The morning at Gulberg, a lively neighborhood in Lahore, was anything but quiet. Birds chirped, car horns blared, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed chai wafted through the streets.
In one house, Hamza Sohail rushed down the stairs, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder.
"Beta, have breakfast before leaving!" called Raniya, his mother, from the kitchen.
"Ammi, I'll grab something from the university canteen," Hamza replied, barely sparing a glance as he adjusted his perfectly ironed shirt. His elder sister, Zobia, rolled her eyes.
"You care more about getting to class early than food. No wonder you're so grumpy," she teased, earning a smirk from Hamza.
Next door, Sehar Tahir was just as rushed, though her mornings had a touch more chaos. Between helping her younger sister, Soha, pack her schoolbag and finishing her own notes, she barely had time to eat.
"Sehar, beta, at least have some toast," insisted her mother, Farheen, setting a plate in front of her.
"Ammi, I'm running late. Soha, hurry up!" Sehar called out as she tied her hair into a sleek ponytail.
Farheen sighed and exchanged a knowing look with Soha. "She's always like this. So focused on beating Hamza that she forgets to eat."
As fate would have it, Hamza and Sehar often left their homes around the same time. The shared driveway between their houses had become a silent battlefield of ego and rivalry.
Hamza locked his car, spotting Sehar helping Soha into hers.
"Still running late, Tahir?" he called out, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Sehar straightened, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Better late than being obnoxiously early, Sohail."
Soha tugged at Sehar's hand. "Apa, you're wasting time arguing with him again!"
Hamza chuckled. "Listen to your sister. Maybe she's the smarter one in the family."
Ignoring him, Sehar got into the car and sped off.
The classrooms at LUMS buzzed with energy, the perfect stage for Hamza and Sehar's legendary rivalry. That day, their Finance professor had announced a group debate on the economic policies of Pakistan.
Hamza, seated at the front, was already taking meticulous notes. Sehar entered moments later, slightly flustered but determined.
"Looks like Miss Perfectionist is late again," Hamza whispered to his friend, smirking as Sehar shot him a glare from across the room.
When the professor divided them into opposing teams, a collective groan echoed through the classroom. Everyone knew the fireworks that would follow.
That evening, both families gathered for dinner, as they often did, thanks to the friendship between their fathers, Tahir and Sohail, who were colleagues at a multinational company.
The dining table was a lively scene, with Farheen and Raniya chatting about a community fundraiser, and Zobia teasing Hamza about his inability to win an argument with Sehar.
"So, Sehar, how's your debate prep going?" asked Tahir, unaware of the tension simmering between the two.
"Great, Uncle Sohail," Sehar replied politely. "It'll be tough, though. Hamza is on the other team."
Hamza smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Don't worry, Uncle. I'll make sure she learns something new."
The room erupted in laughter, though Sehar's eyes glinted with determination.
"Let's see who learns from whom," she said, her voice calm but firm.
After a few days
Sehar stepped onto the driveway, the soft lavender of her kurti catching the morning light. Her presentation file rested securely in her arms, filled with the meticulous work she had poured weeks into. She spotted Hamza leaning against his sleek car, scrolling casually through his phone. His crisp white shirt and navy-blue blazer gave him an air of nonchalant confidence that only added to her annoyance.
"Well, well," Hamza drew without looking up. "Miss Tahir, running late as usual. You know, punctuality is the first step to success."
Sehar raised an eyebrow, her grip on the file tightening. "And overconfidence is the first step to failure, Sohail. I hope you're prepared for today because I'm going to crush you."
Hamza finally looked up, his smirk infuriatingly calm. "Crush me? Big words for someone who usually trips over her own confidence. Did you even finish your project, or are you planning to improvise like always?"
She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. "You seem awfully chirpy for someone who's about to come second. Or is this just how you cope with being average?"
Hamza chuckled, pushing off his car to stand a little taller. "Average? Tahir, I define excellence. You? You're just a step behind, constantly trying to catch up."
Sehar scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Excellence? The only thing you've mastered is being insufferable."
