The Villa — 10:00 PM
Azhan paced back and forth across his room.
Twenty-four hours.
No rest.
His body was exhausted, but his mind would not stop.
She ate.
She was happy.
She said thank you.
He walked to the window.
Then back to his desk.
Then to the window again.
The door opened.
Saim walked in, still in his work clothes, his green eyes sharp.
“Uncle called me,” Saim said.
“What did you say to Sadaf?”
Azhan didn’t look at him.
“I told them there is nothing between us.”
Saim crossed his arms.
“Why, bestie?
She loves you.
That should be enough.”
Azhan stopped pacing.
Turned to face him.
“She is not my type.”
Saim’s voice rose slightly.
“Perfect.
Then who is your type?
That angel?”
Azhan’s jaw tightened.
“There is no ‘she.’ Okay?
No ‘she.'”
Saim laughed — rough, knowing.
“I didn’t ask ‘she,’ bestie.
You said it yourself.”
Azhan looked away.
I said it myself, he thought.
Angel.
He sat on the edge of his bed.
Rubbed his temples.
“Amir said she ignores everyone,” he said quietly.
“She doesn’t talk to boys.
She just studies.
She —”
He stopped.
Saim leaned against the doorframe.
“Yeah?
Go on.”
Azhan stood up again.
“There is nothing.
Okay?
Nothing.”
Saim smiled.
“I wasn’t asking.
But I can ask Amir.”
Azhan turned sharply.
“He doesn’t know about her.
Please, bestie.
Go to your room.”
Saim walked to the other side of the huge room and sat on the sofa.
“This is my room too.”
Azhan opened his laptop.
Started typing.
Anything to look busy.
Why did I say that?
he thought.
Why did I tell Saim about Amir?
About her?
Saim watched him from the sofa.
He’s in love, Saim thought.
He just doesn’t know how to say it.
“What does she do?” Saim asked casually.
Azhan didn’t look up from his laptop.
“Riya says she prays five times a day.
Too focused.
Hardworking.”
He stopped typing.
Why am I telling him this?
Saim smiled to himself.
He pulled out his phone.
Saim’s Message — 10:15 PM
Saim: Hi, second cousin.
Riya replied instantly.
Riya: Hi, Sammyyy!
😊
Saim: Sweetheart, who is the girl?
My bestie is in trouble.
Send me her photo.
Her number.
Riya: I knew it!
He is in love.
He asks questions about her all the time.
Saim glanced at Azhan — still typing, still pretending to work.
Saim: Riya, please help.
Who is she?
You know his past.
Please help him.
Riya: Her name is C Ismail.
Age 18.
Golden Excellence Scholarship student from Punjab, Pakistan.
On 30th August, 3 AM, I asked Azhan to pick her up from the airport.
Riya: When he dropped her at the dorm, I saw something change in his face.
Till now, he asks about her.
Strange, right?
He sent her food because she doesn’t eat well.
She is polite.
Innocent.
Saim read the messages.
C Ismail, he thought.
Age 18.
Scholarship student.
From Pakistan.
Saim: Second cousin, her photo please.
Riya: She wears full hijab.
Proper cover.
Yes, I have her hostel photo.
But not for playboys.
I’m helping Azhan.
I’ll send her latest photo.
See his reaction.
Room 101 — 10:30 PM
The room was warm with laughter.
Girls were everywhere — Yasmin sketching, Neha jumping on her bed, Sophia on her phone in the upper bunk, Aminah eating noodles.
Riya was taking photos.
“Everyone, smile!” she announced.
Yasmin looked up from her sketchbook.
Neha struck a pose. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Sophia laughed.
Then Riya turned to C.
C sat at her small table near the window.
Her pink dupatta covered her head, draped softly over her shoulders.
Her face was visible now — hijab off, mask off.
The room was safe.
Her books were spread across the table.
Registers open.
Pens scattered.
A library book on programming rested beside her elbow.
She was writing — focused, calm, peaceful.
Riya walked closer.
“C, look at me.”
C looked up.
Her eyes were brown — big, shiny, warm.
Her face was innocent, beautiful in its simplicity.
A small mole rested on her upper left lip.
Her cheeks were pink — flushed from studying, from the warmth of the room.
She smiled — small, shy, questioning.
“What are you doing, Baji?”
Riya clicked the photo.
“Taking random photos.
I’m bored.
I’ll send them to you later.”
C nodded and returned to her notes.
Riya continued taking pictures — of the room, of the girls, of the chaos.
Then she lay on her bed and scrolled through her photos.
She stopped at C’s picture.
Pink dupatta.
Big brown eyes.
Innocent face.
Sharp features.
Books and registers spread before her.
A small smile on her lips.
She doesn’t know, Riya thought.
She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.
She opened the chat with Azhan.
Riya: Do you know her, Azhan?
She attached the photo.
Pressed send.
The Villa — 10:35 PM
Azhan’s phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
Riya.
He opened the message.
A photo loaded.
He froze.
Pink dupatta.
Brown eyes looking up — directly at him, it seemed.
Books and registers spread across the table.
A small smile.
She is beautiful, he thought.
She is…
His heart stopped.
Then started again — faster, louder.
Saim watched him from the sofa.
“What is it, bestie?”
