Bhai… tujhse pehle kisi ne aise baat ki hai?!”
(“Bro… has anyone ever spoken to you like that before?!”)

Madhav didn’t reply. He just stood frozen, eyes locked on the retreating girl in the peach kurti. His irritation had vanished, replaced by something else—something sharp, strange, and utterly unexpected.

For the first time in years, someone had dared to challenge him. And that someone was her.