Okay, okay, Maha, you've got this. Deep breaths. You're a force of nature, a whirlwind of creativity, a designer extraordinaire. But you're also a tiny bit screwed because you don't have models. Minor detail, right? Right?!
I pace back and forth in the garden of our university, waving my sketchpad in the air like it's some ancient artifact that could summon a miracle. My best friends (and, let's be honest, my only hope) are sprawled across the benches and the ground, their expressions ranging from mildly amused to outright scandalized.
"Are you serious right now?" Ayra glares at me over the rim of her coffee mug, her tone colder than the iced coffee she's drinking. "You're this careless over the project that's so important for you!"
"Not helping, Ayra!" I clutch my chest as if her words physically wound me. "I'm under immense pressure here! The fate of my university fashion show lies in my handsâand my designs, which, by the way, are FABULOUS."
"Then what's the issue?" Zaid interjects lazily, flipping through his phone. His tone is so casual it makes me want to scream. "Oh, wait, you forgot the most important part of a fashion showâthe models."
I groan, dramatically flopping onto the grass
Oh how soft....FOCUS MAHA!
"Yes, Captain Obvious! Thank you for stating the obvious! I. Need. Models!"
Rayan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shakes his head at me. "You're unbelievable. How do you function?"
"Barely!" I shoot back, sitting up straight. "But that's not the point. The point is, I need a solution!"
"Here's an idea," Ayan pipes up, smirking. "Why don't you go out there and model yourself? You're already crazy enough to pull it off."
"AYAN!" Inaya smacks his arm, her protective mode activating. "This is serious! Maha's show is tonight!"
"Exactly Naya!" I gesture wildly to her. "Thank you for understanding my plight."
Hoorain, ever the calm and composed one, raises a hand like she's in a boardroom meeting. "Okay, everyone, let's think rationally. There has to be a way to fix this without Maha having a breakdown."
"Too late!" Ayra mutters under her breath, earning a glare from me.
Ahad Bhai clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "What if you borrow models from the university qouta?"
"I tried! Everyone's already booked Ahad Bhai," I wail.
"Well," Zaid says, putting his phone down with a mischievous glint in his eye. "There's only one solution left. We'll have to do it."
The room falls silent.
"WHAT?!" Ayra snaps, looking at Zaid like he's just grown a second head.
"Yeah, no," Rayan deadpans. "Not happening."
"Absolutely not," Ayra agrees. "I am NOT walking on a ramp, least of all with him." She points accusingly at Zaid.
"Hey, I don't want to walk with you either," Zaid retorts, his smirk widening. "But desperate times call for desperate measures."
"Guys," I interrupt, clasping my hands together in front of my chest. "Please! You're my only hope. My designs deserve to be showcased, and who better than my amazing, wonderful friends?"
"You mean us?" Ayan raises an eyebrow. "You know Maha I'm there with you through everything."
At least I have my crime partner with me.
"Come on, guys!" I spring to my feet, channeling every ounce of drama I possess. "Picture it: Ayra, the fierce queen; Zaid, the sassy showstopper; Inaya, my elegant muse; Ayan, the crazy heartthrob; Hoorain, the epitome of grace; Ahad bhai, the silent charmer; and Rayan, the grumpy yet irresistible football captain!"
Rayan snorts. "Gosh woman stop obsessing over me"
"What the--?" I point at him. "You'll be perfect. You've got the broodiness down."
"No way," Ayra says firmly.
"Absolutely not," Rayan echoes.
"No! My father won't allow it" Inaya interjects, although I know that her father doesn't care about Inaya's participation in a friendly fashion show but it's always her go to excuse.
"Well I do not know how to model" Hoor affirms while widening her already huge eyes.
"You'll even breath on that runaway and anyone will willingly spend millions on the dress your wearing" Ahad Bhai pulls Hoor closer.
C'mon guys stop getting this cringe!!!
"Guys, please!" I drop to my knees, clasping my hands in mock prayer. "If you love meâeven a littleâyou'll do this for me. I'll owe you forever! I'll even name my firstborn after you!"
"I don't need a kid named after any of them" Rayan mutters and everyone looks at him with shock.
"It was audible!! Rayan" everyone screams as he flinches.. cutie patootie pookie.
Am I supposed to be shy or tease him? Rayan pretends to cough and cover it.. hmm rhino shino aag lagi to basti mein thi magar lagta hai masti m Tum ho. Hehe.
"Well, I'll think of something else then! But please, please, please, help me!" I widen my eyes, pulling out my most lethal weapon: the puppy-dog look.
It's Hoorain who cracks first. "I'll do it."
"HOOR!" I throw my arms around her.
Ahad sighs, shaking his head but smiling. "If Hoor's in, I'm in."
"Ugh, fine" Inaya relents, glancing at Ayan. "But only if Ayan behaves."
"No promises," Ayan says with a wink.
Ayra and Zaid exchange a murderous glance but finally mutter, "Fine."
Rayan lets out a long, suffering sigh. "I hate you," he mutters, but I can see the corner of his lips twitching.
