13.

The house was unusually quiet when the group returned from university. Anam trudged into the living room, her legs feeling like lead. Her day had been long and emotionally draining, but she had no intention of resting. With practiced determination, she headed straight to the kitchen.

The maids were busy chopping vegetables and stirring pots, the aroma of spices filling the air. Anam greeted them with a tired but polite smile, rolling up her sleeves.

"Baji, you're tired. Go rest," one of the maids said, concern evident in her voice.

"It's fine," Anam replied softly, tying her dupatta over her head to keep her hijab in place. "There's a lot to do. I'll help."

She grabbed a knife and began slicing onions, ignoring the ache in her back.

Meanwhile, in the lounge, Aman was sprawled across the couch, sipping tea. His mother, sat beside him, fanning herself as she complained about the heat.

"Ammi," Aman said casually, his voice low but pointed, "I've been thinking about something important."

Chachi raised an eyebrow. "What is it now?"

"I want to marry Anam," he said, his tone nonchalant, as if he were discussing the weather.

Chachi nearly choked on her tea. "What nonsense are you spouting, Aman? She's not—"

"Think about it, Ammi," Aman continued smoothly, leaning forward now. "She's perfect. Quiet, respectful, and easy to control. Plus, she's already in our family. It just makes sense."

Chachi stared at him, disbelief turning into irritation. "Aman, don't be ridiculous. She's not suited for you. And why are you even bringing this up now?"

"She's from our family, and her father has left so many properties un her name" Aman cut in smoothly. "And with her background, it's not like she has many options. Think about it, Ammi. It's a logical choice."

"Aman!" Chachi snapped, looking scandalized. "Have you lost your mind? She's not suitable for you. She—"

Unbeknownst to them, Feras had just entered the hallway and stopped short at Aman's words. His jaw tightened, and a slow, simmering anger began to build in his chest. He listened for a moment longer, his blood boiling as Aman continued.

"She's always so docile," Aman was saying with a smirk. "She won't give me trouble, and honestly, Ammi, I don't see why not. You could talk to Abbu—"

Feras didn't hear the rest. He turned on his heel and strode toward his father's study, his movements quick and deliberate. His mind was racing, though he couldn't pinpoint why Aman's words had enraged him so thoroughly.

The thought of Anam being discussed in such a way was intolerable. His fists clenched as he pushed open the study door without knocking.

Ahmed looked up from his desk, startled by the abrupt entrance. "Feras? What is it?"

Feras took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "Abbu," he began, his tone sharp and decisive, "I want the nikah to happen as soon as possible."

Ahmed frowned, setting down the papers in his hand. "Why the sudden urgency? The date is already set."

"Move it up," Feras insisted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "There's no point in waiting."

Ahmed studied his son for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "Does this have to do with Seher's incident?" he asked carefully. "Or is there something else I should know?"

Feras hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "It's about ensuring no more... complications," he said finally, though his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"Feras," Ahmed called after him, his voice thoughtful. "You're not just doing this to protect Anam from Aman, are you?". As he already knew about Aman's malicious intentions towards Anam.

Feras hesitated, his back to his father. "It doesn't matter why," he said after a moment, his tone clipped. "It just needs to happen."

As he left the study, his emotions remained tangled and unresolved. He didn't know why the idea of Aman and Anam together enraged him so much. All he knew was that he wouldn't let it happen, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Anam was scrubbing a pot, lost in her thoughts. She had sensed a tension in the air all day but didn't know its cause. Her mind wandered to the upcoming nikah and the uncertainty it brought.

Feras passed by the kitchen on his way upstairs, pausing for a moment when he saw her. She looked up, startled, and gave him a hesitant smile.

"Feras bhai," she said softly, the familiar title slipping out instinctively.

His jaw tightened at the word, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Anam," he said curtly, "Bas kro apne ap ko thakana. Go rest." (Stop tiring yourself, go and rest)

"Mai thik hun," she replied quickly, looking away. (I'm fine)

"Han! mujhe dikhai de rha hai ke tum kitni thik ho," he said, his voice cold. "You're pale, and you're tired. Listen when you're told." (Yes! I can see that...)

The harshness in his tone stung, and she bit her lip, nodding silently. He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Anam stared after him, confusion and hurt swirling in her chest. It wasn't the first time he had spoken to her like that recently, but it still left her wondering what she had done wrong.

