Hooked Up Feelings.

"Sometimes we forget the key to happiness—we anchor it to someone else's attention, someone else's affection, and in chasing love, we overlook the ones whose world already revolves around us. In the end, we lose them too."

One thing was certain—I was completely, hopelessly flung by that stranger girl’s charm. Her broad, innocent smile with those slightly uneven rabbit teeth was heartbreakingly cute. And when she looked at me? God, I was blushing so hard, I could’ve been mistaken for a human tomato.

Thankfully, a senior swooped in with a mic and hijacked the crowd’s attention. I exhaled in relief. This guy had an effortlessly magnetic presence—medium build, sleek ponytail, black blazer, and a casual confidence that made him the center of the room. Girls were practically swooning.

He introduced himself with a line so dripping in cheese, it could’ve melted the mic. His name? Sahil. And the guy had that maddening gift—walking into a room and soaking up every drop of attention like a spotlight was his birthright. Girls were watching him like he was the campus celebrity no one warned us about.

My jaw tightened as he made his move—swaggering right up to her like she’d been waiting just for him. He took her hand, twirled it dramatically, leaned in with an overconfident grin, and whispered something that made her laugh—soft and real. That laugh echoed in my chest like a stolen treasure. Her cheeks turned rosy, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like she was actually charmed.

It hit like a gut punch. Watching her giggle at his dollar-store flirting felt like being sucker-punched in slow motion. That moment was supposed to be mine.

My grip tightened around my drink. It crushed in my palm, the liquid spilling all over Ishaan’s shoes.

"Dude, are you serious?" Ishaan snapped.

"Sorry, didn’t realize you were so close," I muttered, my voice half-apologetic, half-distracted.

"I’m not talking about the drink, man. That’ll evaporate in minutes. But your heart? It’s already neck-deep. You’ve barely met her, and yet look at yourself—completely gone."

He had a point—but what did logic know about feelings?

After what felt like an eternity of watching her laugh at someone else's jokes, the energy in the room shifted. The seniors rolled out icebreaker games—one of those party tricks to get strangers mingling like best friends. I spotted her—still glowing, still magnetic—joining the queue for a card game with her new girl squad. Without missing a beat, I counted spots and slid into the corresponding boys' line. Ishaan, who had gone from my realist to my reluctant wingman, followed close behind, watching me like I was about to dive off a cliff.

As the queue moved and the crowd cheered, my nerves started buzzing. Then—finally—

"Hi, I’m Dev," I said, standing in front of her.

She smiled. "Hi Dev, I’m Shyla. Nice to meet you."

Boom. That was it. I was gone.

The game was simple: blow gently to make only the top card fall off a stacked deck. Too soft? You lose. Too hard and the whole deck falls? You lose. Simple, right? Not with her this close.

She leaned in and blew the first card off, her breath minty, her presence intoxicating. My mind spun. I’d never had a girlfriend before—not a real one anyway—but Shyla? Her curly hair, those shining black eyes, that smile... she felt like the kind of story people spent their whole lives chasing.

Everyone around started cheering. For her, obviously.

Then came my turn. I leaned forward, took a steady breath, and gave a careful puff toward the deck. The top card slipped off like a feather, then another—two cards cleanly down. A controlled move, no disasters. Ishaan whooped like I’d just hit a hat-trick. Everyone else stayed quiet, watching closely. I straightened, pretending I hadn’t just held my breath the entire time.

"Let’s see you top that," I said with a playful grin.

She giggled, biting her glitter-painted nail, then tilted her head with a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Ooh... cocky and cute? Careful, Dev—you might just make me swoon."

Just when things felt perfect, a sudden jolt slammed into my side, sending me stumbling straight into Ishaan. Gasps and snickers erupted around us. As I turned, dazed and furious, there he was—Sahil—strutting in like he owned the floor, a smirk carved across his face like he was auditioning for a villain role. He didn’t just bump me—he made an entrance, loud and calculated, a reminder that in his world, no spotlight stayed on anyone else for long.

Shyla didn’t laugh. She looked unimpressed—almost annoyed. Before she could say anything, Sahil called for the DJ and turned the mood with loud music. As Shyla turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist.

"Wanna dance?" he asked, smirking.

She pulled her hand back, raising an eyebrow. "Mm, tempting... but I usually don’t dance with guys who date their own reflections."

Mic drop.

Even with the music booming, the room fell into an awkward hush.

And just as the silence thickened, she glanced my way—then, with a half-smile that made my heart trip, she turned to me.

"Dev," she said, her voice slicing through the bass. "Do you wanna dance?"

Sahil’s face froze. His jaw clenched.

I nodded. Took her hand. Soft, smooth, a perfect fit.

The DJ, sensing drama, switched from slow jazz to chaotic Bollywood beats. The crowd exploded into wild moves. My dream moment turned into a dance-floor circus.

Still, Shyla was a vision. She danced with ease, spinning, laughing, moving like the music was made for her.

"Come on, Dev! Show me some moves!" she shouted.

I panicked. The only dance move I knew was from a childhood school function. But I gave it my all—flailing arms, stomping feet, full commitment.

She burst into laughter. "Wow, Dev, you’ve got some moves!"

Then—she copied me. Then others did. Suddenly, my ridiculous dance became a flash mob. I didn’t care. I was happy. Really, genuinely happy.

When the dance ended and people scattered, I knew I had to act.

"Hey," I called to her, catching her just before she rejoined her group. "Can I have your number?"

She tilted her head. "Dev, you know that us dancing and playing that game didn’t mean anything, right?"

Her tone was playful, but my heart still sank.

"Of course not! I—I didn’t mean it like that," I stammered.

She laughed. "I’m messing with you. You looked like you were about to faint—come on, hand over your phone."

She entered her number, saving it under her name—with a winking emoji.

I floated out of the party like a man in love. Which I probably was.

The moon was huge that night, glowing like it had front-row tickets to my joy. I imagined a hundred ways to run into her the next day. My mind was hers now.

Back at the hostel, Ishaan kept yammering. I barely heard him. As we reached the entrance, I noticed the watchman grinning oddly. A guy with a cigarette leaned on the wall nearby.

As we passed, the guy stepped forward. "Eyes down, dumbasses," he growled.

That was the moment.

The moment when everything—my joy, my dream, my perfect night—started to twist.

And just like that, the night took on a different pulse—darker, heavier. I didn’t know it yet, but something was already in motion. Something that would pull me out of my daydreams and into a nightmare I wasn’t ready for.