"I LOVE YOU ALL!" I scream, jumping up and down.
"Don't make us regret this" Ayra warns.
"Oh, you won't" I say, grinning from ear to ear. "We're going to SLAY this!"
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
The room allocated to me buzzes with last-minute preparations, but I canât hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat it's happening. The show is about to start. The judges are in their seats, the audience is murmuring in anticipation, and backstage, my best friends and their menâmy modelsâare going to emerge from the room to surprise me.
And then, they appear.
At first, Ayra emerges, and for a moment, the room seems to still. My breath catches as I take in the sight of her in my design.
The gown is everything I'd imagined and more. A floor-length masterpiece in deep, inky black, it flows like liquid night, its every movement catching the light with a soft shimmer. Tiny crystals are scattered across the fabric like constellations, forming a breathtaking galaxy that seems alive under the golden glow of the dressing room lights. The fitted bodice hugs Ayra's figure perfectly, with delicate silver thread embroidery tracing the shapes of stars. A sheer cape drapes from her shoulders, trailing behind her like the tail of a comet. Her hair is styled into sleek curls, and a single star-shaped pin glints in her dark tresses, completing the celestial look. Her grey eyes compliments the entire look. I knew she was beautiful but today she's... I'm speechless.
I blink, my mouth slightly open, stunned by how utterly ravishing she looks. "Ayra..." I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "You look like...like a star come to life."
Ayra raises an eyebrow, though her lips twitch with a hint of a smile. "Well, it's your dress girl... The work and everything is mesmerizing"
"Okay?" Zaid repeats, stepping fully into view. "If that's 'mesmerizing' I'd like to see what you think is exceptional."
Zaid, of course, is every bit as striking. His suit mirrors Ayra's gown in themeâa tailored black ensemble with subtle starry embroidery on the lapels and cuffs, glinting faintly like stardust. His midnight-blue shirt adds depth to the look, and the thin, silver tie gleams like a shooting star. With his dimples and glasses, he carries himself with an effortless confidence that makes him look every inch the showstopper.
Together, they look like a couple straight out of a cosmic fairytale, a vision of love written in the stars. My very first concept.
I barely have time to recover from the breathtaking sight of Ayra and Zaid before Ayan and Inaya take their turn. I grip the edge of my stool, anticipation bubbling like champagne in my veins. If Ayra and Zaid were the stars, then Ayan and Inaya are the gentle, glowing moonâsoft, soothing, and full of understated magic.
Inaya steps out first, and I nearly lose my balance.
Her gown is a dream woven into reality. A soft blush pink, the fabric flows like water, every layer as delicate as a petal. The bodice is intricately embroidered with subtle floral patterns in silver and pearl, each thread catching the light in a way that seems almost alive. The neckline is sweet and modest, highlighting her graceful collarbones, while the gown cinches at the waist before cascading down in an elegant flare. A gossamer cape drapes from her shoulders, its edges lined with faint, glowing patterns of intertwining hearts and roses, so fine they seem painted by moonlight.
Her dark brown hair is styled in soft waves, framing her almond-shaped hazel eyes that glimmer with nervous excitement. She looks ethereal, like the embodiment of quiet, enduring love.
"Inaya," I whisper, my voice catching, "you look... angelic."
Before she can respond, the sound of deliberate footsteps fills the room, and all heads turn.
Ayan strides out with the kind of exaggerated confidence that only he could pull off. He stops just short of Inaya, adjusts the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, and then strikes a pose that has all of us groaning in unison.
"You're welcome, world," he declares, flashing his boxy smile and tilting his head for maximum effect.
His outfit is a masterstroke of simplicity and elegance. A perfectly tailored suit in dove gray, the jacket adorned with delicate, almost invisible floral embroidery that mirrors Inaya's gown. His white shirt is pristine, open at the collar, forgoing a tie in favor of a soft, romantic charm. He's styled his dark, slightly wavy hair back neatly, but it's his eyesâthose mischievous monolids sparkling with amusementâthat complete the look.
"You're supposed to complement Inaya," I snap, though I can't keep the grin off my face. "Not outshine her!"
"Impossible," Ayan replies, his grin widening as he offers Inaya his hand. "This one's got the real glow. I'm just here to keep up."
Inaya blushes furiously but places her hand in his, and the contrast is beautifulâher softness and his boldness, her shyness and his exuberance. Together, they look like a portrait of love in its purest form, soft and sweet, like the "first blossom of spring"
The room is alive with an almost electric anticipation as Hoorain and Ahad's turn approaches. I sit on the edge of my seat, waiting, knowing that the next theme is one I poured my heart into. It's called "Ethereal Bond" a tribute to love that is both unspoken and undeniableâa connection so profound, it exists beyond words, beyond time.
The door to the changing room creaks open, and first comes Hoorain, stepping out with a quiet elegance that immediately draws every eye.
