born enemy

3

Where Moheeb used to call my mother a “dancer” with disdain, Jazay, on the other hand, always addressed her respectfully as “Aunt.”

It was Moheeb’s birthday. He had just turned nineteen — and I was nine.

A strange coincidence, but we both shared the same birth date: August 23rd.

Mama had lovingly baked a cake for Moheeb, and from the leftover batter, she’d made a small one for me too.

That night is still vivid in my memory —

The moment when Moheeb, in front of all the guests, picked up the cake Mama had baked for him and smashed it to the ground.

Then, right there in front of everyone, he called her a “cheap dancer” and humiliated her.

Fire blazed inside me.

I couldn’t bear it — him insulting my mother like that, publicly, and for no reason.

And then… what could anyone expect? I am a Malik too. The same blood runs in my veins.

I rushed into the kitchen and saw a pair of scissors lying on the counter.

I picked it up and went out into the lawn.

My attack was so sudden that he couldn’t defend himself.

I’d intended to stab those scissors straight through his head —

and with all my might, I struck him.

People couldn’t believe what they were seeing —

a nine-year-old girl launching a murderous attack on a nineteen-year-old boy.

Moheeb collapsed instantly, blood gushing from his head.

Believe me — I didn’t feel even a hint of regret.

Grandfather slapped me hard, and I fell to the ground.

Mama ran to me, crying, lifting me in her trembling arms.

And I… I stood watching the entire Malik family crying like madmen —

it brought me a strange, dark peace inside.

They took Moheeb away in an ambulance, right before my eyes.

Grandmother came toward me, slapped me repeatedly across the face,

and hurled filthy insults.

But neither her curses were new to me, nor those slaps.

Because of the “murder attempt” on Moheeb, she called the police.

I was terrified — trembling as they were about to hand me over.

Mama fell to her knees before Grandmother, crying, begging forgiveness for me.

But that stone-hearted woman wasn’t moved by tears.

Until Grandfather returned from the hospital — and announced that Moheeb was out of danger.

His survival burned my heart even more.

Among the guests at Moheeb’s birthday was my father’s childhood friend and his family.

His wife, Madam Anaiza, was a kind-hearted woman.

She refused to let them hand me over to the police.

She insisted on taking me with her — to America, far away from that toxic environment.

Mama saw no future for me in Malik Mansion.

Madam Anaiza was a college lecturer in the U.S.,

and she gave Mama her word that she would raise me into a capable and educated person.

Mama was helpless…

and for my sake, she agreed.

For a few months, money kept arriving regularly for my care,

but then suddenly, the payments stopped.

Later we found out that Uncle had handed over the entire business to my sworn enemy — Moheeb.

And the first thing he did after taking charge…

was to stop the funds being sent for me.

Madam Anaiza supported me greatly, but I too began working small jobs from a young age.

At first, I lived in an apartment with Madam Anaiza, Uncle Shafiq, and their son Zaroon.

Maybe one reason Zaroon is so close to my heart

is because he’s the son of the people who became my saviors.

Both Uncle and Madam Anaiza were often busy with their work,

so most of the time, it was just Zaroon and me together at home.

Back then, I was unaware of his feelings for me.

I had always admired his personality, yes —

but I had never imagined engagement or marriage with him.

To me, I wasn’t worthy.

After all, my upbringing was funded by his parents —

and that made me feel small, indebted.

But on my 19th birthday, Zaroon proposed to me —

in front of all our friends and family.

It felt like a beautiful dream come true.

He had arranged a grand surprise birthday party just for me.

Along with that, he gifted me a red, floor-length gown that looked so luxurious,

I could tell at one glance it was expensive.

And yet, that strange man never admitted it was from him.

But who else could have given me something so beautiful?

She smiled to herself, lost in the waves of her memories,

gazing fondly at the ring on her finger — the one Zaroon had placed there.

---

“Ma’am... here.”

Najma was so lost in her thoughts that when a hand suddenly touched her shoulder, she instinctively brushed it off —

not realizing who it was.

The secretary, holding a mug of coffee meant for her, lost her grip —

and the entire cup spilled onto Moheeb’s clothes.

“Ahh!” He gasped sharply, jumping to his feet.

He glanced down at his white sweater, now stained,

then shot a furious look at the woman standing before him —

still frozen, biting her lip in embarrassment.

The hot coffee seeped through the fabric, burning his chest.

He tugged the sweater slightly away from his skin, wincing.

“I’m so sorry! So sorry!” Najma said quickly,

pulling a tissue from her jeans pocket and stepping close to him —

trying to wipe the coffee off his chest without hesitation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Moheeb snapped through clenched teeth, his anger boiling.

In the next instant, he snatched the tissue from her hand.

“Keep your filthy hands off me.”

He glared at her with pure contempt and stood up sharply.

Najma’s face turned red with fury.

“Filthy hands? The world might change, but you never will, you arrogant frog!”

she muttered, pouting as she sat back down, fuming.

---

Moheeb was always seen with his Bluetooth earpiece,

busy with business calls every moment.

“Uff! Are you blind?” he shouted irritably when Najma, climbing the stairs absentmindedly, bumped into him.

“No, not you—wait—I'll call you back.”

He ended his call and glared at her again.

