TARA VYAS POV

It was Monday, and the sky looked like it hadn’t slept either. Grey clouds sprawled over the campus like an unfinished painting, heavy with mood and menace. The kind that mirrored mine.

Coffee in one hand, ambition in the other, I walked into the lecture hall like I owned it. Because I did. I was the name professors whispered about, the one others either envied or hated—never loved. I preferred it that way. Love made people soft. Vulnerable. Breakable.

My heels clicked across the floor with the rhythm of confidence—until he walked in.

Kian Raheja.

If arrogance had a body, it would wear his face like a crown.

Six feet of sculpted nerve, messy hair that somehow always looked styled, a jawline sharper than my eyeliner, and a pair of eyes colder than my ex’s apologies. Dressed like he stepped out of a luxury men's catalogue and smelled like forbidden plans and mint.

He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to.

His presence was loud enough.

I didn’t believe in fate. I believed in stats.

In logic, rankings, gold medals, and sleepless nights wrapped in caffeine and cold ambition. The world wasn’t built by feelings—it was ruled by the ones who never blinked.

So no, I wasn’t threatened by him.

I just hated him. Like math hates chaos.

Kian Raheja.

Top of the damn scoreboard. Every. Single. Term.

I had earned my spot with blood and brutal discipline. He waltzed in with a smirk, an elite surname, and cheekbones that looked hand-chiseled by Olympus interns. The kind of guy who made professors drool and classmates fold. But I wasn’t folding.

Not for him.

“Still one mark behind me, I see.”

His voice slid across the lecture hall like a blade with a British accent. Smooth. Cutting.

I didn’t look up from my notes.

“Still measuring your worth by numbers, Raheja? Must be exhausting.”

“I don’t have to measure it. The scoreboard does it for me.”

Cocky. Polished. Absolutely punchable.

He dropped his bag on the seat beside mine—not by accident. He always sat there. Even when there were fifty other options. Like proximity was just another battlefield.

I snapped my pen shut. “You're blocking my light.”

He tilted his head, mock-sympathy in his eyes. “And yet you still shine. Incredible.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

We both knew the truth.

If I was a hurricane, he was a glacier—slow, lethal, unshakable.

And in this college, we were the ones they watched. The valedictorian hopefuls. The overachievers.

The two names no one dared place in the same sentence unless it ended in versus.

Every club, every competition, every freaking scholarship—our names were always there. Tied, neck and neck. And every time one of us pulled ahead, the other came back sharper.

This wasn’t banter. This was war.

And war had rules.

Rule 1: No truce.

Rule 2: No mercy.

Rule 3: Never fall for the enemy.

Not that there was a risk.

Because I didn’t care how sharp his brain was, or how precise his posture, or how annoyingly elegant he looked solving equations like it was child's play.

He was a thorn in my crown.

And I was about to cut him down.

----------

Same chapter, right after Tara throws her verbal dagger. His internal monologue will give us a glimpse into his calculated, cold, but secretly intrigued mind—no softness, no flirts yet, just raw rivalry:

POV OF KIAN RAHEJA

Tara Vyas was insufferable.

Brilliant, yes. Focused, absolutely. But insufferable.

I didn’t sit beside her every lecture because I enjoyed her company. I sat there to remind her—and myself—that this wasn’t over. Not until one of us was holding that university gold medal... and the other was clapping from the crowd.

She didn’t talk like the others. Didn’t giggle. Didn’t swoon.

She snapped back—clean, precise, deadly.

The type of girl who kept her pens sharper than most people’s morals.

The type who didn’t chase attention... and somehow got it anyway.

“You’re blocking my light,” she said, eyes still on her notes.

A petty jab.

I gave her my signature smile—the one that made other girls stammer. She didn’t even blink.

Fascinating.

She hated that I was always one step ahead. That I made it look effortless.

But here’s the secret I’d never say aloud:

It wasn’t effortless.

I saw the way she studied until the library lights dimmed. I matched her, hour for hour, word for word. She pushed me, and I pushed harder. We were poison to each other’s peace—and fuel to each other’s fire.

Still, I couldn’t resist the game.

Tara Vyas wanted to rule.

So did I.

And there could only be one crown.

But the strange thing? The more I fought her...

...the more I found myself watching her.

Not admiring.

Not liking.

Just... observing.

Every glare. Every comeback. Every time she rolled her eyes at me like I wasn’t worth a second breath.

