Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Sun Tower #3)

46. Zinneerah

46

Zinneerah

I practice last-minute chords on my acoustic guitar while we wait backstage for Alex and her band to finish.

My fingers move automatically, hitting the notes, though my mind’s somewhere else. Sahara’s sitting next to me, fanning a piece of paper near my face like it’s going to fix my nerves.

“Drink,” she orders, handing me a bottle of water like I’m incapable of hydrating myself.

I sigh but take it, because fighting Sahara is a losing battle. Always has been. She dabs a tissue against the back of my neck and my cheeks like I’m a toddler, and when I finally set the guitar down, she grabs my hands and starts massaging my fingertips.

She’s so much like Raees sometimes, it’s scary. It makes me love her even more.

I practically raised her. Azeer and Shahzad were too busy being “cool boys” when we were growing up, which left her under my watch. She was this wide-eyed kid, still delicate from losing her parents, clinging to anything stable, which just so happened to be me. I decided right then and there that no one would mess with her. Ever. I’d keep her safe, even if it meant being overbearing.

Not that Sahara ever let herself be pitied. She took that shaky, vulnerable version of herself and bulldozed right over it. While other kids her age whined about recess or argued about whose turn it was to play video games, she was burying herself in books, absorbing everything like her life depended on it. And when she got tired of books, she tried her hand at every hobby under the sun. Her only mission was— is —to outdo Azeer in every possible way.

Spoiler alert: she succeeded.

Now, Sahara is one deal close to becoming a marketing billionaire. And not to brag, or anything, but I did teach her long division, so I’m claiming at least one percent of her success.

“Did you tell him?” she asks, still glued to her phone but somehow multi-tasking with rubbing circles on my back with her free hand.

I nod.

“And?”

“He already wants to baby-proof the house.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “He’s insane.”

“I love it.”

“And I’m warming up to it,” she admits, nudging my shoulder. “But I’m jealous. He’s stolen all your attention. There’s no space for me anymore.”

“Oh, don’t start.” I roll my eyes. “You’ll always be my baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“My baby,” I tease, reaching over to pinch her cheek. “But you are. Always will be.”

Sahara groans but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she puts her phone down and threads her fingers through mine. There’s a softness in her face that she tries to hide when she glances away.

“What?” I ask, bumping her shoulder.

“Nothing.” A shrug. “I’m just happy for you. That’s all.”

Sahara hates being pressed about her feelings, so I let it go. Instead, I lean my head on her shoulder, swaying her side to side with the rhythm of the music coming from the stage.

The Femme Fatales’ performance is winding down. The crowd roars as they finish, soaking up their cheers like it’s oxygen. Alex blows kisses, waves, and basks in the standing ovation while the girls bow behind her. Even when the curtains start to close, she refuses to leave the spotlight.

That’s Alex Watanabe for you.

“That was exhilarating!” she says when she finally skips over to us, vibrating with post-show energy. “Even the frat boys knew the words! I saw them dancing in the bleachers.”

“Incredible job,” I whisper, pulling Alex into a quick side-hug. She smells like sweat, her favourite vanilla-caramel perfume from Walmart, and home.

We dodge out of the way as the symphony retakes their seats, instruments whining and screeching with last-minute tuning. Ophelia, who was replaying our songs in her headphones and tapping the floor with her drumsticks, gets up and joins us.

“You girls ready?” she asks, dragging us into a huddle. “This is it. Sophomore-year dreams, in front of a real, big fucking crowd.”

“Hell yeah!” Alex squeals.

“And we’re going to kill it, right?”

“You’re asking us?” She cocks her head. “Fifi, are you nervous?”

“Terrified.”

“You know what always works for me?”

“I don’t ca—”

“A big, wet kiss on the mouth.” She lunges at Ophelia, lips puckered and obnoxiously loud kissing noises erupting from her mouth. Ophelia shoves her away, laughing, but Alex clings on like a barnacle. “See? See? Instant confidence booster!”

“Focus,” I cut in, adjusting my guitar strap. “You both know your cues, right?”

Alex snaps a salute. “Daddy Daniels will count us in.”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you,” Ophelia mutters.

A tech appears and starts strapping us into mic packs and earpieces. I hate these things. They always feel like I’m about to be electrocuted on stage.

“Don’t overthink it,” Alex says, patting my cheek like a coach psyching up an amateur boxer. “I fucked up several chords while performing, but no one noticed. Except for my girls. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah . . .” I nod but keep fidgeting. My fingers feel stiff. I catch a faint whiff of sandalwood from Raees’ shirt and tug the collar up to my nose. It helps. A lot.

“Let’s go!” Ophelia grabs my arm as the host’s voice booms across the auditorium, introducing us as the final act.

