Life's back to normal.
Inaya's father accepted her relationship with Ayan and we're still furious at him for not doing that earlier... Could've saved us the entire escape plan.
If it wasn't for khaani then Rayan's father would've kicked him out of the house, so, we're safe for that part as well. Khaani decided to stay at SADAQA mansion until she observes our graduation.
Which reminds me that after hectic schedule of half a month, sleepless nights and rants of "why should we study in the first place" back in our dorm room... Today was our last exam.
The only thing that's not normal is my behavior towards Zaid. After the moment he decided to grab me in his arms and watch the stars with me, I've been experiencing some really unusual things... I want to see him when he's not there, I blush when he opens his mouth, hell... I'm even finding him handsome.
He's my fiancé yet I'm nervous as if I'm going to pursue my friend's boyfriend.
The moment I step out of the exam hall, a collective sigh of relief ripples through the students around me. Some stretch their arms, some groan about how "tough" the exam was, while others celebrate their freedom like they've just been released from prison.
But none of that matters.
Because my eyes are already searching for Zaid. I know he's in another hall, finishing up his exam and preparing for the Golden Scholarship interview. I could have applied too, but for the first time in my life, I decided to step back. He deserves it more than I do. Besides, I feel like I've done enough.
I glance around the corridor, shifting on my feet, impatient. My heartbeat picks up when I finally spot him emerging from the other hall. And..
oh.
Black crisp button-down shirt. Sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms... When were hands so hot? Sharp jawline. Spectacles perched on his nose, making him look annoyingly intellectual. Dimples.
Gosh.
Why is he so handsome?
I hate this. I hate this so much. I am Ayra Shaikh. I do not.. do not..simp over men. Yet here I am, staring like an absolute fool at my fiancé.
But before I can process my own betrayal towards myself, my eyes land on her.
Harmain.
And she's standing way too close to Zaid.
And he's smiling at her.
Smiling.
What. The. Hell.
My fingers curl into fists. My face heats up, and not in a cute blush way, but in a who-the-hell-does-she-think-she-is way. Aur ye smile kyun kar Raha hai? Iske daant to mein torungi.
(Why is he smiling... I'll break his teeth)
I stride closer, pretending like I'm just casually walking by, totally not eavesdropping. You know when you want attention without making it clear that you want it.
"So, Zaid," Harmain drawls, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "About prom... I was wondering if you'd be my date?"
I nearly choke on air.
Excuse me?
My eyes snap to Zaid, waiting..no, praying..for him to shut this down. But no. The traitor is just standing there, looking at her with that polite, dimply smile of his.
I've had enough.
I step in, casually resting my hand on Zaid's shoulder. "Oh, Harmain," I sigh dramatically. "I didn't know charity work extended to prom invitations too."
Harmainâs face twists. "What?"
I blink at her innocently. "Oh, nothing. I just figured you must be feeling so lonely to ask someone else's fiancé to prom. So selfless of you, really."
Zaid makes a sound..like he's choking back a laugh.
Harmain glares. "I didn't see a ring on his finger."
I smile sweetly. "Oh? You must've missed the giant metaphorical one, then. Poor eyesight?"
Harmain huffs, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. You're overreacting." Then, with a flick of her hair, she stalks away.
I cross my arms, glaring at Zaid, who..of course..has that stupid smirk on his face.
"Were you jealous by any chance?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head like he's enjoying this way too much.
I scoff. "Jealous? Don't flatter yourself, dimple boy."
He takes a step closer. "Dimple boy?"
"Yes," I snap. "Dimple boy."
He hums, nodding. "So, dimple boy is off-limits to other girls now, huh?"
I roll my eyes. "Hes been off-limits since the day he got engaged to me. But apparently, some people need reminders."
Zaid grins. "Noted. Should I get a t-shirt that says Property of Ayra Shaikh?"
I glare harder. "I will literally make you wear one."
He chuckles, stepping even closer until there's barely any space left between us. "You know," he murmurs, voice teasing, "I think I like this version of you."
I swallow. My brain short-circuits for a second.
He leans in, just enough to whisper, "Blushing looks good on you."
I shove him away. "Shut up."
Zaid is still laughing...his full, dimpled, infuriating laugh...while I, Ayra Shaikh, am currently experiencing a full-blown existential crisis.
