Chapter 12: Chapter 11 | Surprised

"You're lying." I glare at the older woman, who grins and shakes her head.

"Not at all, my son-in-law. Ziah is willingly marrying you." She jumps again in excitement.

Why the hell are they getting so excited?!

"Stop calling me that," I mutter under my breath, not at all liking the way she is teasing me when there is nothing to be teased about.

"What?" With a raised eyebrow, she questions me mockingly. When I give her a glare, she giggles, nodding. "Okay, okay, I won't call you son-in-law since you're getting too shy."

I scoff at the choice of her words. Shy? Yeah, I am so shy that I want the ground to swallow me up.

"I am not doing this." I shake my head, backing away from the promise they forcefully took from me. Everyone stops what they are doing—literally dancing and hugging each other as if today is Eid.

"Don't you dare back away! You promised us!" Uncle Sam yells at me, but that does not affect me. What does is the fact that Ziah accepted this marriage. That is what is killing me. My nerves are exploding from the mental pressure I am feeling.

"So you're telling me you won't protect my daughter as you said?" Aunty speaks in a low voice, the kind that tells me she is going to cry.

Dramatic woman. Here comes the emotional blackmail—in which she has done a PhD.

"We can protect her in many other ways. Marriage is not the only solution." I hold her hand in mine, but she shakes her head, sniffing and wiping her eyes, though I see no tears. What can I even say about this woman and her emotional blackmail?

"Okay, tell us what other solutions you have? The police didn't help us. You didn't want Ziah to know that you already know about that man who has been sending you her pictures almost every day—secretly snapped. For the last three months, he's kept a record of what she does and doesn't do. And how much creepier will he get? We don't know. And you have done nothing since last three months but only boiled your blood looking at those photos he sent. The only solution is you getting married to her. Only then will he leave her. Or else, if you have some other way to protect my daughter, do say."

I bite my lip, not knowing what to say, but my eyes drop to my mom, who is looking at me with a soft expression.

"I'm sorry, I understand your worry, but I don't think this is—" A sigh escapes my lips when I see everyone glaring at me. "Okay, I am ready to get married. Happy?"

I stand up, watching her nod with a grin and wipe her tears away. This bipolar woman.

I leave the place as quickly as possible, unable to stand their cheers and happy faces.

The first thing I do after entering the room is lie on the bed, staring at the white ceiling while thinking about everything that has been happening recently—and how fast it's all happening.

Four days ago, the first thing I received when I entered my office was an envelope containing pictures of me and Ziah—hugging, me holding her chin, cleaning her face smudged with ice cream, and many other pictures of just the two of us. But the note inside left me shocked and angry.

And the fact that this isn't the first time I've received these creepy pictures—taken from far angles—only makes me disappointed in myself for not finding the person responsible and beating the shit out of him.

I've been receiving these for three months. The picture that scared me the most was of her in a robe, lying on her bed, reading a book in her room.

I contacted the police about this, but nothing happened. I even hired a private detective, but that led nowhere. And when Ziah came and told me she's been receiving gifts every single day for the past six months—that's what really shook me.

I thought that man was doing everything silently, but I didn't know he had already reached Ziah. And that dumb girl is somewhat proud that she has a secret admirer. That tells me exactly why he's been threatening me to stay away from her.

And then Uncle Sam came with his old, worn-out request—if I was willing to marry Ziah. A request I've been fed up with hearing for the past two years. Ever since Abbu asked me to take care of Ziah, they all started planning my wedding in their heads—with a girl I have never once thought of as my wife.

She is beautiful. Very beautiful. But she is Ziah—my cousin—and that's where I keep her. This shit between us is not something that can work out. But who will tell them that?

And this time, I had no other choice but to tell Uncle Sam about the unknown psycho keeping an eye on Ziah. But what he did was unexpected—he went and told everyone. And, being the dramatic souls they are, they started crying as if Ziah was dying.

Even after trying to calm them down, nothing worked. They asked me to protect Ziah by marrying her, which I still think is bullshit, because there are many other ways to protect a person. The problem was—I didn't know those other ways. And after seeing Aunty cry so much, I accepted it. I accepted their request like a stupid, helpless man.

The problem isn't Ziah. The problem is me. I have too much going on in my life right now. Mom's health is serious. I have a company to handle. My mind is not stable. And on top of that, I can't take this responsibility.

Even if Ziah is an independent woman who can take care of herself, she is still dumb. And that is a universal fact that no one can change. She gets manipulated too easily. Even though she hates showing her weak side to anyone, she isn't mentally strong. I know she would do anything people ask of her. And that's exactly how Aunty took advantage of her innocence and made her accept this marriage.

Sometimes, I really hate my relatives.

Aunty tried asking Ziah, but when she rejected the offer, I felt a sense of relief take over me. But then she asked me for those pictures of us hugging, and what I didn't know was that she would turn the situation upside down.

And the way she blamed Ziah for everything still angers me. But what can I even do? They are elders, and we are just kids who, according to them, came into the world yesterday.

