Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

I stirred in my sleep as sunlight pierced through the curtains and landed straight on my face like a personal attack. I groaned, dragging the blanket up for a second before giving up and opening my eyes.

The first thing I did was turn my head to look for him.

Empty.

The other side of the bed was untouched. Not just empty, like no one had even slept there.

Great. Where on earth did he vanish this early in the morning?

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Okay, not early morning, Zoya...it's 9 a.m. Still, It's Walima day? The groom should not be running a marathon outside right now.

I sighed, kicking the blanket off. And Deeda is definitely going to skin me alive today. She warned me just yesterday after that little Mahveen drama.

Anyway, let's go, Zoya. Move. It's your walima, your big day.

I dragged myself to the bathroom.

I was giving the final touch to my hijab when the door flew open with the force of a thunderstorm.

Laiba barged in like an action hero, followed by Aliya.

"ZOYAAA! When exactly are you planning to come downstairs? Or were you thinking of spending the whole day here? It's your walima!"

I shut my eyes and counted to three before answering. "Laiba, Alhamdulillah, my ears work perfectly fine. Why are you screaming like you're in a war zone?"

I turned around, planting my hands on my waist like a teacher about to scold her students.

Laiba rolled her eyes dramatically. "Because you're the bride who is getting late!"

Aliya jumped in with a smirk. "Seriously, Zoya. Who does that? You're setting world records here."

I raised an eyebrow. "Wow, congratulations to me then. Do I get a trophy for this? Or maybe an award ceremony later tonight?"

They both groaned, but I wasn't even paying attention anymore. My mind was elsewhere.

Where is he? Who leaves so early on a day like this? At least he could've told me. Or left a note. Something—

Aliya waved her hands in front of my face. "Hello? Earth to Zoya! You're drifting off like a sad heroine in a drama serial."

"Yeah, because you girls won't stop talking!" I shot back, even though that wasn't the reason.

Aliya smirked. "Admit it...you're thinking about him, aren't you?"

I blinked. "About who?"

"Don't even try. Your husband, Mrs. Zaigham Khan," she said, wiggling her eyebrows like an overexcited child.

"Oh please," I scoffed, flipping my hijab tail. "I was just thinking about... breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Laiba raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then why do you look like you're about to write poetry on heartbreak?"

I rolled my eyes. "You guys are impossible."

"Impossible? We're the reason you're still not trending on social media for being the most late bride ever!" Laiba said, grabbing my wrist.

I groaned. "Laiba, can you stop yelling for five minutes? I'm awake, I'm dressed, I'm moving, okay?"

"Good," she said firmly, ignoring me completely. "Now come on. Eat something. After that, we've got a hundred things to do and you need to look like a queen before the guests start arriving."

I entered the dining room, expecting at least a little noise, but it was empty except for Mama. Her expression somewhere between "I'm disappointed in you" and "You're grounded for life."

Uh-oh.

I gave her my brightest smile. "Good morning, beautiful!" I said cheerfully as I slid into the chair.

She didn't smile back. She didn't even blink. Just pure glare.

I winced. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I promise, from tomorrow I'll wake up on time. Pinky swear!"

Mama sighed like I was her biggest headache. "Zoya beta, you're married now. You need to start being more responsible. No more staying in bed all morning." She set a plate of breakfast in front of me.

"Yes, Mama," I said meekly. As she went back in the kitchen.

Just then, my golden ticket...Zaviyaar walked in. The only person I could interrogate without looking desperate.

"Zaviyaar!" I called out, perking up like a sunflower spotting sunlight.

He turned to me with a smug grin. "Yes, Bhabhi ji?"

I choked on my tea. "Excuse me?! First of all, stop calling me that! I am still your cousin!"

He grinned wider, clearly enjoying this. "Yeah, but you're also Zaigham bhai's wife now. That makes you our Bhabhi. Zoyaa... Bhabhiii..." He dragged out the word so dramatically I wanted to throw my paratha at him.

I glared. "Say it one more time and I swear I'll pour this chai on your head. And tell me where is Zaigham"

He chuckled. "Violent much, Bhabhi? Why so cranky? Missing Zaigham bhai already?"

I gave him my best death stare. "Zaviyaar! Just tell me where he is!"

He smirked, leaning against the doorframe like some cheap Bollywood hero.

"Relax, I'll tell you. No need to get all possessive."

