Make Me Your Villain

Chapter Seventeen

Hayat Azhar

'Hayati.'

That one word was imprinted in the back of my mind, twisting my stomach in disquietness.

Who was that and how did he know my name?

I absentmindedly turned on the small portable cylinder we had and put the saucepan with the milk on top, leaving it on low gas.

My hand paused.

I thought it was Zohaib and replied back. It wasn't him. So could it be?

'Why am I thinking so much about you?'

Those texts couldn't have been for me. It was impossible.

I lost track of time as I remained standing in front of the cylinder until Zohaib came to the kitchen.

"I only asked for a cup of- what's this? You haven't started?"

At his astonished voice, I swirled back and quickly replaced my stressed expression with a normal one.

"I did start. I'm heating the milk first."

I paused again. The word 'milk' reminded me of sage eyes and I cringed in displeasure.

"Forget it." Zohaib rolled his eyes in response. I didn't listen to him and walked to the container with the black tea.

Maybe that person mistook me for someone else.

But hayati?

No wait. It could be a coincidence.

I recalled my childhood lectures from the mosque where my Arabic teacher once told me 'hayat' meant life. And in Arabic, adding 'i' at the end of a word made it 'my'. So hayati basically meant 'my life'. That person might've called me that thinking I was someone they were close to.

Yeah, that must be it.

Taking my palms out from beneath my chaddar, I reached for the container when Zohaib spoke up.

"What happened to your hands?"

I looked down to my wrapped hands, realizing that he'd just seen them. "It's nothing, I-"

My voice faltered when Zohaib stepped forward and took my cold hands in his warm ones, shutting them in his gentle grip.

I looked up at him in surprise and his eyes softened.

"This is why I want you near me, Hayat." He whispered, running his thumb over my knuckles and butterflies erupted in my stomach.

A woody scent drifted from his thick shawl and I breathed in, growing faint under his stare.

"You worry me too much."

He raised one hand towards my face when a sharp hiss startled me out of my trance. I whipped my head back to find the milk on low heat flowing out of the saucepan.

"Oh shoot!" I blurted in surprise, breaking free from Zohaib's touch, my heart thrashing in my chest.

What the hell just got over me?

I removed the saucepan with trembling hands. "Th-the holes are all clogged up. I'm gonna have to clean them before using the cylinder again. Why don't you wait in the room, hm?"

Zohaib gazed at me silently for some moments, assessing the change in my behavior before letting out a sigh. "Don't bother. I came to tell you my friends will be picking me soon. I'm leaving."

He didn't wait for a response and began to walk out. I followed after him, feeling guilt cutting through me.

"Zohaib?"