(the chapter is not edited so please dismiss the mistakes you go through)
It's been a week since Zaid and Ayra's engagement, a week to Maha's impromptu speech in my favor and of course her nonchalant debate with my parents. I never predicted that anyone apart from my cousins would stand up for me, but I've been surprised by Maha every time.
Me and Maha haven't exchanged any dialogues the past week as she's engulfed in her fashion designing contest, while I'm preparing for the international football arena.
Football currently requires my undivided attention considering that such a big contest is around the corner. Firstly, the authorities will conduct a national level competition and then they'll move forward to international level.
At this moment, I'm livid. Our first match is scheduled with Strokia university and it pains me to admit that they're competitive. My team hasn't figured out yet that focusing on defense is just as crucial as attacking.
For the hundredth time, they are focusing on scoring a goal and in return the opponent would have won the game.
Just as I score again, the coach's whistle rings out and my team doesn't manage to defend. I spin around, glaring at the guys who are catching their breath like it's just another casual run. "Are you kidding me?" My voice is sharp, biting, the frustration boiling over.
"We're practicing, Captain," Azeem says, panting, shrugging as if this isn't the hundredth time I've pointed out the same damn issue. His nonchalance only fuels my anger.
"Yeah, and practice is exactly where you figure this out!" I snap, running a hand through my sweat-drenched hair, pushing it back. "If you don't learn to defend now, Strokia's gonna wipe the floor with us. You think they're gonna just let us score at will?"
I can see the exhaustion in their faces, the sweat dripping down, but I'm not about to go easy on them. We're a good team... better than this. But right now, they're playing like they're more concerned with showing off than actually winning.
I step forward, my chest heaving from exertion, my frustration barely contained. "What's the point of scoring if you can't protect the goal? If we can't defend, we're handing them the win before the game even starts."
The silence that follows is thick. They're tired, I get it. But we don't have the luxury of slacking off, not when the real challenge is just around the corner. I pace, trying to channel my anger into something productive, but it's hard. My muscles are tense, my fists clenching as I look each of them in the eye. They need to wake up.
I wipe the sweat from my face, the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on us, but it's nothing compared to the fire burning under my skin. I don't care if it's just practice. We're supposed to be better than this.
The coach blows the whistle again, signaling a break, but I don't need one. What I need is for them to understand how crucial this is. If they can't figure it out here, we're screwed when it actually matters.
"I'm coming back and we'll talk on the strategy again" I coldy utter while marching towards the bench, I grab the water bottle and let the cold water ripple through my hair, tracing my face. I give my head slight shake and inhale a deep breath, reminding myself that they'll do better.
I make my way back to the field, prepared to unleash whatever pent-up frustration is left in me, ready to tear into them for slacking off. But before I can get a word out, something unexpected happens. They scatter, not from me but behind something...or rather, someone.
I turn, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, only to see all my teammates running toward Maha. The sight hits me like a wave. Her of all people.
She stands there under the afternoon sun, her light brown skin appears as gold under the sunlight. It's like she's lit from within, the rays bouncing off her like she owns the moment. Her green eyes sparkle mischievously as she waves them off, clearly enjoying the attention. She flicks her shoulder-length hair to the side, and it catches the breeze for just a second, like something straight out of a movie.
I've never noticed such details about her, never focused on her beauty...well, she's mesmerizing.
Shut up Rayan get it together.
And just like that, the anger I had disappearsâvanished, like it was never there. I find myself smiling, something I haven't done in days. Seeing her now, after everything, it's like she brings a kind of calm I wasnât expecting. My chest tightens, not from frustration this time, but something softer.
Before I realize it, I'm walking over to her. My gaze drops to her feet, and I notice her shoelaces are undone ofcourse what can I expect from a clumsy and crazy girl? Without a second thought, I kneel down in front of her, tying her laces like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Good defense, guys," I say with a grin, looking up at Maha as I finish tying the knots. "I can't ever raise my voice at her."
She glances down at me, her lips parting in surprise, then breaking into that soft, playful smile she always has when she's caught off guard. "You couldâve just told me," she says, her voice laced with humor, "I'm not helpless, you know."
I stand up, brushing the dirt off my knees. "I know youâre not," I reply, locking eyes with her, "But you distracted the whole team, so I had to do something."
"Anyways You can't be mad at them, Rhino!" she calls out, stepping in front of the boys like a mother hen, her green eyes twinkling with determination. "They're just⦠tired after working under you grumpy!"
I bite my lips in order to surpress a chuckle, it's funny and cute at the same time to look at a girl with the height of Dora the explorer, trying to protect tall boys.
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "And you know better about football crazy girl?"
She sticks her tongue out at me, fully aware that I'm not buying her excuses. "But I can feel how pressuring it must be for them when the captain is as cruel as you" her tone is overly sweet, almost pleading, and I can't help but chuckle at her antics.
Suddenly, I notice somethingâshe's holding heavy shoppers, bags dangling from both hands like she's just returned from a grocery marathon. Her small frame looks ridiculous trying to balance them all while simultaneously playing defense for the team.
I take a step closer, narrowing my eyes. "Maha, what are you doing with those?"
before she can react, I reach out and grab the bags from her hands, easily lifting them away.