"I am not possessive! I'm just... curious!" I hissed, glancing at Mama to make sure she wasn't listening. The last thing I needed was her asking why I didn't know my own husband's whereabouts.

Zaviyaar grinned wider. "Fine. He went out for some work. Said he'd be back before noon."

I nodded, pretending to be casual while my brain screamed Work?! On walima day?

"Okay. Thank you, Zavi," I said sweetly.

He wagged a finger at me. "Uh-uh, not enough. That thank you isn't gonna cut it. You owe me."

I frowned. "Owe you what?"

"My brother's credit card," he said with an evil grin.

I gasped, clutching my chest. "Absolutely not! Why would I put my innocent little self in the lion's den just so you can buy another useless gadget or whatever?"

He shrugged. "Better start learning, sister. You're gonna live with that lion for the rest of your life. Might as well learn how to tame him."

I scoffed. "Tame him? Please. I can barely find him!"

He laughed, and I pointed dramatically toward the door. "Out. Now. Let me eat in peace before I lose what little sanity I have left."

"Excuses, excuses," he muttered.

As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, "Selfish."

I rolled my eyes.

I immediately stuffed a bite in my mouth and looked like the picture of innocence. Perfect.

Totally, not suspicious at all, Zoya. Good job.

By noon, the house was a full-blown circus.

Decorators yelling about lights, kids running like they'd been fed five spoons of sugar each, and someone in the background screaming about where to put the flowers.

I was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through my phone like a civilized person, mentally preparing for the three-hour torture session of makeup and heels.

And then... a car honked outside. Loud.I froze mid-scroll. My heartbeat decided to play drum rolls for no reason.

The main door opened, and there he was. In all his black-suit glory, hair a little messy like the wind had tried to flirt with him and failed.

"Assalam-u-Alaikum," he said, voice calm, deep, and way too casual for someone making an entrance like that.

Everyone responded loudly. Meanwhile, I muttered a weak "Wa-Alaikum-Salaam" under my breath and pretended to scroll Instagram like I wasn't watching him from the corner of my eye.

He looked around, and then his eyes landed on me. For a second. Two seconds. Okay, maybe three...but who's counting?

And then... he just walked upstairs.

I stared at the empty spot where he stood. Wow. The audacity.

I barged into the room holding the coffee like it was Exhibit A in a court case. He was lying there. One arm covered his eyes, the other resting on his stomach, as if the stress of being perfect had exhausted him.

"Wow," I announced, loudly. "Look who remembered he has a wife. Ladies and gentlemen, the groom has entered the house... and decided to take a nap. Applause, please."

His arm shifted slightly. One eye opened. Then the other.

"Done?" he asked, voice calm like I hadn't just performed a stand-up routine in the doorway.

"Not even close," I said, marching toward him. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what happens when the groom disappears on his walima day without telling his wife?"

"No."

I blinked. "You—" I pointed dramatically—"are impossible!"

He sat up slowly, picked up the coffee I'd placed on the side table, and took a sip.

"You're welcome," I said through gritted teeth.

He looked at me, calm as a mountain. "For what?"

"For the coffee!"

"Oh." Another sip. "Thanks."

I threw my hands up. "Wow. Such emotion. Such gratitude."

He didn't react, which only made me more dramatic.

"You know, I had to get this coffee myself," I continued, pacing now like a lawyer giving her final argument. "And you? You were out there doing... what? Filing tax returns?"

"Work."

I stopped pacing and stared at him. "Work? Today? Mr. Khan, normal people take days off. You? You treat it like a boring Tuesday."

"It's Sunday," he said without missing a beat.

I stared at him, jaw dropping. "You did not just correct me."

A faint twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth, but he hid it quickly behind another sip of coffee.

"You know what?" I said, crossing my arms. "I'm starting a support group for wives of emotionally unavailable men. Our first meeting will be after this walima."

"Good luck," he said.

"Thank you, I'll send you the pamphlet."

Silence stretched for two whole seconds before I groaned loudly and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Ugh, why did I even bother with this coffee? I should've just put salt in it."

"That would be a waste," he said in the same calm tone.

"Exactly my point! So next time, don't make me work this hard for gratitude, Mr. Khan."

He set the cup down and looked at me, expression unreadable. "Why are you so loud?"

I turned my head toward him, eyes wide.

"Excuse me? This—" I waved at myself dramatically—"is called personality. You should try getting one sometime."