“Good luck!” Sahara shouts from behind us.

I blow her a kiss before taking my spot behind the left speaker. My electric guitar feels heavier from absorbing all my nerves.

Alex shakes out her hands and plants herself at the mic stand, tuning her strings. Ophelia cracks her knuckles and rolls her shoulders before giving the toms a few experimental taps.

We exchange watery smiles.

This is it.

Everything has been leading to this moment. Our first performance since getting back together as The Cryptics.

I take off my wedding ring, rolling it between my fingers before threading it onto my necklace. It settles next to the little gold ‘Z’ charm Baba gave me when I was thirteen, the one swore I’d never take off.

If you can’t look at me, look at the sky. Look at him. You know he’s watching you tonight.

I glance up, hoping Baba’s perched on some invisible balcony seat in heaven, watching with a crinkled smile, and nodding along to the melody. I know he’d be proud.

I wipe my damp palms on my jeans, flex my fingers, and grip the pick. The strum is quick—just enough to make sure the amps are responding. They hum back at me. Good enough.

The host is finishing up his intro. I catch snippets—“reunion,” “comeback,” “beloved band”—like we’re heroes coming back from war.

In hindsight, yeah.

Professor Daniels steps onto the pedestal. “Good luck to you all, and let’s just have fun.” He glances over at us, his wrist rolling in small circles before flicking upward.

“Zinnie,” Alex calls to me. “You’ve got this, okay? You’re unstoppable.”

“You, too.” I smile before my focus snaps back.

The curtains start to part, revealing the audience.

My earpiece clicks on, and the metronome begins its steady count— 4, 3, 2 . . .

Professor Daniels begins conducting.

Ophelia pounds out the first drumbeat.

The symphony quietly picks up the melody.

Alex begins singing the first line.

And I strum the strings for the first time in front of a public audience.

As we dive deeper into our setlist, I’ve finally stopped acting like I’m glued to the floor. The first three were stiff—mostly Alex hopping around, slinging her arm around my neck, bumping into me to loosen me up. Meanwhile, I was planted in my little square of the stage.

When I glanced back at Ophelia during the second song, she was already in her element, headbanging so hard I was half-worried she’d snap her neck. She always does that when she’s nervous, just throws herself at the music.

By the fourth song, I’m there, too, jumping, strumming, feeling the thrum of Alex’s bass and the crowd’s roar like a second heartbeat. It’s like the whole field woke up. People are off the bleachers, rushing the stage. Every single person out there is admiring us.

I even spot Zoha’s on Azeer’s shoulders, and right next to her, Juliette’s on Raees’ shoulders, screaming my name like a maniac.

Alina, Nyla, and Dua are down front, arms around each other, bouncing on their toes, and when I point my pick at them, they lose their minds.

Shahzad is front and center, holding his phone steady as he films me, with Raees’ phone in his other hand. He looks like a proud dad at a recital.

I fall right into the solo, and for once, I don’t overthink it.

It’s just me and the guitar, and my family.

The last song pulls everything back down.

Alex slides onto the piano bench, and I grab my acoustic guitar, sitting on the stool we dragged out just for this moment. Ophelia keeps a soft rhythm in the back, and then the violins join in during the bridge.

It’s exactly how we planned it when we wrote “Arcadian” back when we were twenty. I still remember sketching the melody on a napkin at Studio 365 and sprinting to Alex’s dorm. We fleshed it out in twenty minutes flat. No talking, just playing.

The song still hits me.

It’s about being innocent and free, about pretending you’ll never have to grow up. Pretending you can stop time just by wanting it badly enough. I wonder if the crowd feels it the way I do. If they understand what we’re trying to say.

It’s hard to perform it now, standing here in front of five hundred swaying bodies, knowing the mess my timeline has been. Harder still to keep playing when my eyes land on Raees.

But then he raises his hands, signing: I love you to the moon and back.

I follow his gesture, glancing at the pale moon dotting the dusky sky. My chin quivers as I mouth back, “I love you more.”

He grins and signs: I love you most . Then he winks.

I play the wrong chord. C instead of F. The mistake makes my stomach flip, but I keep going, hoping no one noticed.

Except Alex, of course. She glances at me, smirking, but continues to belt the last chorus.

I shoot Raees a quick glare, but it doesn’t stick.

His lopsided grin is impossible to fight, and I end up smiling back before the song pulls me in again.

The after-party is hosted in the royal suite at Sun Tower Hotels.

We’re sprawled across the bed and floor, eating room service off mismatched plates while conversations bounce around.

Zoha sits on my lap, scrolling on her iPad. “Look, Zinnie phuppi! This is when you started playing the guitar!” She shows me a three-minute video. It’s mostly her screaming into the microphone. “You were so cool up there! I want to play the guitar now. Can you teach me?”

