39| Where's The Trophy?

The clock on my phone reads 12:00 AM, but for the first time in these four years, it doesn't ignite the excitement it usually does. There's no squealing from my girls, no chaos or celebrations, just the quiet hum of the hotel hallway around me. My heart feels heavy as I glance at my screen, hoping for something—anything—to make the moment feel special.

The phone buzzes, and my mom's name lights up. For a fleeting second, I smile, thinking she remembered. Finally, I think, pressing the answer button with trembling fingers.

"Hello Ayra," her voice greets me. Not warm, not cold, just...functional. "how was the contest? Did you do your best? You can't mess this up, it's once in a lifetime opportunity"

And just like that, the small hope fizzles out. She doesn't remember. She never does. I murmur a vague "I'll handle it" trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. Her words roll on, mechanical and detached, until the call ends, leaving me staring at the screen.

I sigh and tuck the phone away. Happy birthday to me.

pushing open the door to my assigned hotel room.

The room is pitch black, unusual considering most of these hotel rooms have at least a faint glow from something—a bedside lamp, an alarm clock. I step in cautiously, my foot grazing something bumpy on the floor. My brows furrow in confusion as I reach for the light switch.

Before I can flick it on, a faint glow appears, small and warm, growing brighter. Candles. Rose petals are delicately spread on the floor and the entire room is decorated with heart shaped balloons. My breath catches as I take another step, and suddenly, a voice I'd recognize anywhere fills the silence.

"Happy birthday ira."

I turn, and there he is. Zaid. Standing in the dim candlelight, holding a cake with a soft glow dancing over his features. A wide smile showcasing his deep dimples. He remembered my birthday? He's celebrating it?

"Zaid?" I whisper, stunned.

He smirks, but it's not his usual teasing one. "Who else would tolerate you this much?"

I blink, overwhelmed. My grumpy state, my frustrations, all seem to melt away as I take in the scene. The cake is simple but perfect, with "Happy Birthday academic worm" written in neat, swirling letters.

I nearly chuckle looking at it, out of all the nicknames he had given me... Ofcourse he had to choose this one.

There's a small bouquet of roses on the table behind him, their fragrance faint but sweet.

"You...you remembered?" I ask, my voice breaking slightly.

His gaze softens, and he steps closer, the cake still in his hands. "Uff ab senti mat hona Ayra I can't possibly forget my fiancé's birthday and give your girl gang a chance to gossip"

(Uff Ayra don't get emotional now)

I swallow hard, unable to process the mix of emotions swirling inside me. "I—I didn't think anyone…"

"You don't have to say it," he interrupts gently, setting the cake down on the table and lighting the last candle. "I know."

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at him. This is Zaid—my rival, my enemy, the man who drives me insane daily. Yet here he is, making me feel like the most important person in the world.

"Blow out the candles," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.

I step closer, my legs shaky as if this is a dream I'm afraid to wake from. I close my eyes, make a silent wish, which is for these moments to never end and blow. When I open them, he's watching me, his expression unreadable.

"What did you wish?"

"Tumhe nahi manga zyada daant mat dikhao"

(Don't smile widely I haven't wished for you)

He chuckles and his grin is even wider "I know sweetheart already tumhara hu mangke Kya karogi?"

(I know sweetheart, why would you wish for me when I'm already yours)

"Why?" I ask finally, my voice trembling. "Why would you do all this?"

He shrugs, but there's a tenderness in his tone. "Because I can't let you feel alone when you're not ira...I... I am there with you"

The words hit me harder than I expected, and before I know it, tears are pooling in my eyes and I engulf him in a hug... This is not Ayra but well this is his ira, sweetheart, bacha, academic worm and everything.

He gently caresses my hair as of providing a sense of comfort to me, "Ayra Thora Kam Rona yaar shirt kharab hojayegi" he chuckles.

(Ayra please don't cry that much, you'll spoil my shirt)

That's Zaid Mirza, he'll try to make me laugh even in absurd situations.. if he did care about his shirt, he wouldn't have been clutching me hard like something would happen if he lets go.

I pull back slightly, wiping my tears with a sniffle, but his hands remain on my arms, steady and grounding. His lips curve into that maddeningly familiar smirk, though his eyes betray the tenderness he tries to mask.

"Better now, academic worm?" he teases softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

I roll my eyes, sniffling again. "Don't push your luck, Zaid Mirza. I might  actually ruin your fancy shirt for good."

