As he got back from the office, we were at the dining table for dinner. The air still smelled like garlic and seared meat from the kitchen. His top button undone, and his shirt carried the faint scent of his cologne mixed with afternoon traffic.
"I'm going to Lahore tomorrow," he said as he sliced a piece of steak. The knife scraped against the porcelain plate.
For a moment, I was stunned. My chest went tight. Deep down, I didn't want him to go.
"Lahore?" I said casually, pushing the cool, wet cucumbers beside my steak around with my fork.
"Yeah, for work," he replied and took a bite.
"And for how many days?" I asked, looking at him. The fork was still in my hand, suddenly heavy.
"Two to three days. Or maybe a week. Let's see," he replied.
After a moment of silence, the AC humming in the background, "Okay," I said, looked down at my plate while taking a bite.
His eyes flicked to my face, then down to my plate, then back up. "Is there something on your mind?", he asked, as the fork rested in his hand.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head while looking at my plate. The steam from the steak had gone cold.
"Isn't it your favorite?", he asked, while knowing well.
"You know the answer", I replied while slicing a piece.
"But you're not eating properly", he said further and before I could protest, he picked up my plate.
I looked up at him, uncertain. The fork and knife in my hands still.
He just started slicing — clean, precise cuts, turning the whole steak into small, manageable pieces. The knife clicked against the plate with each stroke.
When he was done, he set it back in front of me again. "Now eat,” he said, while I placed the knife on the table, and took a bite.
"Wanna go for a ride?" he asked once he was done with dinner. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, the linen rough against his skin.
"Who else?" I countered, my voice quieter than I meant.
"Just you and me," he replied, his eyes shining with excitement under the warm dining light.
I looked down for a second, at the table.
"Say something," he added, softer.
"Fine. Let's go," I surrendered.
"Then I'm taking the car out of the garage. I'll be waiting outside," he said. His chair scraped back as he stood, pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head and went out
I left the table, grabbed my phone from the charger — the cord was still warm — stepped outside into the heavy night air, and slid into the passenger seat beside him.
After a while, he stopped the car in front of my favorite ice cream parlor. The neon sign buzzed and flickered blue against the windshield.
"Wanna come inside?" he asked, his hand already on the door handle.
"Uh-huh. But single scoop for me," I said, and he got out. The car dipped with his weight.
Moments later, he came back and handed me my favorite Choco Frenzy. Cold condensation dripped onto my fingers and the cup was so cold in that summer night.
"Double scoop?" I said, taking it from his hand. The chocolate smelled rich, almost too sweet.
"Yup," he said, sliding back into the driver’s seat.
"Now tell me what's bothering you," he asked as he turned to me. The streetlight outside cut across his face, catching in his eyes. They were steady. Patient.
"Nothing," I replied with a light shrug. The ice cream was already melting, as I took a spoon.
"I'll come back as soon as possible," he tried to assure me. His voice was low, meant only for me.
"Okay," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Okay. Let's do it like this. You can come along," he suggested, his eyes sparkling. He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"You must be kidding me," I said.
He shrugged, grinning.
"Seriously?" I said as I realized he was 100 percent serious. His face wasn’t joking.
He nodded, waiting for my reply. The engine idled, a low rumble under us.
"No, no. I can't deal with Lahore's summer," I said, trying to avoid the trip. I could already imagine the thick, suffocating heat.
"Yeah, summers are rough, but we'll have fun," he insisted. He said _we_ like it was already decided.
"The smog, pollution, and the heat waves... no. But yeah, we can plan a trip to Lahore in autumn," I suggested. My voice was firmer now. Safer.
"Okay, we can do that," he replied. Promising. He said it like he was memorizing it.
"And I'm telling you, I'm gonna make a whole list of all the historical places in Lahore. And we'll visit them one by one. Deal?" I said.
"Deal," he replied.
"All of them," I pressed.
He chuckled, the sound warm in the small space of the car, and said, "Okay."
“Want something else?” he asked, his hand resting on the steering wheel. The engine hummed, low and patient.
“Yeah, roll paratha!” I said, licking a drip of melted ice cream.
