'Kiss & Makeup' - Dua Lipa & Blackpink
Unedited
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Standing in front of the mirror, Syra held up two different anarkali dresses infront of her : one navy with an embroidered dupatta and one with a black skirt and cream bodice with designs. In the end she opted for the navy one, it was simple yet elegant and the other seemed a little too much for just a dinner. Her mother insisted she wore Asian clothing to the dawat. (Style of a dress worn in South Asia, like below), (It's like a scarf South Asians wear with outfits), (Dawat is like a feast, a special meal).
She wore a navy hijab with gold tassels at the end and golden kuseh (type of footwear in South Asia, below)
She arranged her dupatta on her left hand and leading to the right shoulder from the back, gathering it and pinning it on her shoulder and letting the rest hang in front. She wore a tight under-hijab, which covered her neck, tying at the back like a turban so she could still wear earrings and cover her head and neck. She wore her tasseled hijab on top loosely and pinned it from the sides, her earrings dangling.
Now for her makeup. She loved doing makeup, she wore some everyday without the base though. She was focused on repairing her skin after all the acne scars and hyperpigmentation, and she almost had clear skin and didn't want to ruin that.
She put a bit of concealer here and there on her blemishes, around her mouth and under her eyes. She loved her natural brows - she didn't pluck, cut, thread, shave or wax them due to religious guidelines, nor did she want to anyways. She just lightly bleached the hairs on her brow bone so they blended with her skin. Brushing them through with brow gel, she applied some highlighter on her brow bone, inner corners of her eyes, tip & bridge of her nose, tops of cheekbones, chin, Cupid's bow, eyelid and rubbed the remnants of her forehead. Some brown eyeliner in the corners of her eyes to enhance her large almond eye shape.
She then took bronzer in the crease of her eyelid, a little under her cheekbones, jaw and eyes, her temples, top of her forehead and then her nose. She drew a straight line from the start of her eyebrow to her nostril in both side, underneath and above the tip of her nose. She was also blessed with thick eyelashes and naturally red lips, so a quick swipe of mascara and some clear lip gloss and she was ready to go. No perfume when going out. She stepped back and admired herself.
Grabbing her phone, she dashed out her room, running down the stairs after hearing her mother call her name.
"Hai tu kitne soni lagdi hain. Here, put this bindi on, it'll look khubsurat." (Oh you're looking so pretty), (Beautiful) (A bindi is a decorative dot worn on the forehead by South Asian women. They come in different styles. They have a significance in Hinduism, but many South Asian cultures have adopted it as a fashion. They stick to your forehead).
Syra felt conspicuous; if not a little extra. But she didn't care; you only live once. She didn't know the family they were having dinner at; apparently her father had recently befriended Asfandyar at the masjid (mosque) and wanted their families to meet.
"Let's go," said Saleh. Syra reached out and smacked Ilyas, who was busy making puking faces behind Amma's back.
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Syra and her family walked down the street after exiting their cars. The house was on the main road, so they parked on a side road and walked to the house. On the way people stared; they were dressed in their cultural clothes and fancy ones at that. They reached the house - it was a five bedroom house, a little larger than the average house in London. The front garden had two cars parked in front of their garage door.
Abba went ahead and rung the doorbell, the rest waiting him. The door was opened by a young man, whom Syra couldn't see until her father went forward to greet him.
Zayn.
She immediately felt self conscious. She felt ridiculous in her clothes - she didn't wanna come off as trying too hard. She wanted to tear off her earrings and bindi and strangle herself with her dupatta. Be a woman, not a immature girl, she scolded herself. She took a deep breath, straightens her posture and folded her hands infront of her, her phone in her left so she could shake hands with the ladies with her right.
She raised her head to find him done greeting her dad and looking at her, his silver eyes shining with shock, before masking his features and greeting Saleh. Their little exchange didn't go unnoticed by Malikah, who nudged Syra, wiggling her eyebrows. Syra shook her head. She didn't understand how she was a wife and mother yet was more childish than herself.
Then Ilyas went to shake hands with him. Ilyas doesn't know that Zayn and I are pretty well acquainted, she suddenly thought. She panicked a little, but calmed down after deciding she'd just go with whatever Zayn said.