Because my heart?
It flipped.
And my face?
It's burning.
And worst of all?
He knows.
I scowl, crossing my arms, willing the blush on my face to disappear. "Bara hass hass kay baatein kar rahe thay," I snap, mimicking his stupid dimply smile. "Jaao, uske paas!"
(You were laughing while talking to her now go to her!)
Zaid raises an eyebrow, looking utterly delighted. "Ab hasu bhi nahi?"
(Now I'm not even allowed to laugh?)
"Nahi Kisi AUR ke aage nahi" I snap. "Mujhe share Karna nahi Pasand."
(Nope, not Infront of anyone else)
(I don't like sharing)
He hums, tilting his head. "Matlab mein Pasand hu?"
(Means you like me?)
Before I can react, he takes a step forward.
Then another.
Until my back meets the cold wall behind me, and Zaid's hands are on either side of my head, caging me in.
Oh.
Oh.
This is a problem.
I lift my chin, trying to act unaffected. "What are you doing Zaid?"
Zaid grins, dimples deep and dangerous. "Just testing something."
I raise an eyebrow. "Testing what exactly?"
He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a murmur. "How long it takes before you push me away again."
Oh, he thinks he's so smart.
I glare, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flustering me. "Don't be so overdramatic" I say, even as my stupid heartbeat betrays me. "You're lying, you never loved me. You're ashamed of me"
His grin widens. "Never loved you? Ha ha mein to sabke Sath hi aese romantic hota hu na?"
(As if I act romantically with everyone)
Zaid lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he can't believe me. "Meri jaan," he drawls, amusement laced in every syllable, "tumse zyada koi overdramatic nahi hai, and yet, here you are accusing me?"
(No one's more overdramatic than you)
I narrow my eyes. "Answer the question, Zaid."
I huff, crossing my arms. "You don't love me. And you are ashamed of me. Proof? You're not wearing your ring."
Zaid watches me for a second, then tilts his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his hand.
His bare ring finger taunts me.
I feel something unpleasant settle in my chest. Until...
"Haww, Ira," he says, voice dripping with mock innocence. "You do have a gold fish memory"
I blink, momentarily thrown off. "Huh?"
His smirk is insufferable. "My ring is with you" he murmurs, tapping my hand gently. "My heart too."
For a moment, my brain just stops functioning.
Then it clicks.
My fingers twitch, slowly curling into a fist.
Oh. Oh.
My chain. The one tucked inside my sweater. The one I never take off. The one with his ring attached to it. How come he knew that I did this!!!!! Oh god I'm ashamed!!!!
Dear floor please open up and take me inside you!!
Only I knew about it... How did Zaid come to know that after our star gazing moment, I wore his ring on a chain around my neck.
Zaid watches, amused, as realization dawns on my face.
"Oh," I mumble.
"Oh," he mimics, biting back a grin. "May I just say I'm feeling every emotion a human is capable of feeling after this act of yours"
I glare, scowling to hide my embarrassment. "I don't know how it happened."
He raises an eyebrow. "Ofcourse Kisi Jin ne Kiya Hoga na?"
I purse my lips. "Shut up."
"Sweetheart," he drawls, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "I'm so proud of being called Ayra Shaikh's man... I can never be ashamed of it and if you want, I'll scream it to the world that I'm yours... I'll confess it a thousand times for a thousand years to tell you that I love you. I love you like no one's ever loved before."
Before I can process his words, he leans in...his hand gently cupping my face..and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my cheek.
My heart stops.
Then, it explodes.
The warmth of his lips lingers, spreading through my skin like wildfire, and I freeze, brain short-circuiting, heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Zaid pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, smugness written all over his face. "Now" he murmurs, voice low and teasing, "do I still look like I'm ashamed of you?"
I can't speak. I can't think.
I am, for the first time in my life, experiencing what can only be described as technical difficulties.
And Zaid?
He knows.
He grins, absolutely eating up my reaction, before taking a step back. "I'm going for the interview" he says, adjusting his shirt. "You've already distracted me too much sweetheart."
I still can't form words.
"Bye, Ira," he singsongs, giving me one last, teasing look before strolling away like he didn't just ruin my entire nervous system.