"Pagal larki Apni size se zyada bari to shoppers uthayi hui hai" I tease, holding the bags as if they weigh nothing. "What did you even buy?"
Maha huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That was body shaming you know! Besides I'm here with some food" she turns over to face all the teammates and exclaims, "let's eat some food first guys"
Instantly, the team rushes to the food table, forgetting all about practice. Maha turns to me, "Put the food down, Rayan!" she orders, clearly in her element.
I watch in disbelief as everyone eagerly follows her lead. They've all forgotten we're supposed to be training, not feasting.
As I head over to set the bags down, Maha accidentally steps on my foot. I groan, trying not to react, but before she can apologize, I cut her off, joining my hands together mockingly. "Chup, meri maa."
She giggles and bounces off, leaving me shaking my head. Their are levels of craziness.. it goes like crazy, crazier, craziest and then comes Maha.
She's like a walking, talking storm of chaos, and for some reason, I'm the only one left standing in the wreckage. Shaking my head, I follow her to the makeshift table she's somehow organized in the middle of the field. The boys are already piling around it, eagerly waiting for the food. How does she even get such impulsive ideas? Out of nowhere she brings food for all of us.
She hums while setting out various containers, her hair catching the light, shimmering like gold under the sun. "Alright, boys, dig in!" she announces with a grin.
The spread is colorful, a mix of dishes I can barely recognize, and Maha takes a seat, serving herself a heaping plate of pasta. As she twirls a forkful of it into her mouth, she glances at me.
"Want some?" she asks, holding her fork out toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I shake my head, leaning back in my seat. "I don't like sharing food. And more importantly," I point at the plate, "I don't like pasta."
Her eyes widen, her fork pausing mid-air as if I'd just told her the world was flat. "Wait, what? You...don't like pasta? How is that even possible?" She stares at me like I've just committed a crime against humanity.
I shrug. "It's slimy, and it's just... no."
Maha lets out a dramatic gasp. "Oh my God, I thought that was impossible! I've never met anyone who doesnât like pasta." Then she squints at me, a glimmer of playful suspicion in her expression. "But you know what, Mr. Grumpy, I had a feeling you'd be difficult. So, I brought your eww green food by chance." She reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a container of salad, waving it in front of me like a prize.
I raise an eyebrow at her, trying not to laugh. "Eww green food?"
She nods vigorously. "Yep, because that's exactly what it is! But it's healthy and grumpy-approved. You're welcome."
I can't help but smirk at her antics.
I watch her as she starts on her pasta again, shoving a ridiculous amount into her mouth, all the while humming contentedly. For someone who always seems to have energy to spare, she sure is acting like this is the first meal she's had in weeks.
"Why bring food out of nowhere?" I ask, crossing my arms, still leaning back on the bench, eyeing her curiously.
Maha blinks, mid-chew, and looks at me like I've asked the most obvious question in the world. "Couldn't let my favorite team starve"
"Favorite team, huh?" I arch an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we didn't ask for it."
She swallows her bite, waving me off. "Details, details. I'm just doing my duty as your fake girlfriend. Gotta keep up appearances, right?" Her smile is all sunshine, like she's doing me a favor.
I scoff, though I can't help but crack a small grin at how she justifies everything. "Your appearance is compromising my practice matches?"
"Exactly!" She says it with so much confidence that I can't even argue. The girl lives in her own world.
I glance at her plate, noticing the absence of one crucial thing. "You forgot ketchup."
Maha gasps dramatically. "Oh no! How could I forget ketchup?" She grabs the bottle of ketchup and flips it upside down, shaking it furiously over her plate.
Except... nothing comes out.
She frowns, shaking it harder this time, her brow furrowing in concentration. Still nothing.
"Maybe tryâ" I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, she squeezes the bottle as hard as she can. There's a loud splat.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the ketchup explodes out of the bottle with an alarming forceâright onto my face.
For a moment, there's silence. I blink, feeling the cold, sticky sensation of ketchup on my skin. Slowly, I raise my hand and wipe some of it off my cheek, staring down at my fingers, coated in red.
Maha freezes, her eyes wide with horror as she realizes what just happened. Neither of us move. The ketchup drips slowly down my cheek, and I'm still processing the fact that I've just been ambushed by a condiment.
Maha's wide eyes meet mine, and the sheer horror on her face almost makes me want to laugh. Almost.
"R..h..ino" she stammers, taking a small step back, hands raised in surrender.
I blink again, wiping more ketchup from my face, and narrow my eyes at her, my disbelief morphing into something else entirely. "Maha..."
"No, Rayan, don't!" she pleads, already knowing what's coming next.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach for the plate of pasta sitting on the table. Her eyes follow my hand, widening even more, as she slowly shakes her head. "No, no, no, Rayan, wait"
But it's too late. I scoop up a handful of pasta, the sauce oozing between my fingers, and stand up, a wicked grin spreading across my face.
Maha's face turns pale. "Rayan. No. We can talk about this."
"Oh, we'll talk, alright," I say, taking a step toward her.
And that's all it takes for her to bolt.