"Too late for that," he says, glancing down at the faint tear stains already marking his shoulder. "And you're lucky it's my favorite shirt, or I'd have made you buy me a new one."

"Favorite?" I raise an eyebrow. "Because it's black and matches your dark soul?"

He laughs, a low, warm sound that makes my chest feel lighter. "Savage. But you like my soul just fine, admit it."

I scoff, but the corners of my lips betray me, tugging upward. He catches the almost-smile, and his eyes glint with amusement.

"Alright," he says, stepping back and gesturing to the cake. "Time to officially turn older and wiser, Ayra. Not that the wise part applies to you."

"Watch it," I warn, narrowing my eyes as I turn toward the cake.

He holds his hands up in surrender, though the smirk remains. "Fine fine now," he says, picking up the knife and handing it to me, "cut the cake before I eat it whole. I skipped dinner for this."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Your priorities are inspiring, really."

"Really? I thought so. You are my priority"

Yeah he flirts and roasts at the same time.

The knife slices through the soft cake easily, and I lift the first piece, glancing at him. Without thinking, I extend it toward him.

His eyebrows rise slightly, but he leans forward, taking the bite. "I'm honored" he says after swallowing, a playful glint in his eyes.

"As you should be," I reply, rolling my eyes. "I could've saved the first bite for myself, you know."

"You could've," he agrees, leaning back against the table. "But you didn't. Falling for me already Mrs Mirza?"

"Keep dreaming Mirza," I say, cutting another piece for myself.

He chuckles, reaching for his own slice, and we fall into an easy rhythm—eating, teasing, laughing. The tension I'd felt all day dissolves completely, replaced by a warmth I hadn't expected.

As I finish my slice, he glances at the small bouquet of roses on the table. "You didn't say anything about those," he says, feigning offense.

I pick one up, twirling it between my fingers. "They're beautiful," I admit, my voice softer now. "Thank you, Zaid."

His expression shifts, the teasing fading slightly. "You're welcome," he says simply. "I'm glad you like them."

For a moment, the room feels still, the weight of the day settling into something lighter, something...perfect.

"So," he says after a pause, breaking the silence with his usual mischief. "Does this mean you'll finally stop hating me?"

I laugh, throwing a crumpled tissue at him. "Not a chance."

"Figures," he mutters, dodging the tissue with exaggerated effort.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

The warm glow of the candles is gone now, replaced by the soft light of the lamp by the window. Zaid sits cross-legged on the floor, a guitar resting comfortably in his lap. I watch him tune the strings with practiced ease, his fingers moving deftly, his head tilted slightly down as he concentrates.

"You're really going to make me sing?" he asks, glancing up at me with an amused smirk.

"You promised," I remind him, hugging a pillow to my chest.

He shakes his head, chuckling softly, the sound low and comforting. "Only because you said so"

"Obviously" I tease, a small smile tugging at my lips.

He gives a mock bow, strumming the first chords. As the melody of Afreen Afreen fills the room, my heart feels like it’s caught in my throat. His voice is warm and steady, each word laced with a tenderness that I hadn't expected.

"Afreen afreen..."

The way he sings it—it's almost like he means it, like every word is meant for me. I watch him, mesmerized, as his fingers glide over the strings, his head bowed slightly, his lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones.

When he finishes, the last chord lingering in the air, I'm left speechless.

"Happy now?" he asks, setting the guitar aside and finally looking up at me.

I nod, biting back a grin. "You're...really good."

He leans back on his hands, his expression soft. "Only because I have you as my muse"

We both laugh lightly, the kind of laugh that feels easy and warm, like the walls between us are crumbling brick by brick.

"Do you remember," I start, my voice teasing, "our first day of university?"

His chuckle escapes before he can stop it, his head dipping slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. "How can I forget? You broke my glasses"

"In my defense, it was a reaction since your car had a drift right when I was about to enter the university" I protest, now laughing.

"I didn't think it was you" he admits, his voice full of mock indignation. "And you—you made such a scene. Everyone thought I'd committed some unforgivable crime."

"Well, you did irritate me" I point out, grinning.

"And you yelled at me in front of the whole university" he counters, his smile widening.

We laugh, the memory suddenly far more amusing than it was back then.

The laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. He looks down, his fingers tracing patterns on the floor, and then I speak, my tone quieter now. "Why did you forgive me by just a simple sorry? What I did was really wrong Zaid"

Our eyes lock together, his black orbs mirroring his soul containing the answers, as if he's unaware of the reason for his action.. like... He's helpless.

