𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

24

Airah POV:

The silence between us is heavy, filled with unresolved emotions, making the air thick with an almost suffocating sense of unease.The tension in the room is quite unpleasant as I sit on the chair. "Would you like to have some coffee?" I ask to which she just glares at me. "You don't deserve him."

"Then I'll become someone who deserve him." I say and realisation hits me. Why am I arguing over this? Over him? I don't mean those words. Not at all. What's gotten into me?

"Forget about all that. Come have a seat." I stand up, offering her my seat. For a second she just looks at me and then without saying anything she sits and I head towards the stove. "Tell me more about yourself, Alana." "Why do you want to know about me?" She asks dryly. "Well it's my first time in Seattle so I don't have any friends and I'll be alone at home most of the time so.....I just wanted to know you. Maybe we could be friends?" Why do I sound like a kindergarten child who wants to be friend with the famous kid? She stays silent for a while as if deciding whether she should tell me about herself or not. I place the cup in front of her when she says, "My full name is Alana Elizabeth Blackford and I'm 25 years old. I work in a fashion designing company." She takes a sip from the mug and a small smile forms on her face.

"That's pretty good." I say sitting across from her.

"What about you?" She asks.

"Me? There's nothing special about me.....as you know my name is Airah and I'm just a year older than you."

"Studies?"

"Uh well.....I graduated in law but I'm not in practice."

"That's pretty good." We both sit there and talk for what seems like hours. Turns out Alana is a softie beneath the cover. We both happen to have many similarities too. A while earlier she left because she had to got to work. I just hope that we both get along. Just because she likes Arsalan doesn't mean that we can't be friends.

My phone buzzes, dragging me out of my thoughts. I pick up the call when I see his name on my screen.

"Assalamualaikum."

" Walaikum assalam." He says from the other end.

" Kya kar rahi ho?" He asks. His voice seeming tired.

" Kuch nahi."

"Khana kha liya?"

"Nahi abhi nahi.......Ek baat karni thi tumse." I say and he hum in response.

"Wo.....Aaj subha tie bante waqt jo bhi hua.....tie bante waqt wo sab ek show tha." I say in a slow voice. He remains silent and for a second I doubt that he hung up the call when he murmurs, "Kya hua tha tie bante waqt?"

"Acha wo...thank god tumne bata diya otherwise I was thinking that tumhe mujhse mohabbat ho gayi hai." He chuckles, the sound like a melody to my ears.

"Yucks Arsalan." I say to which he laughs again.

"Kab tak aaoge?"

"Around two hours me......kyu? Tum mera wait kar rahi ho?"

"N-nahi bus aise hi puch rahi thi." We both talk for a few more minutes before he hangs up the call saying that he has to go. And just like that I'm once again left all alone.

Arsalan POV:

By the time I reach my apartment it's already 7 o'clock. And yes I don't call it "my home" because remember? Home is where the heart is. Every time I came back from work, the moment I opened the door, I was always greeted with complete silence and emptiness. It is indeed true that I came to U.S with my own will but I never felt happy here. At a point I started regretting coming here. Even though I like being alone but sometimes the emptiness in the house would start making me uncomfortable so I started working overtime.

Honestly the past three weeks felt so boring and alone. It was a shock when I realised that I was missing Airah and her usual bickering. But today it feels different. Why do I feel so happy? Maybe because I have someone waiting for me at my house in SEATTLE. But it shouldn't be this exciting, right?

There is complete silence in the house as I open the door. Taking my shoes off I enter the house. The living room lights are off and the window is open from which cool air is coming along with the pleasent sound of the waves.

On the sofa, Airah is sleeping. I take off my coat, place it on the countertop, and sit in front of her, just like I did last night. She looks peaceful, like the calm before a storm, the rainbow after heavy rain, the stars in a dark night. She looks beautiful.

I don't know why I find her so captivating these days, even when she wakes up in the morning, in her nightdress, her hair going in all directions, and sometimes with mascara smudged around her eyes like a panda when she forgets to remove it. But there's something about her unguarded state that draws me in. Maybe it's the vulnerability, or the way her features soften in sleep, free from the stresses of the day.

As I sit there, I feel a deep sense of affection and admiration. Every little imperfection only seems to add to her beauty in my eyes. I notice every little detail—the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the way a stray strand of hair falls across her face.The peacefulness she exudes in sleep contrasts sharply with the bustling world outside, creating a sense of tranquility in the room.

I feel a sense of calmness, a pause from the day's chaos.She has a way of bringing a sense of balance and ease, making the silence and stillness of the house feel less empty and more complete. What the hell is wrong with me?

To distract myself, I quickly get up and leave the living room. Closing the door of my room behind me, I take a deep breath. Not sure what the hell is wrong with me. In order to not think of her, I occupy my mind with psychology laws and all sort of things. Not living a bit space to think about the person sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Wait-- did I just think of her? Damn! What the hell is wrong with me? I think I have to visit a therapist.