"Rayan, NO!" she screams, spinning on her heels and running in the opposite direction. The sight of her fleeing like her life depends on it is both hilarious and completely predictable.
I chase after her, my footsteps quickening as I hold the pasta in one hand like a weapon. "You brought this on yourself, you know!"
"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" she shrieks, darting around a chair and using it as a shield.
I stop, standing on the other side of the chair, staring at her in disbelief. "You call this an accident?!"
"It was!" she insists, her breath coming in short bursts as she tries to inch around the chair, keeping it between us. "Who knew ketchup could be that violent?! Besides the red color suits you"
Taking deep breaths, I remind myself of the probability of me appearing as a lunatic right now. What am I even doing? Chasing a girl in the field I'm supposed to practice.
"Acha Chalo let's forget about it"
I shut my eyes in disbelief, how can this girl be crazy and nonchalant? Firstly, she attempts to drive me nuts and calls them accidents.
"Maha please shut up"
She crosses her arms and I crouch down a little before she can rise on her toes, "Rayan zyada na bolo mein naraz hojaongi phir bolungi nahi!"
"Wakai?"
"Haa"
"Hojao naraz please hojao"
"Haww!! Lo hogayi!"
"Shukar Alhumdulillah"
I've been watching dreams parallel to sand gradually slipping through my hand, as if the castles I envisioned to build for my protection have been crumbled overnight. I'm losing the control on my own life, I'm going through emotions I've never had.
It's like striving to draw a single breath underwater, like scripting a story with no end it's.... it's just complicated.
This is the first time I've allowed my academics to slip and that's due to the ongoing circumstances but not anymore. I can't let my dreams shatter much more than they already have, I have a future to build, a title to secure.
Ignoring the rumbling stomach (from skipping breakfast and dinners) while focusing on the iconic "I can do it with a broken heart" music playing in my airpods, sometimes Taylor hits the right nerves. I dismiss the silent chatters in the hallway and enter my classroom with the attitude I've always constructed.
Barely anyone is here except a few students.... Amazing... exactly what I needed right now.
The exam starts in two hours. My mind has been circling this one problem, a business calculus equation thatâs turned into my personal nemesis. Normally, I'd have solved it by now, but with everything weighing me down, my focus keeps slipping. I find a seat near the back corner, the one where I can lay out all my things and tackle this in peace.
I turn the volume down a notch on my music, letting the slow beats calm me. It's supposed to help me focus on one thing at a time. But every time I stare at the equation, my brain seems to taunt me. It's like the numbers are mocking my struggle. Frustration starts bubbling under the surface. I can't afford to bomb this. Not when I've worked too hard to get here.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching. A tall figure enters the room. Great. Just what I need.
Zaid Mirza.
I roll my eyes before I even look at him fully. Because of course. Of all people, it had to be him. My academic rival, the one guy who somehow manages to push my buttons effortlessly, andâbecause life enjoys its cruel jokesâmy fiancé.
He's dressed in his usual: a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms, and grey pants. The guy has this whole clean-cut thing going for him, which, yeah, might be annoying, but also... it's something I have to actively not notice.
He strides in with that cocky air about him, like he owns every room he walks into. I immediately look back at my notebook, trying to ignore him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him approach my table.
I'm still glaring at the problem when a soft click interrupts me. He taps his fingers on the edge of my desk, and I can feel his presence looming over me.
"I want to sit here," he says, not bothering to ask, more like an announcement.
Without looking up, I retort, "Nope, this seat's mine." My voice is cold, dismissive. I'm not in the mood for this, especially today.
He doesn't miss a beat. "Oh? Is your name written here, sweetheart?" There's that infuriating lilt in his voice, and I can practically hear the smirk.
I slowly raise my head to meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes at the word 'sweetheart.' I refuse to let him win this little game. Not today.
"Hold on," I say, my voice is dry. I reach into my bag, pulling out a marker, and then proceed to write my name Ayra right across the table in big, bold letters.
"There," I say, clicking the marker shut with a satisfied smirk. "Now my name is written here."
Zaid lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head, clearly amused by my defiance. "Wow, okay, that's... creative. But I don't think thatâs legally binding." He flashes me a grin that I hate to admit is... annoyingly charming.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Doesn't matter. This is my spot. Go find another one."
He leans down slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the table, bringing his face closer to mine. "Mom says k Jo larkiya shauhar ki batein nahi sunti unhy jannat nahi milti"
My heart does a stupid little flip at the closeness, but I quickly suppress it, raising an eyebrow. "Yuckk Tum jesa shauhar ho to Banda khudkhushi karle"
He smirks again and stands upright, shrugging. "Fine, but if you fail this exam because you spent more time roasting for no reason."
I roll my eyes again. "Not your concern. I've beaten you with the same attitude and I plan on doing it again"
He chuckles again, turning as if to walk away but pausing for a moment. "You know," he says, glancing back at me, "it's a good thing I'm used to your grumpiness by now. Keeps things interesting fiance"
Before I can come up with a witty retort, he walks away, leaving me both annoyed and frustrated. I groan as he successfully wasted my time to solve this problem, go die somewhere Mirza.
