**Winner 2024 Amby Awards**
Fiza has everything planned-medical school, a respectable future, and an engagement she never wanted. Determined to escape a loveless match, she creates a checklist to find the perfect husband her father will approve of.
...
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I stared at my phone one last time, at Fiza's simple sleeping emoji. Then I shoved it in my pocket and looked up at the door in front of me. Mownika's door.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. This was our thing—Friday nights. I hadn't seen her in a week. A part of me, a loud part, screamed that I should just end this. But a quieter, more cynical part whispered, What's the point? This is who you are. This is all you're good for.
I knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, and there she was, smiling. "I thought I heard you outside," she said cheerfully.
I just nodded.
"How was your week?" she asked, stepping back to let me in.
I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. I wasn't here for small talk.
"You can talk to me, you know?" she persisted, a playful glint in her eyes. She closed the door and leaned against it. "I won't bite, unless you want me to," she added, her tone dipping into that familiar, teasing territory.
I let out a low chuckle despite myself.
"There's the smile," she remarked, looking satisfied.
I couldn't figure out why she was being so... kind. As I followed her further into the room, I actually thought about it. Reflecting on whatever this was between us, I realized Mownika had always been good to me. She'd been clear, she'd been fun, she'd never asked for more than what we'd agreed upon. It was me who'd been distant, me who'd rigidly policed the boundaries, terrified of any sign of something real.
She poured me a mug of beer from a pitcher on her table. I took it and drank, my eyes on her over the rim. I studied her—the easy smile, the confident posture.
And a silent, desperate plea in my head: Please don't be developing feelings for me. Please.
I didn't know how to be in a relationship. I hated the unspoken expectations, the hidden rules, the inevitable disappointment.
Usually, by now, her hands would be on my buttons, her mouth on my neck, eager and impatient. But today was different. Today, she just sat down across from me, tucking her legs underneath her, and calmly sipped her own beer.
The shift threw me. I was suddenly uncertain, off-balance. I finished my beer, and just waited for her to finish hers, for her to make a move, to give me a signal, to show me what script we were following tonight. But the silence stretched between us until my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. A message from Fiza.
Fiza: WNTT. Lib tomo.
We need to talk. Library tomorrow.
Had spending time with me today caused problems for her? Did Varsha say something? Were her friends giving her hell right now because of me? Or did she just want to lecture me about studying?
