(Scene: Hostel 4 Courtyard – late afternoon. Sun dipping, the air thick with heat and trouble. Hostel 4 boys lounge around shirtless, loud, cocky, and infamous. Among them stands Derek — the silent storm at the center of chaos.)

6 feet of pure intimidation, ink crawling across dusky skin, cigarette hanging between his lips like he was born with it. His beard sharp, eyes sharper. Muscular arms crossed, leaning against the hostel wall like he owns every brick of it.

Hostel 4. The worst of the worst. The rejects. The boys who failed more subjects than they passed — and didn’t give a single damn about it.

And Derek? He’s their undisputed king.

Anee cracks a joke. Mummy whines about an assignment. Sexa whistles at every passing girl. But Derek? He’s silent. Always is — until he’s not.

Then, it happens.

She appears. YN, from Hostel 3 — the so-called losers, but dressed like sin and walking like royalty. Her black t-shirt clings to her curves. Flared jeans stretch over thick thighs and that sinful ass that has even the boys of Hostel 4 going quiet.

She looks up. He looks down.

Their eyes lock.

Silence. Heat. Tension. The cigarette trembles slightly between Derek’s fingers.

Anee (grinning): “Bhai, woh wali dekh rahi hai tujhe. Again.”

Mummy: “Tu bolta kyu nahi usse? Har din tu bas ghoorta rehta hai.”

Sexa (gasping dramatically): “If you don’t go to her, I will. For the culture.”

But Derek doesn’t move. He just watches her — quiet, unreadable, eyes burning with something between desire and danger.

Derek (low, under his breath): “She’s not ready. But when she is... she’ll come to me.”

And with that, he flicks the ash, drags another smoke, and keeps his gaze locked on the girl who might just burn down his entire world without even knowing it.