Fiza and Alan continued their studies together, finding solace and happiness in each other's company. They laughed, shared stories, and engaged in deep conversations that strengthened their bond. It seemed like they were back on track, yet there were moments when Fiza's gaze would wander and a hint of sadness would cloud her eyes. She sighed deeply, unable to fully shake off the weight on her heart.
Alan noticed these subtle signs and became even more determined to make her happy. He went the extra mile, constantly checking on her throughout the day and spending hours talking to her on the phone until she drifted off to sleep at night.
They delved into a myriad of topics, never running out of things to discuss. From the complexities of life to matters of religion, politics, and even their own family dramas, their conversations flowed effortlessly.
One day, Alan decided to browse through their shared Instagram account and came across a post that caught his attention. Fiza had posted a solo captioned : "Little do you know" - by Sierra.
Little do you know
How I'm breakin' while you fall asleep
Little do you know
I'm still haunted by the memories
Little do you know
I'm tryin' to pick myself up piece by piece
Little do you know
I need a little more time
Underneath it all I'm held captive by the hole inside
I've been holding back for the fear that you might change your mind
I'm ready to forgive you, but forgettin' is a harder fight
Little do you know
I need a little more time
Instantly, his heart sank. He could sense the hidden message behind those words, and it filled him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
That night, as Alan held the phone to his ear, he gazed into the darkness of his room, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and genuine concern. "I'm really trying here, Fiza," he confessed, his words tinged with a hint of desperation.
In the soft glow of her own phone screen, Fiza sighed, her voice carrying a gentle reassurance. "I know," she whispered. "You've been amazing."
A surge of frustration welled up within Alan as he sought to understand the root of Fiza's lingering sadness. His brows furrowed as he anxiously awaited her response. "Then why are you still sad?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and yearning.
Silence hung in the air for a brief moment, as if Fiza's thoughts were carefully gathering before finding their way to her lips. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "I'm happy now. I'm happy when I'm with you."
Alan's heart skipped a beat at her words. A gentle smile curved his lips, even though she couldn't see it. "Me too," he confessed, his voice brimming with sincerity. "I'm so incredibly happy when I'm with you. You are everything to me."
Fiza's breath caught in her throat, a wave of emotion washing over her. "You are everything to me too," she confessed, her voice trembling with raw emotion.
Alan's heart ached with longing as he yearned for Fiza's presence, his mind consumed by vivid images of their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. He imagined the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips against his. The intensity of his desire clashed with the reality of their physical separation, and he found himself torn between the craving to hold her close and the gratitude for the distance that restrained them.
In a hushed tone, Fiza's voice reached his ears, "Can I stay with you tomorrow?" Her voice was low. "I want you to hold me, Alan." Her words hung in the air, laden with vulnerability and a shared longing. The thought of her staying with him, of feeling the weight of her body against his, stirred a deep yearning within Alan.
"Yes," Alan whispered, his voice laced with a potent mix of desire and determination. "I wish you could stay with me forever," he confessed, unable to suppress the intensity of his feelings. His words slipped past his lips, without thought, guided solely by the raw honesty of his emotions.
Silence followed, thick with unspoken sentiments and unfulfilled desires. Fiza's response, delivered with a fragile vulnerability, echoed his sentiment; "Me too."
Fiza's footsteps echoed as she made her way to Alan after their clinicals, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She couldn't help but smile as she locked eyes with him, and in an instant, he pulled her into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against hers brought a sense of comfort and familiarity, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
Settling down at the library to study, their gazes lingered on each other, filled with unspoken words and unexplored emotions. She was determined to express her love to him, regardless of his response, knowing deep down that he felt the same way.
Alan took Fiza out to dinner that night, insisting on treating her. Fiza couldn't help but playfully tease him, saying, "That's not very feminist of you."
Chuckling, Alan responded, hinting at his income from his modeling side gig, "Well, since only I am earning at the moment..."
Throughout the evening, their conversation danced around lighthearted topics, carefully avoiding the subject that both of them yearned to explore. They knew that the time would come to delve into their feelings, but for now, they wanted to savor the moments of togetherness, building up the courage to bare their souls.
As they arrived at Alan's house, they were greeted by the presence of his grandmother, whose expression tightened at the sight of Fiza. Alan's mother, sensing the tension, warned him discreetly.
Curious, Alan's grandmother addressed Fiza in Malayalam, asking, "Who is this?"
"Alan's friend," his mother responded.
"Your friend is very pretty, Alan," she commented in Malayalam, and Fiza smiled. "Let me see you," she motioned with her hand. Fiza went and kneeled in front of her, allowing his grandmother to examine her. "Good. Good. But is she Catholic?" she enquired.
"Ammachi!" Alan exclaimed, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement. His grandmother continued, "Your brother married a Jacobite, and you know they haven't even baptized their baby," shaking her head in disapproval.