Zayn shook hands with Umar and Umair, then her sister's husband Hamza, then stepped back and held the door wide open for the ladies to enter. He said his salams to Amma and Husna who were holding Hassan and Hussain, smiled down at Anayah. Her heart sung at his manners with her family. His future in laws. She mentally scolded herself. She needn't get her hopes up.
Now it was her and Malikah. Syra stepped forwards so she didn't end up last, but her sly older sister hurried past her with the excuse of helping her children taking if their shoes, quickly greeting Zayn on the way. Kutti, Syra fumed. (Female dog - bitch).
Now it was just her and Zayn. Her male family had gone a little ahead to meet his family members, while her mum and sisters dealt with their shoes before going to exchange a thousand kisses with their hosts.
Syra tentatively walked forward, cursing herself for suddenly being so shy. This wasn't her at all. What happened to being a bad bitch 24/7, huh?
"Assalamualaikum Syra. Come in. Don't just stand there." he grinned widely, picking up on her obvious nervousness.
Her heart thumped wildly at his appearance. His messily styled wavy locks, falling about his head, those motherfucking eyes staring at her, making her flush. He looked so handsome in a white kurta paired with maroon trousers and white air forces - why was he wearing shoes indoors? The light glinted off his silver chain and bracelets on each hand. His kurta sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms, dotted with darkish hair. She found that so attractive, she didn't know why, and his rings and bracelets just added to it. He noticed her checking him out did that face that guys always do - the rolling their eyes while looking away and doing the tongue thing - she was ready to faint right there and then. I ain't ever seen a man so fit, came a thought. She shook her head and tried to stop drooling over him.
"Walaikumasalam. Uhm... -are we gonna act like we don't know each other in front our families?" She couldn't help but ask.
"I don't see why we should do that," he replied, raising his eyebrows, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed.
Remembering she was taking too long she went forward and stepped, engulfed by his musky cologne. God, it was like her crack. She was sure she was going mad. He turned to close the door; she couldn't help admire his side profile, his jaw, before turning and bending down to take off her kuseh. She cursed herself for wearing the fancy ones, she should have opted for the easy slip on ones.
"Us men will be sitting out in the back garden, while you ladies are going to be in the living room which is just on the left. All kids under the age of 12 are in the garden playing. The rest of the kids found something to do." he explained, before walking off.
Little did they know two people had witnessed their whole exchange.
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Syra ended up befriending Zaina, Zayn's sister. Malikah and his older sister Zarah immediately hit off, while Husna and Zoya went off to play in her room. Anayah and Zeinab eyed each other before ending up playing with their dolls. Their mothers chatted non - stop, especially after finding out they were from neighbouring villages in Pakistan. Shortly after they came, Zayn's sister in laws, Naila, Yamna and Javairia, arrived, bringing another whole gang of children.
She didn't see Zayn until it was time for tea. The men and women had dinner separately; there were too many people to fit in at once. Everyone had more or less gathered in the extended lounge, scattered across the sofas and bean bag seats, while sipping chai which had been cooked over the stove for a while. The room was alive with chatter, everyone immersed in their own conversations. Zaina had left to go study for a test she had to give online later, so Syra leaned back and observed everybody. Who was she trying to kid. She was only discreetly looking at Zayn converse with Ilyas through her eyelashes. She hoped they got on well. Now that she thought of it, they had seemed like they had known each other when they met. Interesting.
Her father said something that caught her attention,
"So does Zayn plan to get married young like your other children?" He asked Asfandyar Uncle.
Zayn immediately looked at her - which was a mistake because now everyone was looking at him staring at her. She looked away instantly.
His father spoke before he could,
"Oh Sikandar, I've talked to him. He doesn't want to. Then yesterday he got all ready so I told him it's probably no one special right? And he agrees-"
Syra stopped listening after that. A ringing sound echoed through her eyes, making her head hurt.
No one special.
Ouch. That hurt her. She peeked at Zayn through the corner of her eye to see him desperately trying to get her attention without catching anybody else's. She didn't know why she was hurt - he hadn't promised her anything. Heck, they hadn't even talked about seeing each other as romantic prospects. She had no right to sit here upset. With that, she tilted her head up and put on her usual steely mask. She was going to show that it didn't affect her.
She looked around the room to find Shereen Aunty looking at her, lost in thought. Her heart thumped; it was always terrifying when an Aunty sets her sights on you. Syra managed a small smile to which Shereen Aunty forced a smile on her face and looked away, muttering things to herself.