"Ab inko kya hogaya hai? jab bhi dekho akru bane phirte hain aj kal." she pouted. (What happened to him no? Alway acting so grumpy)

.....

In the dining room, the family had gathered for lunch. Plates clattered as everyone served themselves, the atmosphere tense from the recent events. Aman was seated across from Ayan, his gaze flitting between his plate and Anam, who had just joined them at the table after helping in the kitchen.

Ayan, sensing the oppressive silence, decided to lighten the mood. He leaned back in his chair, grinning mischievously. "Pata hai sabko," he began, "Ke agar is ghar ka koi motto hota to kya hota? yehi ke  'Chaos is our specialty.'" (You know... If this house had a moto it would be 'Chaos is our speciality')

Ayub stifled a laugh, while Anam raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you even talking about?" she asked, though a small smile played on her lips.

"Bas yehi ke," Ayan continued, feigning seriousness, "between kidnappings, surprise nikahs, and Chachi's legendary ability to scold, we're practically a drama serial waiting to happen." (Just that...)

Chachi glared at him. "Ayan! Don't joke about such things. It's not appropriate."

"Relax, Chachi," he said, waving her off with a playful grin. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Besides, admit it... if this was a show, it'd have the highest ratings in the country."

Even Pari, let out a quiet chuckle. "Waise baat ap ki ghalt nhi hai, bhai." (Well, you are not wrong)

Aman, however, didn't join in the laughter. Instead, his eyes lingered on Anam as she quietly ate, her focus on her plate. The sight of her serene composure amidst the tension only deepened his resolve.

.....

The late afternoon sun streamed softly through the windows, casting warm, golden patterns on the walls of the house. Anam was in her room, preparing to offer her Asr prayer. She spread out her prayer mat, adjusted her dupatta, and began her salah with quiet devotion. The door to her room was slightly ajar, allowing faint sounds from the rest of the house to drift in.

After completing her prayer, Anam sat back on her heels and lifted her hands for dua. Her voice was low but audible in the stillness of the room.

"Ya Allah," she began, her tone earnest but laced with a hint of playful exasperation. "You know how hard I'm trying to be patient, Par yeh Feras bha— I'm sorry, mera matlab FERAS" She paused and sighed dramatically. "Kitne akru hain ye! Hamesha mujhe daante rehte hain jaise ke mai koi bachi hun. Can't he smile at least once? Bas aik bhar, mere Mola. Is that too much to ask?" (You know how hard I'm trying to be patient, but this Feras bha— I'm sorry, I mean FERAS.) (He's so arrogant! Always scolding me like I'm some little kid. Can't he smile at least once? Just once, my Lord. Is that too much to ask?)

She tilted her head slightly as if expecting an answer. "Aur woh mujse bhat kayse karte hain, so cold and distant... It's like he thinks I'm made of stone! But you know, Ya Allah, I'm not. Meri bhi feelings hain. And when he's mean, it stings, even if I pretend it doesn't." (It's like he thinks I'm made of stone! But you know, Ya Allah, I'm not. And when he's mean, it stings, even if I pretend it doesn't.)

Anam bit her lip to stifle a giggle at her own words. "But I know he's a good person deep down... probably buried under all that grumpiness. Please, soften his heart, at least enough to stop calling me 'tired' every time he sees me."

Outside the room, Feras was passing by, his hands tucked behind his back, with black shawl draped over his shoulders, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of work and the ever-growing responsibilities on his shoulders. But the sound of her voice caught his attention. He paused, his brows furrowing, and leaned slightly toward the door, realizing she was speaking.

As the words registered, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a rare sight. He stifled a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. Akru? Cold? Yeh larki... (grumpy? cold? this girl...)

Before he could move on, Anam finished her dua, lowered her hands, gave a salam to Imam e Zamana a.s. and stood up. Her steps were light as she moved toward the door. But as she stepped out, she collided directly with Feras, who had been too slow to retreat from his eavesdropping.

Anam froze, her eyes widening in shock and embarrassment as she looked up at him. "F-Feras bhai!" she stammered, her face heating up. "I—uh—you—"

Feras raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. "Hmm. Bohot interesting dua thi tumhari," he said, his voice calm but with a teasing edge. (Such an interesting dua)

Her mouth fell open in horror. "Ap ne sab kuch sun liya?!" she squeaked, clutching the edge of her dupatta. (Did you hear everything?)