"I don't know Ayra... I just knew that I didn't want to hold any grudge against you" he sighs keeping his guitar on the couch beside him.

But I want to know more of his side, I want him to lash at me, I thought it was worse when he was adamant on taking his revenge but him surrendering himself is terrifying.

"Please Zaid... At least ask your questions, I know you want to ask alot of things from me as well" I counter.

He hesitantly nods and removes his glasses, "I understand that you must've had your reasons to blame me back in college, I just want to know those that's it"

Zaid gives me a nod as if assuring me that he won't judge, the vulnerability in my tone leaving no room for pretense. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts.

"My parents," I begin softly, "had a love marriage. They were so in love. But things changed after they had me and my brother—Ali. My mom was happy when we were born, but my father..." I pause, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "He wasn't. To him, I was just a burden. A girl he'd marry off to someone who'd continue the family name, someone who wouldn't bring anything useful back to him."

Zaid's jaw tightens, his hands clenching and unclenching as he listens, but he says nothing, letting me continue.

"They used to fight... a lot. Always about me. My father wanted to give me up for adoption or an orphanage, but my mom wouldn't let him. It got so bad that they ended up divorcing. My father took Ali with him, and my mom was left with me. Just me. I've seen her cry, Zaid. I've seen her broken. She gave up everything for me—her marriage, her peace, her dreams—and yet, all she could focus on was making sure I never felt like a mistake at least"

My voice wavers, but I push on. "She made it her mission to prove to my father that I wasn't a burden, that I could be someone great. And I wanted to prove it too. To show him that girls aren't weak, that we're not useless. That's how I ended up here—an academic achiever, chasing a dream of being someone powerful and rich. But... in the process, I lost myself."

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "I don't even know what I like or dislike. I don't know who I am beyond the grades, the scholarships, the accolades. All I've ever been is someone trying not to disappoint her mother."

Zaid's gaze moistures up, and I see the tension in his shoulders ease, but he still doesn't interrupt.

"That scholarship" I continue, "was my lifeline. That college only took rich kids, but I got in because of a once-in-a-lifetime scholarship—a scholarship you only get if you don't make a single mistake on your entrance exam. No pressure, right?" I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow.

"When the dean said he'd suspend both of us... I panicked. All I could see was myself walking into our house with a suspension letter. I imagined my mom's face, her disappointment, her thinking she made the wrong choice by keeping me. I don't have anyone else, Zaid. She's my whole world. I didn't want her to regret giving up her life for me. So... I blamed you."

My voice breaks on the last word, and I look away, ashamed. "I knew it was wrong, but in that moment, I couldn't think of anything else. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words. When I finally gather the courage to look at him, his expression is unreadable. His glasses are still off, and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Is he crying because of me?

He exhales slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Ayra" he begins, his voice steady but soft, "you've been carrying so much, for so long. I had no idea..."

"I didn't expect you to," I whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks. "I never let anyone close enough to see it."

Zaid shifts closer, his hand hesitating for a moment before he reaches out and wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "I wish you'd told me sooner. This thing between us could've been different had I known about all this"

His words are like a balm to my raw nerves, and I let out a shaky laugh. "I don't want anyone's sympathy Zaid, I don't want anyone to think of me as some damsel in distress. I'm strong enough to handle everything."

He smiles faintly, his gaze still intent. "I know you're strong bacha. But. I'm not that strong enough to look at you so broken" his hands cups my cheeks so softly as if he's afraid he'll break me, "I don't consider you for any sympathy. You're more than just an academic achiever bacha. You're... so much more than that. You're strong, determined, and kind, even when you pretend not to be. You're my ira. You're someone who'll sacrifice her life for someone you love. Even if you don't know yourself Ayra, let's know you. Together. I'll find you, every piece of you."

His words sink into me, and I feel the weight on my chest start to lift, just a little.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

"For forgiving me," I reply. "For listening. For... being here."

Zaid leans back, running a hand through his hair. "I forgave you because I understood. You were scared, and you made a choice at the moment. I get that. And honestly... If I were wearing your shoes, I would've done the same"

I laugh, a real laugh this time, and he chuckles too, his gaze softening even more.

"You know you're not that bad as I thought" I say, shaking my head.

"Part of my charm" he teases, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Never did I think I would be vulnerable ahead of Zaid Mirza, the person who I thought would go to any extent to push me down is making sure I don't feel out of place, that I feel important.

