Meet-Cute

09. mehr

m e h r
HOSAIN

chapter nine — ❛ Thick or thin? ❜
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THERE WAS A PLETHORA OF things Mehr desired to see in her lifetime, and seeing Khayr cook was not one of them. It is beyond her imagination that Khayr, whose hands seem to be crafted solely for holding a fountain pen, could possess such culinary prowess. Nevertheless, Khayr persistently surpassed Mehr's expectations, consistently leaving her in awe with each new revelation.

Subconsciously, she had depicted him as being like every other South Asian man. However, it turned out to be the exact opposite—he possessed qualities no other man she'd met before. Mehr tried not to judge someone's character before getting to know them, but Khayr was an anomaly—one that she couldn't figure out as his puzzle pieces remained jumbled.

"You know what you're doing, right?" She bit her lip, suppressing a giggle, when his eyebrows shots up in disbelief.

Khayr turns to face her, rolling his sleeves up, exposing his silky yet defined skin. Casual wear on him was divine, a sight Mehr didn't imagine ever witnessing. Having to be welcomed in his home was enough of a shock. "Why? Do you think I'll poison you?"

"Now that you say it. . ." Her eyes narrow playfully only to make him jut his head towards her, levelling down to inspect her bare face. It wasn't the time for her to feel insecure under his intense stare—she prayed the soft moonlight gleam from his windows concealed her impurities.

"Shut up. How about you help me? This is meant to be a collaborative work." He fires back with his hands over his hips—reminding her of her mother.

Mehr gapes at him with furrowed eyebrows, "I didn't agree to this."

"You did the moment you mentioned we're going on a date to our parents." Khayr impassively utters, shortening the gap between them even further, allowing her to really look at him. "Now be good and chop me those vegetables."

Mehr hates how his words affected her, mortified by how loudly her gulp resounded in her ears. Wiping the non-existent sweat from her psalm, she willed herself to stop gawking. However, like steel to a magnet, she felt her gaze being pulled back to his hazel eyes. She noted how his broad shoulders looked more menacing in a V-neck shirt—feeling tinier than before; how his hands appeared to be delicate, she was sure they were big enough to wrap around her waist fully with no problem.

"I am starting to hate this arrangement." She huffs, making her bangs shift before her eyes.

Khayr resumes washing the prawns, giving her a view of his muscled back. "And I've expressed my hatred for you many times, yet I got us here. It clearly doesn't work like that."

"Whatever." Eventually, Mehr gives up on his antics. "Thick or thin?"

She was too busy wrapping the apron around her middle to notice Khayr had been facing her. As she tucks the loose strand of her hair behind her ears, she meets his regard. "Is there a size in between?"

Cheekily, shamelessly even, he peers over her body, slowly taking in her attire. Her fitted blouse and wide-legged trousers weren't scandalous per se, but she knew they complimented her figure.

"Oh my—" Mehr splutters, heat pooling in her cheeks, "Get your mind out of the gutter, Khayr!"

"Slice them thin," Khayr says with a chuckle.

The audacity this man has, Mehr thinks as she picks up the knife. It was confusing being around him—his moods changed constantly. One minute he was cold, and the next, he was joking around with her, aiming to get a rise and smile out of her. "You need help."

"So do you, but you don't see me complaining." There it is; his sarcastic remarks were back. Keeping up with him was worse than keeping up with her mother's clothing debacles.

Mehr roughly slices the last piece of the cucumber. Whirling around, she points the knife at him with gritted teeth only to see that he is already looking. "Alright, you are seriously getting on my nerves."

"Me getting on your nerves means I make you smile?" He cocks his head.

Khayr smiles.

He was smiling, and all she could think is, 'Oh shit'. The butterflies are there, and his dimples are to blame. It got to her every time. She just. . .

Mehr blinks once, twice, thrice before realising her anger has dissipated, and her scowl had turned into a grin. She clears her throat, facing away from him; the embarrassment was too much to handle.

"I—I was not." She softly breathes out, urging her heart to slow down.

Khayr smirked, "Okay."

"Okay!" She snickers back, shaking her head to get the dangerous thoughts circulating her head to go away.

The momentum went back to normal; peace was regained as she chopped the remaining vegetables. Mehr paused when she stared at the red onions shining so brightly, foreshadowing her tears. Avoiding cutting them was her talent; her mother purposely didn't allow her to as she caused a scene every time, but she couldn't pull that facade in front of Khayr.

"Can you help me with the onions? I can't do it for the life of me—" Mehr didn't get to finish her sentence as she watches a new shadow mingle with hers. Khayr looms over her, hands hovering over hers. Her eyes were closed and when she reopens them Khayr's fingers slowly slid over hers until his hands encompasses hers entirely. He guides her whilst explaining the simplest method, yet none of it registers.

Instead, her heartbeat picks up. Their bodies are too close. Skin to skin. His nose softly brushes the back of her head, trailing down to the side of her neck to get a better view of what he was doing. The air remains stuck in her throat as she fails to utter a word. Mehr's brain is too clouded by the feel of his warm breath tenderly skimming her skin.

She gulps finally, releasing a shaky gasp, "I think I got it now. Thank you."

Mehr didn't need to turn around to face him to know he is grinning. She certainly didn't want to observe his pretty brown eyes infused with gold and emerald specks because then her mind, her heart, her whole being would be full of him—just thoughts of him.

The way he looked at her. It's always the eyes. She may refuse to acknowledge it, but it's always in the eyes. They say it all.

"You're welcome."

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