40| Let Her Go

It's been two days since everything took a shift. Since my heart doesn't feel like beating. I thought this feeling was limited to the ink of pages, that it wasn't possible to get physically affected when someone leaves you.

It does. More than I thought.

Everything is the same yet different, the stars twinkling in the dark of night are the same, the moon on its horizon is the same, the sound of the breeze is the same... So what changed? The fact that the stars don't narrate my future with Hoor like it did? Or that the moon reminds me how it isn't pretty anymore?

The door creaks open, and my mother's soft voice breaks the silence, "Honey, you in there?"

I don't respond. My gaze is fixed on the ceiling, though I barely see it. My room is dark, mirroring the hollow ache in my chest. The only light comes from the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains, but even that feels distant, cold.

Her footsteps are light as she walks in, closing the door behind her. She sits down beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. "Ahad," she says gently, her voice a soothing balm to my shattered soul. "It's been two days, beta. Aren't you okay?"

I force a smile onto my lips, though it doesn't reach my eyes. With trembling hands, I reach for hers, holding them tightly as if her warmth could anchor me. "I'm okay, Mom."

Her eyes, filled with both love and worry, search my face. She cups my cheeks, her touch soft yet firm, as if trying to hold me together. "You're my son," she says quietly. "I can tell what you're feeling even if you don't know it yourself. Tell me, Ahad. Mera beta, I can't see you like this. Is it about Hoor?"

Her words crack something inside me. My throat tightens, and before I can stop it, tears well up, blurring my vision. I swallow hard, trying to compose myself, but the effort is futile. One tear escapes, tracing a hot path down my cheek. She notices instantly, her brows knitting together as she wipes it away.

"Did you two have an argument?" she asks, her voice soft but probing.

I don't answer. I can't. My silence is heavy, filling the room with the weight of everything I can't put into words. If it was an argument than I would've begged on my knees or ask her to slap me if it could make things right but this was my own past knocking me down.

She sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Uska jaana itna faraq rakhta hai tumhare liye?"

(Does her absence matter this much to you?)

Her question shatters whatever fragile dam I had built to contain my emotions. My chest heaves, and a sob escapes, raw and unrestrained. "Mom," I choke out, my voice breaking. "Kese na kare? Ahad to wo Apne Sath Le gayi mere paas farak rakhne ke Liye bacha hi Kya?"

(How can it not? I don't know what matters or not when she took Ahad with herself)

She pulls me into her arms, my head resting on her lap as her fingers thread through my hair. "Itni mohabbat karte ho usse?" she whispers, her voice quivering with suppressed emotion.

(Do you love her this much?)

I nod, the movement small and trembling. She sniffles, wiping away her own tears as she asks, "Describe her to me."

A sad smile stretches across my face, a ghost of the joy her name used to bring me. "Hoor… She's like the sky itself, Mom. Her eyes turn into a shade of the ocean kissed by sunlight when she's excited. When she's angry, they darken, like storm clouds heavy with rain, and when she's sad, they're like a plain sky, endless but empty." I pause, my voice thick with emotion, my tears flowing freely now. "Her bangs fall messily over her forehead, and tiny freckles scatter across her cheeks like constellations almost too faint to see. There's always a rosy tint to her skin, like she carries the dawn with her everywhere she goes. Even if I had the words of a thousand poets, I couldn't describe her fully. She's—she's everything, Mom."

Tears spill from her eyes as she listens, her hand stroking my hair in an effort to console me. But her own voice wavers when she says, "Mera beta, I understand. I can feel your pain"

I bury my face in her lap, the fabric of her dress soaking up my tears. "I don't know how to let her go, Mom," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I don't even want to. I know it's because of me, I know if I tell her my own pain she'll be with me for sympathy not because of love, not because she wants to"

She leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple as tears stream down her face. "Ahad she's your love right? You shouldn't give up before trying. If she has one reason to leave then give her thousands of others to stay. If she loves you she'll stay"

Her words provide a small measure of comfort, but the ache in my chest remains. We sit there together, mother and son, our tears mingling, bound by shared pain and the silent understanding of a love too deep to put into words.

I don't know if I'll ever get to be with her or not.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, trying to focus on the book in my hands, but my gaze keeps drifting to Hoorain. She's perched at her desk, her laptop open in front of her. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, but they don't move. She just stares at the screen, her brows furrowed like she's deep in thought—or maybe lost in it.

Beside me, Maha whispers, "She hasn't smiled in two days." Her voice is unusually quiet, a rare moment of solemnity for someone as chaotic as her.

I glance at her, my lips pressed into a thin line. "I know," I whisper back. "I've been trying to give her space, but it's like she's slipping further away. She hasn't even touched her book. Even Ayra isn't here who can handle this situation damn we really need her advice"

Maha leans in closer, her freshly painted nails tapping my arm to get my attention. "We need to do something, Naya. I can't see her like this."

