Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1: NEW GIRL ON CAMPUS — NO ONE STANDS BESIDE HER
Ravenwood University stood tall and grand, its glass towers gleaming under the bright sun, wide marble walkways lined with expensive cars, and every corner breathing an air of privilege and wealth. Here, everything had a price tag — and everyone knew exactly where they stood. Most students came from families that owned businesses, land, and names that carried weight across the country. They walked with heads held high, dressed in designer clothes, confident that the world belonged to them.
And right in the middle of all that glittering excess walked someone who belonged nowhere near it.
Meher Aylin.
Her shoulders were bowed slightly under the weight of an old, worn canvas bag — frayed at the corners, faded, stuffed full of books, notebooks, and a small tiffin box she had packed before leaving home. Her clothes were neat, clean, and well‑stitched, but simple — plain cotton, nothing fancy. Her shoes were two years old, still holding together, but scuffed at the toes. She had earned her place here through hard work, sleepless nights, and a scholarship that was the only thing standing between her future and a life of ordinary struggle. But while she had fought her way into these halls, she carried something heavier than her bag: the quiet knowledge that she had no one behind her.
Home was never a safe place.
Her father was a quiet, distant man — worn down by life, easily swayed, and never once had he stood up for her. After her mother passed away years ago, he had remarried, and everything changed. Her stepmother, Shahnaz, was sharp‑tongued, greedy, and saw Meher as nothing more than a burden — or worse, a tool to be used. Every day was filled with remarks: “We feed you, we clothe you… now you better be worth it.” “One day I’ll find a good match for you — someone who can pay well, and then we’ll finally get something back for all we’ve spent on you.”
Meher had learned early to keep quiet. If she complained, it only got worse. If she spoke of her dreams, they laughed. If she told them about her worries, they told her she was lucky to have a roof over her head. So she swallowed every tear, hid every fear, and promised herself: I will finish my degree. I will stand on my own two feet. And then I will leave this house forever.
But until then… she was alone. Completely alone.
She stepped through the main entrance, and heads turned. Whispers started immediately — soft, cutting, and loud enough to hear.
“Look at her bag… must be the scholarship girl.”
“Wonder how she even got in here.”
“Definitely not one of us.”
Meher kept her eyes fixed on the floor, gripping the strap of her bag tighter. Don’t look up. Don’t answer. Just walk.
Then the murmurs died down. The air in the hallway shifted. People stepped aside automatically, heads bowing a little — not out of respect, but out of fear.
Aariz Zayn Malik walked through the crowd like he owned the very ground they stood on.
Tall, broad‑shouldered, dressed in a perfectly fitted dark suit that cost more than everything Meher owned combined. His hair was thick and black, styled yet naturally messy, and his face held no smile — only a sharp, cold, commanding kind of handsomeness. His eyes were deep, dark, and intense — the kind that seemed to see right through you. He was the most powerful boy on campus — rich, influential, untouchable. Everyone knew his name. Everyone knew better than to cross him.
But few knew the truth behind that arrogance.
Aariz hated his parents. They had given him every luxury money could buy — massive houses, fancy cars, expensive schools, everything — except the one thing he had ever wanted: their time, their attention, their care. His father was always busy with business deals, his mother lost in parties and social status. They treated him like a trophy, an heir, an investment — never like a son. He had grown up in a beautiful mansion full of empty rooms and silence. He had learned early: No one cares about who you are. They only care about what you have. And so he had built walls around himself — thick, high, and impossible to climb over. He became rude, domineering, and cold. If he could not have love, he would have power. If no one would give him importance, he would take it.
And today, as he walked past the crowd, his gaze fell — and stopped.
Right on her.
Meher froze. Her heart gave a painful, heavy thud against her ribs. She wanted to look away, to run, to vanish — but her feet felt rooted to the marble floor.
Aariz slowed down. Then he stopped completely. His friends Shahzaib and Hamza paused beside him, confused, watching where he was staring. Slowly, deliberately, Aariz turned and walked straight toward her. People parted like water before him.
He stopped right in front of her — so close that Meher had to tilt her head all the way back just to see his face. He towered over her, casting a shadow that swallowed her entirely.
“You’re new here,” he said. His voice was low, deep, smooth — and heavy with authority. It wasn’t a question.
Meher swallowed hard. Her hands trembled around her bag strap. Her cheeks were already heating up, turning pink, then deeper red. She forced herself to speak, voice small and shaking: “Y‑yes. Meher Aylin. I came here on scholarship.”
Aariz’s lips curled into a half‑smile — sharp, mocking, and dangerous. He looked her up and down, slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail: her simple clothes, her worn bag, her nervous, wide eyes, the flush rising high on her cheeks.
