A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to give a HUGE hug to all of the people who have reviewed for my stories. You don't know how happy this makes me – it really means a lot. Also, special thanks to all the people who reviewed anonymously that I couldn't personally thank – you guys are wonderful!

And also, a note to all the anonymous reviewers for my Mohabbatein story, Bicycle Handlebar: ashlover, bollywood maniac, fic crazzzzy, fhfhK, bolly34 and kitty – sorry guys, it was a one-shot. It's completed. I really can't think what else to write on it without it becoming unbearably cheesy. I might write more Mohabbatein one-shots, but I'm not great at chaptered stories.

Anyway. Read and review for this one – hope you like it!

-----

Static Electricity

-----

It had not been a good first day of college for Anjali. So far, she had a load of work to do already, she had forgotten her lunch and the cafeteria food was disgusting and she had earned herself a detention from her weird English professor, Ms. Briganza, for 'not dressing like a girl'.

What exactly was that supposed to mean? Well, if dressing like a girl meant wearing skirts and make-up and spending hours on her hair, then she just wasn't interested. As long as her hair was out of her face and she was wearing something comfortable, she didn't really care. As for make-up, who wanted to put wax and fish-scales on their faces anyway?

She had just walked into courtyard when she saw a gathering of people. There was a lot of noise coming from them and she wandered over to see what was going on.

Ah. It seemed that some seniors in full punk regalia – spiked hair, piercings everywhere, tattoos and bulging muscles – were 'welcoming' the new first years. They were trying to force a boy with messy hair and bored expression to arm wrestle with them. He sat down, sighing resignedly.

Anjali weighed up the odds. On one hand, the boy didn't look scared, but perhaps he didn't know what was in store for him. On the other hand, those seniors' arms were as thick and heavy as their heads. Not that the boy was scrawny or anything, but those seniors looked way stronger.

She shook her head. That poor boy was going to have his arm broken or something.

She stepped forward. 'Stop it,' she said loudly. 'This is stupid. We don't need to be 'welcomed' by anyone.'

There was some snickering from some parts of the crowd. One of the thick-skulls, the one with the tattoo of the snake on his arm raised half of his monobrow. He looked down at the boy with messy hair.

'Looks like it's your lucky day,' he taunted, 'saved by your girlfriend here.' It was a clear challenge – escape and lose your pride or arm wrestle and possibly end up in hospital.

Anjali rolled her eyes. 'Come on,' she said to the boy, 'let's go.'

He glared at her. 'I'm not going anywhere,' he said coolly. 'I don't need a girl to fight my battles for me.' He turned back to Snake Tattoo. 'I'm ready to arm wrestle you.'

Anjali rolled her eyes. Male pride, she thought, is possibly the stupidest thing in existence. A part of her couldn't help being hurt at the boy's words though.

I don't need a girl to fight my battles for me.

He said it like being a girl was a bad thing. Actually, looking around, she realized that the typical 'girl' here was enough to make her thoroughly embarrassed for her gender. But wasn't it obvious that she wasn't a typical girl?

She even half-wanted the senior to defeat him and then he would realize that she had offered a way out of the whole stupid situation in the first place. Then maybe he would regret his rash decision.

But if he lost, then Snake Tattoo would win and would bully more people, something she also didn't want. Anjali disliked both of them and couldn't decide who she wanted to win.

In the end, she decided on the messy-haired boy, because even though he was so rude, he was a first year, new like her. If he won, it would show those punks that this year's new lot were not to be messed with.

She reluctantly stayed in the crowd, out of pure curiosity to see how things turned out. For the first time since she had come to the college – which wasn't that long ago, but still – there was absolute silence. If somebody had – for whatever reason – taken it into their heads to drop a pin, they would have been glared at for breaking the silence.

She craned her neck, trying to see over the heads of the people in front of her. The fight had started and the newcomer seemed to be a pushover. The muscles in his arm were tensed but she could see that he was slowly but surely being pushed down.

There was an air of defeat in the first year crowd already and some people had already started leaving, keen not to be the next victims. Anjali looked carefully at the two of them. Snake Tattoo's face had been glistening with sweat at the effort and his arm muscles were tensed until he grinned and relaxed, knowing that he had practically won.

And that was his biggest mistake.

Nobody quite followed what happened next, but the next second, Snake was lying on the floor groaning and clutching his arm.