Her gown is a masterpiece in powder blue, the soft hue reminiscent of a clear dawn sky. The bodice is delicately beaded with shimmering crystals and pearls, catching the light like dew drops on a morning flower. The fabric flows in layers of weightless chiffon, each step creating a ripple effect that feels like a gentle breeze over still water. A sweetheart neckline accentuates her collarbones, while sheer, embroidered sleeves cascade to her wrists, adding a touch of delicacy to her already angelic look. Her ash-brown hair is swept back into a loose, romantic bun, with soft tendrils framing her blue eyes that seem brighter than ever.
She looks like she's stepped out of a dreamâfragile, timeless, and hauntingly beautiful.
I'm still taking her in when Ahad steps out behind her, and it feels like the air is stolen from the room.
He's dressed in a tailored black suit with powder-blue accentsâsharp and dangerously handsome, a vision of strength and subtle sophistication. The lapels of his jacket are embroidered with fine silver thread, mirroring the crystalline patterns on Hoorain's gown, like their connection is woven into the fabric itself. His crisp white shirt is open at the collar, exuding a quiet confidence, and his dark hair is slicked back, drawing attention to his chiseled features and intense eyes.
Together, they are mesmerizing. They embody the theme of an unbreakable bond, their outfits complementing each other like two halves of a perfect whole.
For a moment, no one speaks. Even Ayra's sharp tongue is silenced, and Ayan stops mid-comment, his jaw slack.
"Hoorain" I finally breathe, my voice trembling with emotion, "you're...beyond words. And Ahad..." My eyes flick to him, and he smirks faintly, knowing the effect he has. "You both are the epitome of this theme. Perfect."
Hoorain's cheeks flush a delicate pink, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's all your design, Maha" she says softly, her voice as gentle as her presence.
All of them go and adjust themselves for their final entry. I can't ever have more beautiful models than my best friends, they totally outshone my designs.
Behind the curtains, my heart races as I make the final adjustments to my own gown.
Designers don't model in their own shows, or so they say. But I've never been one to follow rules. Why shouldn't I showcase my own creation? Why shouldn't I step out and prove that my designs are not just art but a reflection of me?
My gown is a masterpiece in its own rightâan embodiment of the very essence of being a designer. The theme is "Born to Create," a celebration of creativity, individuality, and courage. The dress is crafted in a stunning shade of deep plum, a color that speaks of ambition and passion. The bodice is structured with intricate beading and embroidery, forming a pattern of swirling threads that symbolize ideas coming to life. The skirt flows in layers of silk and tulle, its movement reminiscent of a painter's brushstrokes on a blank canvas.
The back is low-cut, with a delicate train that follows behind me, embellished with sparkling sequins that catch the light like stars in the night sky. My hair is styled in soft waves, pinned back just enough to reveal my face, and my makeup is bold but elegant, with a hint of shimmer around my eyes and a deep plum lipstick to match the dress.
I begin to get out of the room but suddenly the lights dim and I hear footsteps.
"Who's there?" I call out, my voice softer than I intend, betraying the sudden nervous flutter in my chest.
The door creaks open, and there he isâRayan. His tall frame is backlit by the faint hallway glow, casting shadows that only make his features sharper, more striking. My mouth parts, gosh I haven't seen anyone this handsome. He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him, and I suddenly feel like the air in the room has been sucked out. C'mon where's the confident Maha?
He's not smiling, but his intense gaze locks onto me, sending a jolt down my spine. His black tuxedo clings to him perfectly, the plum accents matching my gown as if it was always meant to be this way.
"Rayan" I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are youâ"
"Shhh." He cuts me off, his voice low. It's not commanding but intimate, like he's sharing a secret meant only for me. He moves closer, his steps unhurried, purposeful, until he's standing so close I can feel the faint warmth radiating from him.
"You're still here," he says, his tone almost accusatory, though his lips quirk into the faintest smirk. His eyes flicker over me, lingering on my gown, on the shimmering sequins that catch the dim light like stars. "You weren't planning to walk out looking like this without me, were you?"
I blink up at him, caught completely off guard. "IâI didn't think you'dâ"
What's wrong with him?
Where's rhino?
Because this is RAYAN KHAN!
He takes another step closer, closing the gap between us until there's barely a breath of space left. My back brushes against the vanity, and I grip its edge, needing something solid to ground me.
"I'd what? Let you go out there looking like a goddess without making sure you knew exactly what you're doing to me?" His voice drops even lower, sending a shiver through me.
yes, Rayan Khan has swapped souls.
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, my carefully done makeup likely betraying the blush creeping across my skin. "Rayan, stop" I mumble, glancing anywhere but at him, though his presence makes it nearly impossible.
"Stop what?" he murmurs, leaning in just enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating. "Stop telling you how breathtaking you are? Or stop standing this close because it's driving you crazy?"
My heart is pounding now, a wild drumbeat in my chest. He's teasing, bold and unrelenting, but the way he looks at meâlike I'm the only thing in the world worth his attentionâleaves me speechless.
"Learn to hesitate Rayan" I manage, my voice embarrassingly shaky.
he chuckles a rare, playful softness entering his gaze. "Tables have turned Maha?"
I suck in a sharp breath as his hand lifts, his fingers brushing against a loose strand of my hair. He tucks it behind my ear, his touch light but enough to send sparks skittering down my spine.
