gently wiped the lipstick off my lips.

5

On the second day of Sweet Eid we, all the cousins, gather at uncle’s house for a movie night. Movie nights have always been boring for Danish and me.

The reason is simple: we both like action-packed films, while everyone else prefers those cheesy, lovey-dovey movies that put me to sleep.

This year, like every year, the movie night was underway at uncle’s house.

As usual, Danish and I argued over the film selection—but after losing the vote, we sulked and sat quietly on the side, pouting as always.

A little later, Junaid bro sat down beside me.

“What?” As soon as he sat, I began to glare at him, and he, perplexed, asked:

“You haven’t given me Eidi yet.” I said, annoyed.

“What Eidi?” he pretended not to know.

“my Eidi,” I said, acting important.

“Eid belongs to the fasting people; not to people like you,” he said, pulling a face.

“I’ve kept all my fasts, Alhamdulillah. You can ask Amna and Imad bro,” I said—before he could answer—

“Hey you two—go take your argument outside, you’re ruining the movie,” Waleed bro chided us, and I, grumbling, turned back to the screen.

“It always costs me to give Eidi to this grumpy uncle, while he’s generous to everyone else,” I muttered.

As the movie dragged on, I began to drift into sleepy dozes—those romance scenes were just too boring and made me drowsy—while the room’s mood grew increasingly romantic, especially for the would-be couples.

After dozing a little, I decided to rest my head on Danish’s shoulder for a while; that way this boring movie would end and I could sleep properly.

Just as I was leaning toward Danish’s shoulder, I felt a soft hand under my cheek.

I opened my sleep-fogged eyes with difficulty and saw Junaid bro’s hand placed between my cheek and Danish’s shoulder.

“If you want to sleep, put your head on my shoulder,” he said very gently. I was surprised, but it felt nice.

I knew he was my fiancé, but because of his stern temperament I’d always been afraid to get close. Sehrish Aapi’s words had convinced me he would never like me, so his sudden offer to let me rest on his shoulder shocked me.

The first thing that came to mind was Sehrish Aapi—who was sitting beside her husband. The thought of her made all my sleep vanish. I straightened up and sat again.

I felt Junaid bro’s angry gaze on my face for a long time, but I ignored it completely.

I don’t know why, but the fear of Sehrish Aapi never left me—especially her words that I was a witch who had ruined all her happiness.

Shortly after, Junaid bro got up and left. People called after him, but he didn’t answer—maybe he was angry with me.

I told myself he was always like that: a perpetually grumpy prince, always finding reasons to thunder at me.

“If I go and apologize, he’ll accept me—he just puts on that attitude,” I consoled myself and kept watching the film with sulky stubbornness.

*****-----****💞💞💞💞

“Who are you talking to? You’re laughing so much.” I wanted to study, but his spreading smile made me suspicious. Eventually I poked my head into his cell and asked

“Excuse me?” he looked surprised as if he couldn’t believe I could question him like he did me.

“I asked, who are you talking to?” For a moment his commanding look made me nervous, but I gathered myself and asked boldly.

“You may have forgotten, My little Scrappy One, that right now you are my student—so please don’t try to become my mother,” he said in an icy tone, enunciating each word.

My question offended him.

“I don’t want to study with a teacher like you—always stuck on your cell, who doesn’t even have time for your student,” I said angrily as I packed my things and started to leave.

“Fine—then you don’t have to come tomorrow,” he said carelessly and stalked off, glaring.

I was furious. I became convinced he didn’t value me at all.

-*****💞💞💞💞

For a week I refused to go to his tuition—no matter what.

“Aiman dear… Junaid is here,” my mother called while I was in my room.

“Then why are you telling me?” I said, coming to the stairs, pouting.

“Because he’s come to tutor you,” Mom said. This surprised me not at all—every time I stopped going, that grumpy uncle would loiter in our house until I had no choice but to accept his tuition.

“Tell him to go home. I’m not studying with him,” I said loudly so he could hear.

“Don’t be rude—come study right away,” Mom ordered, and left.

I couldn’t understand why that miserly man wouldn’t leave me alone. What would he gain from educating me?

I stomped into the drawing room and sulkily opened the books when he kindly said, “Take out your books.”

I could not bring myself to oppose him; I opened the books, still sulking. But from that day onward, I never saw him engrossed in his cell while I studied. His change in behavior made me happy and hopeful—maybe, just maybe, I mattered a little in the grumpy man’s heart. Perhaps only a tiny speck, but something.

****----*****💞💞💞

“Wow—what a handsome man!” my friend sighed dramatically. We all looked up toward the restaurant entrance where that handsome guy was entering.

My water glass was at my lips.

“Truly—what a hunk,” another friend sighed, and I felt the water catch in my throat because the handsome guy entering was mine.