I stand there, completely stunned.
Then...
A giggle bubbles up my throat.
A giggle.
Oh my God.
What is happening to me?
I...Ayra Shaikh, queen of grumpiness, ruler of sarcasm, destroyer of romantic nonsense...am standing in the middle of the hallway, giggling like a lovesick idiot.
Something is very wrong with me.
But now I'm walking through the university corridor, and for the first time in my life, I feel⦠light. Happy.
A ridiculous smile tugs at my lips, and I don't even fight it. Me. Ayra Shaikh. Smiling like some love-struck fool.
I barely register the people around me, barely acknowledge the noise, because my mind is stuck on him...his dimples, his teasing voice, the warmth of his lips on my cheek.
It's like my heart knew it from the start and I'm just admitting it now.
I love him.
I love Zaid Mirza.
The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, drowning every other thought.
It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. It's...
My phone buzzes.
I frown, pulling it out. An unknown number. I almost ignore it, but something in me itches. Sometimes, I love attending wrong numbers just to insult the other people... Yup weird activities of mine.
I accept the call. "Hello?"
For a second, there's only silence. Then...
"Ayra."
I freeze.
That voice.
That deep, familiar, hated voice.
Everything inside me turns ice cold.
"Come to the university gate," he says. "I need to see you."
I don't reply. I don't breathe.
And then, before I can think better of it, my feet are moving. This should be good.
I spot him instantly.
The man with the silver-streaked hair. The sharp features. The familiar grey eyes...eyes I once stared into as a child, desperate for love.
Eyes that held nothing for me back then.
I stop a few feet away, arms crossed, voice cold. "Why are you here?"
He looks at me, his gaze heavy. "Ayra."
"Don't say my name."
He exhales, shoulders sagging slightly. "I know you don't want to see me..."
"Oh, you know?" I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Took you, what? Over a decade to figure that out?"
He flinches. "I deserve that."
"You deserve a lot worse," I snap. "Tell me why you're here before I call security."
His jaw tightens. "I won't waste your time."
"Then don't because you are."
He studies me for a moment before speaking. "I'm suffering, Ayra. My business is collapsing. Ali⦠he's not smart enough to handle everything. But you⦠I've seen your name in the papers. I heard you won a global award. My daughterâ¦" His voice wavers. "You've made me proud."
My stomach churns.
Proud of me. His daughter. Bullshit. I'm just my mom's daughter.
Flashes of my childhood hit me like a storm...
The first time I saw him walk out that door. The nights Ma cried herself to sleep. The moment I realized that I wasn't enough for him to stay. The words "She's a girl, she's a burden. Let's leave her in an orphanage."
I suck in a breath, hatred burning in my veins.
I take a step forward, tilting my head. "So let me get this straight. When I was just a helpless kid...your daughter..you threw me away like I was trash. But now that your precious son can't handle your failing empire, suddenly I'm useful?"
His lips part, but I don't let him speak.
"You didn't want me when I needed you. And now I don't want you." I take another step, voice razor-sharp. "Go back to your son. The one you abandoned me for. I was a disappointment right? Then don't tarnish your reputation by asking a disappointment to rule your empire!"
"Ayra.."
"Oh and yes... Wo na apki company ka level nahi hai Kay Ayra Shaikh uski CEO banne... Rakhein apni third class soch aur company Apne paas.. I'll build one of my own and if you're capable enough, you can work in that"
(Your company doesn't have that level to have Ayra shaikh as its CEO... Keep your third class thinking and company to yourself)
His face falls, but I feel no satisfaction...only a simmering rage that refuses to cool. I want to insult himfor hours as what he did with us can never be forgiven.
"Ayra, listen..."
"I don't listen to people who abandoned me," I cut him off coldly. "Especially not when they come crawling back only because their precious son failed them."
He exhales sharply, like my words are bullets piercing through him. "You don't understand.."
I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Oh, I understand just fine. When I was born, I was a liability. When Ma begged you to stay, I was a burden. And now that your golden boy can't handle the weight of your empire, now I'm suddenly worthy?" I scoff. "You don't get to pick and choose when I matter."
His jaw tightens. "I made mistakes, Ayra."
