Lut Gaye || لٹ گۓ

TWENTY TWO | Drive Me Crazy

"mushkil hai mushkil hai, lafzon mein keh paana."

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PATIENCE had always been one of Zain's strong suits and life had given him plenty of opportunities to wield and perfect this skill.

But right now, he was getting incredibly impatient.

Sat on the driver seat of his Ligurian black Range Rover stationed on the driveway leading to his house, his long and calloused fingers incessantly drummed on the steering wheel as his eyes kept gravitating to the entrance of the building, waiting for Iman.

His mother had proposed that he should take Iman shopping and he had welcomed it with vim and vigour because the past three days were mostly spent in the company of his family. He really wanted to take her out somewhere and spend some time with her―as much time as possible―because he soon had to go back to finish the task he had left undone.

A lot of work to do; a lot of criminals to catch.

Sighing, he adjusted the sides of his denim jacket he was wearing over a red hooded sweatshirt and then his hand rolled forward as he tipped the rear-view mirror, watching the reflection of his eyes and the stray lock of his jet-black hair hanging in between them.

He was about to brush it back when his gaze got stuck at the ink marring his right hand; the figure of a dove in flight with its wings spread across the dorsal tendons of his hand, propelling him to recall how and why he had gotten that tattoo―a memory that left a bittersweet taste on his tongue, reminder of the days he had spent with crooked, dangerous men running drug cartels.

Days full of threats, lies, blood, and deceit.

The sound of hasty footsteps stopped him from delving deeper into the memoir of the territory he had escaped from by the skin of his teeth and his dark gaze flew towards the entrance, resting on the scampering silhouette of Iman―enrobed in a gerua-coloured embroidered shirt, matching trousers, and a dupatta draped around her neck―rushing towards the vehicle.

"Sorry, it took me so long," she said as she quickly hopped inside.

Twenty minutes, thirty-two seconds, and fifty milliseconds, Zain wanted to say but instead, elected for, "No big deal."

She sent a tiny smile his way and then awkwardly shifted in the seat, gaze slowly dropping to her lap as an edgy frown weighed her arched brows.

And Zain caught the unease in her demeanour.

"Say it."

Her head rose and turned to him―perplexity washing her features. "Huh? What?

"Whatever that's causing the frown on your face," Zain told her, his dark and discerning gaze hooked on her.

Iman's lips parted in awe at being perceived. Was she that easy to read? Or was it just him, just him, who could tell what was going on inside her head with just one look?

Sweeping the tip of her tongue over her lips, she took a hesitant breath before mumbling out;

"Um, Zunyra actually said that the last time you accompanied her and your cousin to a mall, you vowed never to go shopping with a woman again so I was wondering if you don't really want to... you know?" she trailed off sheepishly.