Azhan didn’t answer.
He stared at the photo.
Her eyes, he thought.
Those eyes.
He zoomed in on her face — the small mole on her upper lip, the pink of her cheeks, the softness of her expression.
She is not seeking attention, he thought.
She is just…
herself.
And I cannot stop thinking about her.
Saim stood up and walked toward him.
“Bestie?”
Azhan locked his phone quickly.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Go to sleep.”
Saim smiled.
He’s in love, Saim thought.
And he has no idea.
He lay on his side of the bed and closed his eyes.
Azhan sat in the darkness, holding his phone.
He didn’t open the photo again.
But he didn’t need to.
It was already burned into his memory.
Chapter 5 — Part 6: The Days That Passed (Continued)
The Villa — 10:40 PM
Saim moved faster than Azhan could react.
He grabbed the phone from Azhan’s hand.
Azhan reached for it.
“Saim, give my phone back.”
Saim stepped back, holding the phone up, his green eyes scanning the screen.
The photo.
Pink dupatta.
Brown eyes.
Small smile.
Saim went quiet.
Then — “Shhh.
She is so beautiful.”
Azhan’s heart stopped.
“Saim.
Give it back.”
Saim didn’t move.
His eyes stayed on the screen.
“Pure angel.
Is she single, Azhan?
I’m ready.”
Something hot ignited in Azhan’s chest.
Ready?
“What did you say?” His voice was low.
Dangerous.
Saim shrugged — casual, deliberate.
“She is beautiful.
Anyone can see that.”
He was an advocate.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Every word, every pause, every glance — calculated to push, to test, to break through Azhan’s walls.
Azhan stepped closer.
“Give me my phone back.
She doesn’t know you.
She ignores boys.”
Saim looked at him — directly, knowingly.
“Perfect.
But she didn’t ignore you, right?”
Azhan’s breath caught.
She didn’t ignore me.
She looked at me.
She spoke to me.
She trusted me with the seatbelt.
She said my name in a dream.
Saim watched his expression — the tension in his jaw, the flicker in his blue eyes, the way his hands had curled into fists.
Got him, Saim thought.
“Bestie,” Saim said softly, “she is really beautiful.
Pure.
Look at her brown eyes — so shiny.
Anyone could fall in love with her.”
He paused.
“If you say there is nothing between you and her, then say yes to Doctor Sadaf.
Make Uncle happy.”
Sadaf.
The name felt like poison on Azhan’s tongue.
He didn’t want Sadaf.
He didn’t want any woman who smiled at him, who touched his arm, who planned weddings in her head.
He wanted —
He couldn’t finish the thought.
“Saim.
Give me my phone back.
Please.”
The word please came out strained.
Begging.
He never begged.
Saim handed it to him.
Azhan held it tightly, his knuckles white, his heart a war zone.
Saim walked toward the door.
“Today, we are meeting her.
For me.
I like her too.
Anyone would want her.”
Anyone would want her.
The words stabbed.
Azhan saw red.
Not at Saim.
At the thought.
At the idea of another man looking at her.
Talking to her.
Sitting beside her.
No.
He didn’t say it.
But the word screamed inside him.
Saim paused at the doorway.
“I’m going down.
Come.
I’m asking questions from the troublemaker.”
Azhan stood frozen.
Troublemaker?
Amir ,
He talked about her ,who notice her in class who argues with his class mates,
If he touches her —
Saim looked back.
“Coming?”
Azhan didn’t move.
His hands were shaking.
His heart was a storm.
Saim smiled.
“Okay.
I’ll go alone.”
He left.
The Room — 10:45 PM
Azhan stood alone.
The door was closed.
The room was silent.
But inside him — chaos.
He opened his phone.
The photo.
Pink dupatta.
Brown eyes looking up.
Small mole on her upper lip.
Books and registers spread before her.
A small smile — shy, soft, hers.
He looked at every detail.
He had never seen her without a mask.
Never seen her full face.
Never knew she had a mole on her lip.
Never knew her cheeks turned pink like that.
She is beautiful, he thought.
So beautiful.
So innocent.
So pure.
He touched the screen — her face, her eyes, her smile.
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek.
Mine.
The word came from nowhere.
Mine.
He kissed the photo.
His lips touched the glass — warm, desperate, longing.
He pulled back.
No.
His heart pounded.
No, no, no.
She is pure.
There is nothing.
Nothing.
He stepped back from the bed.
She is not for Saim.
She is not for Amir.
She is not for Ray.
She is not for anyone who looks at her with greedy eyes.
I picked her up.
She is my responsibility.
Only mine.
The fire in his chest raged.
Jealousy — hot, sharp, unfamiliar.
He had never felt this before.
Never cared who looked at whom.
Never wanted to protect anyone from the world.
But her —
Her.
He looked at the photo again.
She ignores boys.
She doesn’t seek attention.
She just studies.
She just prays.
She just works.
She is good.
She is pure.
She is —
He didn’t finish the thought.
He couldn’t.
Because if he finished it, he would have to admit the truth.
And he wasn’t ready.
He lay on his bed, still holding the phone, still staring at her face.
C Ismail.
What are you doing to me?
He didn’t sleep.
He watched her photo until dawn bled through his curtains.