He glanced at me with zero expression, and said.

"Are you done with your speech?"

I blinked. "That wasn't a speech. That was an emotional outpouring from the depths of my soul."

He stood up, adjusted his cufflinks.

"Next time, make it shorter."

And then....just like that...he walked toward the closet, leaving me sitting there with my jaw on the floor.

Unbelievable. Completely unaffected by my Oscar-worthy performance.

I married a statue. A very handsome statue, but still a statue.

I was sitting in front of the mirror like a prisoner awaiting sentencing. Except instead of handcuffs, I had foundation brushes attacking my face from all angles.

"Close your eyes," Liya ordered for the fifth time.

I groaned. "They are closed."

"Not tight. Relax," she snapped, sounding like this was the hundredth bride she'd tortured today.

"How am I supposed to relax when you're coming at my eye with a stick?!"

She ignored me like I was background noise and continued blending something on my eyelid.

Of course she would. Liya was mine and Laiba's best friend well mine friend and her best friend ugh whatever it is, which meant she was in this room doing me a favor.

..and apparently, favors come with zero mercy.

Meanwhile, the room around me was pure chaos.

"Don't move," Liya ordered as she leaned in to do the contour.

"Not moving," I mumbled, even though my nose was itching like crazy.

She narrowed her eyes. "You blink one more time and I swear, Zoya, I'll glue your lashes together."

"Wow," I said dryly. "Such a warm, bridal experience. Thank you, Liya. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

From the bed, Laiba snorted. "Don't mess with her, Zoya. You're lucky she agreed to do your makeup today. Otherwise, you'd be looking like... well, you."

"Excuse me?!" I shot Laiba a look in the mirror. "This face is naturally glowing."

"Glowing?" Aaliya, sitting cross-legged on the carpet scrolling her phone, looked up. "More like... shiny. Like a samosa."

I gasped. "Wow. The disrespect. Aaliya, you're officially banned from my wedding pictures."

"Sure," she said, going back to her phone. "Like anyone's going to notice me when Zaigham bhai's staring at you in that dress."

I froze. "What?!"

"Stop talking," Liya scolded, tugging my chin back toward the mirror. "Do you want your lipstick to look like abstract art?"

"Ugh," I muttered, trying to sit still. "This feels like torture. Is this normal?"

"Yes," Liya said casually. "Beauty is pain. Now shut up and let me work my magic."

Across the room, Ruman api was arranging jewelry on a tray like a curator setting up a museum display. "Zoya, which earrings do you want? The big chandbalis or the studs?"

"Neither," I said instantly. "They both look like weapons."

Laiba rolled her eyes. "Just pick one before I make the decision for you."

"Pick the studs," Layla Chachi said from the armchair, sipping her tea with a smile. "The big ones will hurt her ears. This way, she can survive the night without crying."

"Finally," I said, pointing at Chachi. "Someone who cares about my wellbeing."

She chuckled softly. "Of course, beta. Brides should look beautiful but comfortable. Otherwise, what's the point?"

I nodded so hard, Liya hissed.

"Exactly—OW!" I yelped when Liya poked me with the eyeliner.

"Stop moving!" Liya hissed.

"You just stabbed me in the eye!" I shot back.

"Drama queen," she muttered.

"Sorry," I whispered.

Then Nouran api walked in with my dress, holding it like it was made of glass. "Careful, careful," she said dramatically, laying it across the bed.

I smiled by looking at it, remembering that day.

"You like it?" Ruman api asked, noticing my expression.

"Like it?" I scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Pfft. It's... okay."

Laiba smirked. "Sure. That's why you're smiling like you just saw a cheesecake."

"I'm smiling because I'm imagining throwing you out of this room," I shot back.

"Girls, stop fighting," Layla Chachi said gently, adjusting the dupatta over the dress. "Look at this work...it's gorgeous." She glanced at me with a knowing smile. "You're going to look like a doll, Zoya. After all, Zaigham picked this for you."

Great. Now my cheeks were heating up again.

"Zoya, go change," Liya ordered. "And if you smudge this base, I'll actually murder you."

I muttered as I stood up. "Such a loving atmosphere."

As I walked to the bathroom, Aaliya called after me, "Better hurry, bhabhi! Time's ticking!"

"Stop calling me that!" I yelled back.

Five minutes later, I came out of the bathroom wearing the gown, trying to not trip over the floor-length hem. The room went dead silent for three seconds...and then chaos exploded.