"Why are you doing this? We're in a fake relationship" I whisper, finally meeting his eyes, though it takes all my courage.
"Are we?" he says simply, his voice steady and sure. "Because I fake relationships aren't supposed to make you lose control, they aren't supposed to drive you crazy, nor they should make you feel foreign things for the other one."
His voice drops, "yet Maha, all of those things are happening... Even if I don't want them to"
For a moment, I'm not sure what to say. The boldness in his words, in the way he looks at me, leaves me utterly unmoored. I feel exposed, not because of my gown, but because of the way he sees meâlike I'm everything.
He leans in, his face inches from mine, and I swear time slows down. My breath hitches, and I don't move, too stunned, too caught up in the moment to do anything but stare at him.
"Tell me Maha" he says softly, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "Does anything about us feel fake?"
No it doesn't. I want to reply but the words die on my tongue.
And with that, he pulls back, leaving me breathless, my heart racing as he walks toward the door. He pauses, glancing back with a smirk that sets my nerves alight.
"I'll be waiting," he says, his voice a promise, before disappearing into the hallway.
I'm left gripping the edge of the vanity, my mind spinning, my cheeks flushed, and my heart pounding. What just happened? And why does it feel like I'll never forget it?
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
The air is electric as the music begins, the spotlight illuminating the runway. I stand hidden behind the curtain, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure everyone can hear it. My hands clutch the edge of the curtain tightly, my nerves a swirling mix of excitement and anxiety. The judges sit in their seats, their faces composed yet curious, their sharp gazes scanning the stage for every detail.
And then, the show begins.
First, it's Ayra and Zaid. The tension between them is palpable, yet it adds to the allure of their themeâlove written in stars. Ayra, dressed in the galaxy-inspired gown, walks with her usual elegance, but there's a fire in her steps.
Damnn the boss lady she is!! On knees for her!
Zaid matches her stride, his dark suit glimmering with subtle star-like embroidery. As they near the end of the runway, Zaid does something unexpected. He takes Ayra's hand, pulls her close, and with a smirk, slides a ring onto her finger. The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles, and even Ayra, grumpy as ever, can't hide the flush in her cheeks.
I can't help but laugh softly at their moment. "Trust Zaid to turn a fashion show into a proposal," I whisper to myself, shaking my head fondly.
Next comes Ayan and Inaya, the embodiment of soft love and playfulness. Inaya walks gracefully, her hazel almond-shaped eyes glowing under the lights, her soft-themed gown flowing around her like a dream. Inayan knows how to flatter everyone after all they are the best couple here.
As Inaya walks, she flips her long hair which ended up hitting Ayan. He places a hand on his chest and gives a sign which clearly announces, "I'm dead"
The crowd bursts into laughter, and Inaya looks ready to murder him, but there's a fondness in her gaze. She pulls him up, smacking his arm lightly as they continue their walk, Ayan grinning like a fool the entire time.
I can't stop smiling. That's so them. It seems like my themes are literally designed after them.
Then it's Hoorain and Ahad, a picture of grace and devotion. Hoorain looks ethereal in her powder blue gown, her ash-brown hair styled in a loose bun that frame her delicate face. Ahad, ever the gentleman, offers her his arm as they walk. But just before the end of the runway, he stops, steps back, and gives her a twirl, the gown flaring beautifully around her. The audience lets out a collective gasp, and Hoorain's shy smile makes the moment all the more enchanting. Ahad looks at her like she's the only person in the room, and I feel my chest tighten at the sheer purity of it.
My modelsâmy bestiesâare bringing my designs to life in ways I could've never imagined. Each couple, each moment, is like a story unfolding before my eyes, and I can't stop the overwhelming pride swelling in my heart.
And then, it's my turn.
The announcer's voice booms, introducing me as the designer. My palms are sweaty, but I step forward, the train of my gown gliding gracefully behind me. The crowd erupts into applause, and I take a deep breath, holding my head high as I walk onto the stage.
But just as I reach the center, the crowd's cheers grow louder, and I realize why. From the shadows emerges Rayan, looking effortlessly handsome in his black tuxedo. His stride is confident, and his gaze is locked onto me, his dark eyes filled with something I can't quite name.
The air between us shifts as he steps up beside me, his hand brushing against mine. For a moment, I forget the audience, the judgesâeverything. It's just him.
He leans closer, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "You did it my crazy girl."
I glance up at him, feeling my cheeks heat. "Only because you were with me my rhino"
"Always Maha" he interrupts, his boldness leaving me speechless. "Because you deserve this. All of it."
Before I can respond, he takes my hand and raises it in the air, signaling our final walk. The crowd roars, the applause deafening, and I let myself soak it all in. As we walk back together, I feel a sense of completeness I've never felt before.
When we return to the center, the judges stand, giving me a standing ovation. I blink, tears threatening to spill as their applause rings in my ears. They're smiling, nodding, their approval evident.
I look out at the audience, at my friends standing proudly by the stage, and finally at Rayan, who's still holding my hand.