Interesting, Vyas. Very interesting.

Let’s see who blinks first........

TARA VYAS

I believed in work. And I was damn good at it.

I like to analysis notes and rearrange them, sometimes highlight if neede.

“Still highlighting everything like a nerd?”

His voice slid through the air like butter off a hot knife.

I didn’t blink.

“Still stalking what I do like a fan?” I shot back sweetly, not turning my head.

He chuckled. Low. Rich. Dangerous.

“Someone’s defensive. Must be the trauma of losing last week’s debate.”

“You didn’t win, Raheja. The professor just got tired of your voice.”

“I don’t lose, darling. I just let you feel good about trying.”

That made me look beside, to him.

His smirk was carved by the gods. But I refused to admire the art of my enemy.

“You’ll need that ego when reality finally slaps you.”

“Looking forward to it,” he whispered, leaning in just a little too close. “Especially if it’s your hand doing the slapping.”

What. The. Hell.

I blinked. For a second, just one second, my brain stalled. My heart betrayed me, kicking against my ribs like a traitor. But I masked it fast.

“You wish.”

“No, you wish.” He tapped his pen once. “But you don’t know it yet.”

He leaned back like he’d already won something, and my skin burned—not with attraction, but with rage.

Definitely rage.

As the professor started the lecture, I forced my heartbeat to slow down. I was the calm storm. He was just thunder. Loud, fleeting, unnecessary.

But deep down, a whisper spoke something I didn't want to hear:

You don’t hate him. Not really. You’re scared... because he sees you.

And that’s how this war began.

Not with a fight.

Not with fire.

But with the silence before a storm neither of us was ready for.......

What is going to happen? Something lovely, flirting or rage, fighting????

POV OF TARA VYAS

The library was a battleground.

Not the noisy, chaotic kind. The opposite—silent, tense, surgical. Pages turned like clockwork. Pens scratched across notebooks like scalpels carving out futures. I lived for it.

Until he walked in.

Kian Raheja, in all his arrogant, monochrome perfection.

White shirt. Black jeans. Neat laptop bag. A machine dressed like a man.

He clocked me immediately—of course he did—and took the seat diagonally across. Close enough to irritate. Not close enough to justify homicide.

I ignored him. Tried to.

My mind was buried in neuropsychology flashcards. His presence was buried in my spine.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then:

“You know you’ve been stuck on the same card for eight minutes, right?”

I didn't look up. “You know you’re not the voice in my head, right?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I clenched my jaw. He knew exactly how to needle me—calculated, quiet strikes like a chess prodigy playing blitz.

I flipped the flashcard. “Midterms are in four days. Shouldn’t you be charming someone else with your passive-aggressive flirting?”

“That wasn’t flirting,” he said casually. “If I flirted, you'd know.”

My pen snapped in half.

His smirk widened just enough to qualify as a federal offense.

I stood up. Grabbed my bag. Walked to the far side of the library like I wasn’t fleeing a crime scene.

Behind me, I heard him whisper to no one in particular:

“Vyas: 0. Raheja: check.”

I was going to destroy him.

Not metaphorically.

Academically. Socially. Professionally.

I’d beat him in this midterm if it was the last thing I did. I didn’t care if he was smarter, faster, richer, taller, cooler—

Actually, I did care.

I cared enough to bury that smirk six feet under a pile of my perfect grades.

POV OF KIAN RAHEJA

Watching Tara study was like watching war strategy.

Every movement was planned. Efficient. No wasted motion. No distractions.

No mercy.

I didn’t come to the library looking for her.

But when I saw her, I couldn’t not sit nearby. Something about rattling her just… soothed my soul.

She pretended not to care. Classic. But her pen cracking like a brittle bone told me everything I needed.

She hated losing control.

And I loved being the reason she did.

What she didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that she’d already gotten under my skin. Not in a romantic way. Not even close.

More like… a virus I couldn’t debug.

Every time I aced a paper, I checked hers first.

Every compliment from a professor felt incomplete unless she didn’t get one.

She was competition in its most addictive form.

Midterms were in four days. And Tara Vyas was studying like her life depended on it.

So I studied harder.

I wasn’t going to lose.

Because if she beat me—even once—it wouldn’t just hurt.

It would haunt......

What's gonna happen? Something interesting......

Looking forward to all my dear reader's comments and plz share your point of view on my 2 lovely characters. 愛してます