A few minutes pass, and I try to immerse myself in my calculations, drowning out the distraction that is Zaid Mirza. But then, as if the universe is determined to test my patience today, I hear his voice again this time louder, with that insufferable confidence.
"Hey, everyone!" Zaid announces to the handful of students scattered around the classroom, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. I glance up, wary. What now?
"I've arranged a treat for the entire department in the cafeteria before our exam. So, head down there and grab something to eat before you stress over these numbers. My treat."
A chorus of excited cheers fills the room as the students, who clearly didn't need much convincing, pack up their things in a rush and head toward the door. One by one, they shuffle out, chatting about what free food Zaid might have arranged. Typical. I watch the parade with mild irritation. I mean, good for them, but I'm not falling for it. Zaid might've added poison in it.
I stay rooted to my seat, my eyes glued to the page, determined to solve this problem. Numbers swirl in front of me, taunting me, but I refuse to give in to the distraction. I hear footsteps approaching and know, without even looking up, that it's Zaid. His presence is too... noticeable.
He walks over to me, his gaze focused directly on me as if I'm the last puzzle piece he needs to solve. "Ayra," he says, voice softer now, "come on. First, eat something, then you can study. You're not going to solve anything on an empty stomach."
I don't bother looking at him, my fingers tapping against my notebook impatiently. "I have a lot to study," I mutter, "and this problem is really hard. I don't have time for food."
Zaid sighs, his frustration barely hidden. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as he glances at my open notebook. Without missing a beat, he points at the equation I've been struggling with. "It's not that hard, Ayra. I promise. I'll teach you after you eat."
I finally glance up, narrowing my eyes at him. He looks far too relaxed for someone about to take the same exam as me. "I know what you're doing," I say, suspicion lacing my voice. "You're trying to distract me so I won't study and you can score higher marks."
At that, Zaid lets out a chuckle, his dimples deepening on both sides of his cheeks. He looks down, like he always does when he laughs, and the sight annoys me more than it should. Why does he always have to be so... charming? It's infuriating.
He looks back up at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ayra," he says, still laughing softly, "I don't need to distract you for that." His smirk is enough to make me want to throw my calculator at him, but I refrain. Barely.
I scoff, shaking my head. "Whatever it is... I'm not eating anything right now, no need to be so sweet"
"You're stubborn and delusional. I'm afraid that my food will be wasted" he counters, his tone light but the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. "Now, come on. If you don't, I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the cafeteria myself."
I blink, caught off guard. "You wouldn't dare."
He leans down a little closer, crossing his arms, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Wanna bet?"
My heart skips a beat at the proximity, but I quickly push it aside. I don't have time for this. "You're the most pathetic human being I've ever seen"
"Really?" he says, his grin widening. "You haven't seen a mirror till now?"
We lock eyes for a moment, and I feel my resolve slipping, though I'll never admit it. The intensity in his gaze, combined with the warmth of his smile, makes it hard to stay angry. As much as I hate to admit it, Zaid has always had this way of getting under my skin in a way no one else can.
"Only because I want your dog face out of my sight" I mutter, finally relenting.
"Good," he says, standing up straight again, a victorious smirk on his face. "Now let's go eat."
I let out a small, frustrated sigh but gather my things, knowing full well that Zaid isn't going to let me have a peaceful study session until I give in. As we walk out of the classroom together, I can't help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all.
As we walk into the cafeteria, the hum of chatter fills the air. I glance around, seeing clusters of students gathered around tables, happily diving into the food Zaid's arranged. My stomach grumbles, betraying the fact that maybe...just maybe....he was right about needing a break.
Zaid, of course, strides in with that effortless confidence, scanning the room before turning back to me. Without a word, he pulls out a chair at a nearby table, his hand gesturing for me to sit. I roll my eyes at the gesture but sit down nonetheless, allowing a small, reluctant smile to tug at the corners of my lips.
He always has this way of insisting on things while making it seem like he's giving you a choice.
As someone who didn't receive such a care from most of their relations, such amount of concern from my rival or should I say fiance, means a lot. However, I have to remind myself that this isn't especially happening for me, he's doing it for everyone... He can't know that I've been skipping meals so he arranged everything for me, the only person I've told is the blog writer.
"Wait here," he says, and before I can protest, he's off, heading straight to the food counter. I watch him for a moment, my eyes narrowing slightly as I try to figure out what he's up to. Surely, he wouldn't know what I like to eat, right?
But when he returns and places a plate in front of me, I freeze. My favorite food. It's all there, perfectly laid out like he knew exactly what I'd want. I look up at him, half-impressed, half-confused. "How did you�"
He smirks, cutting me off before I can finish the question. "I have my ways," he says casually, grabbing his own plate before sitting across from me.
I blink, glancing down at the food in front of me. For the first time in a while, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. It's been so long since I've eaten a full meal. Between exams, sleepless nights, and everything else, my appetite has barely existed. But now, as I take my first bite, the familiar taste floods my senses, and I realize just how much I needed this.
It's good...really good. I glance up from my plate, only to see Zaid across the table already engaged in conversation with some other students. He's laughing, dimples flashing as he speaks, completely at ease. I find myself watching him for a moment longer than necessary before shaking my head. Ridiculous. I'm getting distracted. Again.