My stomach twists. Hoorain has always been the youngest and the baby of our group, the pampered one. Seeing her like this, so distant and weighed down, feels wrong.

Maha hops off her bed, her suitcase still half-unpacked from her trip to London. She approaches Hoorain with exaggerated steps, her lips pursed in mock seriousness. "Hoor," she calls out, her tone theatrical. "Why are you staring at that screen like it owes you money?"

Hoor doesn't even look up.

Undeterred, Maha places a hand on her shoulder. "You know I was coming here in the group and I heard our warden-"

"—don't say snoring" I interrupt, rolling my eyes.

"No but she was" Maha huffs. "I thought of knocking on her door and running away but then again we will do it on our next adventure to wherever when Ayra comes right Hoor?"

Hoorain's lips twitch for the briefest second, but the smile doesn't come. She just sighs, her gaze dropping to her lap.

Maha exchanges a worried glance with me, and I nod. It's time.

I slide off my bed and sit down beside Hoorain, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Hoor, please talk to us," I say softly. "We're worried about you."

Maha kneels on the floor, resting her chin on Hoorain's desk. "Hoor, come on. You know you can tell us anything. We're your people."

For a moment, it feels like Hoorain won't answer. But then she closes her laptop, the click echoing in the quiet room. She takes a shaky breath, and when she looks at us, her eyes are glassy. "I don't even know where to start," she whispers.

Maha reaches for her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Start anywhere. We're here."

Tears spill over Hoorain's lashes as she begins to speak. The words come out in a torrent—how she feels lost, how she can't stop thinking about Ahad, how Ahad was the one to lock the door that night, how her savior was the reason she needed saving.

By the time she finishes, tears are streaming down my face too. I hate seeing her like this—our cute brilliant Hoorain reduced to this quiet storm of sadness. Maha sniffles loudly beside me, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You're not alone in this, Hoor," I say, my voice firm despite the lump in my throat. "We've got you. Always."

Maha climbs onto the desk chair, leaning awkwardly to hug Hoorain from the side. "You don't have to carry this alone, okay? We'll help you through it, no matter how long it takes. That's what best friends do."

Hoorain lets out a soft, broken laugh, her tears falling faster now. "You guys are such crybabies."

"And you're the worst for making us cry!" Maha shoots back, her voice cracking. "Never again, Hoor. I swear, if you ever pull this silent brooding act, I'll—"

"—knock on the warden's door while she's asleep" I offer, trying to lighten the mood.

"Exactly!" Maha nods fervently, her dramatic antics earning the tiniest smile from Hoorain.

We pull her into a three-way hug, our arms tangling as we hold onto her tightly. The weight in the room starts to lift, replaced by the quiet reassurance of knowing that, no matter what, we’re in this together.

"You're stuck with us," I whisper into her hair. "Forever."

Hoorain laughs softly, her voice still shaky but lighter than before. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

I know there's something underlying. Ahad Bhai won't willingly hurt anyone much less Hoorain, I'll talk to Ahad Bhai or with Ayan about this situation. I can't let my favorite couple break like this.

"Inaya you're literally breaking up for this!" I snap.

"Yes Ayan"

"Do you know how much I've sacrificed for you? My love, my devotion, my… my sanity?"

Inaya rolls her eyes, unwrapping her chocolate bar with deliberate slowness. "First of all, you have no sanity to sacrifice. Second, stop being dramatic it's just a chocolate."

"Still you know sharing is caring" I argue, stepping in front of her dramatically. "You're literally my future wife and here you are arguing for a mere chocolate"

She takes a bite, her expression completely unimpressed. "Still not working. C'mon I still have a lot of things to buy"

I gasp, staggering back like her words physically hit me. "After you ma'am"

We're walking through the crowded bazaar alive with lights and laughter. Strings of fairy lights crisscross above us, bathing the vibrant stalls in a warm golden glow. Vendors shout to passersby, showcasing colorful fabrics, glittering jewelry, and mouthwatering snacks. The aroma of freshly fried jalebis and kebabs fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the night. The atmosphere feels almost magical, like something out of a Bollywood movie.

As she grasps my hand and guides me wherever she wishes, I can't help but notice the way her hair flows with every step, her hazel eyes sparkling with a thrill to explore every corner of the bazaar. How did I get so lucky to have this Desi queen by my side? She's adorned by a black Desi kurti which has a delicate red embroidery complimenting the arms and the neck.

Her dupatta slips off her shoulder as she examines a stall selling embroidered shawls. I catch up, draping her dupatta back over her shoulder with a casual smoothness that earns me a glance.

"Careful Naya" I murmur, "you might trip over your dupatta"

She gives me a side-eye, her lips twitching. "I know even if I trip you're there to catch me no?"

"Always" I stare at her as if she's the only one I need to stay alive, let's say she is.