"Calling them mistakes doesn't make them less disgusting," I snap. "You chose to leave. You chose to raise your son while leaving me and Ma to struggle. You chose to pretend I didn't exist and now I'm choosing to pretend you don't exist.. I'm abandoning you dear father because right now you're feeling like a burden on me."
He runs a hand through his greying hair, frustration clear in his eyes. "I know I can't undo the past, but I regret..."
I hold up a hand. "Spare me the dramatics. I don't care about your regret. I don't care about your problems. And I sure as hell don't care about your business."
"Ayra, don't do this..."
"Oh, I'm doing it," I say smoothly, stepping back. "And while you're drowning in the mess you created, just remember.. I wish no daughter has a father like you." I tilt my head. "With your pathetic business skills, I knew you would fail..."
His lips part, but I don't wait to hear another word.
I turn around, my heels clicking against the pavement as I walk away..like he's nothing. Like he never existed.
The moment I step back inside the university, the walls feel like they're closing in.
The rage that had kept me steady starts to crack, and something heavier sinks into my chest. My breaths turn shallow.
My fingers clutch at my shirt as my lungs start to burn.
No. Not now. Not here.
I pick up my pace, my vision blurring, my head pounding. The corridors stretch longer, my surroundings fading into a haze.
I push open the storeroom door and stumble inside, gripping onto the nearest shelf for support.
But the tightness in my chest refuses to ease.
Panic claws at my throat.
I fumble for my inhaler..only to realize it's not there. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can't breathe.
A choked sound escapes my lips as I hastily pull out my phone, my fingers trembling so violently that I barely manage to unlock it.
I tap the first known number on my call history, pressing the phone against my ear with the last bit of strength I have left.
The moment the call connects, I don't even check who it is.
I gasp out the only words I can manage...
"Save me... I'll die."
I take a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back as I stand outside the interview room. This is it. The moment I've worked for my entire life. The Golden Scholarship...the one that could change everything.
I've spent years preparing, burning through sleepless nights, pushing myself past every limit imaginable. I need this.
The professor steps out, nodding at me. "Mr. Mirza, it's your turn."
I exhale sharply, readying myself to walk in. But just as I take a step forward, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I should ignore it.
I would ignore it.
But it's Ayra's name flashing on the screen.
Even if I were on my deathbed, I wouldn't ignore her.
Frowning, I swipe to answer. "Ayra?"
What I hear next nearly stops my heart.
"Save me... I'll die."
Everything else ceases to exist.
The air around me vanishes. My entire body goes rigid.
"Mr. Mirza?" the professor calls, but I don't even register him anymore.
I run.
I don't care that this is my dream interview. I don't care that I'm leaving behind the biggest opportunity of my life. None of it matters. Not when my Ayra's health is on risk. Who did this to her? She was perfectly fine moments ago damnit.
My legs move faster than my thoughts, the phone still pressed to my ear as I rush through the corridor. "Ayra?! Talk to me!" My voice is urgent, desperate.
I hear her ragged breaths on the other end, each one more strained than the last. My chest tightens painfully. I know that sound. She's having an asthmatic attack.
"Where are you?!" I demand, already frantic.
Her voice is barely a whisper. "Stâstoreroomâ¦"
I don't wait to hear more.
I sprint through the halls, shoving past students, my heart hammering against my ribs. My hands are shaking. My mind is screaming.
By the time I reach the storeroom, I throw the door open so hard it nearly slams off its hinges.
And then I see her.
Ayra is on the floor, gripping her chest, gasping for air...her body trembling violently as she fights against the attack.
A curse slips past my lips. No. No. No.
I drop to my knees beside her, yanking my inhaler from my pocket... the one I always keep with me because I know she's reckless, I know she forgets, and I never want this to happen.
"Bacha, I'm here," I whisper, bringing the inhaler to her lips. "Breathe. Please, just breathe."
She struggles at first, her fingers clutching onto my arm like I'm the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. I hold her steady, coaxing her to inhale.
"That's it," I murmur, my other hand cradling the back of her head. "You're okay, I promise. I got you."
Slowly, painfully, her breathing evens out.
But the moment she can take a proper breath, she breaks.
A sob tears from her throat as she clutches my shirt, burying her face into my chest. She's shaking
...completely shaking...and I feel my own heart shatter at the sound of her cries.