Just as I'm about to turn my attention back to my food, a voice I recognizeâand definitely don't want to hearâinterrupts my thoughts.
"Ayra!" Harmain's voice is overly sweet, like syrup that's been sitting out for too long. She saunters over to my table, flashing a bright, artificial smile as she glances at Zaid. "Wow, isn't he just amazing?" she gushes, her eyes fixed on him like he's some prize to be won. "I mean, arranging all of this for everyone? He's such a thoughtful guy, donât you think?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, focusing on my plate instead. "Yeah, I guess," I mutter, hoping she'll take the hint and leave. But of course, she doesn't.
Harmain leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You're so lucky to be around him all the time. I mean, who wouldn't want to be close to someone like Zaid Mirza?"
I glance up at her, feeling the familiar annoyance bubbling up inside me. Harmain has always had this way of subtly..and sometimes not so subtly undermining me. It's infuriating.
I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. "I won't but yeah now nobody should want to be close to him"
Harmain falters for a moment, clearly not expecting that. She opens her mouth to respond, but I beat her to it. I lift Zaid's hand slowly, and the gleam of the ring on his finger catches the light. Her eyes widen as they lock onto it, realization dawning in her expression.
"Oh," she breathes, blinking rapidly. "So... he's really engaged"
I smirk, enjoying the shock on her face far more than I should. "Yeah," I say, my tone deliberately casual. "All of the ladies are safe from this torturous human"
Harmain's expression shifts from surprise to something closer to disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like she's trying to find the right words. But before she can come up with a response, Zaid who was silently listening to our heated exchange, his eyes flicking between the two of us.
"You can leave my hand Ayra" he says, his voice calm but with a hint of smile warning to appear. He chuckles and continues, "but you can hold it if you want"
I roll my eyes and leave his hand with a strong jerk, continuing to focus on my plate. Thank goodness Harmain is nowhere to be seen and I'm saved from answering her ridiculous questions.
I can perceive Zaid staring at me but I choose to dismiss it, I'm aware he'll mock me about debating with Harmain on such a useless topic. Suddenly, I see Zaid wordlessly serving more food in plate, "I don't want more food at this rate I'll be fat"
"That's the plan" he utters while gesturing towards my plate, "stop playing with your food and eat properly"
I clench my fists, why is he ordering me around? Why does it affect him if I don't eat? For a moment I really doubt if he has added poison in my food.
Anyways I finish my food because it's ridiculous to let such good food slide because of my idiot fiance, enemy and rival.
Back in the classroom, I settle into my seat, fully intending to pick up where I left off with the business calculus problem that has been haunting me all week. The rest of the students have returned as well, filling the space with quiet murmurs and shuffling papers. I put my earbuds back in, trying to regain the focus I had before Zaid's so-called treat.
Just as I'm about to dive back into my notes, I sense someone sitting down next to me. I glance up only to see Zaid pulling out the chair beside mine, dropping his bag casually onto the table. He flashes me a knowing smile, as if he already expects my next words.
"Why are you here?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, my tone laced with suspicion.
"To teach you, idiot," he replies with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Do you even know how to teach?"
Zaid chuckles softly, nodding with that maddening confidence he always has. "Trust me, I do. I've tutored before."
I open my mouth to argue, but something in his expression tells me that arguing with him won't get me anywhere. So, with a reluctant sigh, I grab my notebook and slide it toward him, pointing to the problem that's been making my life miserable. "Fine. Show me."
He takes the notebook, glancing at the problem for barely a second before his eyes flicker up to meet mine. "This one's not as hard as you think," he says calmly, grabbing a pen and starting to write out the steps.
I watch, half-expecting him to mess up or skip something important. But to my surprise, his explanation is clear, concise, and actually makes sense. He breaks the problem down into manageable parts, explaining each step with a patience I wasnât expecting.
"So, you just apply this formula here," he says, underlining a section, "and then differentiate the function like this."
I blink, leaning forward slightly to follow his work. "Wait, why do you differentiate there again?"
Without a hint of annoyance, Zaid smiles and explains it again, his voice steady and unhurried. I ask more questionsâprobably for the twentieth timeâand yet, he answers each one as if it's the first time I've asked.
"Okay, but why doesn't that term cancel out?" I ask, furrowing my brow.
Zaid chuckles softly. "Because you're not applying the rule correctly. Here, look," he says, pointing to a specific part of the equation. "If you do this instead, it'll work."
I nod slowly, starting to see the logic in his explanation. "Oh⦠I think I get it now."
He leans back, folding his arms across his chest, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Told you it wasn't that hard."
I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile that creeps onto my face. "Fine, you were right. But don't get used to it."
Zaid grins, watching as I redo the problem, following his instructions carefully. This time, it clicks. I scribble down the solution and check the final answerâcorrect. For the first time all week, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
"I got it," I murmur, more to myself than to him.
"See? I told you," Zaid says, leaning closer, his voice teasing. "You just needed a little help."
"Thanks," I say grudgingly, my tone softening just slightly.
Zaid's grin widens. "You're welcome, sweetheart."