“Just a few minutes ago you were giving me a hard time at dinner. Now you’ve got an appetite.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Let’s get you one,” he said, flicking the turn signal.
“After that, take the longer route to home,” I said, holding up the half-melted cone.
He chuckled and nodded.
“By the way, you should be addicted to this behavior of mine by now,” I teased, looking out of the window.
“Oh, I’m addicted to _you_ in every way,” he replied, while leaning towards me, his voice dropping. Flirty. Sure.
I blushed, and looked outside the window, trying to hide my blush.
As we got the order, “Shall we?” he asked.
I nodded, and his foot pressed the accelerator. The car rolled out of the commercial market, tires whispering over asphalt.
“Should we _open it up_?” he asked, eyes glinting.
“What’s that?” I questioned, turning to him.
He answered by flooring it. The engine roared, a deep, guttural growl, and the seat pushed into my back. Speed pinned me.
“Woah!” I gasped, impressed by his driving skills. Adrenaline fizzed in my chest.
“Put your hand out. Feel the wind,” he said, noticing my excitement. He hit a button and my window slid down.
“Seriously?” I said, but I was already doing it. The summer night air slammed against my palm — cool, fast, alive.
The city lights blurred into gold streaks. Windows down, the cool breeze of summer night hit fresh, hair whipping across my face, my hand cutting through the wind like a plane wing.
I was sitting on the couch in the corner of the living area, knees pulled up, watching the sky outside the window. My mind was lost in thoughts, the pale dawn light spreading across the rooftops, turning the clouds faint gold. The room was still cool, smelling faintly of jasmine plant by the balcony.
My phone started ringing, the vibration buzzing against the glass coffee table. I picked up the call.
"Hey! Are you free today?" Fiza asked, her voice curious and a little rushed.
"Yup. Mustafa’s out for Lahore," I replied, my mind still stuck on him, the words tasting heavier than I meant them to.
"I was thinking maybe we could visit the campus today," she said, her voice brightening, full of that morning energy. "I need to pick up my transcript," she added.
"Sure. At what time?" I asked, finally leaning back, the couch cushion soft against my back.
"Around 9? Maybe we could hit the bazaar too. Shall we? It’ll be fun," she replied, her voice filled with excitement, a smile you could hear.
"Done. Now I’m excited," I said, and I felt it too, a small pull away from my thoughts. "Come over to my place, we’ll go further from here."
After spending a few hours outside, I came back home. I rang the bell and Atif opened the main door.
“Oh, I forgot about you,” I said as I stepped in. “Take a few days off. Go home, get some rest,” I added, shrugging off my scarf. It felt heavy and scratchy against my neck. And I walked toward the entrance door.
“But…", Atif said and I turned. "What if you need anything?” he asked, his voice low.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need anything,” I said, still leaning against the entrance door. The metal knob was cool under my palm.
“Okay, as you say,” he replied, stepping back.
I nodded and went inside. The smell of old wood polish and faint incense hit me immediately — that familiar, quiet smell of the house when it’s empty.
“You need something?” the elderly househelp asked softly as she greeted me, wiping her hands on her apron.
I shook my head, kicked off my sandals near the entrance. The cool marble under my bare feet was a relief, smooth and slightly damp from mopping earlier. I walked barefoot into the house, the quiet steps echoing in the hallway.
“I told Atif to take a few days off. You go to your room too, get some rest, and leave everything as it is,” I said, tossing my clutch and shopping bag onto the couch. The leather of the clutch made a dull _thud_ against the fabric.
She nodded, and I headed to the kitchen. The fridge hummed low when I opened it, cold air prickling against my face. I grabbed a water bottle; the plastic was slick with condensation.
A moment later, I heard her footsteps behind me — soft, deliberate, on the kitchen tiles. I turned. “Mr. Mustafa was asking about you. You probably weren’t answering his calls,” she said, standing near the counter where the afternoon light fell in a warm rectangle across the marble.
“Yeah, I left my phone at home. What did he say?” I asked, taking a sip of water.
“He was just checking on you. So I told him you’d gone to visit the campus,” she replied.
“Okay. I’ll call him later,” I said, and she nodded.
