𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫-𝐞-𝐃𝐢𝐥

05. What's Her Size?

Recap ~

"I'm not sorry to say this, but your brother is an absolute, grade-A, top-tier, champion-level, world-class, undisputed... asshole!" I declared with exaggerated flair, my voice trembling with suppressed emotion as I struggled to maintain my composure.

Feeling my eyes welling up with unshed tears, I fought to keep my emotions in check, refusing to let my vulnerability show.

"He's an asshole!" I repeated vehemently, my frustration boiling over as I emphasized my point with a fierce determination.

And then, with a dramatic pause, I dropped the bombshell revelation that had been weighing heavily on my mind.

"And I am trypophobic!"

Am i trypophobic? hell nawww!, but is he an asshole? hell yesss!

Leaving Sahil to process my outburst, I turned to face aunty, who observed me with wide eyes, a mix of shock and amusement playing on her face.

"I'm sorry, aunty, for the cursing," I apologized for my cursing and not for calling her son asshole, my voice still raw with emotion as I made my way back to my room, the events of the evening hanging loosely on my mind.

⋆｡ °✩⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧⋆ ｡˚ ⋆✩° ｡⋆

05. What's Her Size 

Zohraan Pathan ~

I descended the stairs, my steps purposeful, clad in a sharply tailored Armani suit that accentuated my stature. With practiced precision, my hand deftly adjusted my tie, ensuring the knot was flawlessly aligned. It had been a week since the incident with the water, and her evident fury lingered in the air.

I mean, seriously, who knew saying sorry could be so exhausting?

Despite my usual indifference to her emotions, I couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling of scolding her, especially when the words 'princess treatment' slipped from my lips.

As if I gave a damn about her feelings though. But still it was a misstep on my part, and I was prepared to rectify it with an apology. However, her avoidance of me made the task seem increasingly daunting. 

Rolling my eyes at my own internal musings, I approached the table where Dad sat, Mom bustling around cheerfully, serving his breakfast with a nurturing smile. "Ma Sha Allah," I remarked softly, acknowledging the familiar scene before me.

Memories of moments flooded my mind, recalling the times when Mom would scold me for misbehavior and insist that I apologize, a ritual that had become ingrained in our daily interactions. Today was no different; as she served me my breakfast.

But then, of course, Mom couldn't resist the urge to bring up the dreaded 'M' word. "Itna bade hogaye ho tum, shadi ki umar hogayi hai," she reminded me, as if I needed another reminder that my eternal bachelor status was a source of familial concern.

("You've grown so much, it's time for marriage.")

"Shadi? Nah, you know I am on the path of celibacy," I deadpanned, earning myself a disapproving glare from Dad. Great, another strike against me in the never-ending game of 'Disappointing Dad.'

As if on cue, Dad chimed in with his two cents about the sanctity of marriage. "Janab, nikkah karna to sunnat hoti hai; it makes half of your deen complete," he lectured, earning a disapproving glance from Dad, whose eyes, the same steely grey as mine, held a silent reminder of his past admonishments.