Eyes darted from him writhing on the floor to the cocky grin that was slowly spreading on the face of the first year, not quite believing what they had seen.

'Any challengers?' he said smirking, already knowing the answer. Indeed nobody seemed to be volunteering.

'Come on,' he said, 'someone! How about you? You? You?' He pointed at random people in the crowd, trying to forcibly get himself a challenger.

Anjali rolled her eyes. She might have been glad for his victory – a breakthrough for first years everywhere – if he had not started to ape Snake Tattoo. He was being a bully, just like that other guy. He was abusing his strength and that wasn't right.

'I'll wrestle you,' she said firmly, stepping forward.

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. 'You'll wrestle me?' He waved his hand dismissively. 'Nah, I want some real competition. Besides, I wouldn't want to hurt you, dollface.' He winked at her before turning back to the crowd. 'So anybody want to arm wrestle? Serious offers this time, please.'

Dollface?

Oh, he was going down. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she spun him around to face her. 'I'm serious. Arm wrestle me. Unless you're scared…' she taunted, sure that his pride would not allow him to not accept.

She was right. 'Oh, you asked for it,' he said. 'Just don't come crying to me after you lose.'

She raised an eyebrow, her jaw set. 'Don't worry about that – just make sure you can restrain yourself after you lose.'

They sat down at the table amidst cheers. All the feminist/semi-intelligent people were rooting for her, all the bimbos – unfortunately the vast majority – for the 'totally dreeeeeaammy' new guy.

'You know, I'm not going to play easy on you just because you're a girl,' the guy said smirking, 'But I'll be generous with you. You can still back out. No consequences, even – except for the fact that I will rag you about it for the rest of your natural life.'

She glared. 'Don't count on it,' she snapped, grabbing his hand. They both winced at the spark of static that went up their arms at contact. (A/N: Yeah, static, suuuuurrrre...)

Time slowed to one of those clichéd flashback moments as they glared heatedly at each other, hazel boring into brown, each forcing the other to give up.

I don't need a girl to fight my battles for me.

Nah, I want some real competition.

Just don't come crying to me after you lose.

…I will rag you about it for the rest of your natural life.

Her arm muscles strained and she felt the full strength of the boy's arm. He had been telling the truth when he said he would not play easy on her. Despite her attempts to hold firm and try to push his arm over, her arm was being pushed down. Slowly at first, then with gaining speed.

No! was the first thought that came to her mind. It was the second thought as well. After all she had boasted and taunted, she could not lose!

She had almost given up hope when the boy, sure of his victory, had started blowing kisses to some of his adoring fans with his free hand. His wrestling arm was also more relaxed.

'Idiot,' she muttered, flipping his arm over with as much force as she could muster before he realized what had happened.

There was a stunned silence from the crowd as the boy lay on the ground, a silly expression on his face, looking rather as though someone had swung something heavy into his face.

Then a few of the girls and most of the guys cheered. She walked off, a satisfied – and admittedly a tad smug – smile on her face.

-----

She could pinpoint the madness beginning there. The idiot – whose name she found out was Rahul when he started hitting on the English teacher when she was calling attendance – would not stop bugging her.

He was either deaf or stupid, possibly both, since the words 'Leave me alone' seemed to have little or no effect on him.

Everyday he would corner her and beg her to teach him her arm-wrestling secret. 'I don't get it,' he whined. 'How could you – a girl – beat me?'

'I could beat you because you're an arrogant arse,' she had snapped.

He challenged her to a rematch, saying that she had probably won by fluke the first time. Then when she won again, he challenged her to three out of five. Needless to say, his precious male pride took a severe beating.

Defeated and confused, he took to following her around and bugging her.

-----

Some time later, between all the following around, the nagging, the exchange of insults, somewhere, somehow a friendship had developed. When asked much later, neither could pinpoint when they went from irritating each other beyond belief to being the best of friends. Anjali says it happened gradually: through their interactions (read: exchange of insults) they found that they had things in common and slowly became friends. Rahul says that it was nothing like that. He maintains that they were pulling each others' hair out one minute and were best buddies the next. There is no telling who is right; all we know is that when they are together, kuch kuch hota hai.

-----

A/N: Well? Howzzat? Like it? Hate it? Divided opinion? Please review – comments, criticism, unconditional praise and worship all accepted!