He shrugged, his lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. "Shayed." (Maybe)

Anam's face turned crimson as she tried to form a coherent response. "I wasn't— I mean, it was just—" She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I didn't mean it like that!"

Feras tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. "Toh, tumhe lagta hai ke mai akru hun?" (So, you think I'm grumpy?)

Anam peeked through her fingers, panicked. "No! I mean—yes? But not in a bad way!" She dropped her hands, flustered, and gestured vaguely. "You're just... serious all the time. That's all I meant."

For a moment, he said nothing, studying her with his sharp, unreadable gaze. Then, to her surprise, he let out a quiet chuckle... a soft, deep sound that made her blink in astonishment.

"I see," he said, his tone lighter than usual. "Well, mai koshish karunga itna akru na rehne ki, if that helps." (Well, I'll try not to be grumpy, If that helps)

Anam's eyes widened further, and she nodded quickly, unsure what else to do. "J-ji." (O-okay)

He stepped aside, giving her space to pass. "Go on. Don't exhaust yourself with more chores today."

Anam scurried away, still flustered, but a small, surprised smile crept onto her lips as she reached the stairs.

Feras remained by the door for a moment, his gaze softening as he watched her retreating figure. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable." Then, with a faint smile still lingering, he continued down the hall.

.....

As Anam hurried down the hall, still flustered from her earlier encounter with Feras, she nearly collided with Aman. He was leaning casually against the wall near the stairs, his arms crossed, a smirk already curling his lips as he eyed her approach.

"Aram se, Anam," he drawled, his gaze flickering down her form and lingering uncomfortably long before returning to her face. His look wasn't just critical; it was unsettling. "You don't want to trip and, well... with how clumsy you are, it'd be a scene. Not that anyone would miss it." (Careful, Anam)

Anam stiffened, her stomach twisting at his tone and the way his eyes had trailed over her. She forced herself to stand tall, fixing him with a glare. "Excuse me?"

Aman tilted his head, his smirk widening. "What? Just saying you should take it easy. Wouldn't want to see you make a fool of yourself. You've got enough to deal with, don't you?"

Her face flushed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "That's none of your business, Aman bhai," she snapped, her voice tight with a mix of anger and unease.

Aman chuckled, ignoring her tone. "Relax, Anam. No need to get so defensive. I'm just pointing out the obvious. Maybe, if you focused less on... certain things," his gaze flicked toward the kitchen, "and more on yourself, you'd get somewhere. Just some friendly advice."

Her heart pounded with indignation, but before she could respond, another voice cut in sharply.

"Friendly advice? Or just being plain rude?" Ayan's cheerful voice carried from the top of the stairs, but there was a hard edge to his words that wiped the smirk off Aman's face.

Anam looked up to see Ayan descending the stairs, his usual playful demeanor tempered by a sharp frown. He reached the landing and stepped directly between her and Aman, his presence like a shield.

"What's going on here?" Ayan asked, his tone deceptively light as he looked between them.

"Nothing serious," Aman said smoothly, though there was an irritated edge to his voice now. "We were just talking."

"Talking, huh?" Ayan raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at Anam. His gaze softened when he saw her flushed face and clenched fists. "Anam, you okay?"

She nodded quickly, not trusting her voice to respond.

"Good," Ayan said, turning back to Aman with a tight smile. "Then I'm sure Aman can find something better to do than... talk." The way he emphasized the word made Aman's jaw tighten.

"Of course, bhai" Aman replied tersely, his eyes narrowing. But before he turned to leave, he gave Anam one last look... a glance that felt both mocking and far too lingering for her comfort. "You two have fun."

Ayan waited until Aman was out of sight before turning back to Anam. "What did he say to you?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

"It's nothing, Ayan bhai," she mumbled, looking down. "Really."

"Anam," Ayan said firmly, tilting his head to catch her gaze. "You don't have to put up with his nonsense. Next time he pulls something like this, just call your Ayan bhai. I'll deal with him."

She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Thanks, Ayan bhai."

"Anytime," he said with a grin, nudging her arm lightly.

As they headed downstairs, Ayan's easy humor lightened the tension, but the encounter with Aman left a bitter taste in Anam's mouth. She couldn't shake the discomfort of his gaze or the weight of his words.

"How bad is the person, who has two faces and two tongues"

― Imam Hassan Askari as