I smirk, stepping closer as we reach the bangle stall. The vibrant array of colors catches her attention instantly, her eyes lighting up as she runs her fingers over the delicate glass bangles. I watch her with an amused smile.

"See something you like?" I ask, my tone playful.

"Everything," she replies, her voice soft, almost mesmerized. "They're so beautiful."

"Mesmerizing," I repeat, my voice is low. I'm not talking about the bangles—I haven't even glanced at them. Her hazel eyes flick to me briefly, catching my intense gaze, and she blushes before quickly looking away.

I take my time, sifting through the kaleidoscope of colors with deliberate care, choosing the ones I know will suit her best. A deep green, like the lush forests she loves. A soft pink, like the color that always blooms on her cheeks when I tease her. And gold, because it matches her glow when she's happy.

"Hold out your hand," I say, my tone light but commanding.

She hesitates for a moment before extending her wrist, her bangles jangling softly. I take it gently, her skin warm under my fingers, and start sliding the chosen bangles onto her wrist one by one.

"Ayan, what are you doing?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

"Perfecting art," I reply with a smirk, my eyes on her hand as I finish arranging the set. "The colors need to match the masterpiece, don’t they?"

Around us, a few girls have stopped to watch, their whispered envy not as discreet as they think.

"Dekho kaise pyaar karta hai!" one of them murmurs, nudging the man beside her. I can't help but chuckle at that.

(Just look at how he loves her)

Another leans closer to Inaya, her voice a mixture of awe and curiosity. "How did you get so lucky? Boys like this exist in real life?"

I thought it is better to reply on behalf of Inaya, "yes they do when girls like Inaya does"

"Perfect," I declare, flashing her a grin that could disarm anyone. "Though, to be fair, anything would look good on you."

Her breath catches, and for a moment, the bustling bazaar fades into the background. It's just the two of us, standing under the warm glow of lights, her hand in mine. The soft music crescendos in the distance, as if the world itself is playing along with us.

"Why do you love me so much?" She asks.

"I'd be insane not to" I reply.

Blush coats her cheeks "chichorpanna band karo warna..."

(Stop being a pervert or else I'll...)

I step closer as she stutters, "warna Kya Inaya?"

(Or else what Inaya?)

She gulps, "warna maar dungi Tumhe"

(I'd kill you)

I chuckle and pull her closer to me, "Marzi hai tumhari, maar daalo ya jeene do. Dil bhi tumhara, hum bhi tumhare aur haw bhi tumhara"

(Whatever you wish. Kill me or let me live. My heart is yours, I'm yours and all the rights are yours.)

Her blush deepens, spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She looks everywhere but at me, her hazel eyes darting to the bangles on her wrist, the fairy lights above us, even the dusty ground beneath her feet. But I don’t let her escape that easily.

"Inaya," I murmur, my voice soft but teasing as I lean closer. "Your silence is saying so much right now. Should I take this as a confession?"

"Confession?" she scoffs, though her voice trembles slightly. "Confession of what? You're imagining things again, Ayan."

"Am I?" I smirk, raising an eyebrow. "Then may I say that I wish to keep imagining my entire life?"

"Ayan," she hisses, her eyes narrowing, but the effect is ruined by the pink tint on her cheeks.

I take her hand again, gently brushing my thumb over the bangles I'd just put on her wrist. "Sharma bohot acha leti ho"

(You blush beautifully)

She opens her mouth, no doubt to retort, when—

"Bhaiji," the shopkeeper's voice breaks through the charged moment, pulling us back to reality. "Woh bangles ke paise toh dein."

(Brother please give me the money of bangles)

Inaya freezes, her eyes widening in horror as she looks between me and the amused shopkeeper. I can see her blush and getting embarrassed, I take full advantage of it don't I love teasing her?

"Oh no," I say, gasping dramatically as I pat my pockets. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet! What should we do now?"

Her jaw drops, and she smacks my arm lightly. "Ayan! Don't you dare embarrass me more than you already have!"

I grin, turning to the shopkeeper with a shameless smile. "Bhai sahab, dekhiye na, hum toh bas mohabbat ke liye aaye the. Paise ka toh socha hi nahi."

(Brother listen, I just came here for my love I didn't think about money)

The shopkeeper bursts into laughter, shaking his head. "Arre bhai, aap ka toh scene hi alag hai. Lekin paisa zaroori hai. Mohabbat se mein bangles bechne Aya to Meri waali mohabbat se ghar se nikal degi"

(Haha brother your matter is entirely different. But money is important. If I come to sell bangles on the basis of love then my wife would kick me out of the house with love)

"Oh to apki wali bhi Meri wali ki Tarah laraka hai?"

(Oh so your woman loves to fight like mine?)

Inaya groans, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my God, Ayan. Stop it!"

