Two more months had passed in the blink of an eye, and with it, their internships had finally come to an end. The relentless schedules, the stressful deadlines, and the endless balancing act between work and college were officially behind them. As if on cue, Hamza had also fully recovered from his injury, making it the perfect reason to celebrate. And what better way than a night out at the club?
The girls had planned everything, from the venue to their outfits, while the boys simply complied. But when it came to Shumaila, things weren't so simple.
"I'm good with this," she stated, standing in front of the mirror, dressed in her usual casual wear—a stylish yet simple blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans.
Komal raised a brow. "Yeah, no. You're not wearing that."
Sneha crossed her arms. "Shumaila, you're not stepping out of this room looking like you just got back from a lecture."
Akansha grabbed her wrist. "Come on, we got you a dress. It's classy, elegant, and you will wear it."
Shumaila groaned as she was quite literally dragged back inside to change. The dress they had picked was perfect—a deep emerald-green bodycon dress that hugged her figure in all the right ways, with long sleeves, a high neckline, and an open-back design that added just the right amount of allure without making her uncomfortable.
When she finally stepped out, her friends beamed in triumph.
"Now this is hot," Komal smirked.
"Hamza's gonna lose his mind," Sneha added, wiggling her brows.
Shumaila rolled her eyes. "You guys are delusional."
The other girls looked equally stunning. Komal wore a sleek black off-shoulder dress with a thigh-high slit, her hair in voluminous waves, adding to her confident, bold aura. Akansha, always one for subtle elegance, opted for a maroon midi dress that hugged her curves, paired with delicate gold jewelry. Sneha, the most daring of the group, stunned in a deep blue satin mini dress with a plunging neckline, her confidence making her all the more striking.
Meanwhile, the boys were ready and waiting downstairs, dressed to impress.
Siddarth looked effortlessly charming in a fitted navy-blue button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with black trousers. Aarav had gone for a sleek dark red shirt with the top buttons undone, giving off a relaxed yet sophisticated vibe. Rudra kept it classic with an all-black ensemble, exuding his usual carefree charm. Hamza was a vision of sheer dominance.
Dressed in a fitted black shirt, left unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of his defined chest, paired with tailored dark pants, boots and a silver chain that rested against his collarbone, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a mafia boss fantasy. The sleeves of his shirt were folded up slightly, showcasing his veined forearms. His leather jacket rested in his arms, and his sharp, neatly styled hair only added to the effect.
When Shumaila descended the stairs, he felt his entire world shift for a brief second. His breath caught, and his fingers curled into fists as his eyes took in the sight of her. She had always been beautiful, but tonight? She was something else entirely.
The dress, the way it framed her perfectly, the elegance of it—it was her, but in a way he had never seen before. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, but just as quickly as the moment came, he masked it.
By the time she reached the last step, his face was unreadable, and he looked away as if she hadn't just knocked the air out of his lungs.
"Let's go," he said, his voice calm, betraying none of the chaos inside him.
...
The club was already packed when they arrived, neon lights flashing across the room as music pulsed through the air. The energy was electric, and within minutes, the group was already buzzing with excitement.
Drinks were ordered, laughter was shared, and within no time, everyone decided to hit the dance floor.
Sneha, the certified dance floor queen, wasted no time, grabbing Shumaila's hand and dragging her to the center. "Come on, no excuses!"
Shumaila, already feeling the energy, laughed and joined in without hesitation. Soon, **Komal and Siddarth were lost in their own world, dancing too close to each other ** Aarav and Akansha were locked in their own little bubble, moving effortlessly with the music, their chemistry undeniable.
This left Rudra and Hamza at the table, watching the scene unfold.
Rudra took a sip of his drink before glancing at Hamza. "You know," he started, smirking, "if you keep staring at her like that, she might actually melt under your gaze."
Hamza scoffed, looking away. "I'm not staring."
Rudra laughed. "Yeah, and I'm the prime minister."
Before Hamza could retort, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention. A guy had approached Shumaila on the dance floor. Tall, decent-looking, confident.
Hamza's grip on his glass tightened.
The guy leaned in, introducing himself, and Shumaila, being polite, nodded, about to shake his hand.
But before she could, Hamza was suddenly there.
Out of nowhere, he slid behind her, pressing her back against his front, his hand resting possessively on her waist. His other hand stretched forward and took the guy's hand instead.
"Hamza," he introduced himself, his voice cool, his grip firm.
Shumaila's breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his body against hers, her heart hammering inside her chest. The guy looked between them, clearly catching the tension in the air.
Hamza's grip on her waist didn't waver.
The guy let out a dry chuckle. "I take it she's with you?"
Hamza's lips curled slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down Shumaila's spine.
"You tell me."
And with that, the night had just taken a very, very interesting turn.