Meet-Cute

06. mehr

m e h r
HOSAIN

chapter six — ❛ Are you out of your mind?! ❜
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MEHR HUMMED ABSENTMINDEDLY, dropping her fixated amber eyes to the paper cup. She unconsciously strips the sugar packets faster, mesmerised by the bitter aroma of caffeine wafting from the cup. Verena had departed promptly, leaving Mehr alone in the staff kitchen. As she took a sip, her lips, tinted with a subtle shade of mauve, left a noticeable mark on the rim before she let out a small sigh.

Her throbbing headache had a mind of its own. Typically, it wouldn't be an issue as her bag is stashed with medical aid catered for her migraines. However, today had to be the day when Mehr switched her purse. Her patience was running thin as the nerves aching in her forehead thudded.

With everyone stationed in their office, Mehr felt as though she was slacking. Her lack of energy was to blame. Her thick hair cascaded behind her back, softly swaying with the sating scarf holding her wavy locks. She huffed, moving her bangs out of the way as it obscured her vision.

The grip on her cup and files tightened as she nears her mentor's office. Seeing his face every day has become a chore—one that she doesn't mind seeing anymore. The noise of her heels tapping bounces around the empty hallway before she halts.

Unusual. His door was slightly opened. Mehr contemplates whether to enter without knocking to annoy him or to enter in a professional manner. She was leaning toward her first option more, but for once, she isn't going to choose violence.

As she is about to knock, she freezes when hearing his deep voice filter out of his office. Mehr is aware of her morals—to not eavesdrop, but she couldn't help it. Her body was compelled to hear his conversation, and by the looks of it, it sounded serious.

"Ma, please, for the millionth time, I'm not interested."

Taking a sneaky peek, she watches him pace around his desk, hands ruffling through his wavy locks. His fingers remain there for a few seconds before brushing them across his forehead down to his nose—pinching it with his forefinger and thumb.

"I'm not even that old," at that, Mehr snickers on accident, only to swiftly cover her mouth.

Khayr's mother could be heard on the speaker; her sweet yet aggravated tone amused her further, "Beta, you'll be twenty-eight soon! You need to get a wife."

"Twenty-seven. I hoped by now you'd keep up with my age, ma." Instead of coming across as annoyed, a small smile appears, decorating his beautiful face. Mehr hates to admit that, but sometimes you can't explain what you see in a person. All she knew was that the sunsets in his eyes were becoming her place of comfort.

"I'll get married when I want to," he calmly explains, just to receive another earful in Urdu. "I refuse to be part of your match-making experiment."

Mehr could relate to him to a certain extent. Marriage was often a focal topic in ethnic households, especially once you surpassed a particular age. They almost treat you like fresh meat, ready to be cherry-picked. However, she was thankful for her parents, who did not pressure her.

"Who goes on a blind date nowadays?" Clear frustration is written over his features. He loosens his tie before removing it completely out of exasperation. The newly exposed tan skin made Mehr flush in embarrassment—she isn't supposed to witness this, yet here she is, being her shameless self.

"Listen to your mother, and I'm not getting any younger. Besides, the girl is lovely, and she's sweet and kind—"

"Well, tell her and her family that I'm not interested," Khayr replies, cutting her off, which she took offence to.