“What is this grumpy uncle doing here?” I had skipped my English class to party with friends at a restaurant. My group spoke crudely and freely. I panicked and awkwardly placed the menu before me.

“Where are such handsome wealthy guys found? We never meet them,” my friend whispered longingly at Junaid bro.

My friends’ group were busy staring at Junaid bro from head to toe.

He wore a light pink shirt and white pants—casual but deadly. One wrist bore his habitual watch. He wasn’t especially dressed up, yet he looked stunning. He was probably there for a meeting, sitting alone, working on his iPad.

One thing I admitted: Junaid bro looked devilish handsome in white.

What surprised me was how he seemed to ignore the admiring glances around him. Didn’t he feel it? Didn’t he see how many girls’ eyes were on him? Did he love Sehrish Aapi so much that he never even glanced at another girl?

Those thoughts made me unexpectedly sad; Sehrish Aapi’s repeated accusations echoed in my ears.

“Oh—hello—don’t fall for this handsome man,” my eyes fixed on him while my mind wandered.

My friend across me tried to tease. I blurted out impulsively, “Who would he ever take if I wanted to give him my heart?”

Two or three seconds later, I shook my head—what nonsense was I talking? Since when had I developed feelings for him? My words shocked my friends; it was the first time I’d shown interest in any boy.

“What’s wrong, Aiman? Why are you talking like that?” a friend asked.

“Nothing—let’s go somewhere else,” I said. Sometimes sadness and gloom would overwhelm me; this was one of those episodes. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out. The others followed.

As I stepped toward the road to hail a taxi, I felt a firm hand holding mine.

“Oh no—” I immediately knew it was Grumpy Uncle’s hand.

"Little scrappy, isn’t this your English class time? Why are you here?” he asked, squinting as if checking a stray pigeon. I had no reply.

Damn, this wave of sadness has ruined me… Now I’ll have to face humiliation in front of all my friends. I still hadn’t dared to lift my eyes toward them, but I could imagine exactly how their face must be burning red with anger right now…

“Are you listening to me, little scrappy?” his voice grew sterner.

“Well… the teacher wasn’t there today, so we came to party,” I lied with all the innocence I could muster.

“Okay,” he said, seeming to believe me. “Come with me.” He took my hand and began to lead me back inside.

My friends looked puzzled.

“I am going home with my friends,” I tried to yank my hand away.

“No need—I’ll be free from my meeting soon and I’ll go with you to the center,” he insisted.

“What? Why?” My imagination flashed: he’d come with me to the center—my disaster unfolding. I protested.

“Because I don’t work hard to earn money only to have you miss your classes and go to parties,” he said, showing off.

“Then don’t pay my fees. Who begged you? You’re the one obsessed with making me take English. I don’t need your help,” I grumbled.

“You’re making a fuss,” he glared in that look that made me feel small.

I sat like a child, occasionally checking the time, tapping my foot as if punished for going to a party.

Junaid bro and an elderly, bald, suited uncle were discussing in English around me—English made my head spin; I couldn’t follow.

Then the bald uncle asked me something in English. I’m severely allergic to English—not because I love Urdu more, but because English feels alien. I tried to read his expressions like a mute.

I felt embarrassed for not knowing English. Junaid bro answered with a smile. From that day on I focused more in my English classes.

-----*💞💞💞💞

“Us?” Our whole family was going for a picnic together for the first time. I had never been to Keenjhar Lake. I sat by the bus window watching the boys load luggage on top. I’d had a fever for two days, so I wasn’t very excited.

Someone sat down next to me; when I glanced, my eyes froze. He wore black pants and a dark red T-shirt, sunglasses on his eyes, a watch on one wrist, and a cell in the other hand—smiling at me.

“Has your fever gone down?” he asked, ignoring the irritation in my eyes and placing his hand on my forehead gently.

“No. I took medicine, so it’s coming down,” I said; lips dry, slightly pale. My body felt broken.

“Don’t worry—Allah will make you well,” he said, stroking my hair gently, then resumed his cell.

He wore few T-shirts, and his fair hand shone in the sun. I stared at him. Later he took off his sunglasses and put them on his T-shirt.

At that moment I thought he was an atomic piece—so handsome. If he were less grumpy, maybe I’d fall for him.

Then Sehrish Aapi’s thought came. “You’re so cute… go to hell—who would ever be ours?” I murmured angrily and looked out the window.

At Keenjhar Lake everything was calm—the cold breeze refreshing. By the water’s edge I stood while Junaid bro stood beside me. Imad bro invited him to walk in the water.

“No—I’m fine here,” he refused and sat on a chair at the edge. Everyone called him but he stayed by my side. He never said, “I’m here for you,” yet I felt happy inside.

Sehrish Aapi came and stood near him. My blood boiled. I stomped toward Amna aapi and stood by her.