"Why should I stop, Inaya?" I tease, pulling out my wallet at last. "I'm just spreading a little joy in this bazaar. Look, even bhai sahab is entertained."

"Jee jee behn ji" the shopkeeper agrees, laughing as he counts the money I hand him. "Bhai ji kabhi ayein hamare ghar behn jee aur Meri wali ki bohot banegi apas mein."

(Brother you should come to our place sometime, ma'am and my wife would get along)

"See?" I wink at Inaya. "He likes me—"

"Ayan," she interrupts, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the stall before I can finish my sentence.

As we walk away, her bangles jingling and her cheeks still flushed, I can't help but laugh.

"Admit it, you love how entertaining I am," I say, leaning closer to her.

She gives me a glare, but the corner of her lips betrays her, curving upward. "I tolerate you, Ayan. There's a difference."

"Sure, sure," I reply, grinning as I take her hand again. "But I know the truth, meri jaan. You're crazy about me."

"It's the opposite Ayan" she crosses her arms.

"Naya I'm not even hesitant to admit that I'm beyond crazy for you"

She drags me through the bustling crowd, the vibrant colors and scents of the bazaar blur into a symphony of sights and smells. Her bangles chime softly with each step, a melody that seems to match her hurried pace. I already know where she's taking me before we even stop.

The mehendi stall.

It's tucked into a corner, a kaleidoscope of designs displayed on hanging boards, and the faint, earthy smell of henna wafts through the air. She stops abruptly, her eyes lighting up as she scans the intricate patterns. I lean against the side of the stall, crossing my arms and watching her with an amused smile.

"You're going for the mehendi," I say confidently.

She throws me a look over her shoulder. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because you always do." I smirk. "Gol mehendi, filled fingers. It's your signature style"

Her lips twitch as if fighting a smile, but she says nothing, already pointing out her choice to the artist. She settles down on the stool, rolling up her sleeves as the artist gets to work.

"Stay still, Inaya," I tease, crouching beside her. "Or are you planning to get mehendi all over your face this time?"

She shoots me a glare. "One more word, Ayan, and I swear—"

"Swear what?" I interrupt smoothly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "You're too busy to do anything right now, jaan."

Her cheeks flush as she glares at me again, but I notice she doesn't say a word when I gather her hair into a loose twist, securing it gently at her neck so it won't fall in her way.

"Better?" I ask, my voice soft.

She looks at me for a moment, her hazel eyes unreadable, before muttering, "Much better."

The artist continues working on her hand, the intricate designs taking shape in golden hues. I can't stop staring at her—how the glow of the stall's light seems to kiss her face, how her lips curve upward slightly as she watches the mehendi being applied.

An older woman sitting nearby chuckles, breaking my trance. "Puttar Naam likhwale Hatha ch, rishta inna mazboot hojana hai phir jldi hi shadi di tayariya kar le."

(Son you should also have her name written on your hand, it's said that your relationship will get stronger)

Inaya bursts into laughter, and I grin, always ready to play along. "Bus aunty AP be keh diya to Laga dein"

(Sure aunty if you're saying then why not)

Before she can protest, I take the seat beside her and extend my hand to another artist. "Write her name," I instruct, pointing to Inaya with a smug smile.

"What?" she gasps, her voice half mortified, half amused. "Ayan, stop it!"

"Why should I stop?" I shoot back, my tone mischievous. "This is for our relationship, Inaya. Aunty said it'll make us stronger."

The artist chuckles as she starts writing "Inaya" delicately in the curve of my palm. Inaya buries her face in her free hand, her laughter muffled but unmistakable.

"Hayee, kinna sohna Munda hai bachara vi lagda hai. Lagda tu ennu limita ch rakhdi hai"

(Hayee this boy is so handsome and he appears to be innocent. I believe you keep him in his limits)

I can't help but burst into laughter and so does Inaya, "aunty you don't know how big of a film he is"

"Sure aunty but I'm glad I have such a gorgeous heroine featuring"

The mehendi artist finishes her design, and Inaya carefully lifts her hand, examining the intricate pattern. I lean closer, my gaze lingering on her fingers.

"Beautiful," I say softly, and for once, my tone holds no teasing.

Her blush deepens, and she looks away, but I catch her free hand before she can hide her face. "Hey," I whisper, my voice dipping. "No need to hide. You're stunning, Inaya. Always."

I smile at my hand adorned with her name, I wish what aunty said is true that the string connecting me and Inaya should always remain strong.

She stays silent, her lips twitching into a shy smile as the lights of the bazaar reflect in her eyes. Around us, the noise and chatter seem distant, the world shrinking to just the two of us.

"Now should we find some food or what?"

"Better Let's stroll around maybe we can find anything entertaining?"

"Alright," I say, slipping my hand into hers. "Let's stroll, madam, but don’t complain later if your feet hurt."