My arms wrap around her instantly, pulling her into me like I can shield her from the entire world.
I press my lips to her temple, whispering soft reassurances as I stroke her hair. "Shh, it's okay bacha. You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you."
She clings to me tighter, her sobs wrecking her small frame. I close my eyes, trying to steady the ache in my own chest.
Her pain feels like my own. Her cries feel like knives slicing through my soul.
I press another kiss to her forehead, rocking her gently. "Breathe, my love. Just breathe."
She hiccups against me, still holding on like a scared little girl, and I swear, in this moment, I'd give up every dream, every scholarship, every damn thing in my life...just to make sure she never feels this way again.
Ayra's breathing steadies, but her grip on my shirt remains firm. Her face is still buried in my chest, her body trembling slightly from the aftershocks of the attack. I stay still, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back, the other buried in her hair.
After a few minutes, she finally pulls away.
Her face is a mess...tear-streaked, eyes puffy, nose red like a sulking child. She looks exhausted, vulnerable⦠yet somehow, still impossibly beautiful.
I wipe her cheeks gently with my thumb. "Better?"
She nods, sniffling, but doesn't meet my eyes. Something's wrong. I know something's wrong.
"What happened?" My voice is soft, careful. I don't want to push, but I need to know.
She shakes her head immediately, turning her face away. "Nothing."
Nothing? Bullshit.
I exhale, studying her. I could force her to tell me, demand answers like a lunatic. But I know her. Ayra Shaikh doesn't respond to pressure.
So instead, I shift gears.
"Hmm." I lean back against the storeroom wall, pulling her with me so she's still sitting between my legs. "You know, you should cry more often. The red nose suits you."
She gasps, immediately smacking my chest. "Ha ha chamaat Maru phir red cheeks tumpar bhi suit karenge"
I chuckle, catching her wrist before she can hit me again. "Mardo tumhara hi ho but, seriously. Very cute. You could totally pass as a...what's that thing?...baby reindeer. Rudolph Shaikh."
She gapes at me, eyes widening in sheer horror. "I hate you."
I grin. There she is. My fierce Ayra.
"You don't," I counter easily, still holding her wrist. "You just hate that I make you laugh even when you don't want to."
She stares at me for a beat, then scoffs, shoving me away. But the way her lips twitch? Yeah, she's definitely trying not to smile.
Mission successful.
For now.
She exhales, finally looking me in the eyes, her gaze softer. "What about your interview?"
I blink. Then shrug. "Left it."
The air shifts.
Her whole face changes, guilt crashing into her expression like a tidal wave.
"What? I didn't like the faces of those guys..."
"You left it?" Her voice rises, panic creeping in. "Zaid, what the hell?! That was your dream! You worked your whole life for it!â
I tilt my head. "And?"
She blinks, stunned. "And?! You gave it up for me?!"
"Correction." I hold up a finger. "You are more important than any interview. So technically, I didn't give up anything."
Her jaw drops.
I bite back a smirk at how flabbergasted she looks. "Zaid," she tries again, voice quieter now. "That was the Golden Scholarship..."
"And you're Ayra Shaikh," I cut her off smoothly. "You could be choking to death and still lecture me."
Her face turns red. "That's not funny..."
I boop her nose. "It kinda is."
She groans, shoving my hand away. "I hate you."
"Again," I say, grinning, "you don't."
She glares at me, eyes shining with a mix of frustration, fondness, and something else she's not ready to admit yet.
I reach out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Bacha, stop feeling guilty."
She flinches at the nickname.
I don't miss the way her throat bobs, how she quickly looks away.
Good. Let her feel it. Let her know she's my priority, no matter what.
"I don't deserve this," she mumbles, voice small.
I lean closer, my forehead almost touching hers. "You don't get to decide what you deserve, I do."
She exhales shakily, still looking away. But she doesn't push me away. Doesn't move an inch.
And for now, that's enough.
I sigh, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, glaring at the entrance of the high school like it personally offended me. It's been thirty minutes.
Who the hell takes half an hour to wrap up on their first week?
If it were me, Dad would've already called ten times, drafted a lecture, and personally prepared a PowerPoint on the "Importance of Punctuality and Avoiding Sibling-Induced Heart Attacks."