“Why are you here?” Amna aapi scolded me, but the scolding had an element of care.

“Are you mad? Why are you letting Sehrish take what’s yours?” Amna aapi scolded but with love.

“My right? Since when did Junaid bro become mine? He’s always been Aapi’s. I came between them; that’s why she calls me a witch,” I answered sadly.

Only my heart knew how much it hurt to be called a witch by Aapi.

“Aiman, snap out of it. Junaid is your fiancé and the whole family knows. Aapi is ruining your happiness out of jealousy. Don’t let her destroy your life—everyone sees what she’s doing. Her plan was, if she can’t have him, she won’t let you have him either.” Aapi tried to make me understand.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

“Go back and stand there—remind Aapi that her husband is here and that she should talk to him,”amna Aapi encouraged. I returned like a drenched kitten.

“Aapi—your husband remembers you,” I whispered, though Aapi’s fear still sat in my heart. If Amna hadn’t awakened courage in me, I could never have stood face to face with Sehrish Aapi.

Sehrish Aapi ignored me shamefully, standing boldly.

“Sit down—your feet will tire.” Junaid bro brought me a chair, but I refused, saying, “I’ve been sitting the whole way; I’m not sitting now.”

This time he asked me more firmly to seat: “Ah—your lips are so pale.” He came close, concerned.

“Yes. It’s the fever,” I whispered.

“Do you have lipstick?” he asked. Aapi took a lipstick from her purse and handed it to me.

“You don’t even know how to apply lipstick,” Sehrish Aapi smirked. I had no mirror; instinctively I dabbed it on. She opened her mouth in mockery: “Let me fix it.”

I expected Junaid to join in the mockery, but instead he took a handkerchief and gently wiped the lipstick off my lips. His touch sent an electric thrill through me. I couldn’t breathe.

I glanced at Aapi; her eyes were blazing. Junaid bro put the handkerchief back in his pocket: “Better now.”

“Walk with me for a bit—I don’t feel like sitting,” I suggested, taking advantage of the grumpy uncle’s softened mood because of my illness.

He exhaled deeply, put a hand in his pocket, and walked ahead silently. I followed him. We both stepped into the wet mud together. He was unusually quiet today, but I liked his silence.

--------*💞💞💞💞

I stood by the window when suddenly Junaid bro’s bike arrived and someone suspicious rode up behind him. My eyes widened with fear—the man pointed a gun at Junaid.

My blood ran cold. If that scoundrel shot Junaid—what could I do?

I ran downstairs like a madwoman. If I had a knife, I’d have killed him—but I had nothing. I saw a hockey stick in the garage and grabbed it, determined to stop the attacker.

I hit him from behind with all my strength. He writhed on the ground. I was ready to strike again when Junaid bro screamed at me.

I was furious—how could he imagine I would stand idle while he was in danger? Would they have stood still if the roles were reversed? Would they have left me to call for help? I’d rather act than be helpless.

For the first time, I realized how important he was in my life—what place he held in my heart. I was angry at myself for feeling anything for the grumpy uncle who barely cared for me.

They hadn’t even noticed I’d run barefoot—my feet were bleeding, but they simply yelled. They didn’t see my pain; all they knew was to shout.

“Sorry I tried to help,” I said for the first time, turning to them. I spoke each word through clenched teeth.

Finally I kicked that scoundrel hard in the stomach and returned home with wide eyes.

-------💞💞💞💞

This heart is crazy, damn it. I don’t know why I expected them to console me. I had hoped they’d care about my displeasure. Instead they cut off communication.

“Grumpy-hearted uncle—may God never give such a fiancé to anyone,” I muttered constantly.

“If he has no interest in you, what’s the point of the forced engagement? If you ask me, break it yourself instead of waiting for him to do it,” Danish—my childhood companion—said bluntly. His words hit like a bomb; for a couple of seconds my mind went blank.

“Shut up, you nonsense—maybe I’ll break your face,” I snapped, hitting him with a thick book and scolding him.

“He’s right. Life is short; why cry forever? Everyone can see he doesn’t like you. Why can’t you see?” he said irritatedly.

“Maybe I just don’t want to see. I’m happy—I don’t want to make Mom and Dad suffer like Aapi did. As for the grumpy uncle—I believe after darkness there’s light. Someday that grumpy man will be mine,” I said teasingly, winking.

“Why are the elders closing their eyes?” he grumbled in anger.

“Stop whining—why are you acting so worried?” I teased, tapping his shoulder.

I knew Danish was right. Not only he, but Mom and my elder brothers also worried about Junaid bro’s careless and cold behavior toward me.

I had stopped going to his tuition out of my pride—probably the biggest mistake of my life. I waited for him for two weeks, but he never came to teach at my home.

No matter how angry you are, you shouldn't cut off contact—otherwise you regret it. That’s what happened to me.

#To be continued😊

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