"You're going to be my present and my future. You're going to hold all my babies because I'm going to be the lucky man to marry you. You're going to love me again, Maryam Khan. Slowly and then all together. And I will watch you as you do."
Imran and...
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'Thaapa ko ishq ne banadiyea langda, warna vo bhi karta disco aur bhangra'. I wanted to laugh at the scene and Rajpal Yadav's hilarious dialogue but I didn't. Glancing around me at the people seated on the sectional couch in the living room of my new home, Barkat villa, it is a strange feeling really.
To be married to your long-time crush and live with him under one roof, in the same room. To have him with you the most time of the day. Smile and laugh in front of the others and turn quiet every time we shut the door to our room behind us.
Sometimes, all of this feels like a dream. Bad or good, I can't tell. Or like they show in the movie, especially the one we were watching on the big screen, Maine Pyaar Kyu Kiya in which Salman and Naina pretend to be married in front of his mom. They go all husband and wife every time she is around. And when she is not, Salman takes flight to Katrina's place. The girl he actually loves. Cringe plot, but you get the point, right?
Looking at it now, I wonder does Imran have a Katrina at his side somewhere. But, given his confession and all, I carelessly dismiss the thought away.
But that didn't mean we were not pretending. Or at least I was. About what? I couldn't really put my finger on. Maybe the way I don't feel the rush of electricity whenever he touches me. Maybe it was the way my heart begins to pound at his close proximity that I try to brush off. Maybe the way I try to ignore the fact that I turn jelly whenever he kisses me. Which was only a handful of times, and on my forehead or my nose, before all the readers go ambitious.
I look to my right to find Bhaiya sitting on the floor, with Saira's legs draped on either side of his torso, who sat on the couch. I noticed the way her fingers worked on Bhaiya's head and neck, caressing and massaging the area.
To my left were Uncle and Aunty, sitting on the couch with their legs outstretched. She had his head resting on his shoulder. His hand entwined with hers.
Then, I looked at myself and Imran, who like Fahad bhaiya, was seated on the floor with his back leaning against the couch. But unlike Saira, I was a centimeter apart from him. Careful not to make any kind of contact. Not that I didn't want to because heck his hair looked as fluffy as the clouds. And I always had a hard time keeping my hands from laying a finger on him. What I wasn't sure of, was his reaction to me touching him.
Will he be mad? I don't know.
Will he like it? I don't know.
Do I even have the guts to do it? Now, that is the real deal.
With a defeated sigh, I slump back on the cold leather couch and shut my eyes. Only to feel the nasty gaze of the woman sitting at the far end of the room burn me. I didn't have to open my eyes to know who it was. Because that was the only thing I was sure of. Zubeda phuppo's dislike for me.