“Absolutely,” I say, tucking one of her braids behind her ear.

“I’m going to learn the drums,” Juliette announces from Ophelia’s lap. “We can start a band.”

Zoha gasps, spinning toward Alina. “Mama, can I start a band with Juliette? Please?”

Alina chuckles. “Of course, butterfly. You’re already amazing on the piano.”

“You know, I play the piano, too,” Raees adds, sitting beside me and taking Zoha’s hand. “Can I join your band?”

“ Yes !” Zoha screams, bouncing in my lap. “A million times yes! We need a groupie.”

Alina and I freeze.

My eyes shoot to Ophelia, who’s struggling to keep a straight face. Alex doesn’t even try—she just raises her champagne glass and downs it.

“ Where ,” Alina starts carefully, “did you learn that word?”

Zoha points. “Alex.”

“Alex,” I say, deadpan.

“What?” She shrugs, utterly shameless. “It’s just a bunch of best friends following their favorite band around. Right, Zoha?”

“Exactly!” My innocent, innocent niece grins.

“So, no more hanging out with Alex,” Alina declares. “Until you’re twenty.”

Alex winks at Zoha, who giggles and sticks out her tongue.

“What are those two plotting out there?” Nyla says, jerking her chin toward the balcony. Azeer’s smoking while Shahzad pats his back like he’s delivering bad news.

“Az is probably whining again,” Dua calls from the bed, where she and Zayan are playing some co-op game on their phones. Sahara should’ve been here, too, but duty called, as always.

“Baba whines a lot,” Zoha mumbles, crossing her arms.

“Zoha.” Alina shakes her head. “Family business, butterfly.” She changes the subject fast. “How about that performance, though? Holy cow, you ladies slayed out there.”

“Literally.” Nyla steals a grape from the fruit platter. “I was ready to flash you three from the crowd.”

“ Nylana !” Alina hisses, eyes wide.

Nyla covers her mouth, realizing her mistake. Every pair of eyes shifts to Raees. Zayan snorts under his breath because he gets it. My husband? Not a chance.

“What’s going on?” Raees asks, pushing his glasses back up.

“Oh, you sweet, clueless fool,” Alex says, hugging his arm. “Never change, Professor.”

“I really don’t get it,” he whispers to me.

I kiss his cheek.

“Got it,” he concedes, happily. My sweet, clueless fool, indeed.

Shahzad and Azeer return from the balcony. My brother drops onto the floor next to Nyla, hooking an arm around the front of her shoulder, while Azeer heads to the bathroom. When he comes back, he plops down beside me, phone in hand, scrolling through emails.

Zoha pinches her nose dramatically. “Baba, you stink. Wear a perfume. You know I hate that smell.” She scrambles off my lap and onto Alina’s, burying her face in her mother’s neck. “Mama smells better anyway.”

“If Shahzad can quit,” Nyla says, giving my brother a pointed look, “so can you, Azeer.”

“I’m not Shahzad,” Azeer says, pocketing his phone. “I don’t have a million hobbies to relieve stress.”

Alex leans forward like she’s been waiting for her chance to cause trouble. “Well, if I may, there’s always—”

“Nope,” Ophelia and I cut her off in perfect unison.

“Tough crowd.”

“Speaking of,” Ophelia says, turning to Alina, “congratulations. I heard you’re pregnant. If you need motherhood tips, feel free to hit me up.”

“Thank you,” Alina says quietly. Too quietly. She’s never this reserved. Never a mumbler. It’s weird.

Dua pipes up. “Are you going to have a baby shower?”

She shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”

I glance at Raees, catching him staring at Alina with the same frown I’m wearing.

I tap his shoulder, and sign, Is she okay?

He doesn’t answer out loud—just gestures toward Azeer with his chin. Fight.

I raise an eyebrow. How bad?

Raees sighs. Verbal.

The others are too caught up in their own conversations to notice as I lean toward Azeer. “You’re taking a leave to help Alina, right?”

His eyes are glued to reading an email. “The last few months, yeah.”

I cross my arms. “Azeer, you run the hotel. You could disappear for nine months, and it would still be fine.”

“I just need to be in the office for the first three months to finalize the plan for our resort,” he mutters. “But apparently, my wife thinks that’s unreasonable.”

“The woman’s pregnant after two years of talking herself into it,” I say. “Give her a break.”

Azeer looks at me like I’ve just suggested he quit entirely. “Zinneerah, I love you deeply, but you wouldn’t understand.”

Huffing, I pull my purse onto my lap, and dig around until I find the wad of tissue I’ve stashed in there. With a flourish, I unwrap the three positive pregnancy tests and hold them up for him to see.

