U.A. was alive with color that day. Music spilled out from every corner of the cultural festival — laughter, cheering, and the mouthwatering smell of food stalls filling the air.

Bakugo had spent the entire morning at the main stage, helping Kirishima and Jiro set up for the performance. Sweat rolled down his neck as he adjusted an amplifier cable.

“Bakubro!” Kirishima called, grinning. “You got a fan club waiting outside!”

“Shut it,” Bakugo muttered, rolling his eyes. “Like I care.”

But when he turned toward the gate, something made his heart skip.

She was there.

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Standing among the crowd, her smile shy but radiant — her hair braided loosely over one shoulder, a soft turquoise saree flowing in the breeze, gold bangles glinting against the sunlight.

For a second, everything — the noise, the chatter, the music — went silent.

Bakugo blinked, frozen. “No way…”

She laughed softly when their eyes met.

He actually forgot how to breathe for a second. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped. “Bro… you didn’t tell us your girlfriend’s from India?!”