But since it's Ayzal, our family's walking headache wrapped in a Papa's princess cloak, she must've had something so important that she forgot time existed.
Just as I'm about to honk in frustration, a sudden movement catches my eye.
There she is.
And...wait.
Why the hell is she running?
Scratch that.
Why is she running like she just stole government secrets?
I sit up, frowning as Ayzal bolts out of the building, clutching something to her chest. Her bag? No.
A leather jacket.
A very familiar, very expensive, very much NOT hers black leather jacket.
Her hair is a mess, her breathing is frantic, and...hold on...is that panic in her eyes?
She spots the car, eyes wild like she's being hunted, and practically throws herself inside, slamming the door shut behind her.
"Drive. DRIVE!" she wheezes, chest heaving.
I just blink. "Excuse me?"
"Drive, Ayan!" she hisses, gripping my arm like a damn criminal escaping the law.
Instead of moving, I casually glance out the window. And that's when I see someone.
A guy.
Wearing a white uniform with loose tie and sleeves rolled up.
Hair slightly disheveled.
Faceâ¦absolutely murderous.
And oh...is that leather jacket his?
A jacket that is currently wrapped around Ayzal like a trophy.
I raise an eyebrow. "â¦Ayzal?" My voice is dangerously calm. "Why is that man walking toward my car like a man who just watched his empire burn?"
She clears her throat, looking anywhere but at me.
"I may have done something."
"Define something."
She exhales dramatically, like I'm the problem here. "I may haveâ¦taken his jacket."
I squint. "Taken. His. Jacket."
She nods furiously. "Yes."
I stare at her. "WHY?"
She winces. "It was a dare!"
I blink. "A dare."
She groans, rubbing her face. "It was a challenge... But now I'm stuck with a don"
I stare at her, letting that information settle.
Then, slowly, I look back out the window...where Aarab is now practically storming toward us.
I slam my foot on the accelerator.
The car lurches forward, tires screeching against the pavement.
Ayzal exhales in pure relief, throwing herself back against the seat. "Oh my God, I actually thought I was gonna die...."
"EXPLAIN," I grit out.
She purses her lips. "You won't like it."
"Oh, I already don't. TRY ME."
She fiddles with the sleeve of the jacket...HIS jacket...like it's her comfort blanket. "Just shut up okay I didn't judge you when you were dating four girls at one time."
I nearly veer off the road. "Oh please... Don't remind me of my bad times"
"See? I just did a dare"
"You always have a way to justify your actions.. why don't you write a book on "101 ways how Ayzal isn't ever wrong"."
She winces. "C'mon what can he possibly do"
I groan, pressing a hand over my face.
"Coming from someone who actually finished high school, let me tell youâbad boys are not the type you mess with if you want to survive."
She waves a hand dismissively. "Pfft. You sound just like Mom."
I glance at her, completely done with this conversation. "You mean the woman who actually gave you a survival instinct? Yeah. Crazy how she knows things."
She shrugs. "Eww. Have you ever seen your face in the mirror?"
I wink at the rearview mirror. "Daily. Too handsome."
She makes a gagging noise. "Mujhe vaamit horahi hai."
I snort. "Says the girl who's literally a carbon copy of me. You should feel lucky."
Ayzal groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "I swear, I was supposed to stay unnoticed. That was the plan! Slip in, survive high school, slip out. Simple."
I snort. "Yeah? Then why do you have a habit of setting off fireworks everywhere you go?"
She throws her hands up. "I DON'T KNOW! It's like...I make a mistake, realize it was a mistake, immediately regret it, cry over it, and then, I try to forget it."
I hum. "Until?"
She sighs. "Until it comes back to kill me."
I shake my head. "And guess who's coming back to kill you right now?"
She glares. "NOT HELPING."
I chuckle as we turn into our street. "You know, for someone who claims to be smart, you really lack basic survival instincts."
She scoffs, dramatically flipping her hair. "Oh please. You should be grateful you get to witness my legendary moments firsthand."
I give her a deadpan look. "Yeah, legendary. Right up there with Newton's apple and the discovery of fire."
She smirks. "Exactly."
I roll my eyes as I park the car, but before I can turn off the ignition, BAM...her hand smacks my shoulder.