The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. I sit on the edge of the couch, strumming my guitar absentmindedly, replaying yesterday's events in my head. Ayra had let her walls crack, even if just for a moment, and the raw honesty in her voice had left an ache in my chest I couldn't shake. Today, though, I'm determined to change that ache into something brighter.

S

liding my phone into my pocket, I glance at the time. 9:30 a.m. Plenty of time to pull this off. Ayra deserves a day where she isn't just the "academic achiever" or the girl carrying the weight of her mother's expectations. Today, she'll just be Ayra. My Ayra.

As I promised, I'm going to find her.

I hear the faint shuffle of footsteps behind me and turn, my breath catching in my throat.

She's standing there, her expression confused but hesitant, as though unsure if she should step into the room. She's wearing the outfit I picked out for her—black tailored trousers paired with a crisp white shirt and a black stylish corset, the sleeves rolled up just enough to give her that effortless classy. The shirt is mine; I made her wear it, though it hangs slightly oversized on her. And her hair... it's tied into a sleek ponytail, the ends softly waved, complementing the subtle studs in her ears. But it's the red lipstick and her grey eyes that steals my breath.

"You should wear my outfits often sweetheart, you look good in them"

Good is an understatement, she looks perfectly mine.

Her brows knit together, lips pursing in that familiar way that always amuses me. "Zaid, why am I wearing this? And why are you so dressed up?"

I smirk, grabbing my keys and walking toward her. "Because we're going out."

"Out?" She crosses her arms, looking even more skeptical. "Where? And why are you acting so weird?"

I lean casually against the doorframe, letting my eyes roam over her—because, honestly, how can I not? "It's your birthday."

Her lips part slightly, and I see the flicker of surprise in her eyes before she quickly masks it. "I know that. But what does that have to do with anything?"

I step closer, lowering my voice just a fraction. "Because today isn't about Ayra, the academic achiever. Today is about Ayra. The girl who deserves to have fun, to laugh, to actually enjoy her life."

She blinks, clearly caught off guard, and for a moment, I think she's going to argue. But then she exhales, shaking her head. "Zaid it wasn't necessary I told you I'm fine"

"But I'm not, future wife" I counter, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door.

"Zaid!" she protests, though there's no real resistance in her voice. "You're not even telling me where we're going!"

"It's a surprise," I say simply, leading her out.

As much as I hate to admit it, I know I wouldn't be able to go back to how it was.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

Standing at the edge of the bungee platform, I'm starting to question all my life choices. The view is breathtaking—the Swiss Alps sprawling endlessly in every direction, the river below glinting like a ribbon of silver. But somehow, my focus isn't on any of that.

It's on the insane girl next to me who looks far too excited to jump off a ledge strapped to a glorified rubber band.

I had decided to take her to some cafe but for the safe side I asked her opinion and now here we are. I tried to refuse this idea but she showed that birthday girl card.

"Zaid, stop looking like you're about to meet your maker," Ayra teases, nudging me with her elbow.

I glare at her, my nerves making my voice sharper than usual. "This isn't normal Ayra. Humans don't willingly throw themselves off cliffs."

She grins, the kind of grin that makes her grey eyes sparkle mischievously. "And yet here we are. Don't tell me you're scared, Mirza."

"Scared? Of course not," I lie, crossing my arms. "I just think this is... unnecessary. There are safer ways to have fun, like sitting in a café. Eating cake. Breathing air that doesn't involve screaming."

Ayra bursts into laughter, and I swear it echoes louder than the wind up here. "You're such a coward."

"I'm not a coward!" I protest, my voice cracking slightly at the end. Great. Very convincing.

The harness tightens around my torso, and I swear I've never felt more uncomfortable—or more aware of my own mortality. I glance over at Ayra, who's grinning like a kid in a candy store.

Is she capable of acting like that?

So she's crazy for adrenaline.

"Alright, Mirza, let's do this together," she says, tying her ponytail tighter, her grey eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Together?" I echo, raising a brow. "How's that supposed to make this less terrifying? You screaming in my ear is not exactly comforting."

She smirks, tilting her head. "Oh, please. I'll be the brave one. You'll probably clutch my hand and cry."

"Cry?" I scoff, though my hands are already clammy. "You're delusional."

She steps closer, pointing at the platform. "Prove it, then. Let's jump together. Unless you want me to tell everyone that Zaid Mirza, the great academic rival, is afraid of heights."

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're cruel you know that"

"Yup," she says with a pop of her lips. "Now come on, or are you too scared?"

The instructor gives us the go-ahead, and before I can think of a reason to back out, Ayra grabs my hand.