A sigh escapes my lips as I cover my eyes with my arm, trying to rest from all these things.

I let my eyelids grow heavy as I create my own dreamland—one filled with nothing but peace. A series of curses leave my lips when I only see Ziah's face the moment I close my eyes. God, I can't even get peace when I'm dead! What the hell is happening in my life?

Sitting up, I grab my laptop to do the pending work I thought I would do tomorrow. But I guess I'll be free from work tomorrow now.

11 PM

A groan leaves my lips as I stretch my body. Sitting in the same position for hours has numbed my back.

Feeling my stomach grumble with hunger, I finally decide to eat something—secretly praying that everyone is asleep by now. Because they thought it was very inappropriate to leave and decided to stay. And my brother, being the pampered one here, was all too happy to see Ziah and didn't want her leaving at all. Sometimes, I feel like it's Naim's prayers that are being fulfilled. He always wanted Ziah in this house, and now I can see his wishes coming true.

When I find an empty living room, a sigh of relief escapes my lips as I walk toward the kitchen. But the urge to take a U-turn and rush back to my room comes faster than I expect. And before I can do as my mind demands, our eyes meet.

A gasp of surprise leaves Ziah's lips as she drops a spoonful of ice cream onto her lap. But, of course, she's very careful not to drop the big bowl in her hands, which she's now holding closer to her chest.

For the first time in my life, I'm the first to break our eye contact. Because I can't bring myself to look into her eyes, which hold too many emotions.

I want to turn and leave, but that would make me look like some shy girl and scaredy-cat—which I am not. So I go against what my mind is screaming at me to do. Face the reality, Ziyan Obied Ali.

I ignore the girl seated on the counter, licking her spoon and then her dress where she dropped the ice cream. This girl. I mentally facepalm while watching her from the corner of my eyes.

So unhygienic of her to lick her dress. She could have just washed it. But Ziah being Ziah, had to do that.

Ignore her. Ignore her.

Opening the refrigerator, I look for some food—if these hulks even left anything for me—but I find a plate of pasta, so I take it out and heat it up.

"Hi," Ziah's soft voice reaches my ears. My brain reacts quickly, but I stop myself from snapping my head in her direction, instead slowly taking a peek at her before nodding in response.

She nibbles on her lower lip—something she always does when she's nervous—while shaking her legs up and down.

"Ice cream?" She offers the bowl, but I shake my head, not in the mood for anything sweet.

"Okay..." she mumbles quietly before filling her mouth with another spoonful of dessert.

"Are you angry with me?" she asks in a low voice, hesitant, unsure. The innocent look she gives me squeezes my heart.

How can anyone stay angry when she looks at them like that?

Letting out a deep sigh, I walk toward her, ready to have a real talk. But before I can even reach her, she flinches and jumps in her seat.

When I finally stand in front of her, she looks at me with wide eyes. The urge to wipe away the cream left on her lips with my thumb is so high, but I don't cross any lines—or rather, I try not to.

"Why did you accept this marriage, Ziah?"

A deep blush spreads across her cheeks instantly, and her eyes widen further. She squeezes her soft lips between her teeth, and again, the urge to pull them away is so damn high. It drives me crazy every time she does that. But I don't cross the line.

"Why did you agree to this?" she fires back, and I have nothing to say. What can I even say? Tell her how creepy her sweet stalker, as she likes to call him, actually is? Scare her to death by showing her those pictures I didn't have the guts to show our elders—except for the appropriate ones?

"I had no other choice, Ziah. But you could have denied it," I say, looking into her eyes. But her gaze glistens with so many emotions as she tries her best to look anywhere but at me.

"No... I didn't have much to say about this," she mumbles quietly.

"I wouldn't be able to tell Mamma why I was actually hugging you. I don't have the guts to face their pitying looks," she whispers, and I nod in understanding. They asked me the reason behind the picture, but I didn't tell them, knowing Ziah wouldn't like it if I did.

"Can't we do something about this?" she asks again, a little hopeful.

I shrug, leaning against the counter beside her, but I hear her sigh in defeat.

"I don't think so. It's messed up, and our parents are so determined to set us up—especially your mother." I groan internally.

She giggles when she hears me, nodding multiple times in agreement before patting my head like some grandmother, still giggling like a madwoman.

"Are we really getting married?" she asks, followed by another soft laugh. "Don't take me as a creep, but honestly, it sounds fun. After our wedding, will you take me to the Maldives, please?"

She wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer as she requests it ever so cutely—leaving me utterly shocked at her excitement.

What the actual hell is happening here? Is she serious? Did she already plan our honeymoon? A honeymoon where the honey is dead, but the moon looks very excited.

Wait—Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

"Are you serious?" I glare at her, silently telling her to shut up, but she just grins in response.

"You know—" She gulps as if about to say something really stupid, then suddenly stops and takes a big scoop of ice cream. Holding it out to me, she says, "Come on, I know you like chocolate ice cream. Open up."

With an eye roll, I let her feed me the same ice cream she's been eating since I entered the room. I ignore the fact that she was licking the same spoon a few seconds ago.