For the first time, I feel like I've truly made it. My designs, my vision, my friendsâit's all real, and it's all mine.
My besties are the first to reach me, their faces glowing with pride and excitement. Inaya and Hoorain are clapping enthusiastically, while Ayra smirks, giving me a nod of approval. Even Zaid and Ahad bhai, with his usual sassy demeanor, offers a genuine smile.
"Maha, you did it!" Hoorain exclaims, throwing her arms around me.
"You're a star, woman!" Ayan adds dramatically, spinning me around before I smack his arm, laughing.
Rayan stays by my side, his hand lingering protectively on my back. His gaze is soft yet proud, and his faint smirk makes my heart flutter.
But before I can process any of it, a crowd of people begins to close in, congratulating me, asking questions, shaking my hand.
"Miss Maha, your designs are breathtaking!"
"The themes, the executionâit's revolutionary!"
"I can't believe you're still a student. This is professional-level work!"
I nod and smile, overwhelmed but grateful, trying to answer their questions and accept their compliments without completely losing my mind. My head spins as I'm bombarded with praise, and just when I think it can't get any crazier, I hear a voice that makes everything else fade.
"Excuse me, may I have a word with the designer?"
The crowd parts, and my breath catches. Standing there is none other than Amara riaz, a renowned name in the fashion world. She's legendary, the kind of designer whose shows are attended by celebrities and whose collections are featured in every major magazine.
"Amara riaz" I whisper in disbelief, my voice barely audible.
She steps forward, her presence commanding yet warm. Her dark eyes study me with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "Miss Maha" she begins, her voice smooth and confident. "I must say, your work tonight was nothing short of extraordinary. The creativity, the attention to detail, the narratives you've woven into each pieceâit's remarkable."
I blink, struggling to find words. "Th-thank you" I stammer, my voice shaking.
She smiles, a hint of amusement in her expression. "I rarely come across talent like yours, especially at such a young age. You have a unique vision, and it's clear you're not afraid to take risks. That's what this industry needs."
I can barely breathe as she continues.
"I have a proposition for you," she says, her gaze steady. "I'd like you to join my team. Work with me on my upcoming collections. I believe you have the potential to make a significant impact on a global scale."
For a moment, I think I've misheard her. "You... you want me to work with you?"
"Yes," she says simply. "Your talent deserves a platform, and I'd be honored to help you build it."
The crowd buzzes with excitement, and my friends are beaming, their pride evident. Inaya looks like she might cry, Ayan is already clapping, and Ayra mutters something like, "I always knew she'd pull off something insane."
I feel Rayan's hand tighten gently on my back. "Say yes," he whispers, his voice low but encouraging.
"Yes," I say, the word slipping out before I can overthink it. "Yes, I'd love to!"
Amara's smile widens. "Excellent. We'll talk details soon, but for now, enjoy this momentâyou've earned it."
She turns to leave, but not before adding, "Oh, and welcome to the world of high fashion, Miss Maha."
As she walks away, the crowd erupts into applause again, and I feel tears prick my eyes. My dream is no longer just a dreamâit's happening.
My friends swarm me, their excitement infectious.
"You're officially a big deal now," Zaid teases.
"You mean she's always been a big deal," Hoorain corrects, her voice soft but firm.
"You're going to slay even harder now, Maha," Inaya adds, her hazel eyes shining.
I look around at all of them, at the people cheering, at Rayan's steady, proud gaze, and I know one thing for sure.
This is only the beginning.
The moment Ayra steps out of the dressing room, the world around me stills. It's as if time itself pauses to admire her beauty. She's wearing the black gown with shimmering galaxies, a masterpiece crafted by Maha. The way the fabric clings to her figure, yet flows like liquid starlight, makes her look ethereal, untouchableâlike she's descended from the heavens just to torment me with her perfection.
Her raven hair cascades over her shoulders in soft curls, and those stormy gray eyes of hers hold a power that pulls me under every time. She looks fierce yet delicate, her expression carefully composed, but I know her too well.
Even before our walk, I notice itâthe faint hint of worry in her eyes, the way she absentmindedly rubs her ring finger. It's subtle, something no one else would catch, but I do. She's lost her engagement ring.
My Ira would never admit it. She's too proud, too stubborn to say it aloud, but I see the discomfort in the way her fingers twitch, the fleeting shadows crossing her face.
She doesn't realize it, but I'm already forming a plan.
As we take our places at the start of the runway, the noise of the crowd feels distant, muffled by the thundering of my heartbeat. When the music starts and we begin walking, I take her hand without asking. Her skin is soft, cold, and trembling just slightly. She glances up at me with a questioning look, her brows furrowing, but I don't give her a chance to speak.
Halfway down the runway, I stop us, ignoring the gasps from the crowd and the confused murmurs. Ayra looks up at me, her eyes widening in surprise. I reach towards my own ring finger and pull out my ringâthe one I never take off because ofcourse... it's our ringâand slide it onto her bare finger.
