Mujhe Pyaar Hua Tha

Ch. 1: Meet-Cute

Author's Note

Assalamwalaikum! I'm excited to start this new journey of MPHT! I hope you will stick around and enjoy! Please vote and let me know your thoughts in the comments. Lots of love 💫

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Alizey's P.O.V.

"Hey guys! Thank you all SO much for your votes on the last chapter! It means a lot! On top of that, I CAN'T believe I hit 1,500 followers! I never imagined I would have 1,500 of you keeping up with my stories. This is such a huge milestone and calls for a celebration! I would like to use this opportunity to announce my new story-"

A sigh left my lips as my fingers paused on the keyboard.

I was yet to come up with a title for my new story on Wattpad.

I slumped back in my chair, my eyes shifting to the window in hopes the dark night sky would evoke some sort of idea.

'Us.' No, that's too simple. Uhhh. Yes! 'Love Next Door.' Hmm not bad. But what about...

Being an anonymous writer, I couldn't even ask my friends for suggestions. However, my cousin Harris, who is younger than me by two years and just so happens to be my best friend, knows I'm a secret author, but he always has outlandish ideas and wouldn't take it seriously if I asked for his opinion. My older siblings, Amaira and Jia, also knew, but they always brushed off my questions because they found my hobby childish.

They were very much entitled to their opinion, but writing was something I was deeply passionate about and found happiness in. Creating my own stories and characters, getting lost in their world, it gave me hope and a different universe to escape to, a universe where my dreams come alive.

I grabbed my pen, tapping one end against my temple, "What can I title it? Two childhood best friends who are next door neighbors. Both are Pakistani, but the girl is also half Turkish. She owns a café. The guy falls for her, but she falls for a customer who happens to hate-"

My door swung open. "Kisse baat kar rahi ho, Alizey?" my mother Afreen chuckled sweetly, entering my room with a glass of water.
(Who are you talking to, Alizey?)

I sat up and shut my laptop. "Kisi se bhi nahin, Mama. Bas kahani ka naam soch rahi thi." I stood up and took a sip of the water, "Thank you."
(No one, mama. I was just thinking of what to name the story.)

She closed the curtains while I got into bed, "Baad mein sochna. Ab soh jao. Kal kaam par bhi jaana hai." She pecked my forehead then caressed my cheek, "Goodnight."
(Think about it later. Go to sleep now. You have to go to work tomorrow.)

"Goodnight, Mama."

She gave me a smile before closing the door.

I turned to my side, sinking into the sheets under my blanket, my eyes resting on the light, baby pink walls of my room.

Mama. She was the most loving person in my family and my favorite. She takes care of the household and is the glue that holds us all together.

But my heart ached for her. Having gotten married at an early age, she wasn't able to continue her studies. She was once a bright student and quite ambitious, but Papa, Jalal Ahmed, didn't let her study further nor did he let her work after they immigrated here to Los Angeles from Pakistan.

Under the burden of settling down in a new country, Papa also wasn't able to further his studies beyond the high school equivalent in Pakistan. After coming to America with Mama, he met Siraj Ataullah. Siraj Uncle was the owner of a few gas stations and motels. He gave Papa a job at one of his gas stations. My father began as a cashier then eventually worked his way up to being able to purchase the store. We then went from living in a two-bedroom apartment to a two-floor house with four bedrooms and three bathrooms.