“Scholarship,” he repeated, dragging the word out as if it tasted strange. “So you have none of what everyone else here has. No money, no name, no status. You’re stepping into a world you don’t belong in, little girl.”
He leaned in closer. Meher held her breath. His scent — expensive cologne, warm and strong — filled her senses.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he murmured, dark eyes locking onto hers. “Here, everything runs by my rules. Every hallway, every party, every corner of this university — it’s all mine. And when I see something I want… it becomes mine.”
Shahzaib stepped forward, curious, smiling a little too casually. “Hey Aariz… new face, huh? Mind if we say hello too?”
The warmth vanished instantly from Aariz’s expression. He turned his head just enough to glare at his friend — one single, freezing look — and Shahzaib took a sharp step back, hands raised in surrender.
“Back off,” Aariz warned him, quiet but terrifyingly absolute. “Nobody touches her. Nobody even looks at her too long. Not you, not anyone else. Understood?”
Both friends nodded quickly, falling back.
Aariz turned back to Meher. He lifted one hand — hovering it just inches from her blushing cheek, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, but never actually touching. Meher’s breath hitched. Her gaze dropped instantly to his shoes, heart hammering wildly.
“You tremble so easily,” he observed, sounding almost amused. “And you turn bright red the moment I get close. You’re terrified of me, aren’t you?”
Meher didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“Good,” he whispered. “Be afraid. It means you understand your place. Starting today — wherever I go, you follow. Whenever I call, you come. When I tell you to walk beside me… you do it. No excuses, no refusals. Because you have no one to protect you. And I have every right to claim what catches my eye.”
He lowered his hand slowly, but didn’t move away.
“There’s a welcome gathering tonight,” he added, tone shifting into something harder — an order. “You will be there. And you will come with me. Don’t even think about hiding. I always find what I’m looking for.”
Then he turned and walked away — commanding, powerful, leaving the whole hallway still whispering in his wake.
Meher stood there for a long time after he had gone, her legs weak, her face burning, her mind spinning in circles. Why me? Why did he pick me?
She knew exactly why he had said those last words too — because he knew. He knew she had nobody. No father to stand up, no mother to complain, no brother to fight for her. At home, they would not care — if anything, her stepmother would probably be pleased to hear she had caught the attention of someone rich. Use him, Shahnaz would say. Get something out of it.
That afternoon, everywhere she went — library, cafeteria, classroom corridors — she felt his presence. He was never far. If she spoke to a classmate, Aariz would appear nearby, arms crossed, watching until the other person nervously walked away. Once he walked right up to her table while she was studying, dropped his own notebook down in front of her, and said simply:
“Finish this assignment for me. And bring me a coffee while you’re up.”
Meher stared at him, stunned. “I… I have my own work…”
Aariz leaned closer, elbows on the table, face inches from hers. Her cheeks flamed instantly. “Are you arguing with me?”
“No — I just —”
“Then do it,” he said, calm but final. “And remember — you belong to my schedule now.”
She did it. Because she was too afraid not to. Because she knew what happened to people who said no to Aariz Zayn Malik. And because deep down… she was already learning that when he came near, her heart didn’t only beat from fear. There was something else tangled in there — something confusing, something warm, something she had no name for.
Evening came. Meher stood in her small room at home, staring at the door, trembling. She could stay away… or she could go. But she knew what would happen if she didn’t show up. He would come looking. And things would only get worse.
I have no choice, she told herself sadly. I never have a choice.
Back in his own room — a vast, cold, expensive space in a house that felt like a hotel — Aariz stood by the window, phone in hand, thinking about her. His parents were downstairs hosting guests, laughing loud, drinking expensive wine, never once wondering where their son was, or what he was doing.
“They gave me everything except what matters,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice thick with years of bitterness. “Money, status, name… but no heart. Nobody ever looked at me the way she does — like I’m something scary, something powerful… and yet something she can’t help but notice.”
He thought of Meher — quiet, polite, poor, completely alone in the world just like him. Except she was soft where he had turned hard. She was gentle where he had become cruel. And somehow… she had caught hold of him before he even realized it.
“Everyone else sees only what I have,” he murmured, eyes darkening. “But you… you look at me like you see me. And I’m never letting you go.”
He typed out a short message, sent it from an unknown number — and smiled.
“I’m waiting. Come… or I come and get you.”
Meher’s phone buzzed in her hand. She read the words, swallowed hard, and stepped out the door.
Walking toward the university grounds, toward the lights and music and crowds, she knew one thing for certain: her old life was already over. And whatever came next… it would belong to him.
earlier?
