Jaan-e-Azlan❤

15(edited)

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It had been four days since they returned from their trip to Lahore. Mantasha was feeling scared again because of Arham's threat, but she constantly reminded herself about the security Azlan was providing her. She knew she was safe as long as she followed all his instructions.

Still, Mantasha couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She often felt someone's stare on her, a constant prickle at the back of her neck. While she tried to dismiss it as paranoia, her instincts occasionally flared, hinting that her fears might be justified. Despite these unsettling sensations, she forced herself to shrug them off, hoping it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.

It was Friday, the last day of the week at university. Mantasha just wanted to get through the day, but she knew there was still time for anything to happen. Despite trying to dismiss her doubts, she kept her guard up. She moved carefully, mindful of her every step, and made every effort to avoid Arham and his friends.

Whenever she spotted them, she would immediately take a detour, ensuring she stayed out of their line of sight. Her vigilance paid off, allowing her to navigate through the day without incident so far. Still, a lingering sense of unease accompanied her, reminding her that the threat was never far away. Whenever she saw them in her way, she immediately took a beeline to the other side, doing her best to stay out of their line of sight.

It was her free time, and she still had another class, but not for another hour and a half. Mantasha found a quiet spot on the grass, with her books in hand. She opened her bag, took out a pen, highlighter, and a notepad, and began reading, jotting down the points she found useful and interesting. She had always loved reading, a passion instilled in her by Azlan, who used to read her bedtime stories whenever he was free. Even now, he would sometimes read to her when she insisted, unable to deny his princess—or more like his queen, the queen of his heart, mind, body, and soul.

She was startled when Farah sat beside her, breaking her concentration. The look on Farah's face was different from the usual friendly demeanor. There was something about her that Mantasha couldn't pinpoint. Farah had barely spent time with her lately and had ignored every call from Mantasha, which made her suspicious, but she had shrugged it off.

"Isn't it been long, huh?" Farah asked, breaking the silence. Mantasha stared at her for a moment before nodding slightly.

"Yes, you are right. Although I tried to approach you several times," Mantasha replied, disappointment evident in her voice. Farah's response shocked her.

Farah rolled her eyes. "Well, sometimes people can be busy too," she said dismissively.

"Yes, and there is a difference between being busy and avoiding someone," Mantasha argued, her voice tinged with hurt.

Farah didn't offer an explanation this time, confirming Mantasha's suspicions. She was indeed avoiding her, and the reason remained a mystery.

Mantasha nodded, deciding not to argue further. "Well, what brings you here today?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

"You took my notes while you were sick, and now I need them. I wanted to go through them again," Farah replied.

"You'll get them on Monday," Mantasha said, hoping to end the conversation.

"I want them before Sunday," Farah insisted, her tone firm.

Mantasha sighed in annoyance. "I'll send them to your house by my driver," she said, reopening her book and trying to ignore her.

"Better," Farah muttered, standing up. Without looking back, she walked away, leaving Mantasha feeling both confused and angry.

To calm herself down, she got up and went to the library. The vast room, filled with the faint scent of old paper and wood polish. She wandered through the aisles until she found a book she liked, a well-worn novel with a cracked spine and yellowed pages. With the book in hand, she moved to her favorite spot, a secluded table tucked in a corner where hardly anyone sat. This area housed books that most students found boring—dense volumes on obscure topics—so they rarely ventured here. She cherished this spot for the peace it offered, a quiet haven where she could read undisturbed.