"OW! What the hell?!" I yelp, rubbing the spot.
"That's for insulting me," she declares, already scrambling out of the car.
"Oh, so that's how weâre playing?" I mutter, stepping out too. Just as she starts walking towards the house, I whack the back of her head.
"Ayan!" she screeches, spinning around to attack.
I dart past her, laughing. "Too slow, papa's queen!"
"YOU'RE DEAD!"
She chases me up the stairs, smacking my back at every step while I try to block her murderous attacks. We barge into the house, full WWE mode, until...
"Eik kaam karo, mujhe maar do, Ayan!"
(Do one thing, kill me)
We both freeze.
Mom stands in the middle of the living room, hand on her head like she's about to faint, dramatic Bollywood mother energy radiating off her in waves.
I blink. "Uh...what did I do? She started it, I was just retaliating"
Mom sighs like she's bearing the weight of the entire universe. "Koi ehsas nahi hai! Maa ka sar dard se phata jaa raha hai! Jab marjaungi, tab beth kar larna!"
(You don't care about me! My head is exploding with pain! When I'll die than you can fight)
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Ayzal and I exchange a look.
We both desperately try to control our laughter.
Desi moms and their headache trump card...unmatched.
Ayzal, still rubbing the back of her head from my totally justified smack, flops onto the couch like she owns the place. "So..." She wiggles her eyebrows. "How's your girl?"
I grin. "Mine and beautiful as always"
She gasps, clutching her chest like I've personally betrayed her. "Oh. My. God. So nibba type"
I snort. "Wait until you're in love"
She leans forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ayan... Ayan... Ayan."
I groan, ruffling my hair. "Why am I even talking to you?"
She grins. "Because you love me. Now tell me, what's the plan for prom?"
That makes me pause.
Prom.
The last big event before graduation.
My fingers drum against my knee as I think. I was planning something big, something dramatic, something that would make my girl fall speechless.
"Well?" Ayzal nudges me. "Are you just gonna stand there and let some other guy take Inaya?"
My jaw tightens. "Over my dead body."
She cackles. "I knew it. You're so gone for her."
I groan. "Just shut up and let me think!"
"Fine, fine," she waves a hand. "Also, how did your exams go?"
"Like every other exam."
"So you failed?"
"Excuse me?" I narrow my eyes at her.
She shrugs. "I mean, you were too busy daydreaming about Inaya bhabhi..."
"That's it!" I grab another cushion and launch it at her.
"AYAN!" she screeches, ducking, but I lunge at her.
The war has officially begun.
The warm scent of amla oil and turmeric fills the air as Khaani, our beloved matriarch, ruthlessly massages my scalp like she's trying to squeeze wisdom into my brain.
"You boys have been raised like jungli janwars!" she declares, her hands expertly working through my hair. "No oiling, no self-care, just roaming around like donkeys all day! What do your mothers even do?"
"Khaani please," my mother groans. "We try..."
"Try?" Khaani scoffs, smacking the back of my head for no reason. "Have you seen this boy's hair? It's drier than my throat!"
Ayan, who's been lounging across the sofa like a king, snickers. "And here I thought Ahad Bhai's biggest problem was Hoorain bhabhi ignoring him."
I glare at him. "Say one more word, and I swear I'll..."
Zaid, scrolling through his phone, interrupts "yeah, yeah, we get it. Ahad's in love, Ayan's an idiot, Rayan is grumpy, and I'm the only sane one here."
"Why am I always the grumpy one?" Rayan mutters, crossing his arms.
"Because you are grumpy," I point out.
"Except when Maha and Khaani is around," Ayan grins. "Then he's just whipped."
Khaani smirks at Rayan, pulling him closer and patting his cheek. "At least this one listens to me! Unlike the rest of you wild monkeys!"
"Yeah, because if he doesn't, you emotionally blackmail him," I mutter under my breath.
Khaani ignores me, too busy narrowing her eyes at Rayan's mother. "And you! You're always irritating these boys, not taking care of them! Zara isse bhi pyar kar liya hota toh ab tak ek bhi tension na hoti!"
(If you had Loved him, there would've been no tension)
Rayan's mom sighs dramatically, "you never say anything to him khaani. I do care for him."
"Lies," Khaani interrupts. "The last time you made him chai, it was cold!"
