Chapter — Ahad's POV
I kicked my shoes off before even fully stepping into my room, my bag sliding from my shoulder like it had been waiting for this exact moment to abandon me. The moment it hit the bed, I followed—sprawling out, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended me.
The day had been long. Not because of classes. Not because of the endless droning of teachers who sounded like they were reading from the instruction manual of a broken fan.
No. It was long because she wasn't there.
Iman.
My Iman, with her sharp little frowns when I tease her, the way she leans forward when she's telling me something important—like the entire world needs to shut up and listen. The way her eyes crinkle when she tries not to smile, like she's holding the sun hostage behind her lips.
And today… nothing. No "move your bag, Ahad." No "you're blocking my sunlight again." No pretending to be annoyed while actually enjoying my company.
She was absent.
Not sick. Not caught up with homework.
No. She chose to spend the day with Ali Mir.
Her maternal cousin.
I've heard that title so many times in my head today, I swear it's become a slur.
I rolled over onto my stomach, muffling a groan into my pillow. It wasn't even that I didn't trust her. I did. I trusted her more than anyone. But the thought of her laughing at something he said, tilting her head in that way she does when she's curious, or sharing a story with him the way she does with me—
It burned. Quietly. Deeply.
I hated it.
My fingers curled into the pillowcase. I wasn't supposed to be the jealous type. I wasn't supposed to let something as innocent as family time get under my skin. But here I was, sulking like a little boy who didn't get picked for the cricket team.
It's just… she's mine.
Not in the ugly, controlling way. Not like a cage. More like… a home. A place where my hands fit perfectly, where my voice softens without me even trying. And seeing her give even a fraction of that warmth to someone else—yeah, it hurt.
I reached over to the nightstand, grabbing my phone. No messages from her. Of course. She'd be busy with him. Probably walking somewhere, eating together, maybe even teasing him the way she teases me.
My chest felt tight.
I threw the phone back down and buried my face in my arms.
She has no idea what she does to me. No idea how the smallest thing—her frown, the way she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear—plays on loop in my head like my favorite song.
God, I missed her today.
I missed the way she bites her lip when she's thinking, like she's worried her thoughts might slip out. I missed her annoyed sighs when I poke her just to get a reaction. I missed her voice—warm, steady, sometimes sharp but never cold.
I swear, if she walked through that door right now, I'd sit up straight, pretend like I wasn't sulking, and then… I'd probably just look at her. Quietly. Soaking her in.
Because she has that effect on me.
She's loud without speaking. Present without trying. And I—
I'm helpless against it.
I rolled onto my back again, staring at the faint cracks on my ceiling. Maybe I was being ridiculous. She's allowed to have a life that doesn't revolve around me. I know that. I want that for her.
But maybe—just maybe—I wanted her to miss me too.
My eyes drifted shut, uninvited memories pulling me in. Her frown —it isnt real anger. It is her way of saying, you matter enough to irritate me. And that's the thing about her—she could make even annoyance feel like affection.
I wondered if she'd step out tonight. If she'd think of me at all after spending her whole day with him.
That tiny ember of jealousy flared again, sharp and uncomfortable. I wasn't going to let it make me bitter. I wasn't going to sulk when she told me about her day tomorrow. I'd smile, nod, and maybe throw in a teasing, "So, did Ali Mir make you forget me completely?"
Supportive. Understanding. Patient.
But deep down…
Deep down, I wanted her to say, "No, Ahad. I thought of you the whole time."
I let out a low laugh at myself. Pathetic. That's what I was.
Still, I reached for my phone again, scrolling to our chat. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed, Hope you had fun today. Deleted it. Typed again, Missed seeing you in class. Deleted it.
What I wanted to say was: Come back. I miss you. I hate that you weren't there today. I hate that I'm not with you right now.
Instead, I locked my phone and tossed it aside. She'd know. Somehow, she always knew, even without me saying it.
Outside, the first stars were beginning to prick the dark sky. I lay there, staring, wondering if she was looking at the same ones. Wondering if maybe—just maybe— she was missing me too.
And if she wasn't…
Well, she'd have to deal with the mess of affection I was going to throw at her tomorrow until she couldn't think of anyone else but me.
Chapter — Iman
Dinner was warm tonight — not just the food, but the laughter, the teasing, the tiny little family chaos that always made me feel comfortable in my own home. I pushed my chair back with a soft sigh, my stomach pleasantly full. Ali, of course, was still talking as if we had another course left to go.
"…and then I told him, that's not how you fix it—" Ali's voice followed me as we started climbing the stairs together.
I smiled without saying much, letting his words fill the air. His voice had this easy warmth — you could almost curl up in it like a blanket. My hand skimmed the wooden railing as I glanced sideways at him, his expression animated, his hands moving with every sentence. I didn't have the heart to interrupt, but my jaw had other plans.
A yawn escaped before I could hide it, and I covered my mouth sheepishly.
"I'm going to hit the sack now," I murmured, rubbing one eye lightly. "Tomorrow I have to go to school, so… goodnight, cousin."
Ali's lips curved into a smile. "Goodnight, Iman."
We reached our doors — mine right opposite his. I reached for the doorknob, ready to retreat into my quiet little world. But just as the metal turned under my fingers, I felt it.
Warmth. Strong arms looping around my waist from behind.
Ali.
He pulled me back, his chin brushing lightly against the crown of my head as he murmured, "Goodnight," again — softer this time, almost like a secret.
My breath hitched — not in shock, but in that tiny flustered way you get when you don't know what to do with your hands. So I let them rest briefly on his arms, giving the smallest of hugs back before gently pulling away.
"Goodnight," I whispered, glancing up at him just long enough to see the softness in his eyes before I slipped into my room.
The door clicked shut behind me, and instantly, the quiet wrapped around me like a different kind of embrace.
Ali had been… sweet tonight. The kind of sweet that made you warm inside. And yet—
Yet…
My mind had been elsewhere all evening.
No matter how much I laughed with Ali, or listened to his stories, or even when he hugged me just now, there was a constant tug in my heart. A constant… missing.
Ahad.
I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment, my fingers automatically reaching for my phone.
One swipe, and there it was — the unread message lighting up my screen with his name.
Ahad: Did you have fun?
Ahad: Or was dinner boring without me?
The corners of my lips curled without my permission. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, the tiny flutter in my chest already betraying me.
Me: I had fun… but yeah, maybe a little boring without you.
Me: Happy now?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Ahad: Better. Sleep early, you have school.
Ahad: And dream of me.
I bit my lip, laughing softly into the silence of my room. "Possessive idiot," I murmured, but the smile on my face wouldn't fade.
I lay back against the pillows, scrolling through our older chats. The little things — him checking if I'd eaten, teasing me about my handwriting, telling me about his day in bits and pieces — they were nothing spectacular on their own, but together they felt like home.
Ali's hug might have lingered, but Ahad's words lingered more.
My eyelids began to grow heavy, but I sent one last reply before surrendering to sleep.
Me: Goodnight, Ahad.
Ahad: Goodnight, Iman.
And just like that, the world outside could wait. My dreams, tonight, belonged to him.