Her lips part, and she whispers, "Zaid, what are youâ"
I lean in, my voice low enough that only she can hear. "Ira" I say softly, locking eyes with her, "I can ward off thousands of diamond rings daily just to keep you safe from evil eyes. You're mine, sweetheart. Ring or no ring I'm keeping you"
The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, but I don't care about any of it. I only care about the way she looks at me in that momentâshock melting into something softer, something vulnerable. For once, she's not hiding behind her sharp words or icy walls.
Her lips press into a thin line, her cheeks flushing as she lowers her gaze. "Keep imagining" she mutters, but the way her hand tightens around mine tells me everything I need to know.
As we continue down the runway, the crowd's cheers grow louder, and I can't help but smirk. I know this moment will haunt her, that sheâll replay it in her head over and over again, cursing me for stealing the spotlight and making it all about us.
But for now, she's wearing my ring, and that's all that matters.
The room is alive with noiseâcheers, applause, laughterâbut all I see is her.
Maha.
She's standing in the middle of a crowd, glowing like she's crafted from sunlight itself. The gown she's wearing, her design, clings to her like it was made for her and her alone. She's breathtaking, every movement of hers commanding attention. The way she smiles at the praises, her eyes lighting up with joy, makes my chest tighten in a way I can't ignore anymore.
I've spent weeks pretending this is fake. Pretending I can brush her off, call her crazy, roll my eyes at her antics, and not feel a thing. But I'm done lying to myself.
I'm madly in love with her.
It's hard for me, this... feeling stuff. It's never been easy for me to say what's in my heart even after knowing her heart belongs to someone else. But watching her here, watching everyone acknowledge her talent and brillianceâit makes me prouder than I have any right to be. She's everything I never thought I wanted but everything I can't live without.
My gaze shifts momentarily, catching Ayra slipping out of the room. Her movements are quick, deliberate. Suspicious. I frown, tracking her as she disappears through the door. What the hell is she up to?
I don't think; I just follow her.
"Where are you going?" I call after her as I catch up in the dimly lit hallway.
She stops, turning to face me with her trademark scowl. "I don't remember calling you to tag along with me?"
"Because I know that face," I say, crossing my arms. "That's your 'I'm about to start a war' face. What are you planning, Ayra?"
Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. "Rayan, if you don't get out of my wayâ"
"Try me," I cut her off, leaning against the wall, blocking her path. "What are you up to?"
She huffs, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to Iqra's room, alright? That backstabber needs to be dealt with."
The name hits me like a brick. Iqra. The same girl who stole Maha's designs and passed them off as her own weeks ago. My jaw clenches, and I mutter under my breath, "Of course it's her."
"I know you're gonna say stop or don't go but you're no one I'd listen to"
Before Ayra can storm off, I fall into step beside her. "You're not going alone."
"Excuse me?" she snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since when do I need an escort?"
"You don't" I say flatly, my voice low. "But I'm not letting my girlfriend's best friend go alone"
Ayra glares at me, her hands on her hips. "I can handle myself, Rayan. I'm not a kid"
I raise a brow at her. "Lead the way Ayra"
Her eyes flash with annoyance, but she doesn't argue further, marching ahead with me close behind.
The second Ayra opens that door, I know this is about to get messy. I stand back, hands shoved into my pockets, watching as Ayra strides in like she owns the place. No surprise, really. I've seen this act before. She's always ready to bring the heat. And I'm here for it, especially today.
If there's a woman who has the ability to burn everyone alive... It's Ayra shaikh.
Iqra's face freezes when she sees Ayra. Yeah, she knows what's coming. The tension is thick, like something about to snap. I don't need to say a word; Ayra's already tearing into her.
"Save it" Ayra cuts her off before Iqra can even get a word out. She leans in, cold as ice. "You know exactly why I'm here."
Iqra's face scrunches with that fake innocence she's been wearing all along. I can't help but chuckle silently. This is gonna be fun.
"Aww little sweet Iqra doesn't know that she stole someone else's hardwork and pretended as if it was your own? Tsk tsk" Ayra's voice is sharp, mocking. She's enjoying this too much, and I can't blame her.
Iqra tries to play it off, of course. "I don't know what youâre talking about."
Ayra tsks again and grabs Iqra's bag, after shuffling through her items and throwing them on the floor she finally pulls out the crumbled designs of sportswear... The same ones that Maha showed me.
Ayra steps forward, smirking. "Oh so these magically appeared in your bag with Maha's signature? And your models are wearing the exact same pathetically stitched sports wear?"
I watch Iqra's expression change from confusion to pure anger. She's not used to being called out like this, and it's too good to watch.
"You're ridiculous," she snaps, stepping up to Ayra now. "I hate your existence."
Ayra raises an eyebrow, like she's genuinely amused. "Oh, really?" She turns to me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, congratulations for officially joining the club of people waiting for me to give a fuck"
I can't help but laugh under my breath at her savage delivery.
Without missing a beat, Ayra grabs a bottle of red juice off a nearby table and pours it all over Iqra's pristine white dress. I laugh outright now, I can't help it. The sight of Iqra's face going from red to purple with fury is everything I never knew I needed today.