I don't know why I'm still doing this. Why do I keep pretending like I don't care, like Ayra's life and all her little complaints don't get under my skin. Every time I post a new blog, she's quick to reply thinking it was someone else hearing her, ranting about how her life is screwed up by practically being married to me. How she's skipping meals, how everything seems like it's falling apart.
I hate her for it. I hate the way she refuses to see reason, how she acts like marrying me is the worst thing that could've ever happened to her. I mean it is but still. As much as I try to keep my distance, I can't help but feel like I need to do something...anything to take care of her. She's my fiancée now, even if it's temporary. That makes her my responsibility, like it or not, even if she was the one who threatened to destroy me.
I've been reading all those replies by @ayrashaikh_07, piecing together what she doesn't tell me to my face. I could've told her to eat something, to take better care of herself. But I know Ayra she would've just declined out of stubbornness. So, instead, I arranged the treat for the entire department. That way, she'd have no choice but to eat something. It's the only way I could get her to sit down and take a break, even if she doesn't realize it's for her own good.
Now, sitting in this exam hall, I should be focused on my own test. Business calculus isn't exactly a walk in the park, but I've always been good at this stuff. The numbers come naturally to me, the formulas almost second nature. But today⦠today, I can't focus. Not with Ayra sitting a few seats ahead of me, her hands shaking slightly as she tries to fill in the answers on her sheet.
My grip tightens around the pen. I hate that I notice it. I hate that I can see the exhaustion in her face, the slight tremor in her hands. It's because she's afraid of scoring low. It makes me angry. Angry at her, angry at myself for caring so much.
I glance at my own paper. The answers are clear in my head, but my attention drifts back to Ayra, and a knot forms in my stomach. This isn't just about the exam anymore. It's about her...about the fact that she's pushing herself so hard, skipping meals, losing sleep, all because of this messed-up situation we're in.
I clench my jaw, staring at the answer sheet in front of me. My pen hovers over the correct answer, but I can't bring myself to tick it. Instead, I deliberately tick the wrong one. The one I know is wrong. I hate myself for it, but I can't help it. If I score high and she doesn't⦠it'll crush her. I know it will. And as much as I hate her, as much as I want to bring her down, I can't do that to her. Not today.
Tick. Another wrong answer. My hand moves almost on its own, sabotaging my own work.
I'm not even sure why I'm doing this why it matters so much. But something inside me refuses to let her fall apart, even if it means I have to hold back. Even if it means I'm sacrificing my own scores just to keep her from feeling worse than she already does.
By the time I finish, I've ticked three of my answers wrong because I know that Ayra can't answer more than two questions wrong.
Huh what are you doing Zaid Mirza?
As the exam finishes, the classroom slowly empties out. Professor Butt leaves with a parting glance, signaling the end of this torturous ordeal. I watch as Ayra stays behind, her hands already reaching for the OMR sheet. She's counting her answers carefully, her eyes scanning the paper with that intense focus she always has.
I should leave, but something keeps me rooted to the spot. I lean back in my chair, casually watching her.
After a few minutes, she lets out a breath, one she's clearly been holding in for far too long. Her eyes light up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she smiles..really smiles. It's a wide, genuine smile that reaches her eyes, transforming her entire face. I've seen her smirk before, even roll her eyes, but this? This is different. There's something about it that's... well, beautiful.
I catch myself smiling along with her, almost reflexively, like her joy is contagious. Itâs strange, but I donât mind it. Not in this moment, at least.
She looks up, clearly feeling victorious, and I seize the opportunity.
"Coming home with me?" I ask casually, packing up my stuff, trying to keep my tone light.
Her eyes snap to mine, immediately narrowing. "Why would I?"
I smirk, leaning against the desk and pointing toward her hand, specifically her ring finger. "Because my mom wants to meet her future daughter-in-law," I reply smoothly.
Ayra rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Can't you excuse? I do not want to raise her hopes when it's temporary"
I chuckle, shaking my head. "I tried refusing her but you know my family is obsessed with you"
She crosses her arms defiantly, but there's hesitation in her stance. I know she respects my parents, despite everything.
"Thy have taste unlike you"
"What do you know about my perfect taste" I raise an eyebrow. "Anyways, you can try refusing mom if you can"
She gives me an incredulous look, clearly trying to think of a good reason to refuse, but I can see her resolve softening. I'm not pushing too hard, just nudging her in the right direction.
"Fine," she huffs after a long pause, her shoulders dropping in reluctant defeat. "I'll go. But only because of your mom. Not you."
I grin, victorious in my own way. "Of course. All for my mom."
She mutters something under her breath that I don't quite catch, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that she's coming home with me. Even if she acts like it's some grand inconvenience, I know she cares about my family more than she lets on.
As we head out of the classroom, I glance at her one more time, the image of that genuine smile still fresh in my mind. I can't help but wonder how many more moments like that I'll get to see, even if our situation is far from ideal.
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
As we pull up to the mansion, I glance over at Ayra, who looks a bit stiff in the passenger seat. Her arms are crossed, and she's staring out the window, probably contemplating her life decisions that led her to agreeing to this. But she's going through with it she's coming home with me.
