Fanaa - Destroyed in Love (Short stories/scenes)

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"Pehli Mohabbat Thi Aur Hum Dono Hi Bebas,
Woh Zulfein Sambhalte Rahe Aur Main Khud Ko"

She weaved her long cascading curly hair into a french braid as she held her own gaze in the mirror. Maher. His name sent the butterflies flying in her stomach, but so did the anxiety crawled in her veins.

"Why would he send a proposal for me?"

She picked up her glasses and wore them along with putting the small silver jhumke. She draped the red dupatta on her shoulders that matched the lace on her black kameez and churidar.

He saw her in a formal dress. Her beauty accentuated to the nines with the stokes of glitter and makeup, making her look flawless. If he saw her like this, for who she was, The leftover scars from teenage acne, the glasses, and her comfort in traditional dresses. He'd probably take back every word he said.

She sighed and took her bag that included her colors and sketchbook and went on her way to the place she found comfort in.

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The bell on the door rang as she entered the small cozy cafe. Hafiza's little bakery and cafe that she helped curate near the city. Another day was going to be spent sitting here and doing what she loved, watching passerby's come in and out of the bakery while she sat at the end of the counter filling in Hafiza with her nonsense.

"Meeru!" She exclaimed in relief. "I was wondering where you were."

"What happened?" Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked around to see what was wrong.

"Muskaan is late and for some reason, there are a lot more customers. Take the register please." Hafiza shouted from the kitchen, leaving the order register to her.

Putting her bag and sketchbook in the office, she pulled a stool and started taking orders. This cafe was her sanctuary. A place where she was just Ameera, the painter. A place where the surname Qureshi didn't burden her soul and made her feel like a failure. Also, it made her proud that Hafiza hung Ameera's painting all around the cafe. Hafiza also seemed to be the only fan of her paintings.

She had held the front register on her own, taking orders, payments, passing it down to the kitchen. The process was smooth as the morning coffee and chai addiction went down by an hour or two. The little bells on the door rang as the door opened.

"Welcome!" She bellowed without looking up as she wrote down the last order on the cup. She was engrossed in her work when she felt a looming shadow on the counter. She was about to look up when she heard his voice.

"What a pleasant surprise on this beautiful morning?"

Her head shot up, meeting the coal-black eyes of the man who shared his glasses with her last night. At first, she had the butterflies of happiness fleeting in her stomach, but then she remembered what her dad said. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What would you like to order on this beautiful morning?"

She sneered at the man who looked nothing like the night of the party. Unlike his suit, he was dressed in an Adidas Hoodie, casual jeans, and a wristwatch along with a leather bracelet on his left arm. He looked more boyish than he did in his suit, yet there something dignified and poised about him. His brown hair was left unruly, yet swept to the side. For a second she wondered if this man was even the same. It was those glasses that connected them. He was wearing them again.

"Woah! what's got you mad?"

"What's got me mad? Me?" She whispered, furiously. "I talked to you nicely for two seconds and you sent your rishta to my house."

"What... I... No-"

"I'm sure you put up Yusuf to it too. You brought him so I can like you." She raised her chin, narrowing her eyes at him.

"So you like me?" He raised his eyebrows, a smug smile replacing the confused expressions.

"What!" She shrieked.

Everyone turned around, staring at her. Hafiza her head with amusement.

"Muskaan is here, Meeru. You're free." She said it a little too loud as if trying to assert something. Muskaan threw her a grateful smile, taking over the counter. The young girl almost swooned over the man standing in front of her. She rolled her eyes, taking her sketchbook and her bag from the office to sit in her usual corner.

She almost slammed her books on the table. How could she slip on her words so badly? He was making her lose all her calm and cool. She had never talked to a man in that tone, so casually and rude. Not even Ahad.

"Sorry!" A hot cup of chai was placed in front of her. He pulled out the chair, sitting across from her. "A peace offering."

"I don't even like chai." She smirked feeling accomplished. Lies. She was dying to wrap her hands around the frothy chai which had steam clouding over it. It looked so tempting but she pretended as if it was the last thing on earth she still wouldn't touch it.

"Hafiza told me it's on the house. Also that 'instead of blood her laachi wali chai flows through your veins.' Her words, not mine." He countered her smug look. Her smile fell from her face faster than she would've dropped a hot potato. Traitor. She looked at the kitchen window where she was happily baking. She sheepishly wrapped her hand around the warm cup

"Why did you do that? Why did you send the proposal?"

"I didn't-" He didn't finish his sentence. His eyes smokey eyes went soft. The sun rays illuminated in them as if the sun itself was swirling in them. She had met him twice, but his company was akin to the warmest rays on a snowy winter day. There was a comfort that surrounded him. "Tell me something." He leaned back in the chair. "If I liked you then how else should I pursue you?"

"Uh- I." She blinked at his question. "Why would you pursue me?" She was genuinely flustered as tucked a stray lock that escaped from her braid, behind her ear with her jittery hands.

"Are you fishing for compliments, Meeru?" He tilted his head, sipping coffee so alluringly.

"You don't get to call me that."

"So will you please go to dinner with me tonight to see if I have a chance to call you, Meeru?"

"I-"

"Just one chance."