"You ready?" she asks, her voice gleeful, like we're about to do something fun—like a picnic or a movie night. Not hurtle toward the ground at breakneck speed.

I glance down at our hands, her small fingers intertwined with mine. Somehow, the warmth steadies me, even though I won't admit it out loud.

"At least I'm dying with my fiance" I mutter, my throat dry.

The countdown begins, and I can feel my heart pounding like a drum.

"Three!"

Ayra looks at me, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Zaid, look at the height."

Ok I'm dead. Dead. Omg wtf!

"Two!"

"Stop talking," I snap, my voice a pitch higher than usual.

"One!"

She pulls me forward, and suddenly, we're free-falling. Screw gravity.

The rush of wind steals the scream from my throat, and for a moment, I'm convinced this is the end. But then I hear Ayra laughing—yes, laughing—and I can't help but glance her way. Her hair whips around her face, and her eyes are shut tight, her expression so carefree it almost makes me forget how terrifying this is, the fact that I'm clutching her like a koala should be ignored by y'all.

"You're insane!" I shout over the roar of the wind, though I can't stop the grin tugging at my lips.

"And you love it!" she yells back, laughing so hard she nearly chokes on the wind.

The bounce of the cord jerks us upward, and I swear I let out a sound that could rival a banshee. Ayra, of course, bursts into another fit of laughter.

I recite every Dua I remember and thought of my hereafter as well.

Marne ke Liye zyada Jawan aur handsome nahi hu mein?

(Ain't I too young and handsome for dying)

When we finally stop bouncing and are slowly lowered back to the platform, I'm out of breath—not from fear, but from laughing at how ridiculous we must have looked. Ayra is still giggling, her cheeks flushed, her hair a windswept mess.

"You survived, Mirza!" she teases, unhooking her harness. "Barely, but you did it!"

I roll my eyes, though I can’t keep the smile off my face. "Congratulations. You've officially made me question every life choice I've ever made."

"Oh, come on." She nudges me playfully. "Admit it—you had fun."

"Fun isn't the word I'd use," I retort, though my grin betrays me.

She crosses her arms, feigning a pout. "Yup extraordinary is the word you're looking for"

The lengths I would go for you I think, tugging on a loose strand of her hair.

She bats my hand away, laughing. "What happened to that Mirza who said who said he'll willingly fall if it's with me"

I pause, pretending to think "you still need proof when I jumped off a cliff with you?"

"So can we go for another round?" She chuckles, clearly teasing me.

"You're underestimating me ira. Give me that smile again and watch me jump a thousand times over"

Suddenly her smile becomes my most favorite thing in the universe.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

The ice rink is a picture-perfect scene straight out of a postcard. Snowflakes gently drift from the sky, catching in Ayra’s hair, and the faint glow of fairy lights twinkle overhead. Ayra's cheeks are rosy, probably from the cold, but it only adds to the picture of utter chaos she's creating on the ice.

"Are you sure you've done this before?" I ask, gliding effortlessly beside her.

"Of course I have" she huffs, wobbling as her skates screech across the ice. "I'm just... A little out of practice."

"Little?" I smirk, leaning closer. "You're literally wobbling Ayra"

She scowls at me, but the effect is ruined when she stumbles again. Her arms flail wildly, and I instinctively reach out, gripping her by the waist before she topples over.

"Easy there," I say, pulling her upright. "Don't worry I'm there to catch you"

She steadies herself, her hands clutching my jacket for dear life. "I didn't fall ok? Skating hi aese karte hai"

I raise a brow. "Jee jee. Wo mujhe nahi pata tha na Kay skating me girna aur sar par chot lagwana normal hai"

(Yeah ofcourse I didn't know that falling and breaking your head in skating is normal)

She swats at my chest, but her lips twitch with suppressed laughter. "Zaid! That was rude"

"Sorry bacha" I counter, grinning.

After a few shaky laps, Ayra insists on a photo break, dragging me toward the edge of the rink.

"Hold still," she commands, pointing her phone at me.

I dutifully pose, giving her my most exaggerated grin.

"Ugh, no," she groans, lowering the phone. "You look like a kid who just won a trophy."

"Maybe I did" I retort while sticking my gaze to her only.

She rolls her eyes, shoving the phone into my hands. "Fine. You take the picture, Mr. Perfectionist."

Before she can skate back, I hold her hand and pull her closer causing her body to hit my chest. Our faces are a few inches apart. I angle the phone right where it can capture this moment. After a few candid snaps where she's strangling me, giving me an eye roll and me looking at her like my life depends on it, she skates back.