God, I am ignoring so many things today. And if I don't, I swear I'll fall into depression because of this crazy woman.

"Okay, so what I was saying was... At first, I was really upset with Mamma for even thinking about us getting married," she continues, absentmindedly playing with her spoon. "But then she told me how happy I'll be after getting married—how I'll have Naim taking my side always, Aunty hugging me whenever I need hugs, and a husband who will give me days off from work if I ask him. Since he's my boss, he should listen to his lovely wife." She grins, as if imagining something that would never happen.

"And then I started thinking about it, and after considering all these things... I felt like it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get married, you know?" She nods to herself, still grinning.

She has gone mad. But for some reason, I suddenly feel like playing with her. So I do.

And I say something that even surprises me.

With a fake smile, I turn to face her and place my palm on her knees, pushing them apart so I can stand between her legs. I take the bowl of ice cream from her hands and set it on the counter before placing my hands on either side of her waist. And that's all it takes for her face to drain of color.

"You know what I thought when they said we should get married?" I say, tilting my head slightly. "When I heard that you accepted this marriage, and I had no choice but to accept it too?"

She blinks at me, her doe eyes wide, her red cheeks making my heartbeat quicken.

She slowly shakes her head.

"I thought about how it would feel to sleep next to you in the same bed every day. To stay close to you when you flinch at everything I do. How I'd even have a proper husband-and-wife talk with you when you can't even look me in the eyes for more than two seconds. And how it would feel to stay close to you and whisper things in your ear."

My voice comes out lower, more intimate than I intended. It sounds so inappropriate—but the way her flushed cheeks deepen in color only urges me to continue.

I never actually thought about these things before, but I don't know why I suddenly sound like a complete pervert.

"And just now, I thought about what I'd do with you if we go to the Maldives—since you've already planned our honey—"

A gasp leaves her lips as she shoves me away before jumping off the counter.

"Astaghfirullah!" she cries, slapping her red cheeks, grinning to herself but keeping her head low so I don't see her face.

She repeats Astaghfirullah multiple times, shaking her head.

And that only makes me laugh harder.

"You—" she points at me, trying to look angry. But she looks nothing like she's angry. In fact, she looks adorable.

"I hate you!" she growls before rushing out of the kitchen.

God, I scared that poor girl.

But I didn't know I'd have so much fun talking to her like this.

This does seem fun—just like she said.

A chuckle leaves my lips as I watch her small figure running toward the living room—not even jogging, running.

Letting out a deep breath, I turn back to grab my food. Hopefully, it's still hot.

To my surprise, it is.

And I quietly eat—with a stupid smile on my face as Ziah's flushed expression flashes in my mind.

Next day

"Good morning," I mumble when I see all of them seated at the dining table except Ziah. I walk toward my Mamma to check if she took her medicine on time, and she assures me that her nurse gave it to her. Taking a seat beside Mamma, I fill her empty plate with fruits.

"Hi, everyone!" The loud voice, belonging to none other than Ziah, echoes through the room, and I stop myself from turning to look at her, keeping my eyes on the plate I'm serving.

"Hi, darling, did you sleep well?" Aunty Laiba replies with the same excitement.

"I did! What about you?"

I finally turn to look at the girl who made my night sleepless with her statement and the way she so casually said she finds nothing wrong with marrying me.

When our eyes meet, my heart literally flips for an unknown reason, and I hate myself for even feeling like this within a single night. How can a human's feelings change so quickly?

She quickly drops her gaze to her plate, and I clear my throat, grabbing a toast to eat.

I quietly thank Ziah's mother when she hands me a glass of juice, but when I glance at her, I find her grinning—before she throws a wink at me. I'm sure she's already noticed the quiet exchange we just had. Her eyes are sharp as a lion's.

God, this woman.

"So, we're thinking you guys should get engaged as soon as possible because, you know, I keep getting phone calls from our relatives still asking about why you two were hugging. God, I'm fed up with these calls."

How can she lie so professionally? I turn to glare at her, but she only gives me a cheeky grin. I overheard her bragging about how she was almost caught when Ziah dragged her over to check who really called, but somehow she managed to change the topic.

"I think today is the best day. Laiba and I can go buy some beautiful rings, and in the afternoon, you guys can get engaged with just a few close family members. Then we can plan a big wedding!" She claps her hands excitedly, already forgetting the actual reason behind this marriage.

"The wedding will be as simple as possible. A very quiet nikkah is what I want, and a simple reception. I don't want too many people at my wedding."

I hear groans of disappointment from everyone, but what I didn't expect was Ziah's loud voice.

"Heck no! I will invite my whole school, buy three dresses for three 'I do's,' and figure out what to wear for the reception later! And it will be the best wedding ever—one that people will remember even when they're dying! No quiet, dead funeral-type nikkah is happening when the bride is Ziah Otman Ali!"

She jabs her fork into the table, breathing heavily as she glares at me. I don't hesitate to return one.

Not this shit now.

*****