Turning to look at all her family, she found Ilyas had moved himself from Zayn and was coming over to sit next to her. And he did not look happy.
"You didn't tell me you knew him from before," Ilyas lowly murmured, barely controlling his rage.
"I was assigned to work with him on International Day. That's it. If you came you would've seen." she snapped, annoyed he was being so ridiculous.
"That's it? That explains where you were yesterday after college? I assume Monday too? That little encounter at the front door? How hurt you looked when Asfandyar Uncle recalled how the person he was meeting, you, were no one special? You've been lost in your thoughts; preoccupied - because of him. I also saw your sketches - I thought at first it was just something from online but then I pieced everything together,"
"And? Leave me the fuck alone, Ilyas-"
"I'm trying to protect you! You don't know the stuff he's involved in-"
"I do. All the illegal shiz. I do,"
"That fucker told you? Bhenchod. Wait till I -" (Bhen: sister and chod: fucker, so it's means sister-fucker)
Syra elbowed Ilyas in the ribs to shut him up - Zayn had got up from his seat and was heading for the door, which he had to pass them to reach it. When he got within hearing range, she spoke to Ilyas,
"Ilyas, I just owed someone something. Had to repay a favour. That's where I was after college. Nothing spectacular or outta the ordinary. It won't happen again. Jheez,"
She laughed at the end, widening her eyes quickly at Ilyas, hoping he'd get the hint. Thankfully he did and played his part by smiling and shaking his head,
"Okay fine. Last time you go somewhere like that. No need to meet up with irrelevant people. I have a tracker on your phone,"
Syra looked up and smiled and nodded at Zayn, as if to say goodbye. He had carefully wiped his face of any emotion; but she could see the confusion swirling in his eyes, the beginning of hurt.
Her heart constricted. Betrayal was all she felt. No triumph at all.
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The moment the car stopped running, Syra was out in beat. She picked up her skirts and ran for her house, barely containing the tears welling in her eye. She heard someone call her; perhaps one of the twins but she didn't care. She had grabbed the keys from her mum in the car; so she fumbled for the keyhole, blinded by her tears. After some tugging and pushing the door burst open and she ran in and up to her room, locking the door behind her.
She stood in front of her mirror, plucking the pins out her hijab and letting them scatter across her vanity; pulling off her bindi and earrings. A few drops of oil on a cotton pad to wipe her makeup off. She grabbed some night clothes and dashed to the bathroom, quickly changing, washing her face and brushing her teeth.
Running back to her room, she went to her sketches and tore out all of the ones with Zayn - she didn't even know why she kept her failed attempts. Seeing his side profile; those steel eyes - how could she have deluded herself into thinking they'd soften for her? She felt humiliated, cheated because she had told him she'd felt something between them, she'd exposed herself and how she was hurting.
We are not going to cry over something as little as this. He didn't promise us anything - why be upset, huh? We are going to show him that our life is completely fine, despite what we said yesterday. Probably inhaled some of his drugs, spoke one side of her.
That was a low blow. He confided in us and that's not something to make comments over, said a more reasonable side of her.
It's not like he's here to listen.
Syra ignored the voices in her head and carried on with her task of disposing his portraits.
He's no one special, right?
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Writing from a guy's perspective is more of a challenge than I thought. When I write for Syra, it comes easily; from experience.
I feel as if men don't pick up as many things as women do - only when they want to for certain people. And I didn't want to be one of those writers who just make the guy's pov solely about his perverted thoughts - yeah everyone has them especially teenage boys but I wanted to focus on his emotions too. He's also currently in a detached state, so he ain't like too focused on what's going on except for when Syra is around, and his thoughts aren't too pg when she's concerned but he also feels for her, so I try focus on that. Besides I did say it's Rated 15 and I wanna stick to that. Zayn is less interactive than Syra as well, so it only makes it harder. He feels just like her, but he cannot describe it that well, he doesn't decipher emotions through little actions the way Syra does; she's vigilant and notices more. That's why you might feel as if you understand a lot more through her perspective - they're different people, so you are viewing the story through two different lenses and then your own.
I hope this helped. I didn't want people to think I was rushing Zayn's pov and only putting effort into Syra's. It's just the way they individually see things differently.
2770 words.