We skate a little longer, with me holding her hand to keep her upright. Not that she'll admit she needs the help, of course.

"Okay, okay," she says, pulling us to a stop near the center of the rink. "One more picture. But this time, no falling."

I sigh dramatically but oblige, holding up the phone again.

The photo captures her perfectly—her flushed cheeks, her sparkling eyes, and the smallest, softest smile tugging at her lips.

I glance at it and feel something warm settle in my chest. "There," I say, showing her the screen. "Perfect."

She looks at the photo and beams. "Not bad, Mirza you're actually a good photographer"

"Haa dekhlo life time booking karwalo" I reply, nudging her playfully.

(I know right. You should do a life time booking)

She laughs showing me her ring finger, "ha tumhari lifetime booking already karwali hai" the sound light and carefree, and suddenly, I don't mind spending my life with her.

(I've already done your lifetime booking)

I don't mind risking anything for her.

What! No no no no.

The air smells like freshly cut grass and ambition as I step onto the perfectly manicured field. The London chill bites, but the adrenaline coursing through me drowns out the cold. This is it—the international stage. Every drill, every match, every sacrifice has led to this moment.

Scanning the field, my eyes lock on a tall figure effortlessly weaving the ball between his feet. He moves like he owns the field, his blonde hair catching the light. He looks up, sensing my presence, and jogs over, flashing a confident grin.

"You must be Rayan," he says, extending a hand. His crisp British accent carries an air of ease. "Faris Anderson. University of London. Ready to make history?"

"Always," I reply, gripping his hand.

What starts as a warm-up turns into a full-blown faceoff. Faris's footwork is sharp, his moves calculated, but I'm faster. The ball is mine before he knows it, and I send it flying into the net. He whistles low, retrieving the ball. "Alright, point taken. But don't think I'm letting you off easy."

By the time practice ends, the coach claps, muttering about how Faris and I play like we've been teammates for years. Sweat drenches me, but the energy crackling in the air is undeniable.

"Not bad," Faris says, tossing me a water bottle. "You'll fit right in."

"Not bad yourself," I reply, smirking.

We walk across the campus, the Gothic architecture bathed in golden sunlight. My phone buzzes—a picture of Maha stares back at me. Faris peeks over my shoulder. "Who's that? Girlfriend?"

"It's complicated," I mutter.

Faris grins. "Complicated? Mate, you've got it bad. What's her name?"

"Maha."

"Well, if she shows up, you'd better introduce me so I can tell her she's got the grumpiest footballer wrapped around her finger."

I shake my head, but the thought of her stirs something in my chest.

Before I can reply, a sharp voice cuts through the air. "Faris Anderson why are you everywhere I go?!"

A girl in a lavender kurti storms over, her silver jhumkas swaying. Her presence is fiery, commanding. Faris smirks. "Maybe because I want to be anywhere you are"

"Shut up Anderson!" She rolls her eyes.

"I would, but I'm thinking your lips might do a better job at that." Her eyes widenes and there is slight flush on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, muttering something sharp before storming off. Faris watches her go, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Ah, Roha Oberoi. Complicated," he says, mimicking my earlier words.

I chuckle. "Guess we've both got our hands full."

He tosses me the ball. "Let's get back to work. The field's waiting."

As we head back, my hand brushes my phone again. Is Maha coming? Or has she already decided not to? Aurelian had hired a jet to fly interested students to London, I've bought and sent the ticket to Maha in a hope that she'll come.

I'm more nervous to hear her confession at this moment.

If there is any.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

T

he night sky over London is alive with fireworks, painting the air in streaks of electric blue, fiery red, and dazzling gold. The stadium roars, a thunderous wave of energy that vibrates through my chest. Thousands of fans, their cheers deafening, fill every corner of the arena, their chants merging into one unrelenting heartbeat. The anticipation is palpable, crackling in the cool night air like static.

This is it. The moment we've all been waiting for.

I scan the crowd once more, my eyes darting from section to section. My chest tightens as I search for her. Maha. Is she here? Did she come? I'd sent her the ticket, poured every ounce of my hope into that gesture, but the uncertainty is gnawing at me. I can't shake the thought: What if she doesn't show? What if this is the end?

"Focus, Rayan" Faris slaps me on the back, his trademark grin in place. "We've got a match to win."

I nod, exhaling sharply. Right. The match. I shove my doubts aside and step onto the field, the grass cool beneath my cleats. The crowd's roar grows louder as we take our positions. Faris glances at me, his eyes gleaming with confidence.