“Where are you going? The servants’ quarters aren’t upstairs. Forgot already?”

His tone dripped with sarcasm as he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

Najma hadn’t been given a guest room like the other visitors in Malik Mansion —

instead, she had been assigned the same small room she’d lived in as a child.

But since she was only staying for a week, she hadn’t argued about it.

“I remember perfectly well, Moheeb Ajlal Malik.”

The fearless way she said his full name while locking eyes with him

ignited something dark inside him.

His grip on her delicate arm tightened.

“How dare you?” he growled, eyes blazing.

“Let go of me. Try showing this attitude to the people who survive on your money, not me. Okay? Now, please... excuse me.”

Her tone was steady, her lips curved in a mocking smile as she jerked her arm free.

Moheeb was stunned by her courage.

No one had ever dared look him in the eye and speak like that.

“Don’t you think your tongue runs a bit too loose?”

He caught her arm again, twisting her back toward him, his tone icy cold.

His eyes burned with fury.

“And don’t you think your hands move a bit too freely?”

she snapped back, matching his fire.

Their eyes locked — both blazing.

“Let go of my hand!” she said, struggling.

But this time, Moheeb had made it a matter of ego.

“And what if I don’t? Will you try to kill me again?”

He yanked her closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear mockingly.

“You’re mistaken, Moheeb Ajlal Malik.”

Her voice was sharp, her eyes wild.

“This time, it won’t be an attempt. This time, I’ll kill you for real.”

Just then, a gentle male voice interrupted:

“Hello!”

Both of them turned.

“Jazay!” Najma exclaimed with joy, her anger instantly melting away.

Her eyes lit up like fireflies.

Moheeb dropped her arm and stepped back.

Najma Happily skipped up the stairs and reached Jazay.

“Najma! Wow, you’ve grown up so much — and so beautiful too!”

Jazay said warmly, hugging her tightly.

Najma, who never let any man come close except Zaroon,

stood frozen for a moment in his embrace.

Moheeb’s eyes, however, stayed fixed on them.

“I didn’t think I was important enough for you to come back. Thank you… really.”

Jazay smiled as he released her.

“You’re welcome,” Najma said softly, eyes lowered, her voice awkward.

“Come, I’ll show you Sobia’s pictures,”

he said, taking her hand naturally and leading her to his room.

Jazay and Moheeb hadn’t spoken properly in months —

some serious conflict had turned into silent bitterness between them.

But Moheeb didn’t stop him.

He knew his brother was hurt — deeply.

---

“Wow… your room hasn’t changed a bit in ten years!”

Najma said, entering the room with wonder and nostalgia.

Jazay smiled and nodded.

“Remember? I used to hide behind that vase while we played.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she pointed to the corner vase.

Many of her sweetest childhood memories were tied to this room.

“Here.”

Jazay handed her a black jacket from his cupboard.

“This jacket… oh!” she stopped mid-sentence, caught between a bitter and sweet memory.

“Yes, this one. I still remember it clearly — how could I forget?”

Her voice softened as she drifted into the past.

“It was freezing cold that night.

Every room in Malik Mansion had heaters — except mine.

Mama was in the hospital, very sick.

I was alone, shivering under two or three blankets,

hungry and sleepless.

Finally, I went to the kitchen.

There, I saw a cheese burger left by Moheeb in the fridge.

I couldn’t resist and ate it cold.

The servants treated me like the daughter of a maid.

They called Moheeb and Jazay “young masters,”

while I was just “Miss Najma.”

As I was hurrying back to my room,

I saw Jazay sitting on the sofa in the lounge.

When he saw me trembling,

he quickly took off his black jacket and draped it over me.

‘Take care of yourself until Aunt comes back from the hospital,’

he said kindly, with his usual gentle smile.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I have a school match tomorrow. Coach called for extra practice.’

‘Then take this back, or you’ll catch a cold,’ I said, trying to return it.

‘No, keep it. I’ll have a servant bring me another.’

I nodded happily and was heading back to my room when I saw —

Moheeb.

‘Who told you you could wear Jazay’s jacket?’ he barked.

He snatched it off me and threw it to the floor.

Calling the maid, he ordered coldly,

‘This jacket’s been dirtied by this girl. Burn it.’

I stood there, speechless.

How could my wearing it make it dirty?

And if it was, why burn it? Why not just give it to me?

‘Please don’t burn it — give it to me instead, I need it,’ I pleaded.

‘This belongs to my brother. You’re not worthy of wearing it.’

And with that, he left

his eyes full of hatred and disgust.

That look… hurt me more than anything.

Even today, I can still feel that same pain.”

She was lost in the memory when Jazay snapped his fingers to bring her back.

“Yeah… I took it back from the maid later. Never got a chance to return it,” he said with a smile.

“You keep it. I don’t need it anymore,” Najma said softly.

Because it wasn’t just a jacket —

it carried the sting of Moheeb’s contempt.

The pain she’d felt ten years ago…

she could feel it still.

Jazay looked disappointed.

He had fought hard to get that jacket back from Moheeb.

Seeing his face fall, Najma quickly added,

“Besides, I’ve grown taller now — it won’t even fit me anymore.”

He smiled faintly.

“Alright then, I’ll keep it myself.”

He placed the jacket carefully back in his cupboard.

-

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