Make Me Your Villain | ✓

Chapter Nine

Hayat Azhar

I found myself locked up in my room, crying again.

It wasn't on purpose. I didn't want to end up crying all the time. But regardless of not wanting to cry, I found myself doing so two days in a row because of the same person.

I struggled so hard to convince my mother to allow me to join a university. I struggled so hard to get that scholarship. I struggled so hard to earn and save up enough money for all that.

But now...I just didn't want to go there anymore. I didn't want to go to the university or to that haveli.

All because of that one guy.

Why was I being tested like this? God, how was I supposed to stand against the boy who had way more authority and power than me? What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to deal with him?

I shut my eyes, replying that one verse from the Quran that always seemed to give me courage to move forward in my hardships.

• Do people think that they will be left alone because they say: "We believe," and will not be tested? (29:2)

When there was no other option left, all I could do was trust God and His plans. Because if not that, what else could I even do?

The last thread of hope was always having faith in God. Because if I didn't have this hope, there was nothing I could cling onto to survive. Having faith meant believing things would get better one day. And they will.

Be patient, my heart.

I wiped my eyes and nose with tissue papers, standing up from the prayer mat. I had shed enough tears for today.

Think of all the sacrifices I had to give for my education. There was no backing out now. I'd have to face every little thing that came my way and stand firmly in my place. Things will eventually get better.

Folding the prayer mat, I went down to the kitchen to make dinner with a newfound hope.

My eyes instantly caught the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink and I pursed my lips. Sania would rather jump off a cliff than touch the dishes. That moocher deserved an earful for this.

Rolling my sleeves up, I treaded to the sink with my dupatta carelessly over my head and turned on the tap.

My skin stung and I bit back a hiss when the cold water rolled down my wrist, slipping over my wound.

I started to scrub off the dishes, not hearing someone entering the kitchen until he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Snapping my neck back, I saw Zohaib standing by the door with a frisky smile. His eyes and hair were the same shade of brown. He had gotten a fresh haircut which complimented his freshly cut stubble, adding to his manly look.

My heartbeats sped up and I turned to fix my dupatta cloddishly to conceal my hair strands.

It didn't matter that we'd known each other from our childhood; ever since our engagement became official, I'd turn into a flustered mess whenever he was around. It was hard to believe there was a time when I'd casually hang out with him.

"Zohaib?" I gaped at him. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"Of course you didn't." He sighed while shaking his head. "When was the last time you spoke to me? I'm always the one texting you."

"Well yeah." I turned back to the dishes. "We're not married yet, why should I keep texting you?"

He arched an eyebrow. "That's your excuse?"