"Khaani tell me did your husband love you?" Ayan asks with a stupid grin on his face, I know he'll tease him now.
"He did... Infact he crossed seven oceans for me" we get our dramatic nature from khaani.
"Now he's seven feet under the ground" he laughs, "ap to randwa hogayi khaani"
(You're a widow grandmother)
He and khaani bicker like they both are at a mutual age.
"Beta jee chup hojaye warna Tumhe widwa kardungi"
(Shut up or I'll make you a widow)
The whole room erupts in laughter, and for a moment, all the teasing, the bickering...it's just home.
Then Khaani claps her hands. "Enough nonsense! Tell me, who is getting married first?"
Ayan shoots up. "Me!"
His mother, without missing a beat, smacks him on the head. "First, get a job. Inaya is not marrying a jobless man!"
Ayan rubs his head. "I have a job! I make people laugh..."
"You are a joke," Zaid mutters, making Ayan gasp dramatically.
Zaid leans back, unbothered as ever. "I'm waiting. Ayra has dreams, she wants to open her business. Until she does that, we're not getting married."
Until she confesses is silent.
Everyone nods in approval, and the elders say "Why is Zaid always so mature?"
That boy just smiles like he's the most innocent person... Uhh we know that.
Ayan points at me. "Well, you should be next then! You have a job offer before graduation, and Hoorain bhabhi is done with her book..."
I freeze.
Before I can respond, my father grins. "Ahad should marry first. The boy is already settled, and Hoorain is a good girl. She has spent her whole life alone...let's bring her home as our shehzadi."
I feel my face heat up.
Ayan gasps. "Oh my God, he's blushing."
Zaid smirks. "Whipped."
Rayan shakes his head. "Pathetic."
Khaani beams, clapping my shoulder. "It's settled, then. Time to start the rasmein!"
I clear my throat, trying to gather the shattered pieces of my dignity. "I...uh...should ask Hoorain first."
Ayan lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his heart. "He wants to ask her first? Are you serious?"
Zaid shakes his head, unimpressed. "Once a gentleman always a gentleman.â
Rayan sighs. "Right Bhai ko propose Karne ka world record banana hai.. she's literally wearing your ring what else do you want?"
Khaani, on the other hand, pats my cheek with an affectionate smile. "Of course, he'll ask her. He's not like you idiots." Then she turns to my parents. "But be ready with the shagun! Once the girl says yes, we aren't delaying this! That goes for every girl"
Ayan, never one to let a moment breathe, suddenly jumps up, unlocking his phone with an evil grin.
"Oh no," I mutter. "Not him..."
But it's too late.
The dhol beats of a wedding song blast through the speakers, and before I can blink, Ayan is in the center of the room, twirling like a filmi hero while dragging Khaani into the chaos.
"Khaani, dance with me!" he sings, grabbing her hands.
Khaani, ever the drama queen, lifts her dupatta over her head and starts moving to the beat, her laughter ringing through the room.
Ayan spins toward my mother, yanking her up. "Phupho, if your mother in law saw you dance like this, they would've married you twice!"
She swats at him, laughing. "You idiot!"
And then he turns his devilish gaze to me.
"Hayee! Hoorain's future husband where are you hiding?" He wails dramatically, fanning himself like a 90s Bollywood heroine.
I groan. "Ayan, stop..."
But he's already pulling me up, spinning me around like I'm some delicate princess. "Ahad bhai, show us the dulha energy!"
I try to resist, but Ayan is relentless, dragging me into the madness while everyone cheers.
Zaid, leaning against the wall, smirks. "This is embarrassing for you."
"Shut up," I say between gritted teeth, my face burning.
Khaani claps in delight. "Ahad, my son, you look so handsome"
Rayan, arms crossed, watches with a judgmental stare. "I'm second-hand embarrassed for him."
Ayan, however, is in full form, dragging even Zaid into the mix. "Come on harry Potter from daraz!"
Zaid groans. "I hate you."
The living room turns into a full-blown dance floor, laughter and teasing filling every corner.
And me? I can barely breathe, caught somewhere between sheer humiliation andâ¦unexpected joy.
Because thisâthis is home. And no matter how much they tease me, I wouldn't trade this moment for anything.
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
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