**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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"No, Fiza, you're not in love," I replied, laughing. I rolled my eyes. The whole idea was ridiculous. "You've known him for two seconds."
She just looked at me, her hand resting over her heart like some heroine in a bad romance. Her face was flushed, her pupils were huge, and she looked so utterly convinced. "If I'm not in love, why does it feel like this?"
Because you're naive, I wanted to shout. Because you see the world in this bright, shiny way that I want to protect and also shake you out of all at once.
"It's just a stupid crush," I said, my voice coming out brash and dismissive. "Infatuation." She had no idea what she was getting into.
"I don't think so," she said, her voice dreamy and far too sure. "He's everything I've ever wanted." She closed her textbook with a definitive thud and started carefully putting her pens and highlighters away in her little pouch. "I really can't study right now."
I was at a total loss. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm. My emotions were a jumble of jealousy, fear, frustration, making it impossible to think straight. All I knew was that I couldn't let her just walk away into this daydream. "Do you want to play then?" I managed to ask.
She nodded, and just like that, we abandoned our books and headed for the court.
"So today, we'll just shoot some hoops, okay?" I said, eyeing her curiously. She was there, but she wasn't. Her gaze kept drifting, scanning the edges of the court, the pathways nearby, like she was expecting her prince charming to materialize at any second.
She'd throw up a shot without even looking, and it would clang off the rim. Again. And again.
"Come on," I teased. I picked up the ball and dribbling it. "I put in more effort studying."
"I can't focus!" she exclaimed, but she was still smiling.
"Why don't you play defense? Try to get the ball from me," I suggested, a plan forming. Maybe a little competition would ground her. "I'll go easy on you."
I dribbled the ball, driving toward the hoop for a simple lay-up. But then Fiza was there, moving with a sudden, surprising swiftness. She leaped, her hand stretching to intercept the ball. But her jump was awkward, her balance all wrong. She was going to land badly.
Instinct took over. I dropped the ball and my hands shot out, grabbing her by the waist to steady her before she could twist an ankle. For a second, she was against me, and my whole world narrowed to the feel of her, the startled look in her eyes.
"Foul."
It was Salman's booming voice. My grip on Fiza's waist tightened. I didn't let go. My eyes locked with hers, pleading without words. Don't go. Please.
I felt her hands tremble. Then, reluctantly, she pulled herself from my grasp.
She turned to face him, and my heart was already sinking. "Wanna go out for dinner with me?" Salman said, the question abrupt, cocky.
