Monday morning, the plan was already in motion.
Zaki had returned from London, Mishal was still weak but clutching her phone, and Urhaan was pacing like a lion ready to strike.
Mishal's voice cracked through the group chat: "Today. No delays. Those girls need to learn what it means to mess with our Anabiya."
By lunch break, Samreen and Mahir had already helped gather the four jealous girls—Asha, Zubiya, Rubab, and Shila—towards the empty ground behind the school.
The moment they stepped in, a bucket of cold water splashed over them. They gasped and screamed, mascara dripping, uniforms soaking. Before they could recover, Zaki appeared with a mischievous grin and threw handfuls of glitter over their wet heads. The sticky glitter clung to their hair, faces, even their soaked clothes.
Mishal raised her phone high, camera flashing.
"Two options," she said coldly. "Either I upload these on Instagram, or you kneel down and apologize to Anabiya right now."
The girls froze, shivering and embarrassed. Shila's mascara had turned into black streams running down her cheeks. Rubab hiccupped from crying too hard. Finally, with no choice left, they sank to their knees.
That's when Urhaan brought Anabiya from the corridor. She stopped in her tracks, shocked to see them kneeling, hands joined, begging.
"Anabiya, we're sorry!" they cried in broken voices.
Anabiya's wide eyes blinked in disbelief. Her lips curved into the softest, most innocent smile.
"Guys... this is too much. You didn't have to do this."
Mahir, standing at the back, silently clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He didn't say a word, but his eyes didn't leave her face.
Urhaan suddenly snapped:
"No, Biya! This isn't enough. They hit you—now you hit them back!"
Anabiya turned to him, stunned.
"Are you crazy?" she whispered. "They apologized. That's what I wanted."
But Urhaan's rage only flared. He marched up to one of the girls, grabbed her wrist harshly, and raised his foot as if to crush her hand.
"Urhaan, stop!" Anabiya screamed, pulling him back. Then, in a rare flare of temper, she slapped him across the arm.
"What are you, a gangster? Beating girls? That's not my style, Urhaan!"
Her voice shook, but her eyes burned with authority. The four girls watched in silent terror.
Urhaan punched the wall beside him, his knuckles bleeding slightly.
"You're forgetting what they did to you, Anabiya. They could've seriously hurt you. And you're defending them?"
His voice cracked between anger and pain.
Zaki quickly stepped in, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"Yaar... Anabiya's right. We only wanted to scare them, not cross the line. Enough now."
By then Mishal had already waved the trembling girls away, her sharp eyes daring them to ever try again. They ran off, still dripping with glitter and humiliation.
Urhaan stormed out of the ground, chest heaving. Zaki followed him, worried.
Mishal came to Anabiya's side, whispering softly, "You okay? Don't think about them now."
Mahir finally spoke, his voice low but firm:
"It's getting late. Let's go home."
Anabiya nodded quietly, her body exhausted. Mishal wrapped her arms around her in a hug, murmuring, "Byee... take care. My fever's still not gone."
And with that, the group broke apart—leaving behind a ground filled with glitter, water, and the echoes of anger, apology, and an uneasy silence.