"Ready to set this place on fire?" he asks.

I smirk, the adrenaline kicking in. "Always."

The whistle blows, and the game begins.

From the first touch of the ball, it’s clear this is our game. Faris and I move like a well-oiled machine, our passes seamless, our strategies sharp. The opposing team doesn't stand a chance. Every time I intercept a pass or Faris breaks through their defense, the crowd erupts. It's electric—goal after goal, we're unstoppable.

The scoreboard flashes, and I know we're close. One more goal, one final strike, and victory will be ours. My heart pounds as I race down the field, weaving through defenders like they're standing still.

Faris passes me The ball sensing the possibility of a goal. The ball feels like an extension of me, every touch precise, every move intentional.

Faris yells, "Rayan! Finish it!”

I see the opening. I feel it in my gut. With a surge of power, I kick the ball, sending it soaring through the air. Time seems to slow as it arcs perfectly into the net.

Goal.

It's blur of flashing lights, deafening cheers, and the adrenaline still coursing through my veins after the match. Me and Faris hug eachother everyone in the ground is chanting our names. This is the moment I've been dreaming of—the culmination of years of sacrifice and endless hours on the field.

But then I see her.

Maha.

She's on the outskirts of the crowd, her wild hair catching the wind, her dusky skin glowing under the stadium lights. Her green eyes shine like emeralds, shimmering with tears, and something else I can't quite place—a kind of raw emotion that makes the air in my lungs freeze. In that moment, everything fades—the cheers, the cameras, the chaos. It's like the universe presses pause, leaving only her.

My heart stops, then kicks into overdrive. Is this real? Or has my exhausted mind conjured up the only person I wanted to see tonight?

Before I can make sense of it, she moves. No, she runs.

Her bag slips off her shoulder as she darts through the crowd, her steps uneven but determined. She weaves through the chaos with the same energy that defines her—chaotic, unrestrained, entirely Maha. The way she runs is almost clumsy, like she might trip at any moment, but I know she won't stop until she reaches me.

My legs move on their own, meeting her halfway. The noise around me dissolves into the pounding rhythm of my heart and the sound of her laughter, wild and unfiltered, carried by the breeze. It's like she's bringing color into a world that was only shades of gray.

And then she's in my arms.

I lift her off the ground effortlessly, twirling her around as her laughter mixes with the crowd's cheers. Her scent...something sweet and familiar, like jasmine...wraps around me. The world tilts, but it's perfect, because she's the only one keeping me steady.

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her face flushed, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears. There's mischief there too, a glimmer of the Maha I know—fiery, stubborn, alive. "I love you idiot"

The words tumble out of her mouth in true Maha fashion—rushed, raw, completely unpolished. Her cheeks turn crimson, but her green eyes stay locked on mine, daring me to react. "I've loved you for so long, you insufferable grump. Like, I don't even know why. You're moody, and you scowl too much, and you're so annoyingly good at everything. But somewhere along the way, you became my favorite person to annoy. And it terrifies me because I don't think I'll ever stop. You're the only one who listens to my yapping session for hours and the only one who can handle someone crazy like me. I'm in love with you rhino"

For a second, I just stare at her, my brain short-circuiting. Her words—her love—hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over every fear, every hesitation I’ve ever had. My heart feels too full, like it might burst from the sheer force of her confession.

"I love you more" I say, my voice hoarse. The words feel too small for the way she's consumed me, but they're all I have. "Maha, I...God, I've waited so long to hear you say that. You drive me insane, you know? You're unpredictable and reckless and stubborn, and I wouldn't change a single thing about you. You've turned my whole world upside down, and I don't want it any other way."

Her grin returns, wide and a little unhinged, and then she’s laughing—cackling. "You're so screwed, Rayan. You just admitted you love a girl who hit you with a stick on orientation party"

I can't help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. "Guess I'm doomed then."

She's the smile I would die a thousand times to catch a glimpse of.

The roar of the crowd is deafening, cameras flashing as reporters swarm the field. Faris is off to the side, handling his share of the media with practiced ease, this guy literally loves the limelight. Meanwhile, I'm caught between answering questions and sneaking glances at Maha, who's hovering near the edge of the chaos, her arms crossed and her grin too amused for her own good.

"Rayan, how does it feel to share the spotlight with Faris after such an incredible game?" a reporter asks, shoving a mic in my face.

