"You've pushed me away from the start, and I let you. Kept your distance from me and I let you. Now when you've finally come to terms with your feelings, you're letting me go without a fight?!"
Muaaz, a talented yet struggling architect based in Lo...
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"How'd you get here?" Muaaz asked the second his eyes fell on a pajama clad glory of Noor lounging on the couch.
"You almost sounded like Matt LeBlonc's famous 'How you doin?'" She almost giggled.
When he shot her an unimpressed look, paired with a raised brow, she huffed. "I limped my way downstairs."
"Could've given your--" Muaaz gestured to himself "--very personal porter a ring."
Noor grinned, flashing all her teeth at his cocky offer and blushed.
"I've had enough of your arms on me," she said, crossing her arms, though her pulse betrayed her calm.
He took three long, unhurried strides toward her, eyes glinting with amusement. "Tell me you didn't like it."
"I didn't."
"Liar."
Her breath caught as he reached the couch where she sat, his shadow falling over her. She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze - those dark eyes that always seemed to know too much.
For a heartbeat, the air between them thickened. His hand brushed against the top of the couch, fingers curling near her shoulder. She could smell the faint trace of his cologne - sandalwood and something warm - that made her brain short-circuit just a little.
"Say it again," he murmured, voice low, teasing, as if daring her to lie one more time.
Her lips parted, but before a word could slip out--
Ding dong!
Saved by the bell," Muaaz muttered, stepping back, his breath still uneven.
"Take your time," Muskaan said, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she leaned back into the couch. "I'm not running anywhere."
"Yeah, you better not," he grumbled, half under his breath, earning himself an amused snort from her.
He ran a hand through his hair, still trying to shake off the leftover tension as he made his way to the door. Undoing the latch, he pulled it open to find a middle-aged delivery man standing there with a clipboard and a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and satin ribbon.
"Muskaan Abdullah ke liye parcel hai," the man said, adjusting his cap and offering the form to sign.
Muaaz scribbled his name on the sheet, murmuring, "Thank you," as the man handed him the parcel - except it wasn't a parcel.
It was a bouquet.
Not just any bouquet - a stunning, full arrangement of white lilies, lush and fragrant, tied with a gold ribbon and tucked with a small envelope that had Muskaan written on it in looping handwriting.
Muaaz blinked. "Wow," he muttered flatly, shutting the door with a lazy kick before turning around, the flowers clutched awkwardly in one arm.
He walked back to the living room, his face an unreadable mix of disbelief and annoyance, and placed the bouquet on the center table with a soft thud.
