She whispered, "They say love is when your heart flutters every time you see that person."
With a tender smile, he replied, "Well, darling, every beat of my heart is a love letter written just for you."
Zahir Ahmed Khan, a persistent believer that l...
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This day just keeps getting more and more unbearable. All I want is to be back in my office, buried in my work at Khan Enterprises' new project. Yet here I am, stuck at this blasted party my mother insisted on throwing to celebrate my return from abroad. Don't get me wrong, I promised her I'd play nice, but it's a struggle, especially with these vultures circling, just waiting to pounce with their invasive questions.
People are too much, talking up a storm for no good reason. Finished my rounds of obligatory greetings, and now I'm stuck here in this uninteresting matter. And don't even get me started on the topic of marriage. It's like that's the only thing anyone wants to talk about as if tying the knot is some sort of grand achievement.
Let me tell you something, love is overrated. It's like a black hole, sucking you in and tearing you away from what really matters—your work. Marriage? Forget about it.
Sure, my mom and grandparents keep pestering me about it, making a whole song and dance about every marriage proposal that comes our way. But I've got my ways of dodging their schemes. But of course, my dear mother and grandparents won't let it go. They keep bugging me about settling down as if I still need to clarify my stance. So, I took it into my own hands. I told my secretary to handle those blind dates and reject the girls in my name. Sure, my mom wasn't thrilled when she found out, but hey, a man's gotta do what he must do to maintain his sanity.
And let me tell you, these girls in this generation? Nothing but a headache. Flirting left and right, thinking they've got me wrapped around their finger. But it's not happening. They may think they're charming, but to me, they're just annoying. They always trying to grab my attention. But let me set the record straight: they're nothing but a nuisance, especially the ones fluttering around this party like vultures.
Speaking of annoying girls, this one stepped on my foot earlier and dared to call me names. How the heck did she even get invited here? She was brazen and bold as if she owned the place. She'd be trembling, begging for forgiveness if she knew who I was. But no, instead, she stood there, all high and mighty, as if she had a death wish.
Seriously, what audacity she had, stepping on my shoe and then having the nerve to sass me like that. It took all my self-control not to snap back at her right then and there.
But as I navigated through the crowd, I couldn't help but catch snippets of conversation swirling around me. People were commenting on how we looked good together, standing side by side, and I couldn't help but scoff internally at the nonsense of it. Me, standing next to her? Yeah, right.
Let me tell you, if I ever cross paths with her again, she'll wish she never set foot in this country. Calling me "Mr. Blind Guy"? She must be living in some alternate reality. She's lucky I didn't confront her then and there at the party, or things would've gotten ugly quickly. I could feel her eyes boring into my back as I walked away, but trust me, I was doing the same to her.
