"I was on a goddamn vacation in this God-forsaken place. I never meant to get engaged to you. I never meant any of this to happen. You. Me. Us. None of it!"
That was Saira Malik's life in summary. Once a happy-go-lucky girl fantasized about two thin...
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I change sides, my hand going up to scratch my collarbone and felt it sting. A faint sound of something like a door opening and closing reached my ears. Something soft and warm pressed against my temple moments later.
"Wake up, Jaana."
With my eyes shut, I humm in response and nod but stop midway.
Jaana? No one calls me Jaana except Fahad.
Furrowing my brows, I crack an eye open while turning to the side again. But, instead of the cozy bed, I crash land in the floor with a loud thud. My head hitting the bedside table in the process, causing me to groan. While attempting to move into a sitting position, I realize the duvet I wrapped like a shawarma in. That's when Fahad rushing towards me, unwrapping the comforter I took down with me before lifting me up in bridal style before setting me on his lap.
"Hi," I breathed, throwing my legs on either side of his waist and tried to settle down.
"Hi," He murmured, putting a palm on my head to where it collided with the side table and rubs it rather mercilessly.
"Fa--ow! Ow! Ow! Stop! Its hurting, jaan. Ow!" I swat at his hand after freeing my head from his zalim hand.
"You'll have a bump if I don't--"
"It's fine! Subha subha dard dediyea mujhe." I grumble, earning a chuckle from him. "Khair, tell me what are you doing in my. . ." The familiarity of the room seeps in as I trail off, glancing around me and realizing this was his room.
Altering my question, I ask again. "What am I doing in. . ." The rose petals scattered on the floor, the bed, the dresser clicks leaving me gasping.
"Oh my god!" I exclaim, holding his face between my hands. "We got married? We got married. We got married!" Fahad laughs falling back on the mattress with me in his arms.
"We did." He says, beaming at me.
"We got married," I repeat the words as my mind flashes the moments from last night. Me getting ready, walking up the isle with my parents, saying quboolhai to this man, then lifting him up, our photoshoot and then me, crying and crying and crying. My brows knit together when I couldn't recall anything after that.
Did I accidentally wipe out my memories on hitting my head?
"What?" Fahad asks.
"I don't remember anything after rukhsati." I admit, utterly embarrassed.
"You don't?" A look of disbelief clouds his face. "Nothing at all?" I shake my head at his broken voice as he slowly moves to sit up.
"You don't remember me stepping through that door? You don't remember me finding my name in your mehndi? You don't remember when I took your ghunghat off? You don't remember this--" Swiftly, he shifts positions throwing me on the bed under him and pressing me down with his weight.
