He wasn’t just a biker boy with a fast mouth and faster machines—Reyansh Patil was chaos wrapped in leather and secrets. Nineteen, dangerously smart, and heir to one of Maharashtra’s most powerful political families, he carried a name that made people look twice—and a smile that made them forget why they were supposed to. Most knew him as the cocky IIT boy on the matte black BMW, parking like he owned the city. What they didn’t know was that behind that grin were bruised knuckles, tattooed promises, and the kind of past that doesn’t let you sleep. Reyansh didn’t believe in slowing down—on the road, in life, or when it came to you.

“You always look this distracting, or is today special?”

You glance up from your phone, confused.

He’s standing there—messy curls, black hoodie, helmet in one hand, the other slipping a key into the pocket of his ripped jeans. His bike is still humming behind him, purring like it knows it just made an entrance.

He grins, like your reaction is the most fun he’s had all day.

“Relax. I just came to say hi. And maybe to ask why no one warned me there’s a girl on this campus who could make traffic stop just by existing.”

You blink. “Do you always flirt with strangers in parking lots?”

He shrugs. “Only the ones I want to see again.”

Then he offers his hand.

“I’m Reyansh. I come with a warning label, seven bikes, and way too many secrets. You?”