"Who said anything about complaining?" she retorts with a smirk. "I'm tougher than you think, Ayan"

Before I can counter, an announcement cuts through the lively chatter. A man with a microphone stands near a stage at the center of the bazaar, his voice booming over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Join us for a fun challenge! Make a gajra for your partner—while she's blindfolded! Follow her instructions, use their favorite flowers, and the best, most romantic one has true love! Remember it's not about gajras it's about efforts and love"

Knowing Inaya she finds such things fascinating maybe because she's a reader and a Bollywood fan.

"Let's do it."

"Ayan!" she hisses, half-laughing, half-mortified. "Ayan making gajras is actually hard and you won't be able to do it."

"Let's see my love" I cut her off, raising a hand to volunteer. "I can do anything for you and this is just a gajra"

The crowd cheers as we approach the stage, the man handing me a blindfold. Inaya shakes her head, her cheeks glowing under the string lights.

"This is ridiculous," she mutters, but there's a smile tugging at her lips.

"Ridiculous is my specialty," I say, tying the blindfold securely around her eyes. Her world goes dark, but her scent—roses and a hint of something uniquely hers—grounds me.

"Alright, madam guide," I tease. "What's your favorite flower again? Roses, right?"

"Yes, but not just roses," she says, her voice soft yet commanding. "Mix in jasmine too. And don't squish them, Ayan!"

"I'd never dare squish anything you love," I reply smoothly, reaching out for the flowers.

She stands before me, blindfolded, her lips slightly parted as she continues guiding me. Her hands rest lightly by her sides, and though she can't see me, I can't take my eyes off her. The string lights reflect softly on her face, and the faint smile on her lips is enough to make the world around us fade away.

The stall owner demonstrates how to thread the flowers into the string, and I mimic his movements. But, of course, this isn't just about finishing first or even making the prettiest gajra—it's about making it hers.

"Jasmine goes around the roses," she murmurs. "But not too tight. I want it to feel soft, not stiff."

I grin, threading the delicate jasmine flowers with care. "Soft, like your heart when you're around me?"

"At least stop flirting here," she quips, though her cheeks flush.

"Fine, fine. I'll let my actions speak," I say, smirking as I knot the thread securely.

The other boys are rushing, trying to finish their gajras quickly for the competition, but I take my time, ensuring each flower is exactly as she likes it. The stall owner watches me with approval, even giving a subtle nod when I ask for advice.

I've never been more grateful for my fast learning abilities, by now I'm not only done with the gajras but also flower earrings and a matha Patti kind of. I can't imagine how beautiful my girl would look in flowers. The stall owner gives me a thumbs up. I look at others scolding their girls for being hard on instructions. I hate man who can't handle their girls delicately.

My gaze attaches with the dupatta Inaya bought complaining how plain it looks, then an idea strikes me—something that goes beyond just making a gajra. I glance at the roses and jasmine, then at Inaya, still standing patiently, blindfolded and oblivious to my plan.

"Inaya," I say, my voice soft and serious. "Do you trust me?"

She tilts her head slightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "I don't know. Should I?"

"Always," I reply, and without waiting for a response, I lean down and gently brush a strand of hair away from her ear.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice catching slightly.

"You'll see," I murmur, threading a single rose and a few jasmine blossoms into the edge of her dupatta. I make sure the gajra I'm creating is still perfect, but I also weave a small portion of it into her attire, turning it into something more—a piece of her.

The crowd watches, murmuring in awe as I continue. The boys around me are too focused on finishing first to notice, but the girls in the audience nudge each other, their whispers filled with admiration.

"Almost done," I say, reaching for a tiny golden bell the stall owner hands me without a word. I tie it delicately to the end of the gajra, so it will jingle softly when she moves.

Finally, I hold up the completed piece, glancing between it and the little additions I've made to her dupatta. Perfect.

"Inaya," I say, stepping closer and taking her hands in mine. "I'm done. Take off the blindfold."

She hesitates before lifting the fabric slowly, blinking against the light. Her eyes widen as she takes in the gajra in my hands, then the flowers woven into her dupatta.

"Ayan…" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

"Do you like it?" I ask, grinning. "I figured just a gajra wasn't enough. You deserve something unforgettable."

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and her lips tremble into a smile. Around us, the girls in the crowd sigh audibly, some even clapping.

"Yaar, kya banda hai!" one of them exclaims. "Where do you find guys like him?"

Wherever you find girls like Inaya.

Another adds, "Forget the competition—this is straight out of a dream!"

Inaya bites her lip, trying to suppress her smile. "You're literally something else" she murmurs, her voice shaking with affection.

"I would love to be something yours"

The crowd erupts in cheers, a wave of excitement rippling through the bazaar. The shop owner steps closer, his eyes wide as he takes in the gajra and the intricate additions to Inaya's dupatta.