"Ammachi, Fiza is my friend. And she understands Malayalam," Alan warned, trying to steer the conversation away from potential complications.
"Oh? Are you Malayali?" his grandmother asked in their native language.
"Yes," Fiza replied. "Rupali isn't even a Malayali," she said, referring to Alan's sister-in-law.
Fiza laughed, wanting to make a positive impression. "I'm fluent," she assured them.
Alan's mother shook her head, emphasizing, "It doesn't matter, she is just a friend."
"Such a good friend that she is staying here for the night?" his grandmother inquired suspiciously, her tone filled with humor. "No, you are stupid or you are covering for him," she said to Alan's mother, chuckling. "Such a pretty friend. Are you Catholic?" she asked Fiza once again.
Fiza shook her head, her response clear. "But do you accept Jesus as your savior?" his grandmother continued, wanting to delve into matters of faith.
Before Fiza could respond, Alan stepped in, declaring, "I'm not marrying Fiza, okay? She is Muslim and already engaged to someone else."
Alan's words cut through Fiza's heart like a sharp blade. His response not only extinguished the hope that had blossomed within her but also shattered the fantasy she had nurtured of Alan finally wanting her as his forever. His declaration was a stark reminder of the boundaries they could never fully cross. If he felt anything at all for her, she realized, it would just culminate in a fling followed by a painful break up.
"Is Ammachi using the guestroom?" Alan asked his mother, attempting to find an excuse for Fiza to sleep in his room. His mother nodded in confirmation. "Maybe you can sleep in Alex's room," she suggested to Fiza. "Have you both had dinner?"
"Yes, we just did," Alan chimed in, trying to divert attention away from the real reason Fiza was there. He hoped to alleviate any suspicion.
Fiza made her way to Alan's room to retrieve her pajamas. She had left a few of her clothes at his house for situations like this.
As she entered Alex's room, a sense of nostalgia washed over her. The room had a faint musty smell from being locked while Alex was away. The walls were adorned with pictures of Alan and Alex growing up, along with snapshots of Alex and his wife at a wedding reception, and their baby.
Fiza smiled, envisioning pictures of herself and Alan adorning his walls. But then she remembered Alan's words, "I'm not going to marry her. She's Muslim and engaged to someone else."
Why was this not getting any easier? Would he fight for her? Would she fight for him? The image of her parents' disappointed faces flashed in her mind as she imagined telling them she wanted to marry Alan. Her heart sank, realizing that it seemed impossible.
Suddenly, she heard a knock on the door. It was Alan, holding her toothbrush. "You forgot this," he said quietly. Then he added, "Don't lock the door."
Fiza had drifted off to sleep when she felt someone's arms around her. It was Alan. "Hey," he whispered, noticing that she had woken up. "They just went to bed," he explained. Fiza sat up, feeling alarmed. "What if they catch you here with me?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
"I've locked your door," Alan reassured her, pulling her closer and resting his arm around her waist. Fiza giggled nervously. "The balconies are connected," he said, hinting at their potential escape route, bringing a glimmer of lightheartedness to the situation.
Fiza lay back down in bed but turned away from Alan. Alan, unaware of the impact of his words to his grandmother and the change in her mindset, pulled her closer and spooned her.
Alan's fingers traced the contours of her neckline, a trail of fire ignited in their wake. Fiza's body trembled with a mixture of anticipation and hesitation as Alan's touch sent shivers down her spine. His warm breath tickled her ear, and each delicate kiss on her neck caused her skin to tingle with desire. The softness of his lips against her sensitive flesh awakened a storm of sensations that consumed her senses.
He slid the neck of her pajama top and bra strap off her shoulder and nibbled at her collarbone. Fiza's breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling with each exhilarating moment. She finally mustered the strength to say, "Stop. Don't."
Alan, immediately sensing her discomfort, paused and asked, "Is it too much? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
Fiza turned to face him. With a mix of tenderness and intensity, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. He leaned in, his lips barely brushing against hers in a tantalizing tease, their bodies inches apart.
"Mmmm," Fiza murmured, briefly closing her eyes before opening them. Everything felt dizzying. "Hold me, Alan. But no kissing," she said firmly, pulling away and looking directly into his eyes. "We are best friends, right?"
Alan swallowed hard, his heart sinking. His hands gently rested on her hips, his touch both possessive and comforting. He had hoped that she was finally ready to embrace a romantic relationship with him, to be exclusively his.
He was getting exhausted by the rollercoaster of emotions. But he vividly recalled the pain and longing in her eyes when he had attempted to distance himself from her before. He had promised himself that he would never put her through that again. He would be whatever she needed him to be.
Fiza looked at him with anticipation, longing to hear him reject the notion of being just best friends. She wanted him to confess his love for her, to assure her that they would eventually marry. However, to her disappointment, he pressed his forehead against hers and quietly uttered, "Best friends."
Fiza's heart sank, feeling the weight of unrequited love. She hoped that someday he would see her as more than just a friend, but for now, she accepted his response, suppressing her own dreams.