"Oh my Allah," Laiba squealed. "Look at her!"

"Mashallah," Ruman api said softly, pinning my scarf as I stood like a scarecrow.

"You look beautiful, beta," Layla Chachi said warmly, her eyes glowing. "Zaigham won't know what hit him."

"Chachi!" I yelped, cheeks now definitely on fire.

Aaliya clapped her hands. "Someone get the phone, we need a video of this moment!"

"Touch that phone and I'll strangle you with my dupatta," I warned.

Finally, after an hour of pins, powders, and being handled like a mannequin, I was done. The girls had left to get ready themselves, leaving me alone in the room like a princess in a castle.

I was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through my phone, trying to distract myself from the fact that I'd been waiting forever for my dear husband. My dress weighed like ten kilos, and the pins in my hijab felt like mini daggers. The makeup wasn't helping either.

Why do brides do this to themselves? Why did I do this to myself? Ugh.

"This is insane. This dress is heavy, this makeup is suffocating, and now I have to sit here and wait too? Perfect," I groaned out loud to no one in particular.

Just then, I heard the soft click of the door opening. My head snapped up...and there he was, walking in like he had all the time in the world... still wearing casuals.

I blinked at him as I stood up. "Seriously? You're not even ready? We're supposed to leave in like five minutes!"

He didn't answer. His eyes fell on me instead, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. His gaze traveled from my hijab, down to the soft folds of my dress, lingering on the silver embroidery before moving lower.

Slowly. Deliberately.

I panicked. On the inside. On the outside, I twirled. Yep. Full 360.

"So?" I said brightly, grinning. "How do I look, Mr. Husband?"

Nothing. Just that maddening silence and those dark eyes taking their sweet time.

I stopped twirling, hands on my waist. "Seriously? You're just gonna stand there and stare? Say something before I faint dramatically on this carpet."

Finally, he blinked. Opened his mouth. And said, in the calmest tone.

"You look... human."

I stared at him. "What?"

"You look human." His face didn't even twitch as he walked toward the wardrobe, opened it, and started pulling out his tux like he hadn't just committed a crime.

I blinked at his back, my mouth hanging open. Then it hit me.

"WHAT?" I marched up behind him, practically tripping on my dress. "I spent two hours getting stabbed by pins, suffocated by setting spray, and tortured by Makeup—FOR THIS? Just to hear I look human? Oh, thank you for telling me that, dear husband. I almost forgot I was a monkey."

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine so sharply that I forgot the rest of my angry speech.

My throat went dry.

One second I was standing there, scolding him. The next, my back hit the wardrobe with a soft thud. His hand was braced against the wood near my head, his body just close enough to make my heart leap into my throat.

My breath hitched. Wide-eyed, I looked up at him, completely frozen. "Zaigham—"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on mine. His voice dropped, deep and quiet. "What do you want to hear?"

I swallowed hard, my brain stuttering like bad Wi-Fi.

"I... I don't know... maybe a little compliment?" My voice came out shaky, barely a whisper.

He leaned in the slightest bit closer, enough to make the space between us feel dangerously small. "A little compliment?" he repeated, as if testing the words, his gaze flicking briefly to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

I nodded slowly, almost regretting it because...what was happening? Why was it suddenly 200 degrees in this room?

"And if I don't?" he murmured.

My breath caught. "Then... then I'll..." I blinked, realizing I had no comeback. "I'll... post your embarrassing childhood photos online!" I blurted, immediately regretting it.

The corner of his mouth curved slightly, a ghost of a smirk. "Bold threat, considering I have your baby pictures too."

"Not the same thing," I shot back weakly, though my voice was barely holding together.

He leaned in closer, so close his breath skimmed my skin. "You really want to hear it that badly?"

I bit my lip without thinking—a stupid nervous habit. "M-maybe..."

His eyes darkened at the gesture, and before I could process what that meant, he whispered, voice low and rough, each word sending sparks down my spine.

"You look beautiful, Zoya."

The words weren't loud. My knees nearly gave out, and my fingers curled into fists against the fabric of my dress just to keep myself steady.

And then... he pulled back. Just like that. Like nothing happened. Like he didn't just wreck my entire nervous system in two seconds flat.

He smirked...at my stunned, tomato-red face, then grabbed his tux and walked toward the bathroom to change.

