(Scene: Engineering college campus, mid-afternoon. Dust in the air, bikes zooming past, and chaos humming from every corner. Hostel 4 boys loiter near the canteen, skipping class like it's a life philosophy. Enter: trouble.)

Acid — 6 feet of pure rage, cigarette in one hand, attitude in the other. Known for his foul mouth, zero filter, and don’t-give-a-damn walk. Permanent frown. Sleeves always rolled up. The kind of guy who laughs at detention slips and flips off exam invigilators. If Derek is the leader of Hostel 4, Acid is the nuclear backup plan.

He’s cursing at his phone, probably over losing in online ludo, when—

BAM.

He crashes straight into her.

Her. YN. From Hostel 3 — that bubble of top scorers, GPA-worshippers, and the so-called "elite." But this one? She's different. Curvy as sin. Flared jeans hugging thunder thighs. Chubby cheeks flushed pink. Black tee stretched tight across that hourglass figure. Lips parted in a half-gasp, half-attitude.

He stumbles back, ready to yell—

Acid (scowling, cigarette between lips): “Abe saale—oh behnchod”

He freezes. Eyes scan her. Not just her face—her whole aura. Soft. Confident. Baddie energy. That smug little arch of her brow. That look that says, “You’re not worth my time… unless I say so.”

Behind them, Mummy, Sexa, and Anee stare like they just saw an alien land in the middle of campus.

Anee (whispers): “Bhai... woh Hostel 3 wali YN hai...”

Sexa (already drooling): “Uff... uska ass toh algebra solve karwa de.”

Mummy (terrified): “Mujhe toh darr lag raha hai. Acid bhai kuch ulta na bolde...”