But Alan, true to his word, held her close. His arms enveloped her, drawing her into the warmth of his body. He made no further attempts to kiss her, understanding that was the line she had chosen to draw. He decided instead to test the rest of her boundaries.
His fingertips traced a path of desire, caressing her neck, gliding along the graceful contours of her sides, and exploring the enticing curve of her back. Every touch, every stroke, evoked gasps and shivers that reverberated through Fiza's body. Alan whispered her name over and over again, he murmured, "Fiza, my Fiza."
Amidst the intoxicating sensations, Fiza's thoughts swirled, the room spinning around her. Each touch from Alan ignited a longing within her, a yearning for more, to be his Fiza. And he didn't stop; she didn't want him to.
Love surged through her veins, knowing that he loved her too. The reasons they had decided to restrain themselves faded from her memory. Her fingernails dug into his skin as he continued to touch her, their connection intensifying. In that moment, there was only him and her in the entire world. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered.
Hours passed, their bodies entwined in a dance of longing and affection. Gradually, their tiredness overcame them, and they succumbed to sleep, their hearts beating in synchrony.
Alan awoke to the sound of his alarm, his eyes fluttering open. The realization dawned on him that he was still wrapped around Fiza, his weight pressing against her. He reached for his phone to silence the alarm, and as he did, Fiza stirred, her gaze meeting his with a soft smile.
For a fleeting moment, he felt the magnetic pull, an instinctual desire to lean in and claim her lips as his own. Yet, he caught himself, knowing the line they had drawn. Instead, he returned her smile, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that bound them. She was his, even if she denied it, and he cherished every moment they shared.
As Alan rose from the bed, Fiza questioned, her voice filled with longing, "Are you leaving?" Alan nodded, his gaze fixed on her, "I have to return to my room before they wake up," he explained, referring to his grandmother. Fiza, still lost in the memories of the previous night, allowed herself to fall back into slumber.
When Fiza finally woke up, the remnants of their passionate night still lingering, she went through her morning routine with a renewed sense of vitality. She brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and carefully applied a touch of lip gloss, enhancing her natural beauty. As she made her way to the dining room, Alan's parents and grandmother were already seated, enjoying their breakfast.
His grandmother's eyes sparkled mischievously as she spotted Fiza, and she called out, "Come join us."
Nervously, Fiza took a seat opposite her, unsure of what to expect. His grandmother wasted no time, inquiring with feigned innocence, "Alan wasn't in his bed last night. Do you know where he was?"
Fiza blushed slightly, her cheeks suffused with a rosy hue, but she shook her head.
His grandmother continued, "Maybe he was missing his brother." She gave her a side long glance. "Ameena was saying good things about you. She said you are a good student, a talented singer, and that you have had a positive effect on Alan."
Fiza looked at Alan's mother, feeling elated by her approval. His grandmother persisted, "You know, our Alan is quite a catch. We come from a prestigious family."
Just then, Fiza's eyes met Alan's as he entered the dining room, his gaze locking onto hers. A smile illuminated his face, a silent affirmation of the intimate bond they shared.
His grandmother noticed this exchange and shook her head disapprovingly. She turned to Alan's parents, "I don't know what you are allowing him to do. He already has many proposals, and he's not even of age yet. He should find a nice girl from a good family."
She pondered for a moment, trying to recall a potential candidate, 'Thomas Chakola's daughter, what was her name? I can't remember, but she is very beautiful, and they come from a large Roman Catholic family.' Fiza listened, caught between sadness and amusement.
Alan sat down beside Fiza and served himself some 'puttu' and 'kadala,'. His eyes fixed on his grandmother as he playfully interjected, "Fiza is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. But, she does not want me. What should I do, ammachi?"
A mischievous grin danced across his face. The conversation flowed, his grandmother's stance shifting from disapproval to begrudging acceptance. "She's a foolish girl then. Anyone with common sense can see that you are a golden boy."
Alan laughed, and Fiza couldn't help but giggle at the shift in his grandmother's opinion. "Yes, maybe," he persisted, "but she has better options, many proposals from prominent families," he added, imitating his grandmother's mannerisms.
The meal concluded harmoniously, and as they began clearing the table, his grandmother called out to Fiza, her voice filled with unexpected warmth, "You should spend the day with us."
Alan's mother, slightly taken aback, offered a concerned response, "I'm sure she has other plans." But his grandmother insisted, "She can cancel them."
Fiza turned to Alan, seeking his guidance, and found him looking at his grandmother with unbridled elation. "Okay." She said.
**********************************************
Authors note
As much as we would like nothing but the two people in a relationship to matter, that's seldom the case. Family and family support or so vital for a relationship to survive the test if time, don't you think?
Link to an acoustic performance of little do you know by Alex and Sierra above.
Please vote and comment!
Thank you for reading so far.
❤️Faiza