.

She sat beside me, quiet, graceful, her eyes fixed on the floor, and a soft, almost unreadable smile gracing her lips. There was a sanctity in her face like something divine. I could’ve looked at her forever and still not have had enough.

And then she spoke.

Noor: “Aapka naam Zaid hai, haina?”

Her voice. Sweet. Soft. Musical. I had never heard anything that sounded so perfect. That one sentence was enough to send a ripple through my chest.

Me: “Ji... aur aapka?”

Noor: “Mera naam Noor hai.”

Me: “Aapko... kuch kehna tha?”

Noor: “Woh... main-main aapko pasand karti hoon.”

She glanced at her friends and then back at me, just briefly. Then, all of a sudden, she giggled, breaking whatever sincerity lingered in the air.

Noor: “Yahan mera dare poora hua... main aapko pasand nahi karti. Ye toh dare tha. I’m really sorry. Ayesha ne kaha tha ke main aapko pasand nahi aaungi, is liye maine dare mein aapko tajuz (propose) kar diya.”

For a second, I didn’t move. The air around me went still. My heartbeat slowed.

Of course. How could someone like her actually like someone like me?

Before I could say anything, she stood up and ran back to her group of friends, laughing. Ayesha came and took the seat Noor had left behind. She looked at me, concerned.

Ayesha: “Zaid... tumhe pasand toh nahi aayi na?”

Me: “Kyun?”

Ayesha: “Woh... woh kisi aur ko pasand karti hai.”

Me: “Mujhe usse kya? Mujhe toh kuch khaas nahi lagi.”

Ayesha breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back into the chair.

Ayesha: “Shukar hai. Vaise, tumhare madah (admirers) kam nahi hain. Yahin aas-paas ghoomte rehte hain.”

Me: “Mujhe nahi jaana.”

I got up, but she caught my hand, her grip hesitant yet desperate.

Ayesha: “Tum kabhi dekhte kyun nahi, Zaid? Tumhe main kitna pasand karti hoon...”

Her voice cracked at the edges, her eyes now brimming with an ache I hadn't noticed before. And I, weak to emotions, didn’t want to wound her heart further. I gently held her hand back, my words careful.

Me: “Tumhe toh pata hi hai... khandaan mein sirf hum dono ke nikkah ki baatein hoti rehti hain. Mujhe bhi abhi koi pasand nahi...”

Ayesha’s face lit up, her eyes shimmering with a hope I didn’t intend to offer. She had probably already pictured herself in bridal red beside me. But I hadn’t. Still, I didn’t have the courage to shatter that vision.

Ayesha: “I’m glad... ke humare walidain rishtedaar hain.”

Me: “I’m not.”

She laughed nervously and ran off toward her group, leaving behind silence and a strange taste of guilt in my mouth.

—

I made my way to class. Moments later, my best friend Omar entered, full of energy, his smirk already revealing he knew.

Omar: “Kaisa raha?”

Me: “Kya kaisa?”

Omar: “Meet-up?”

Me: “Dare mila tha usse mujhe propose karne ka. Ayesha ke kehne pe kiya.”

Omar’s face dropped. Then he chuckled bitterly.

Omar: “Gussa nahi aaya?”

Me: “Kis baat ka?”

Omar: “Abdullah ne sabko bata diya ke tum kisi ladki ke saath cafeteria mein date pe thay.”

He burst out laughing.

Me: “Acha?”

Omar: “Tumhare liye acha hoga agar tum badla lo. Aise kaise woh sabke saamne tumhari feelings ka mazak uda sakti hai? Usse kya haq hai tumhare jazbaat ke saath khelne ka?”

I paused. His words made sense. She did humiliate me, intentionally or not. It wasn’t about pride, it was about the pain I had buried behind my silence.

Me: “Sahi keh rahe ho Omar... kuch toh karna chahiye. Lekin... kya?”

Omar leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Omar: “Mere paas ek mansubah hai. Agar tum chaho... toh hum usse usi k jazbaat ke dariya mein dooba dein.”

Me: “Kya... karna kya hai?”

Omar: “Usse mohabbat mein phansa lo.”

Me: “Lekin... woh toh kisi aur ko pasand karti hai.”

Omar: “Fikr mat karo, bhaijaan. Uska poora bio-data nikaal lunga main.”

Me: “Theek hai.”

That was all I said.

But in that one theek hai, something inside me shifted.

This wasn’t love. This was now something else entirely.

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