When Silver Met Gold

Chapter 3 - Coffee

"How beautiful it is to find someone who asks for nothing but your company." -Brigitte Nicole

My social life exploded after winning. Everybody from my class tried to be kind to me. It might be because of their newfound knowledge of my talent. Or that the school's president was my uncle. It didn't matter to me.

I was taking my classes regularly, and I had talked to my classmates—they were lovely and respected me. I didn't remember why I had been so insecure when I first came here since everyone was so nice to me.

I hadn't seen Aaliyan Haider since that day, but his unique golden eyes and that damn dimple still haunted me. Even subconsciously, I always searched for him. My eyes roamed over the university, hoping to chance upon him, but he was never there.

I was quite disappointed with his absence—especially when my eyes were dying to see him, and my nose was crying for the smell of his engulfing scent. My ears refused to listen to any other sound, but that voice and mesmerizing laughter. My hands were itching to touch his shiny brown hair and his beautiful olive skin.

Oh, God, I'm screwed! Stupid, Musca, stupid, stupid, snap out of it!

I had always been the kind to wear my heart on my sleeve. I had ever swooned over a fine specimen of men, but this time—this attraction was torturous. I craved him, and that was bad. Terrible.

You need to pull yourself up by your socks!

Lost in my thoughts, I practically ran over the pavement between the lawns. I collided with a hard chest. Gasping, I stepped back and looked up, only to find my uncle glaring at me, with a nasty expression on his face like chewing uncooked fish.

"What's up?" I asked in a nervous tone.

He didn't reply, and he looked over his shoulder at someone. I followed his eyes. My eyes found a tall girl; I could see her eyes shining with naughtiness even from this distance. One side of her pink lips curled up into a smirk.

I gave her a confused look while taking in her appearance. She seemed a year or two older than me; her waist-length hair was black, darker than coal. She wore a button-down shirt that reached above her knees, dark blue denim jeans, and her printed scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

Uncle gave her the last glare and moved forward, ignoring me completely. I shrugged and moved forward.

It was my habit to have dinner in a different restaurant every night since I had arrived in Pakistan. There was a Japanese restaurant a few blocks away but I never visited it. Today, Uncle had invited me to have dinner with him there.

I was not very talkative with people I was far from, but in Uncle Mubashir's presence, I learned to have a small talk with him, and he was a very kind person. The only questions I got from him were about my health, my wellbeing, and if I needed anything.

I pulled up my car in front of the restaurant and tossed my keys to the valet. He caught them and gave me a polite smile.

The warmth of the heaters welcomed me as I walked inside, the lush interior decorated with paper lanterns emitting yellow lights, and bamboo plants accompanied with an indoor waterfall. Overall, the entire look was Japanese with traditional writings on the walls. I smiled at the calming atmosphere.

A waiter welcomed me and walked me to a table. I approvingly assessed the tasteful details of traditional cutlery and asked the waiter to bring the chef's best dish. He went away, smiling.

Since I arrived, Papa had called me a total of once when I landed, to ask if I was safe. There were no calls afterwards, just the money every month on the due date. Sometimes he would send me loads of money for no reason.