Iqra shrieks. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Ayra just stands there, hands on her hips, looking so damn smug. "What, you didn't like the color? You made your models wear the same mismatched shade as if they are going on a circus rather than a sports competition"
I wince as Iqra screams again, her voice shrill and high-pitched. I glance at Ayra, knowing what I'm about to do. She doesn't even have to say a wordâshe knows I'm about to shut that sound down. I pull out a pair of earbuds from my pocket and offer them to Ayra.
"You might wanna put these in, unless you wanna lose your hearing from that shriek."
She smirks, taking the earbuds. "Thanks, Rayan. I'd rather not hear her high notes either."
Ayra walks out with a swagger, leaving Iqra spluttering in the room. I follow her, making sure to glance back at Iqra one last time to see her staring at us, absolutely seething.
"Call me if you need any help to pack your bags when you're terminated regardless of the fact that I'll laugh and cut the phone"
Ayra turns to me, grinning. "You're the most sufferable person in BHG, you know that?"
I raise an eyebrow, matching her grin. "Yeah, well, I know"
She snorts, and we bump fists like it's some kind of victory, because for us, it is. If I had a sister, I would've wanted her to be exactly like Ayra.. she knows how to put anyone at their place and protect herself.
Maybe this year gave me my sisters.
The night is almost perfect. Ahad's being his usual charming self, trying to make me laugh, his warmth surrounding me like a shield. He's genuinely cute with me, constantly checking in to make sure I'm okay, and even teasing me in the most endearing ways. I couldn't help but smile at how effortlessly he made me feel comfortable, like I wasn't just some fragile girl hiding behind her walls. His gentle words kept me grounded, but I knew I needed a moment to breathe on my own.
I don't know what would I do in my life without this man.
For some unknown reason, I feel weird tonight... I'm happy for Maha but it's just this annoying feeling that won't go away.
"Hoor I love you" Ahad murmurs.
"I love you more Ahad" I reply and kiss his cheek.
"Hoor you won't leave me right?" He asks.
"Can a heart leave beating?" I reply and chuckle.
I excused myself, murmuring an apology to Ahad before stepping out of the hall. The buzz of chatter and excitement from the crowd fades as I step into the quieter, dimly lit corridor. A deep breath escapes me, and I start to walk down the hall, trying to clear my head.
But just as I'm about to take another step, I feel it. A touch, so light on my back, that it almost sends me into a panic.
I flinch, the sudden jolt of fear striking like a lightning bolt. The sensation isn't just from the touch; it's the flood of memories that crashes into meâtoo fast, too raw. It's the sound of my mother crying, my father's rage, the way she was beatenâher fragile body shaking as his hands tore through her. It's the feeling of being orphaned, of being abandoned by the one person who was supposed to love me.
My breath catches as I feel the sting of it all over againâthe hurt, the hopelessness. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I'm back in that time, trapped in that suffocating world of violence and loneliness.
I stagger back, my heart racing in my chest. I couldn't let it consume me, not again. But the memories are there, always lurking beneath the surface. I take a shaky step forward, my body betraying me as I try to shake off the overwhelming sensation.
Then, I see it. A shadow moving quickly towards a dark room. My body stiffens, and the sensation of history repeating itself rushes through me. It's as if everything that has ever hurt me is coming back to claim me again.
I swallow hard, my throat dry as I hear Ahad's words echo in my mind: "You're the power in yourself."
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus. I need to breathe. I need to calm down. I take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady myself before I approach the door of the dark room. My mind is racing, every instinct screaming for me to run, but my feet move on their own.
The door creaks as I push it open, my hands trembling. I don't know what I'm doing. I just need to get out of my own head. But as I step inside, I feel the door slam shut behind me. The darkness is overwhelming.
I place my hand over my mouth to muffle the sharp, anxious breaths. My heart is pounding. Every part of me wants to scream, to run, but I hold myself steady. I remind myself that I'm not that scared little girl anymore. I remind myself of Ahad's words.
You're the power in yourself.
Suddenly, the lights flash on, and I freeze. I hear something from behind me. The hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I turn around so quickly my head spins.
And there it isâthe voice I thought I'd never hear again. The voice that still gives me nightmares.
"Missed me, Hoorain Shah?"
My breath catches in my throat as I turn to face him.
Hasnain Jafri.
A chill runs down my spine as I look at that same cruel face. The one that had haunted my nightmares for years. The one that had caused me so much pain.
I stand there, frozen, the memories coming back faster than I can process. But this time, I'm not the scared little girl I was before. I have power now. I have strength. And I won't let him break me again.
I'm no longer the Hoorain he can bully anytime... Touch me and regret.
Hasnain takes a step closer, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of amusement as he watches me flinch. He chuckles, the sound sending chills down my spine. "Woah, Hoorain," he says mockingly, "look at you now. All strong, all tough. Impressive."
I grit my teeth, trying to hold onto my composure. I won't let him see me break. I won't let him take away what I've fought so hard to build. But the way he looks at me, the way his presence makes everything feel suffocatingâitâs like he knows exactly how to twist the knife.
"Why are you back in my life?" I ask, my voice trembling, though I try to make it sound fierce.