"It feels amazing," I say, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse is still racing. "It's a team victory, and everyone worked hard for this moment."

Another voice cuts through. "The crowd's been chanting something unusual tonight "Raha, Raha." What's that about? The fans seem to think you and…" The reporter glances toward Maha. "…your special someone are the perfect pair. Care to comment?"

The chants of "Raha, Raha" grow louder, rippling through the stadium. I glance at Maha, who's shaking her head with a mix of exasperation and amusement. She mouths something.. she's not someone who'll say "don't you dare Rayan" she would want me to say something crazy.

I grin and extend a hand toward her. "Why don't you come answer that one yourself?"

The crowd erupts, cheering her name now. Maha freezes, her eyes wide like I've just sentenced her to public execution. Then, with a dramatic sigh and a muttered, "You're impossible," she stomps over, her cheeks flushed but her smile betraying her.

As soon as she's within reach, I pull her close, my arm slipping around her waist. "This is Maha," I tell the reporters, my voice steady. "She's my girlfriend, the reason why I'm standing here and the real trophy I've won tonight"

The crowd loses it, their cheers echoing through the stadium. Maha glares at me but can't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

"Girlfriend?" one of the reporters presses, delighted. "So it's official?"

Maha rolls her eyes dramatically. "Clearly, since this grumpy idiot just announced it to the whole world."

Laughter ripples through the crowd, and I can't help but chuckle. "She's not wrong," I say, tightening my hold on her. "She's been putting up with me for a while now."

The reporters keep asking questions, but I barely register them. All I see is Maha, who's alternating between looking flustered and thoroughly enjoying the attention.

This must fulfill her Bollywood ideal stories, yeah this contest has such a hype every year. Students of last year are treated like real footballers.

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When the chaos finally dies down, we’re sitting on the field, the stadium lights casting a golden glow. Maha lies on the grass, her hair splayed out like a halo, while I sit beside her, watching her talk with that unfiltered energy only she can pull off.

"So," I say, leaning back on my hands, "you said I wasn’t your first love."

She sits up, frowning. "Kaunsa love? What are you talking about?"

"Your neighbor" I say, raising an eyebrow. "You know the one you were crying about"

Her laugh bursts out, loud and full of disbelief. "Chee, bro! I never loved any neighbor. That was a lie!"

I blink. "Wait, what?"

"Of course it was a lie! You were so clueless about your feelings, I had to make something up. I thought, Maybe if I make him jealous, he'll finally realize he likes me. And guess what? It worked. You confessed, didn't you?" She grins triumphantly, poking my chest. "So, really, you should thank me for my brilliant acting skills."

I shake my head, biting back a laugh. "Unbelievable. You're insane Maha! You don't know how terrible I felt to know that"

"And you love it," she fires back, her green eyes sparkling. "Admit it, my plan was genius."

"I think you just enjoy causing chaos," I say, pulling her closer until she’s leaning against me.

"Causing Chaos? Rhino I am the Chaos" she agrees, smirking. "But hey, it worked. Raha is official now. The crowd loves us."

"Wait how did the crowd even get to know about Raha?" I mutter, resting my forehead against hers.

"That was because of Roha. I asked her to create the hype into the crowd and record the video, it was only because of her that I reached here on time"

"Roha?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Faris's complicated?"

Oh so she did come to his match.

"Complicated?" Maha says, grinning. "Well anyways since we're officially in a relationship now... So Mr Rayan there is a new contract I've made to ensure our relationship goes smooth and all... I've never been in a relationship but now that I am I'm fulfilling every dream I had which includes you doing certain gestures and...."

I laugh while throwing my head back "chup ho jao Maha, why to put a contract now it's simple... Whatever you say is right, whatever you say goes around, I love you" I kiss her cheek and I thought she would blush but instead she offers another side of her cheek.

My shameless crazy girl.

I gently pull her cheek and ruffle her hair.

"I love you Maha"

She flips her hair and winks at me, "kyun nahi karoge mein hu hi amazing"

(Why wouldn't you, I am amazing)

I chuckle and lock my eyes with her, she's crazy but she's crazily mine.

I actually am doomed.

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Hey guys I hope y'all are doing fine and well ❤️‍🩹

If you want to read about Faris and Roha's romance and you wanna know Maha's pov then what are you guys waiting for? Go read "show me" by Author Ayesha Malik. I really loved collaborating with her.

I don't know why but I loved writing this chapter after so long 😭

Chapter dedicated to all the Zayra and Raha lovers.

I'm getting obsessed with Zayra 😭

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