"Insufferable, yet unforgettable," Hamza shot back, his grin widening as he opened his car door.
Sehar glared at him, biting back a retort as he added, "Don't be late to class, Tahir. It'd be a shame if you missed my presentation."
Her eyes followed him as he drove off, his parting smirk burned into her memory. "Just wait, Sohail," she muttered under her breath. "Your so-called excellence is about to meet its match."
The classroom buzzed with anticipation as Hamza walked confidently to the podium. His demeanor screamed self-assuredness, his every move calculated to command attention. Sehar watched him with narrowed eyes, her irritation simmering.
"Good morning, everyone," Hamza began, his voice smooth and composed. "Today, I'll be presenting my project, which I'm certain will be a valuable addition to our collective understanding."
Sehar rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. "Collective understanding? More like collective eye-rolling."
Hamza caught her subtle reaction and smirked mid-sentence, continuing his presentation with ease. As he moved through his slides, Sehar's irritation turned to shock. The points, the research, the visual layout-it was all hers.
Her jaw clenched, her hands tightening into fists under the desk. How did he get my file? she thought, her mind racing. She glanced at him, and his brief, knowing look confirmed her worst suspicion.
When Hamza wrapped up, the applause was loud, the professor nodding in approval. Hamza returned to his seat, leaning back with a smug expression.
"Your turn, Tahir," he whispered as she passed him, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
Sehar shot him a glare, her chest tight with a mix of anger and helplessness. At the podium, she froze. She couldn't use her presentation-it would look like she had copied him. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, and she stammered, "Sir, I... I'm not ready to present today."
The professor frowned. "Not ready? This is your final project, Sehar."
"I know, sir. I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely audible.
The professor sighed. "Very well. You'll receive a failing grade for this project."
As she returned to her seat, Hamza leaned over, his voice mockingly sympathetic. "Tough break, Tahir. Better luck next time."
Sehar didn't respond, her mind already plotting her revenge.
By the time they reached home, Sehar's anger had reached a boiling point. Hamza was already at the driveway, leaning casually against his car, his smirk firmly in place.
"Rough day?" he called out as she stepped out of her car.
She turned to him, her eyes blazing. "You think this is funny?"
Hamza shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. "Not funny-just predictable. You should really learn to guard your work better, Tahir."
Her fists clenched. "You stole my project, Sohail. That wasn't just low-it was pathetic."
He chuckled. "Stole? Such an ugly word. I prefer borrowed. Besides, it's not my fault you left your file lying around."
Sehar scanned the ground, her eyes landing on a small stone near the flowerbed. Without thinking, she picked it up and hurled it at him.
"OW!" Hamza stumbled back, clutching his forehead as blood trickled down.
"Serves you right!" Sehar shouted. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before messing with me."
Hamza glared at her, his hand still on his forehead. "Are you insane? You could've seriously hurt me!"
"Good!" she retorted, her voice trembling with rage. "Maybe it'll knock some sense into that thick skull of yours!"
Before he could respond, she stormed into her car and sped off, leaving him standing there, stunned and bleeding.
When Hamza walked into his house, his sister Zobia gasped. "Hamza! What happened to you?"
"Your lovely neighbor happened," he muttered, sitting down on the couch as Zobia grabbed the first-aid kit.
"Let me guess-Sehar?" she asked, dabbing at the wound.
"Who else?" he replied, wincing.
"What did you do this time?" Zobia asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hamza smirked despite the pain. "Nothing too serious. I just borrowed her presentation."
Zobia shook her head in disbelief. "Borrowed? You mean you stole it. Hamza, you deserved that stone. Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't throw something bigger."
"It's not my fault she's so easy to rile up," Hamza said, leaning back as Zobia finished bandaging his forehead.
"You two need to grow up," Zobia said, crossing her arms. "This rivalry is getting ridiculous. You should apologize and sort this out."
Hamza shrugged, his smirk returning. "What's the fun in that?"
Zobia sighed, shaking her head. "One day, this will backfire, Hamza. Mark my words."
But Hamza wasn't listening. His mind was already plotting his next move.