Azeer freezes, staring at the sticks like they might explode. “You’re pregnant ?” His voice comes out about three octaves higher than normal.

The room erupts instantly.

Shahzad chokes and blubbers his drink back into the cup.

“Holy shit!” Nyla gasps.

“F-off!” Alex grabs my wrist and stares at the tests like she’s checking for herself. “Oh, my god! She’s actually pregnant!” She starts passing the stick around.

Raees and I smile at their smiles, holding each other close as our friends gawk like we just announced we’re moving to Mars.

Nyla and Dua are the first to crack—full-on sobbing. The remainder are stunned, clinging to each other’s arms like they might actually fall over while sitting.

“Congratulations,” Shahzad whispers, finally handing me back the pregnancy test sticks. “I’m so happy for you.” He cups the back of my head and kisses my forehead—once, twice, three times. His signature way of saying, “I love you.”

“We’re going to have babies side by side!” Alina shrieks, gripping my shoulders. “Oh my god. Our kids are going to be best friends!”

Before I can process that, she lunges at me and takes us both down to the carpet.

There she is. The Alina I know.

The girls pile on top of me in a flurry of hugs and kisses, pinning me to the floor. Dua’s mascara is streaking down her face like war paint, but she’s grinning through the tears. The little ones start patting my stomach like they’re searching for the baby already.

“Hello, baby!” Juliette chirps.

Raees claps his hands once. “All right, let’s give her a chance to breathe, yeah?” He pulls me to my feet, keeping his arm firm around my waist. “Uh, I’m not much for speeches, which is ironic given my profession,” he says, earning a round of laughter. “But Zinneerah and I are incredibly grateful to have you all as our family.”

I nod, wiping the corner of my eye. “Seriously. Thank you all so much. We already know this baby isn’t just going to be loved by us. It’s going to have all of you, too.”

Dua lets out a loud sniff and starts fanning her eyes. “I swear, if I cry again, it’s over for me.”

“Well, this calls for dessert, then.” Zayan rolls out of bed, already moving toward the minibar, making sure to give me a hug on the way.

Azeer stands up and quietly migrates toward Alina. He drops down beside her, throwing an arm around her waist. She looks up at him, those doe eyes all soft and forgiving. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and she melts against him like butter on toast.

I watch them, smiling to myself. Next time they argue, Nyla better announce she’s having a baby. Actually, scratch that—we’ll just play a YouTube playlist of baby announcement compilations until they cave and make up.

“You okay?” Raees whispers.

I nod, but he catches my overwhelm settling in after the announcement.

His fingers thread through mine and help me stand. “We’ll be back in a few,” he says over his shoulder as we step out onto the balcony. He closes the sliding door behind us, the noise from the room muffling instantly.

I lean against the railing, the cool, late August air fanning against my skin as Raees steps behind me, wrapping his arms around mine. He pulls me close, and we watch the golden-pink horizon slowly sink into twilight.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a mom,” I murmur. At the same time, he says, “I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad.”

We laugh softly, and he kisses my cheek, his lips like home for my skin.

I lean back into his embrace, holding onto his forearms. “Raising a girl scares me.”

He rests his chin atop my head. “Why?”

“My mother,” I whisper. “What if I turn out like her?”

“You won’t,” he says, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. “You won’t, Zinneerah. I could say the same thing about my father if it’s a boy, but I know I’m nothing like him. And you? You’ve worked too hard to let history repeat itself. We’re going to be the best parents this universe has ever seen.” He dips his head, kissing me softly. “This will be healing for both of us.”

I turn around to face him fully, wrapping my arms around his torso. He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my skin.

“Did you ever imagine we’d get to this point?” I ask. “Because I didn’t.”

“Never,” he says. “If someone had told me that I’ll be marrying the woman I’ve loved since forever and having a baby with her, I would’ve cried. Then probably laughed. But mostly cried.”

“I still can’t believe you liked me for so long without saying anything.”

“Liked you?” He grins. “Zinneerah, I loved you. Six years of loving you quietly, and I’ll love you for the rest of our lives, loudly.”

My eyes sting, tears threatening to fall. This man is made of glitter and gold. “I didn’t think it was possible to be loved like this.”

“Neither did I,” he whispers brokenly. “But you proved me wrong.”

“You proved me wrong, too,” I whisper back.

Raees kisses me again, and I sink into him as my back touches the railing. He’s soft yet feverish, a bit of a moaner like me. If I’m not kissed by this man every five minutes, I’d die. “My god, you are breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. See? I’m all out of breath because you’ve taken every single one.” He makes me laugh and then steals it for himself. “Zinneerah Shaan?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

He signs, You are the love of my life.

I kiss the corner of his lips. “Raees Shaan?”

“Yes, darling?”

I sign, You are the love of my life.