Meanwhile, I stayed glued to the wardrobe, blinking like a malfunctioning robot, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

"Great," I muttered to myself, cheeks on fire. "Just great. As if this makeup wasn't enough, now I've added blush level 1000 on top."

Zaigham stepped out, buttoning the jacket of the tux I had picked for him...the charcoal grey one. On the hanger, it looked great. On him? Criminal. Someone arrest this man.

What is this? A wedding or a Vogue cover shoot? And why, do I look like an overdressed cream puff next to him?

He adjusted his cufflinks, calm and collected, as if he didn't just obliterate my entire existence by existing like that.

"Are you going to keep staring, or do I need to charge you for it?" His voice was smooth, annoyingly casual.

My eyes widened. "I—I wasn't staring."

One brow lifted. "No?"

"No! I was... inspecting. Big difference." Oh my Allah, why am I like this?

He took a few steps toward the mirror, glancing at his reflection. "And? What's the report?"

"Report?" I blinked, then blurted, "Uh... devastating."

That made him pause and turn his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Devastating?"

I waved my hands like a maniac. "I mean... in a good way! Like, wow. Unfairly good. Like... you should come with a warning label good." I groaned and slapped my own forehead. "Forget it. I'm shutting up now."

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips as he picked up his watch. "You're not very good at shutting up."

"And you're not very good at saying thank you," I shot back, snatching my clutch from the bed and pointing it at him like a weapon. "That was a compliment, Mr. Khan."

He slid the watch onto his wrist like I wasn't even speaking. "Noted."

The moment we stepped out, my heart did this weird drum solo. The chatter, the occasional sound of laughter, it all felt a thousand times louder now.

Okay, Zoya. This is fine. Just walk. You're not a baby giraffe learning to walk. You're a dignified bride. Dignified. Breathe. Smile. Don't trip. Please, don't trip.

Zaigham, of course, walked. Cool. Calm. Meanwhile, I was gripping my clutch so hard it could file a harassment complaint.

"Slow down!" I hissed under my breath. "Do you have a train to catch?"

He glanced at me, completely unfazed. "You said you were ready."

"I didn't say I wanted to run a marathon!"

As we reached the top of the staircase, the hall below came into view, lights, flowers, guests everywhere. And then... the music changed. The coordinator spotted us and smiled, gesturing for us to come down.

The spotlight hit. Every single pair of eyes turned toward us.

Oh no. Nope. I hate this. Abort mission. Why are they all staring? Is my hijab crooked? Do I have lipstick on my teeth? Should I smile? Not too big...don't look desperate. Okay, smile like a duchess, Zoya. Sophisticated. Breathe.

Zaigham offered his arm casually. I looped mine through his, silently screaming: Don't trip. Don't trip. For the love of everything holy, DO NOT TRIP.

He leaned slightly toward me as we started descending the stairs. "Stop looking like you're about to be executed," he murmured.

"I'm not!" I whispered back. "This is my calm face."

"Then fix it. You're scaring the guests."

I shot him a glare that could burn forests, but it didn't matter because he was already greeting people with that stoic half-smile. Meanwhile, I tried to match his calm energy and failed miserably.

The cameras flashed. People whispered. Someone definitely gasped.

Okay, was that for me or him? Please let it be me. Actually, no...both of us. Couple goals. Hashtag blessed.

We finally reached the stage, and I nearly collapsed with relief. Zaigham helped me up like a normal person.

I sat down, adjusting my dress, forcing my best smile.

"Photo time!" Laiba's voice rang out.

"Oh, perfect," I muttered under my breath, smiling like a statue as the photographer zoomed in on my soul.

If I thought the photos on stage were bad, I was wrong. So wrong. The actual torture started when the photographer said, "Just one more shot!" after the fifteenth picture.

One more shot, my foot. My cheeks are cramping. If I smile any longer, I'm going to need surgery to fix this.

Zaigham looked like he was born for this. Calm, collected. Meanwhile, I was sweating under layers of fabric and pretending not to die inside.

"Can we—" I started, but before I could finish, Laiba's voice cut in like a fire alarm.

"Excuse me! One picture is not enough for Insta!" She appeared in front of the stage, phone in hand, eyes shining like she was at a celebrity wedding.

"Ya Allah," I muttered under my breath. "Grant me patience."

Finally. Silence.

The lights in the hall were dim now, the guests gone, and the house no longer sounded like a fish market. For the first time all day, I could breathe without someone shoving a camera in my face.