The gates open, and we drive through the familiar tree-lined path leading to the grand entrance of my family's home. As we step out of the car, I see the warm lights from inside spilling onto the driveway, and even before we reach the front door, I can hear the lively chatter of my family echoing through the hallways.
The moment we walk in, it's like a small celebration erupts.
Zahra and Zainab, my sisters, rush over the moment they see Ayra, wide grins on their faces.
"Look who's finally here!" Zahra exclaims, practically bouncing on her heels. Zainab, the more reserved one, follows with a smile thatâs just as warm, though less energetic.
"Welcome home bhabhi" Zainab teases, pulling Ayra into a quick hug. "We thought Bhai wouldn't bring you"
Ayra, looking a little overwhelmed but smiling nonetheless, gives a soft laugh. "Well, your Bhai doesn't have a say right? Besides call me Ayra"
Behind them, my parents appear. My mother is beaming, her eyes lighting up the moment she spots Ayra. She strides over and pulls Ayra into a tight embrace.
"Beta, itâs been too long," she says softly. "How are you?"
"I'm good, auntyâ" Ayra begins, but my mother cuts her off immediately.
"Aunty? When will you start calling me 'mom" like you should?"
Ayra's eyes widen slightly, and I can see her struggling for words, but my mom just laughs it off and pats her cheek fondly.
Then, my father steps forward, a more formal smile on his face, but his eyes are just as welcoming. "Look my daughter is finally here" he says, offering a nod of approval.
Before Ayra can respond, something furry barrels into the roomâZoro excitedly skids to a stop in front of us. His tail wags like crazy as he nudges Ayra with his head, clearly ecstatic to see her.
"Oh my God, Zoro!" Ayra exclaims, her previous nervousness melting away as she crouches down to pet him. Zoro practically melts into her touch, his wagging tail thumping against the floor.
"Looks like even Zoro missed you," I remark, crossing my arms, watching the scene with a smirk.
Ayra gives me a side-eye glance, still focused on scratching Zoro behind the ears. "At least someone here doesnât give me a hard time."
I chuckle, but before I can respond, Zahra pipes up again.
"We all can't wait for you to officially come into this house" Zahra says cheerfully, her arm looped through Ayra's as she guides her further into the house.
"And we made sure bhai didn't make any food decisions tonight," Zainab adds with a wink. "You'll actually enjoy dinner for once."
I catch Ayra rolling her eyes but smiling all the same as she's ushered deeper into the warmth of the mansion. My mother insists on sitting next to her at the table, and before long, the family is gathered around, chatting happily.
There's something oddly satisfying about seeing Ayra here, surrounded by my family, even if she doesnât fully realize how much she's become a part of all this. The elders make their way over to her, asking about her studies, her health, subtly hinting at wedding plans as usual. Ayra handles it with her usual grace, dodging most of their questions with polite humor.
As the evening goes on, I watch her interact with everyone. It's strangeâI never thought I'd care whether or not she fit in here, but she does. Almost effortlessly.
After dinner, when everyone's finally settling into more relaxed conversations, I catch Ayra glancing at me from across the room. She looks... content, in a way I haven't seen in a while. Maybe it's the warmth of the family, or maybe it's just the fact that Zoro won't leave her side, but she seems at ease.
I don't understand if I'm missing something in her? I mean everyone in my family is obsessed with her except me.
Their house, no less than a palace, screams of wealth in every inch of its sprawling halls and grand rooms. Marble floors that gleam, chandeliers hanging like jewels from the ceiling, and furniture that looks like it's been plucked from the pages of some luxury magazine. It's the kind of place people dream of. But me? I'd much rather have a place of my own. I don't care for grandeur. I care for independence. There's a different kind of satisfaction in parking my own Rolls-Royce beside all these male egos, watching them realize they arenât the only ones who can succeed.
But for now, I'm here entertaining the constant attention from his sisters, Zahra and Zainab, as we stand in the kitchen having a light chat. His family is really sweet, his parents, khalas and sisters all of them are showering me with love and care I never had the chance to grasp. If it wasn't for Zaid, I would've loved to join such family.
Suddenly, Zahra's hand slips while she's pouring juice, and I feel the cold liquid splatter onto my dress. I freeze, eyes wide, looking down at the mess on my once-pristine outfit.
"Oh no! Bhabhi, I'm so sorry!" Zahra exclaims, her voice panicked.
Zainab quickly chimes in, "Don't worry bhabhi just go clean it up. You can use Bhai's room. There are towels and everything in there."
Before I can protest, they both practically shove me down the hallway toward Zaid's room. I have no choice but to go along with it.
Zaid's room is annoyingly neat, of course. The kind of neat that screams controlled and deliberate. I walk into the bathroom, clean myself up, but there's still water dripping from my hands. I need a towel. Zahra had said something about where to find them, so I head to the wardrobe and open the drawer she mentioned.
But as I tug on it, a cupboard below the drawer suddenly swings open, and something slides out. I hear the soft thud before I see itâa guitar, broken at the neck, slipping onto the floor.
I stand frozen, staring at the instrument in disbelief. What is a broken guitar doing here? And why does it look like it's been carefully tucked away?