"Bhai saab" he says, shaking his head in awe. "This isn't just a gajra. It's a work of art. How did you learn it in a single glance?"

I grin, slipping my hands into my pockets. "When it's for someone like her," I glance at Inaya, whose cheeks are now the shade of the henna blooming on her hands, "you just force yourself to do the best."

The owner nods approvingly, handing me a small box with a bow. "Take this, beta. It's on the house. No one's done something this heartfelt here before."

The announcer steps onto the stage, microphone in hand, and declares, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! And it's not just his creativity, but his heart that made it happen. Give it up for Ayan!"

The crowd roars, clapping and cheering. Inaya looks around, flustered, but when her gaze meets mine, she softens.

I bow dramatically. "Your Highness, shall we complete this look?"

She laughs, shaking her head, but doesn't stop me as I take the flower earrings I made and gently hook them onto her ears. The delicate pred petals brushing her cheeks matching the shade coating her cheeks.

"Perfect," I murmur, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "But something's still missing."

"What now?" she asks, trying to sound exasperated, though the smile on her face betrays her.

I lift the gajra with the dupatta, carefully placing it around her hair.

"Inaya, tum meri sabse haseen khushi ho." My voice lowers, dripping with sincerity. "Tum to abhi mujhe Pagal kar Rahi Meri Dulhan banke Kya karogi?"

(Inaya you're my most beautiful kind of happiness)

(You're driving me insane just now I wonder what you would do when you get ready as my bride)

Her breath hitches, her wide eyes locking with mine. Around us, the crowd lets out a collective aww, and someone shouts, "Shaadi Mubarak in advance!"

The music shifts, a lively Desi beat echoing through the bazaar. The crowd begins clapping to the rhythm, and someone pulls out a dhol, kicking off an impromptu celebration.

"Dance with me?" I offer her my hand, tilting my head.

"Ayan, I—"

"Come on," I interrupt, stepping closer and taking her hand gently. "You can't look like this and not dance. It's practically a crime."

She rolls her eyes but lets me lead her to the center, where couples and families are already moving to the music. The beat of the song fills the air, and I spin her lightly, watching as her gajra sways with her movements.

The moment feels surreal—her laughter blending with the melody, her hands warm in mine as we sway to the rhythm. I lean in close, my voice barely audible over the music.

"I love you"

Her blush deepens, and she glances away, but I gently tilt her chin back toward me. "No escaping, madam. You're stuck with me now."

The crowd cheers as the music reaches its peak, and I twirl her one last time, pulling her back into my arms. Her laughter rings out like music of its own, with the lights shimmering around us and the scent of jasmine and roses in the air, I know—this is what forever feels like.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

I walk into the living room, still grinning like an idiot, the scent of jasmine from Inaya's gajra lingering in the air around me. Life's good when your girl is a literal dream. I hum a random tune as I toss my keys onto the table, but the moment I see Ayzal sitting cross-legged on the sofa, arms crossed and an all-too-familiar smirk on her face, I know I'm about to be ambushed.

"Well, well, look who's glowing," she starts, arching a perfectly judgmental eyebrow. "What's that you're hiding?"

"Hiding?" I ask innocently, trying to sidestep her interrogation as I head towards the kitchen.

She blocks my path, lightning quick, and points to my hand. "What's this? Henna? Are those flowers I see in your hair?"

I glance at my reflection in the glass cabinet and, sure enough, a stray jasmine petal clings to my hair. Cursing silently, I pluck it out and toss it aside. "Nothing," I say nonchalantly. "Just out appreciating the finer things in life. Unlike some people who only know how to sulk on sofas."

Her smirk deepens. "Oh, please. Finer things, huh? Sounds like you've been with your Inaya." She puts air quotes around Inaya's name for dramatic effect.

"Jealous?" I fire back, plopping onto the opposite sofa. "Because you don't have a boyfriend?"

She scoffs. "Jealous? Of what? Watching you act like a lovesick idiot? No, thanks. I'm good."

"Why am I not surprised?" I say, inspecting my nails. "With your personality and those looks, who'd date you anyway?"

A cushion flies at my face before I can dodge. "Excuse me? I don't even want a boyfriend!"

"Right, right." I chuckle, leaning back. "You don't know what you're missing out on. It's amazing, right, Ahad?" I turn to our older cousin sitting quietly in the corner, scrolling through his phone.

The temperature in the room drops instantly. Ahad's shoulders stiffen, and he clears his throat awkwardly. Ayzal's eyes widen as she gives me a frantic don’t-go-there look.

I blink, confused. "What?"

Ahad sets his phone down and gives me a tight-lipped smile that screams discomfort. "Sure, amazing" he mutters, his tone flat.

Ayzal facepalms, muttering, "Idiot," under her breath.

"What's your problem?" I ask her.

"You're the problem!" she hisses, gesturing toward Ahad with her eyes. "Think for once!"