Hasnain shrugs, his grin widening. "Woah, that much anger?" He shakes his head, stepping closer, a look of mock sympathy on his face. "I'm just here to watch you." He waves a hand dismissively, then points toward the door where I had left Ahad earlier. "I see you've found someone to lean on. Ahad Sikandar, right? Look at you two, all close and cozy."
A surge of protective anger rushes through me. "Don't you dare take his name!" I shout, my voice ringing through the empty room. I'm furious, but more than that, I feel a deep, visceral need to protect what's mine. Ahad has been there for me in ways I never thought anyone could be. He gave me strength when I thought I had none left.
Hasnain's expression turns cold as he watches me, eyes narrowing with amusement. "Oh, so this whole powerful Hoorain thing is because of Ahad Sikandar?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I feel the lump in my throat grow bigger, but I don't back down. "Yes," I say firmly, my anger laced with tears I refuse to shed. "Yes, he gave me power. He's the one who made me believe in myself again." I step closer, fists clenched by my sides. "And I won't let you take that away from me."
Hasnain chuckles darkly, his eyes glinting with malicious delight. "How sad, Hoorain," he mocks, his voice low and smooth like poison. He reaches out, patting my cheek in a way that makes my skin crawl. "So sad."
He steps back, smirking at the look of disgust on my face. And then, he leans in, lowering his voice in a way that sends dread through me. "Do you remember the day when you were locked in that room?" he asks, his words hanging in the air like a threat. "No one opened the door, Hoorain. No one came for you. Do you remember that feeling?"
My heart stops. My throat tightens. I want to scream, but the words get stuck. That day... that horrible day. It was the darkest day of my life. The isolation. The terror. The feeling of being trapped, abandoned, and utterly powerless.
"Stop," I whisper, my voice trembling, but I can't pull my gaze away from him. I hate that he's making me relive it.
Hasnain's grin widens. "Do you know in which school Ahad Sikandar studied?" he asks, his tone taunting, as if he already knows the answer. "You've never asked, have you?"
I freeze. Ahad never mentioned his school. I never thought to ask. My stomach churns as I try to focus, to force my mind to think of something, anything, to hold onto. But Hasnain's words gnaw at me, pulling me deeper into doubt.
I shake my head. "I don't know."
He raises an eyebrow, his voice dripping with venom. "So whatever power Ahad gave you, do you realize that the same trauma, the same pain you endured... that was given to you by your dear Ahad Sikandar?" His words strike like a slap to the face.
My chest tightens. I don't want to believe it. I can't. I trust him. I trust Ahad. The entire world goes against him, I'm against the entire world.. he can never be the one behind my trauma. Hasnain is just trying to snatch the best thing from me.
I open my mouth to retort "you were the one who locked the door, Hasnain" I scream. "Don't even try to pretend you don't remember."
"No," he says, but I stand my ground. "You were the one who locked it. You. Not him." I'm shaking now, the memories flooding back in vivid detail. "You did this to me, not Ahad."
Hasnain laughs cruelly. "I'm not that free, Hoorain," he says, shaking his head. "You won't believe me. But I knew you wouldn't." He pulls something from his pocket, a small photograph, and holds it up in front of my face.
The picture is of an old school annual book. I can see a familiar face, but the shock comes when I see the name beside it: Ahad Sikandar. I don't know why, but the blood drains from my face. His features are unmistakableâthose dark, penetrating eyes, that strong jawline. It's him. The boy in the picture.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Hasnain taunts, his voice low and full of malice. He walks towards the door, smirking as he leaves me standing there, holding the photograph.
I feel as though the world is crumbling around me. I stare at the picture in my hands, my thoughts spinning out of control. Is this true? Is it possible? I refuse to believe it. I can't believe it.
But as Hasnain's footsteps fade away, all I'm left with is the sickening feeling of doubt gnawing at my insides. Why now? Why after all this time when everything in my life was finally going right? Why now, when I had found someone who made me believe in myself again?
I wipe the tears from my eyes, a quiet sob escaping as I stare at the picture once more. No, I think fiercely. I trust Ahad. He wouldn't have done that. He couldn't have.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I'll talk to him. I trust him. If he says he isn't in this picture, then I know it's all a lie. It's just another game from Hasnain.
But the questions linger, and the doubt is like a shadow that I can't escape.
(â à¹â Ëâ â¥â Ëâ à¹â )
Hey guys I hope y'all are doing fine and well.
I hope y'all enjoying reading today's chapter.
Well yes... I hope the details of the dresses didn't bother you all ð I've been imagining such dresses for as long as my memory serves.
How did you find raha's role switching?
And about ahara's heartbreak ð *I'm sobbing*
*Announcement*
It is to bring forward to your attention that I'm having my exams in the month of December, which demands my undivided attention. Keeping that in mind, I've decided to take a break from Wattpad and Instagram till my exams ends.
Humraah won't be updated for two or three weeks but I'll start updating as soon as my exams finishes..
Don't forget to vote and comment.
Do follow me on Instagram for spoilers and updates @author_zayna
Stay safe and healthy ð