Have you ever thought that your childhood crush would be so intoxicating that never give a chance to like anybody else? This is madness right?
This story is about Aliya and her eternal crush, her best friend Tahmeed.
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"You said you do...
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The weight of Tahmeed’s words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Was this what he truly thought? My mind spun, replaying every gesture, every kindness, searching for meaning that might have been a mirage all along.
"Then why did you marry me? I asked you before. You could have just said no," I whispered, my voice cracking as anger and sorrow fused into one.
He sighed, indifferent. "You were the best option at the time. If I didn’t get married, my mother wouldn’t agree to her heart surgery." His tone was cold, unfeeling, as though each word was a weight he discarded with no thought to how it would shatter me.
The phrase "best possible option" tore through me. Just words to him, but each syllable carved a scar. I felt like a soldier defeated, every ounce of hope stripped away.
And his mother…she had been ill all this time? My heart twisted. How could no one have told me?
"In this house, you don’t need to act like my wife," he continued. "Just play the bride for the family. I’ll do the same for you. But don’t expect anything else from me. Think of it as your fate." He didn’t wait for a reply; he stormed into the washroom, leaving me in the purple-themed room I'd already begun to think of as ours.
"Jerk," I muttered, my voice too soft to carry past the walls, too broken to matter.
Was I truly so unworthy?
I wanted nothing more than to run back to my baba, to leave all of this behind and let my heart bleed somewhere I felt safe. But I knew I couldn’t. If I left only three days into my marriage, his reputation would be tarnished, and I couldn’t bear to add that burden.
Wiping my tears, I gathered my books and tucked them into my luggage. Standing, I moved toward the door, determined to find a room that could be mine–far from his.
A firm grip wrapped around my wrist. I looked back, surprised to find him there, his expression unreadable. "Where are you going at this hour?" he demanded.
I shook off his hold, forcing a bitter smile. "Don’t worry. I’m not leaving. Just taking your advice. Choosing a room for myself."
Before he could say another word, I added, "Text me the date and place of your mom’s surgery. I’ll be there." With that, I turned and closed the door behind me, feeling a sliver of satisfaction despite the ache in my chest.
I picked the room farthest from his, a small space with clean lines and neutral tones. Stripping the dusty covers from the furniture, I tried to focus on the simple task, but my hands shook, and the tears started falling again, a steady stream that mingled with sneezes from the dust.
After what felt like an eternity, I set fresh sheets on the bed and collapsed onto it, sweat and sorrow clinging to me. The staleness of my misery surrounded me, so I stumbled into the shower, letting the water wash over me as I broke down, the walls bearing silent witness to my shattered heart.