My fingers brush over the splintered wood, the remnants of strings hanging loosely. Just as I pick it up, still in a state of confusion, the door swings open with a bang.
Zaid.
His eyes are locked on me, but not with the usual playful banter or indifference. His eyes are blazing with something I havenât seen before. Fury. Absolute, unrestrained anger. The kind that makes the air in the room grow thick and cold.
"What do you think you're doing?" His voice is sharp, dangerous.
I stiffen, holding the guitar awkwardly, trying to find my words. "I was just looking for a towel"
"Looking for a towel?" he snaps, stepping closer. His voice raises, and it sends a shiver down my spine. "Or were you trying to pry into my life again, watching my dreams fall apart?"
"What?" I retort, still trying to comprehend why he's this mad. "I didn't mean to touch this! It fell out"
"Of course, you didn't," he cuts me off, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and he points at the broken guitar, his hands balled into fists. "Because that's exactly what you do, isnât it? Watch my dreams shatter and crumbleâjust like this."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. He's really furious this time, angrier than I've ever seen him. And it's not the usual banter. This is different.
"I didn't know about this guitar! And mood swings horahe hai tumhe periods par ya pregnant ho kya?" I shout back, my own temper rising to match his. But the look on his face doesn't soften.
"You think this is just about a guitar?" His voice is lower now, more menacing, but the anger is still palpable. "This was my dream that you destroyed and now you must be enjoying after looking at it"
I take a step back, trying to find the balance between standing up for myself and being terrified of his fury. His words cut deep. I know what he's talking about, the past we never really discussed in full, the ambition he lost because of me, because of something I couldn't undo, because of something I'm utterly guilty about.
"I didn't mean to ruin anything" I snap back, my voice shaking slightly. "You think I wanted this to happen? You think I enjoy seeing you like this?"
"You don't care," he mutters through gritted teeth. "You never cared."
His words, sharp as knives, slice through me. For once, I don't have a quick comeback. I don't know what to say. I'm caught between defending myself and acknowledging the truth in his anger. After all I was selfish at that time but why can't he understand my side of story? Why can't I get the chance to explain myself?
"Just leave, Ayra!" Zaid's voice thunders again, loud enough to shake my insides.
I flinch, instinctively taking a step back, my mouth opening to explain, "Zaid I...."
"I said leave!!" He cuts me off before I can even form a proper sentence, his voice sharp, venomous.
The words hit me like a slap. My breath catches in my throat, and for the first time, I feel something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Panic. Hurt.
I've debated with Zaid countless times, shouted at him, argued till we were both red in the face. But this... this is different. There's a bitterness, a finality in his voice that feels like it's cutting something deep within me. Why am I feeling this way? I've never been affected like this before. Maybe it's because I had started to hope after his today's behavior but like always, I'm not meant to be pampered or taken care of right?
My hands tremble slightly as I hold the broken guitar for a moment longer, the silence in the room deafening before I let it go, placing it gently on the floor. I glance at him one last time, his face twisted in frustration and anger, and I rush out of the room.
I don't stop until I'm out of the hallway, barely able to catch my breath. The walls seem to close in on me, and my vision blurs as I fight back the tears stinging at the back of my eyes. Why am I so emotional? Why does his anger, his words, feel like they're tearing me apart? Why am I the villain in everyone's story? I mess up everything I try to be part of, mom's relation or Zaid's future.
Shaking my head, I try to push the emotions down, focusing on my breathing, trying to regain control. But before I can fully calm myself, I nearly stumble to a stop, my heart skipping a beat.
I freeze, my gaze locking onto the scene unfolding just a few feet away.
Ayan is standing there, holding Inaya's hand. His usual playful smirk is absent, replaced with an expression so serious that I almost don't recognize him. Inaya looks equally shocked, her hand trembling slightly in his grasp.
I stand there, watching in stunned silence as Ayan carefully places ...a vintage necklace...and slips it around her neck. His hands linger for a moment, as if he's steadying himself for what's to come.
What is going on?
Inaya's eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. And then, Ayan takes a deep breath, looking into her eyes with a sincerity I've never seen from him before.
"Now do I look serious enough to tell you that I love you?"
My mind reels.
What?!
I blink, completely thrown off. This is Ayan the jokester, the playful flirt. And Inaya? I'd never in a million years expect this scene to unfold before my eyes. Did he force my best friend!! Someone stop me from murdering the bastards of this mansion.
Inaya looks equally shocked, her eyes searching his face as if trying to understand whether he's being serious or pulling one of his infamous pranks. But Ayan isn't laughing. He's not smirking. He's dead serious.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I forget about my own turmoil, about Zaid's anger, about the broken guitar and everything that just happened. All I can do is stare in disbelief at Ayan, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, standing there, declaring his love to Inaya.
What in the world is happening right now?
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
Hey everyone I hope y'all are doing fine and well â¤ï¸âð©¹
How was today's chapter?
Yeah an unplanned update it is.
Guys next week, no update will be there due to my examination but I'll try to make up for that.
Thank you so muchhh for the love y'all are showering on this book.
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Till the stay safe and healthy ð