Chapter 1
Chapter 1
(Maria’s POV)
The hallway feels narrower than I remember. Or maybe I’m just smaller now, shrunk under the weight of my own shame.
I keep my head down as I walk, books clutched to my chest like a shield. The students around me—my juniors—are laughing, talking, moving ahead without a care in the world. I don’t belong here.
I shouldn’t be here.
But I am.
A repeat-year student at one of the most prestigious colleges in the city. A place where failure isn’t just frowned upon—it’s a stain, a mark of incompetence that never really washes away.
"Beta is saal padh lena , Naak nai katwana"
"Apne bhai se hi kuch seekh lo,aj tak.."
My mother’s voice rings in my ears. This morning, as I sat at the breakfast table, she reminded me—again—that I was lucky to get another chance. That I needed to stop disappointing everyone.
That I needed to stop disappointing myself.
I exhale slowly and push open the classroom door.
Same classroom.
New batch of students.
None of them my friends.
I slip into the last row, my usual spot, and lower myself into the seat as quietly as possible. The laughter, the casual conversations—they don’t include me. I’m just a ghost in the background.
A girl who failed. A girl who didn’t belong.
"I’m not special. I’m just the girl who sits in the back and hopes no one remembers she exists."
To my despair,
The scrape of heels on the tiled floor signals her arrival.
Ms. Ayesha.
She walks in with her usual air of authority, her sharp eyes scanning the room. And the moment they land on me, I know it’s coming.
She smiles, but it isn’t kind.
"Kehti thi mai padh lo,padh lo ,lekin nai."
"Hogaya saal barbad. Ab is saal padh lena."
A few students glance at me, some smirking, others just curious. My fingers tighten around my pen, but I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
The introductions begin.
One by one, students stand up and introduce themselves. The girl in front of me flicks her hair and says in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Kinza Fareed. Class topper. Planning to get a gold medal, InshaAllah."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
And then—
"Maria Adeel. Your turn."
I swallow. My hands are damp. I stand up, gripping the edge of my desk for support.
"Hi. My name is Maria Adeel and… I want to be a doctor."
The words feel too big for my small, insignificant voice. And of course, Ms. Ayesha doesn’t let it slide.
"Doctor banne ke liye bohot mehnat lagti hai, Maria. Bohot padhna padhta hai."
"Failing students nai Bante doctor."
My throat tightens.
"College to tumse pass kia nahi ja raha."
"Or har jaga parents bhi nai ainge sifarish karne ke liye"
The classroom is silent except for a few muffled chuckles.
"Anyway, sit down,next."
I sit down, eyes burning. The lecture begins, but I don’t hear a word of it.
It doesn’t matter.
I already know what people think of me.
The girl who failed. The girl who wasn’t smart enough.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away before anyone can notice.
But of course—
Ms Ayesha speaks ,passing by my desk.
"Ab rone ka kya faida? Book band kar ke to aik saal try kar hi liya hai. Is saal book khol ke try kar lo"
I don’t cry after that.
I just sit there, numb.
---
The next class is Biology.
The moment he enters, the room changes.
Sir Aaryan Niaz.
He’s dressed in black formals, sleeves folded just enough to reveal strong forearms. His posture is straight, his jawline sharp, his presence demanding attention without a single word.
Strict. Intelligent. Intimidating.
I hold my breath. He’s the kind of professor who doesn’t tolerate mistakes. And I—I am a mistake.
He sets his books down and looks around the classroom.
"I don’t take introductions. I’ll remember your names when you do something worth remembering."
Kinza sits up straighter. The class falls into silence.
The lecture begins, but I barely focus. My mind is still stuck in the past hour. I only snap back when I hear my name.
"Maria Adeel."
Panic.
I swallow hard, gripping the edge of my desk. My heart pounds. This is it. He’s going to call me out, humiliate me—
"Reason for failing?"
His voice is calm. Not mocking. Not accusing. Just… asking.
I don’t know how to answer. My lips part, but no words come out.
I don’t know.
I don’t know why I failed.
My eyes drop to the desk. "I don’t know." My voice is small, fragile, close to breaking.
Clenching my fists to stop the tears which are threatening to fall.
He doesn’t say anything.
No insult. No comment. Just silence.
And then—
A soft tap, tap against the front desk.
A gesture.
"Sit here."
I hesitate, but the weight of the room’s attention makes my decision for me. I gather my things and move to the front, hating every second of it.
The girl next to me whispers, "Maham Feroze." A quick, small introduction before she slides her water bottle toward me.
I blink at her, surprised.
Kindness isn’t something I’m used to these days.
I mumble a quiet, "Thanks," and take a sip.
The lecture continues. I don’t take in much. My mind is too distracted by everything—Ms. Ayesha’s words, Kinza’s smirk, Sir Aaryan’s unexpected indifference.
But I watch him.
How he writes on the board with practiced ease, his fingers moving with controlled precision, every stroke deliberate.
How his voice carries authority—not the forced, loud kind that demands respect, but the kind that already has it. Steady. Even. Absolute.
How he barely looks at me after making me move seats, as if he isn’t interested in embarrassing me, just ensuring I pay attention.
I notice things now.
The way he holds the chalk between his fingers, rolling it absentmindedly before writing. The slight tap of his knuckles against the desk when he’s thinking. The way he stands—tall, composed, hands casually behind his back when a female student is standing nearby, a gesture of quiet respect, maintaining distance without making it obvious.
It’s different from what I’ve seen before. Most teachers either don’t care or enforce authority with loud words and unnecessary anger. He does neither.
Kinza raises her hand, her voice just a little too sweet, her question more of an attempt to engage him in conversation than to seek knowledge.
He answers. Direct. Brief. Not rude, not dismissive—just efficient. Her smile falters slightly at the lack of engagement, but he’s already moved on, as if he didn’t even notice.
There’s no room for anything else here. No nonsense. No games. Just learning.
When he turns back to the class, his eyes scan the room, not lingering on anyone in particular. That’s when I notice it—the dimple in his cheek, faint and brief, appearing only when the corner of his mouth tilts slightly. Not a full smile, not amusement, just a fleeting movement, gone almost as soon as it appears.
Something about that unsettles me.
He doesn’t smile much. And when he does, it isn’t for anyone. It just happens.
He walks past my desk, and that’s when I catch it—a faint trace of something. Not cologne, not overpowering, just clean, like fresh fabric and something sharp yet subtle. It lingers only for a second before he moves away.
I exhale slowly.
I don’t know why I notice these things. Maybe because he’s new, different from what I expected. Maybe because I’m too distracted to focus on the actual lecture.
Either way, one thing is clear.
The bell rings.
Relief washes over me. I pack my things quickly, ready to disappear. Maham nudges me, smiling.
"Maria, right? You did well today.Canteen chalein?"
I don’t know what she means. I didn’t do anything well. But I nod, offering a small, uncertain smile.
The students get up, chatting, moving toward the door.
But before anyone can leave, a voice cuts through the noise.
"The bell doesn’t dismiss you. I do. Sit down."
Groans fill the room.
Except from Kinza. She sits back down, eyes bright with interest, as if she enjoys the authority in his voice.
I, on the other hand, just sink into my seat, exhausted.
This year…
It’s going to be long.