I glance between the two of them, still not getting it. "Why are you being so dramatic? I'm just saying dating is great. You don't know Ayzal he and Hoor are so whipped for eachother that he even forgot his best friend "me""

"Ayan!" she whisper-yells, looking mortified.

Ahad finally stands, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm going to bed."

"Oh, come on!" I protest. "I wasn't saying anything—"

"Goodnight," he says quickly, practically sprinting upstairs.

The door slams shut, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. I turn to Ayzal, who's glaring daggers at me.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Ahad just had a breakup, you idiot!" she snaps, throwing another cushion at me.

"Wait, what?" My eyes widen. "Since when?"

"Since a day before yesterday, genius! Maybe if you paid attention to something other than flowering around, you'd know!"

I scratch my head, finally piecing everything together. "Ohhh. That's why he's been all… moody."

"Yes! And here you are, rubbing your lovey-dovey nonsense in his face!"

"Well, excuse me for being happy," I mutter, crossing my arms. "Still, not my fault no one wants to date you."

The third cushion lands squarely on my face, and this time, I don't even try to dodge.

I flop onto my bed after my not-so-graceful exit from Ayzal's wrath, grabbing my phone to call the other two stooges. Zaid is in Switzerland, probably having most of his time with his fiancé while Rayan is in his room I thought it's better to call him.

The screen splits as the video call connects, Rayan's grumpy face on one side, and Zaid's soaking wet, wind-tossed hair on the other.

"Oh my God, Zaid! Did a cloud burst on you or what?" I burst out laughing.

Zaid rolls his eyes, cheeks pink. "Umm...I..u..just shut up"

"Oho blushing" I tease, waggling my eyebrows. "Bhai but bhabhi itni hot lagi kay tu saara hi wet hogaya?"

"Ayan Ansari!" Rayan and Zaid screams simultaneously.

What it was just a general knowledge question.

Zaid brushes it off, glaring. "Where's Zoro? I miss my partner"

Before I can answer, Rayan butts in. "Can we not talk about wetness and dogs? Some of us have lives, you know." His tone is as sarcastic as ever, but there's a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Speaking of lives, congrats on the match, Captain Rayan!" I beam, throwing an imaginary confetti shower. "I'm already saying you're giving me a huge treat, buying me sneakers and many more things"

"Ayan it should be you giving me a treat" he mutters, rubbing his temples. "But ofcourse you're AYAN and I'm just a room away from you. It's literally the hundredth time you're congratulating me just to remind me of your sneakers"

"Whatever!" I grin. "Now, Zoro, come here!"

Zoro bounds into the frame, wagging his tail excitedly. "Zoro!" Zaid lights up, his wet misery momentarily forgotten.

But Zoro, ever loyal to me, barks loudly at Zaid's image on the screen. "Look, even your dog doesn't recognize you anymore!" I smirk, scratching Zoro behind the ears.

Zaid glares. "Zoro, remember who feeds you! Don't let this clown turn you against me."

"Clown? Excuse me, I'm the favorite!" I hold Zoro's paw up in a mock wave. "See? He agrees."

Zaid groans. "You're ridiculous"

"So sad. Anyway, speaking of sadness…" I lean closer to the camera, lowering my voice like I'm about to spill state secrets. "Ahad had a breakup."

Both of them freeze.

"What?" Rayan says, his tone flat but curious.

"When?" Zaid asks, leaning in.

"I don't know" I say dramatically, throwing my hands in the air. "But get this—he's been sulking hardcore. Like, even more than Rayan after that one time I beat him at FIFA."

"You didn't beat me. My controller died," Rayan snaps.

"Denial. The first stage of grief," I say sagely.

"Focus, Ayan," Zaid cuts in. "Ahad must be really upset right now I wish I could run here. But what might've happened between them Hoor and Ahad were the most perfect couple I'd ever seen"

"I know right on a serious note I'm really sad for bro"

Rayan scoffs, "we need to sort this out, we can't leave our big bro alone"

"Definitely I'm going just now"

...AUTHOR'S POV...

Ayan swaggered into Ahad's room like he owned the place, plopping down dramatically on the edge of the bed. Ahad, sitting by the window with his phone in hand and the most epic death glare plastered across his face, looked like he was contemplating murder.

"Ahad, my brother" Ayan started, leaning forward like he was about to deliver a heartfelt monologue. "Sunaa hai tumhara kat gaya?"

(I heard you had a breakup)

Ahad's glare intensified. "What?"

"Sorry wrong vocabulary" Ayan gestured vaguely, trying to look serious but failing miserably. "Kat gaya... dil toot gaya... heart kaboom?"

Ahad pinched the bridge of his nose and mutters with a smile "Ayan if you continued this I'll throw your favorite album"

"Do it brother" Ayan sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Do whatever you want to do. I can't leave you alone in this crucial time you need me. Your pain is my pain"

"I see" Ahad muttered under his breath but one could detect the twitch in his lips as if he was about to laugh.