“My feet are killing me. I don’t even know how long I’ve been up. I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m wiped,” I started rambling, my voice a little hoarse. “Please don’t let anything disturb me,” I finished, and went to my room.
As I entered my room, the air was cooler and still, carrying the faint clean smell of laundry detergent from the sheets. I picked up my phone, the screen lighting up my face in the dim room. I glanced at the notifications for his missed calls and messages, then tossed it back onto the bed with a soft _thud_ against the mattress.
I went to the washroom, letting the cool tile under my feet wake me up just enough to splash water on my face. I came out wearing a soft cotton lounge gown. The fabric was light and smooth, brushing against my legs with every step as I slid under the blanket. The pillow smelled faintly of my shampoo, and I drifted off to sleep almost instantly.
I woke up for a moment. Outside the window, the sky was dark and silent. I picked up my phone to check the time — 8 PM. The screen was bright against my eyes. Scrolling through notifications, I saw several messages from Mustafa. The last one read, _“let me know when you wake up.”_ I tossed the phone back onto the mattress, the warmth from my hand still on the case, and fell asleep again.
Around 4 AM, I woke up once more to the quiet of the room. I opened his chat, and the moment I replied, my phone vibrated against the bed, buzzing low as he started calling.
“I thought you’d be sleeping,” I said as I answered, my voice rough and low, still thick with sleep.
“I was waiting for you to wake up,” he replied. His voice came through clear and calm, cutting through the quiet.
“Wait, how do you know I was sleeping?” I asked, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
“When I couldn’t reach you, I talked to Miss Zareena. She told me you’d been sleeping since the moment you got home,” he said. “So I figured you’d wake up around midnight… so here I am.”
“Yeah… she told me you’d been asking about me when I got back,” I replied, the words slow.
“So, how was your day?” he asked.
“Good. Actually, great. I went with Anaya to campus to pick up her degree,” I said, shifting so the blanket rustled softly. “After that, we went to the bazaar,” I continued.
“Bazaar? Then why didn’t you go with Atif?” he interrupted.
“We wanted it to feel different. More like a little adventure,” I replied, smiling at the memory even though my eyes were half-closed.
“So what did you buy?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, quieter, like he didn’t want to break the late-night hush.
“Nothing much… some hair clips and a few makeup products,” I said. The cool screen of the phone felt against my cheek.
“Just that? No dress, no heels? Nothing?” he pressed.
“Nope. I couldn’t find anything to my taste. Plus, we’re planning a girls’ trip today… if it even happens,” I said, letting out a soft sigh.
“Why wouldn’t it happen?” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice.
“It’s just… I’m tired. I’m not really in the mood for a trip,” I replied.
“I think you should go. It’ll be good for your mood. You’ve got my cards, my accounts… go for a shopping too,” he suggested.
“But not at the bazaar,” he added.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Now, have something to eat,” he said.
I hummed in response, the sound low in my throat. “Talk to you later,” I said, ending the call. The room went silent again, and the cool air settled over me.
I was standing near the entrance door, with one foot on the leather-upholstered stool, buckling up my heels, when the entrance door unlocked. I looked up, and it was him.
As I caught his glimpse, I moved my arms forward, and he slid his hands around my waist, the warmth of his palms seeping through my clothes, wrapping his arms around me and enveloping me in his warm embrace, familiar scent – a mix of fresh air and his cologne.
As soon as I felt myself against his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt a gentle caress against my skin, I closed my eyes. His hands moved up and down on my waist, the gentle pressure soothing, relaxing me.
I tightened my grip as I hugged him over his shoulders, as if trying to hide myself in his arms. His grip tightened more around my waist, and I could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, – certainly, he could feel mine too.
And then, he picked me up in his arms, and my feet swung in the air. The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against my skin. A soft smile spread on my face as he twirled around with me in his arms. And then he stopped and I stepped down, still enveloped in his arms, placed my hands on his chest, looked up at him.
"I've missed you so much", he said.
I looked down and then he held my hand in his hand, leading to the lounge, as i was walking behind him while holding his hand. He sat on the couch, opened his arms, I sat in his lap. He enveloped me in his warm embrace, my head rested on his shoulder, my forehead rested against his jawline.
