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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"You know, I really like Aisha, she's such a sweet girl, she gets along with everyone in the family!" my mother exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement as she pulled me aside from the rest of the family in the living room.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Sweet girl? Yeah, right. More like a whirlwind of chaos in human form. But of course, I kept that thought to myself, opting instead for a resigned sigh as I stared at my mother, whose eyes were practically sparkling with enthusiasm.
"You never were this excited about me, Ma. I'm hurt," I grumbled, annoyance evident in my tone as she chuckled in response.
"Oh, you silly boy, stop being jealous. Aisha is a special one, but you're my blood child. You already have my love," she reassured me with a playful smile as if that was supposed to make me feel better.
I sighed, listening to my mother ramble on about how the sassy girl was the epitome of perfection, lit up the room with her infectious laughter, and was the best thing to happen to our family since sliced bread. Maybe she didn't use those exact words, but you get the idea.
But as my mother continued to gush about her, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation gnawing at the back of my mind. What was so special about her anyway? Sure, she was charming in her own way, but she was also loud, unpredictable, and downright exhausting. Not exactly my idea of a perfect match.
As I was about to voice my grudges, my mother interrupted my thoughts with a playful jab. "Come on, Zahir, don't tell me you're not a little smitten with her charms," she teased, nudging me with her elbow.
I shot her a withering glare, my patience wearing thin. "Smitten? Please, Ma, spare me the melodrama," I retorted, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "I have better things to do than waste my time on frivolous crushes."
My mother chuckled, clearly amused by my disdain. "Oh, come on, Zahir, don't be such a grump. You can't deny that there's something special about her," she persisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest in defiance. "Special? Yeah, she's a special kind of trouble, that's for sure," I muttered under my breath, earning myself a playful swat from my mother.
"Behave yourself, young man," she scolded, though her tone had a hint of amusement. "You never know, Aisha might just surprise you."
I doubted that, but I decided to humor my mother nonetheless, offering her a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, we'll see about that," I muttered, dreading the inevitable chaos that seemed to follow Aisha wherever she went.
"Mom, I really don't think—" I began, but she cut me off with a stern look.
"Just hear me out, Zahir," she insisted, her voice firm. "I know you're not fond of her, but she's a part of this family now. And I would appreciate it if you could at least try to get along with her."
