Fuck.
A glance at those orbs made him realize she could have gone with less eyeshadow maybe. Itna bh tyar honay ki kya zaroorat th. No wonder the men around wouldn't stop ogling at her. But it didn't bother him. He was least concerned. He wasn't concerned with the way the eyeliner made her eyes look prominent and prettier than they were.
Shut the fuck up, will you? Get a hold of yourself, man. You are mad at her,
The terrible yellow jora she was wearing with a red net dupatta was stinging his eyes actually. Yes, it was.
Totally.
Absolutely.
Those colourful sleeves clad with sequins complimented her skin and he wondered if it would nip his flesh if he held her close. She was wearing a flat khussa thankfully, because had she been in heels it was most likely she would've tripped not that he doubted her ability to run a marathon in a stiletto. Her beautifully decked honey-coloured dress- only the dress, he was only complimenting the dress, shimmered beautifully under the golden lights of the bathroom.
Her luscious black locks framed her back, a part of it uncovered and held by two fancy threads hanging low, they whisked together throughout the evening whenever she skipped around her house. However, she didn't cover her unclad back when she twirled in the hall with her cousins and friends, to the tunes of music played in the background. It didn't go unnoticed when her back was visible to the lecherous eyes of men ogling at her unabashedly.
He hated it here.
How could she be so oblivious to things around her or she loved getting on his nerves with these antics? He assumed it was both.
He wiped his face begrudgingly pulling his best grump expression that left hundreds tremble in fear but never her. It was only Umeed Pasha who had the audacity to put him in place, and he had no shame in admitting it only to himself, the rest of the world could go without this piece of information.
He handed over the napkin back, not missing the way her fingers brushed against his.
"Hogya aapka?" She asked pulling the softest voice she could, not that he was someone to be affected by such antics. He was Farjaad Khan Bahadur, people had tried to lure him but he always knew better. He could never be fooled.
"Masla kya hai tumhara" He seethed.
He waited for her answer but it wasn't answered verbally. Instead, he was jerked towards this tiny human as if it was the easiest thing for her to do. It was he who went to the gym, he was the one who was twice her size but she was the only one around whom his body seemed to have given up. He felt even if she took him to hell holding his hand, he'd swift away. From the day he came to her house the first time with that watch and she held him by his wrist, an unnamed force, gravity or something else pulling him towards her, to this day, his body maybe knew better than he did.
She was holding the wet lapel of his white shirt, and her eyes- those mesmerizing eyes he tried to ignore for the last 90 minutes were confident in her doings. She looked fierce and breathtakingly beautiful. The moment his eyes fell on her this evening, he had this raging desire in his heart to hold her in his arms and never let go of the petite frame that fit so well in his embrace every single time.
The way she chirped around, laughed and teased Mimi but didn't spare a single glance at him didn't sit well with him.
But that was not even the main problem.
Things went ahead and the yellow on her wasn't making things easy for his abysmal heart.
He hated it here (not, absolutely not)
Behind Closed Doors
Start from the beginning
