HYDA'S POV:
"My name's Khan Hyda—and if that name doesn't scare you a little, don't worry. It will. I'm the girl who talks too much, laughs too loud, trips over air, and somehow still lands on her feet—wearing heels, no less. I'm chaos in a designer jacket, rebellion in winged eyeliner. People either want to be me, fix me, or run the hell away from me. And trust me, I let them. I've never been the soft, 'yes ma'am' type. I argue. I roast. I walk into rooms like I own them—and if you try to come for me? I'll slice you clean with a sentence and leave you wondering what the hell just happened. So no, when I first met him, it wasn't butterflies. It was blood pressure."
Okay, pause. Before we go any deeper into this story, let me tell you who you're dealing with.
Name: Khan Hyda.
Vibe: Loud, proud, and possibly the main reason your peace got disturbed.
I've got very fair skin with natural rosy cheeks, like I'm blushing even when I'm plotting revenge. My lips? Pink and plump—the kind that look like they've been outlined by the universe just to say things people weren't ready to hear. My hair's dark brown, wavy, and falls just below my collarbone—usually doing its own thing, but somehow always matching the outfit. And my eyes? Gray, almond-shaped, the kind that don't miss anything even when I pretend not to care. A little chubby, yes—but in a way that makes me look soft and deadly at the same time.
Add a splash of chaos, an accidental trip over nothing, a fashion sense that screams 'effortless danger,' and boom—there I am. Khan Hyda, live and unfiltered."
"Ninth grade was over, my result was in, and life—as usual—was dragging me back into the thing I hated the most: studying. But fine. I survived. I joined a new tutoring class a week later, telling myself it couldn't be that bad. Spoiler: it was. But nothing could've prepared me for what happened after tutoring that day. The only person I knew at the tutoring class was isra and by the way my best friend.
Isra and I were walking home peacefully—well, as peacefully as two chaotic girls can—when suddenly, some guy spilled water on her. Not tripped, not slipped—spilled. Like she was a character in some badly written drama. Next thing I know, the two of them are yelling at each other in the middle of the street while I'm still on my phone, checking memes or whatever.
When I finally looked up, I heard her shout, 'HADIL!' and realized—oh. That's his name. Hadil. And the worst part? He was winning the argument. Loud. Wrong. And winning. I had no choice. I stepped in. And I was killing it, obviously—until he showed up. The friend. The guy with no name, no warning, and way too much logic.
**I don't like two things:
Being interrupted.Being interrupted with logic when I'm clearly on fire.**
And this guy was doing both, but I'll admit—he had one thing going for him. He was smart enough to admit Hadil was wrong. He could've defended his friend to the end, but instead he paused, thought for a second, and said, 'Yeah... he messed up.' And not just that, he even apologized. Weird. Respectable. And just annoying enough to stick in my brain."
The fight ended with Hadil rolling his eyes and walking off, Isra muttering something under her breath, and me still slightly pissed that I didn't get the last word. But whatever. Victory in spirit.
As we headed home, the chaos slowly faded behind us… except, weirdly, we kept talking about him. Not Hadil—the other one. The logical one.
"He had some nerve," I said. "Coming in all calm and logical like he was on some debate team."
Isra raised a brow. "You mean Kabir?"
I blinked. "You know his name?"
"Yeah," she shrugged. "He's Hadil's friend. I think they're in the same class or something."
I nodded like that piece of information meant nothing to me. Like I wasn't secretly committing it to memory like a criminal keeping tabs on her rival.
"What else do you know about him?" I asked—too fast.
Isra smirked. "Why?"
"I'm just curious. That's all. He was... weird. And logical. And annoying. In a very calculated way."
She tilted her head. "Uh-huh. Sure. Just curious."
I scoffed and changed the subject. I wasn't about to let her think I was interested. Which I wasn't, okay? It was just... you don't meet many people who can argue with me and survive."
Bottom of Form
Next day at school, I was just... existing. You know—same classroom, same half-dead faces, same prayers that today's lectures wouldn't ruin my will to live. I was sitting in my usual spot, brain on airplane mode, waiting for the next teacher to drag themselves in.
Then I turned my head.
And I froze.
No. Freaking. Way.
It was him.
Kabir. The logic guy. The one from the water fight. The one with too much sense and just enough attitude to get on my nerves. Sitting. In. My. Class.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath.
Like God couldn't just throw him into the same school. No, He went full drama mode—same classroom. As if tutoring wasn't enough of a plot twist.
I slouched a little in my seat, trying to process what this meant. Was this the universe playing matchmaker... or a sick joke? He hadn't seen me yet—which was good, because I needed time to mentally prepare. Or at least fix my hair.
And then he looked up.
Right at me.
We locked eyes for half a second.
He blinked. I blinked.
And then I did what any sane person would do—
I instantly turned away and pretended I was deeply fascinated by the cracked corner of my desk.
Nope. Not today, logic boy. Not today.
After school, me and Isra were walking back like we usually did—me talking too much, her pretending she was listening, both of us dodging potholes like it was a sport. I was halfway through a rant about how school felt like a prison with worse uniforms when it hit me.
"Wait. Isra," I said, stopping mid-step. "You know that Kabir guy? Logic boy?"
She glanced at me like I'd just asked if water was wet. "Yeah?"
"He's in my class."
She snorted. "Only you could ignore an entire human population for years and act shocked."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"He's been in your class for like... four or five years now?"
"EXCUSE ME?" I turned to her, fully offended. "How the hell would he even know me then?"
Isra gave me the look. You know, the look best friends give when you say something so dumb it hurts their soul.
"Girl. Who doesn't know you? You argue with the teachers like they're paid extras. You're basically the drama, the fashion, and the reason most of the lectures go off-track."
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"...Yeah, well. Fuck it."
We both laughed, and for a second, I let it go.
A WEEK LATER
Things had gone back to normal. Or at least, my version of normal—which included messy hair, sarcastic muttering, and mentally planning outfits instead of focusing on anything educational. The whole Kabir incident? Forgotten. Buried. Exiled to the part of my brain labeled "Unnecessary Male Distractions."
That day, I was stuck on the first bench. Not because I was an eager beaver student or anything—no, the teachers just didn't trust me enough to sit any farther back. Apparently, my mouth traveled faster than my textbooks.
I was zoning out while Ayesha, my bench partner and full-time hopeless romantic, gave me her daily TED talk on how her 'situationship' was now a 'no-tuation' because he liked her post but didn't reply to her story.
(Do I care? Not really. Do I look like I care? Absolutely. I'm not heartless—she's sweet and helpful and lets me copy math sometimes. That's loyalty.)
Then suddenly—
"Kabir. Go to the principal's office."
I didn't even look up at first. The teacher kept reading names like she was hosting a raffle.
And then it hit me.
Wait.
Kabir?
Like my logic enemy? Kabir?