I stepped into the garden. Laiba was sitting on the swing with Aaliya, both giggling over something on Aaliya's phone.

Rumman Api was sipping her coffee, while Zaviyaar and Zaarib bhai were arguing about football.

Rayyan bhai sat nearby, looking amused at both of them.

Zayyan bhai was leaning back in his chair, scrolling his phone with aI'm-so-done-with-life expression.

"Finally!" Laiba spotted me first and waved. "Mrs. Khan has entered the chat."

I groaned. "Can you not call me that?"

Zaviyaar smirked. "What should we call you then? Queen of Khan Empire?"

"Try Zoya," I said dryly, plopping onto an empty chair. "A normal name for a normal person."

"Normal person who just made a grand bridal entry like she owns a Bollywood set," Aaliya teased, earning a high-five from Laiba.

Rumman api slid a coffee mug toward me. "Here. Extra sugar, just like you like it."

"Bless you," I said, taking a grateful sip. Heaven. Pure heaven.

"I swear," Laiba groaned dramatically, massaging her feet, "heels were invented by Satan. And that Satan was a man."

"Facts," I said, wiggling my toes under the table. "My feet have filed for divorce."

"Your feet?" Rayyan scoffed. "My backbone is missing. If you see it, return to sender."

"Oh please," Aaliya snorted. "You were posing like an Instagram influencer the whole function. #RayyanTheModel."

Rayyan flipped imaginary hair. "Don't hate me because I'm photogenic."

"Photogenic?" Aaliya deadpanned. "Bro, you blinked in HALF the pictures."

Rayyan gasped. "Those were power blinks!"

"Sure," Zaarib bhai muttered. "Power blinks. Sponsored by Clown Corp."

The entire group erupted with laughter.

Before Rayyan bhai could recover, Rumman jumped in. "By the way, which aunty was flirting with you during dessert, Rayyan?"

Rayyan groaned. "Can we NOT....she literally asked if I own property. Lady, I barely own socks."

"Didn't you tell her you were open to offers?" Laiba grinned.

"That was sarcasm!" Rayyan yelled.

"Sure it was," Zaviyaar said teasingly.

"Wow... you all sound like you're on a roast show."

Everyone turned. Yusra stood there, holding her coffee, looking both amused and unsure if she should sit.

I waved her over excitedly. "Come, sit! Yusra, right?"

"Yep," Yusra said, giving a small smile as she slid into the empty chair. "Hope I'm not crashing your... post-wedding TED Talk?"

The table laughed lightly. Rayyan leaned forward. "No, no, join the trauma circle. We're just healing from today."

"Ah." Yusra smiled politely. "It was a beautiful function, though."

"Beautiful?" Rumman api scoffed. "You didn't see Rayyan attempting bhangra near the buffet."

Rayyan bhai groaned. "WHY is this still a topic?!"

"Well," Yusra said before thinking, "at least it looked... energetic."

Everyone OHHH'd dramatically. Rayyan blinked. "Wait. Was that a compliment... or...?"

"No, no!" Yusra panicked. "Compliment! Totally! Energy is... good."

"Energy is good," Zaviyaar repeated like it was a slogan, grinning.

Yusra blushed slightly and sipped her coffee, hoping the earth swallowed her. That's when Zayyan bhai finally spoke from the other end of the table.

"Careful," he said without looking up from his cup. "Around here, sarcasm gets you a lifetime membership in the roast club."

Yusra blinked at him. "I wasn't being sarcastic..."

"Sure you weren't," Zayyan bhai replied smoothly, eyes flicking to her for a second.

The group went silent for a beat, and then Laiba grinned like a devil.

"So..." she said, leaning forward, "Yusra, first impressions? Who looked the most stressed today?"

Yusra bit her lip, thinking. "Um... honestly? Him, Zayyan Sir.." She pointed, right at Zayyan.

The table exploded.

Rayyan bhai choked on his coffee. "YES! Finally someone says it!"

Zayyan bhai raised a brow slowly. "And why is that?"

Yusra, realizing she'd walked into a trap, stammered, "I—I just mean... you looked very... serious."

"Serious," Zayyan bhai repeated flatly. "Noted."

"I mean, in a good way!" she added quickly. "Like... dignified?"

"Oh wow," Zaviyaar said, laughing. "That's her nice way of saying 'I thought you were security.'"

Everyone laughed.

To be Continued....

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