Ignoring the jab, Ayan leaned closer. "See tell me the reason and I'll talk to Hoorain" He spread his hands as if narrating a tragedy. "You know there's nothing I cannot do"

Ahad rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You done?"

"Arrey, listen" Ayan protested, grabbing Ahad's arm. "I've researched just now that music helps with breakups.... I mean.. temporary pauses"

Before Ahad could stop him, Ayan whipped out his phone and connected it to the Bluetooth speaker on Ahad's desk.

"What are you doing?" Ahad asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

"Just see" Ayan said, grinning mischievously. He scrolled through his playlist and hit play.

The room filled with the hauntingly melodious voice of Atif Aslam:

"Milke bhi hum na mile..."

It was in such a loud voice that Ayan flinched and the mobile was about to leave his gasps.

He mentally face palmed himself for having a heartbroken playlist even when he's not having a heartbreak.

"Sorry Ahad wrong genre"

Ayan, being Ayan, clicked next instead. Unfortunately, the next song was Arijit Singh's "kabira"

Ahad let out a long-suffering groan, his head dropping into his hands as the lyrics "kesi Teri khudgarzi" filled the room.

"Just wait now" Ahad roared, grabbing one of his sneakers from the floor.

"Aha—" Ayan didn't get to finish his sentence before the sneaker came flying in his direction. He ducked just in time, laughing nervously.

Ahad stood, grabbing his other shoe. "Kameene, tum nahi sudhroge!"

(Rascal you won't change)

"Acha, acha, I'm going!" Ayan yelped, holding his hands up in surrender as he backed toward the door.

But not before shouting, "but bro breakup song is remaining"

The second shoe missed him by an inch as he darted out of the room, cackling like a madman.

But then something unexpected happened and Ayan couldn't believe himself. After two days of silence and brooding.

Ahad was laughing.

Ayan froze, his hand dramatically clutching his chest as if he'd just seen a miracle. "Yo.. you're laughing?"

Ahad chuckled again, shaking his head. "Bro you're insane"

Ayan's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief but also unshed tears. He can never see any of his brothers upset and if acting crazy can make them smile than he would do it in a snap. "Ofcourse you had to I'm an unpaid therapist"

Ahad smirked, a rare lightness in his expression. "Definitely"

"Ok now so" Ayan plopped down next to him, his grin softening.

Ahad rolled his eyes but didn't retort. Instead, Ayan leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. "What's the reason bro?"

The smile faded from Ahad's face, and he sighed, setting the book aside. "Ayan...do you remember high school the day I had shut the door?"

Ayan nodded as he immediately recognized that time.

Ayan's brows furrowed as he searched his memories, then nodded slowly. "Yeah...that day. What about it?"

"Hoor was inside that room," Ahad said softly, his voice heavy with guilt. "Her PTSD...her fear...it was because of me."

Ayan's jaw dropped. "Wait, wait. What?"

Ahad nodded, his gaze distant. "I didn't know she or anyone was in there. I didn't know shutting that door would trap her in something that would haunt her for years. But when I found out...it broke me, Ayan. And now, every time I see her...I see what I caused."

Ayan stood abruptly, his fists clenched. "Bro, stop blaming yourself. This wasn't your fault. And you know what? I'm going to tell her everything. She deserves to know you suffered too. You didn't mean to hurt her! That night caused so much damage"

Ahad stood up just as fast, grabbing Ayan's arm. "No, Ayan. Promise me. You won't tell her."

Ayan turned to him, his eyes blazing. "Why are you letting her go, Ahad? She deserves to know the truth. You're just going to let her walk away?"

Ahad's voice dropped, filled with quiet resignation. "Usko jaane de raha hoon, jiske jaane se jaan jaati hai to koi waja hogi na. I can't expect her to subside all of her pain and be with me just because I suffered as well. Just imagine how painful it would be for her if she stays with me and I remind her of her past. She'll stay with me only if she feels comfortable, my pain is nothing Infront of her"

Ayan stared at his brother, his eyes filling with tears. "I can't see you like this bro"

Ahad's lips twitched into a small smile. "Yeah that's why you were about to play breakup song"

Without a word, Ayan pulled Ahad into a tight hug with his entire weight on Ahad. "Y..you d..deserve the world Ahad"

Ahad patted his back, his voice soft. "Ok ok don't cry nautanki"

"Ayan yaar you look like my wife"

Ayan sniffed dramatically, wiping his face as he pulled back. "But I'm your best friend"

"Chee Ayan stop being a gay for me"

They both laughed at the irony.

(⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

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

Inayan is definitely my Roman empire 😭

My poor Ahara are suffering a lot 😭

You'll be getting a surprise in the next chapter 😉 (please have this chapter reach 600 votes for that)

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