Chapter Title: "Cafe;light Green & White"
After school ended, our group dispersed like wind-scattered leaves. Shanzay and Sara were already squabbling about whose shoes hurt more during the last period. Ahad hadn't said much—just his usual, "See you," before cycling off like he didn't spend the whole day fighting his own expression every time Suhail cracked a joke beside me.
As for me, I walked home with tired limbs and a head full of floating things I couldn't quite place. The evening sun had painted the colony streets in soft gold. I slipped through our gate, kicked off my shoes, and called out,
"A.a, I'm home!"
I heard footsteps shuffle from the living room. Abu appeared with his warm, habitual grin that made everything outside feel smaller.
"Aayi meri Iman. Come sit. How was school?"
He always asked it like he didn't already know from the way I slumped my shoulders.
"Normal," I said, dropping my bag.
We sat for a while — he asked if Sara was still toppling down stairs like always, and whether Shanzay had finally managed to get above passing marks in Science.
Before I could answer, I turned , I wasn't expecting the sudden burst of laughter from the drawing room. My khala (maternal aunt) and mamu (uncle) were there, seated comfortably with Dadi, sipping tea and talking like it was Eid.
"Oho! Iman aa gayi!" my aunt beamed, opening her arms.
I rushed forward in surprise and hugged her tightly.
"Aap log kab aaye?"
("When did you all arrive?")
"Bas thodi der pehle," Mamu replied with a wide grin. "Tumhare aane ka intezaar kar rahe the."
("Just a little while ago. We were waiting for you.")
Dadi patted the couch beside her. I sat down, surrounded suddenly by a home filled with warmth and more people than usual. She held my hand gently.
"Ali ka tuition late hai," Khala added, "Lekin aaj shaam tak aa jayega."She answered my dadi
("Ali's tuition ends late, but he'll be home by evening.")
I smiled. Ali. My cousin. Same age, same sarcasm settings. We didn't talk too often, but he was a known storm when he did arrive. I grinned to myself and walked into my room.Same habit of stealing the last slice of cake without guilt. He'd be here later, and I was sure he'd have something dramatic to say.
"Aur tum kahan jaa rahi ho itni jaldi?behth javo thodi dair" Dadi asked with a twinkle in her eye.
I gave a sheepish grin, standing up from the couch.
"Bas… café jaa rahi hoon. Thoda ghoomna tha."
"Ahad bhi aayega kya?" Dadi's question cut the air gently but firmly.
I blinked. "Shayad," I replied.
Dadi chuckled. "Achha ladka hai. Be with him, and be careful."
My aunt added in a teasing voice, "Uska naam suna hai humne, dekha nahi ab tak."
("We've heard his name a lot, haven't seen him yet.")
I laughed it off, hurried upstairs to change before they could ask any more "detective" questions.
I opened my cupboard, skipping past my school uniform, past my dupattas and pants… until I found it — the light green sundress. Soft cotton, airy and playful, with a wide square neck and short sleeves that fluttered when I moved. The skirt flared like an umbrella and gave me that perfect feeling of "pretty but comfy." I tied my hair into a ponytail, let a few strands fall loose. Slipped on my white platform sandals with a little flower on the strap.
I looked in the mirror, tilted my head.
You look cute, Miss Historian.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
Shanzay: "OY, Biwi ready ho? Sara and I are already waiting."
I rolled my eyes. "You're not waiting. You're still choosing earrings."
Her emoji reply confirmed I was right.
Ammi peeked in. "Kahan jaa rahi ho?"
"Cafe. Dostu kai sath."
Abbu raised an eyebrow. "Ahad bhi jaa raha hai?"
I blinked at the subtle question. "Shayad," I said, a small smile tugging.
"Wapas aa jaana maghrib se pehle," he said.
As I moved out the door, I overheard them in the hall.
Abu: "Achha ladka hai Ahad. Badtameez be nahi hai. ."
Dadi: "Mujhe bhi pasand hai.Zimmedar bhi hai boht. Aajkal rare hota hai."
("Ahad's a good boy. Never misbehaves. ."
"I like him too. He is responsible. That's rare these days.")
I paused just outside, something fluttering in my chest.
And there he was.
Ahad, already standing outside the gate. Not on his cycle. Today, he wore a crisp white kurta — soft cotton that curved gently over his broad shoulders, sleeves folded once near the elbows. The shalwar was fitted just right, and as he shifted, I could see the edge of his jaw flex, the quiet dip of his Adam's apple when he cleared his throat softly.
He wasn't smiling. He was just… looking.
I stepped closer.
Ahad, standing a little awkwardly outside, not on his cycle today. Just him. His hair was a little messy from the breeze, but that only made him look more—
"Hi," I said, startled at how natural it felt.
He looked at me, and there was that quiet pause.
The kind where you both know something, but neither of you says it.
"Walking today?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah… figured we could."