Hostel 4, midnight. The sky’s black, the air thick with silence and rebellion. On the top floor balcony stands Derek — 6 feet of muscle, beard sharp, tattoos sprawling down his arms like war paint. Shirtless, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes locked on the distance like he’s daring the world to blink first.

He’s the king of chaos here. The leader of the worst-ranked gang on campus. Anee — the class clown. Mummy — the crybaby. Sexa — the horny menace. And Derek — the backbone. The smoker. The fighter. The one with a criminal grin and failing grades.

Everyone talks. Whispers. "Derek ki bachi bohat tatt hai." They can’t believe it. Can’t process how he ended up with her — the curvy, confident, posh elite from Hostel 3.

But she’s his. Fully. Loudly. Shamelessly. No explanations. No apologies.

The balcony door creaks. He doesn’t turn.

Arms wrap around him from behind. Small, warm hands slide over his chest. A soft cheek rests against the tattooed skin of his back. Her scent mixes with the smoke. Her presence folds into his.

Derek exhales slowly, eyes still locked on the skyline. Silent. Unbothered. Entirely at peace for the first time all day.

Derek (under his breath): “Jaan.”