Bewitched

2

MUNTASSIR

The grand living room buzzed with life, as it always did when the family gathered. The familiar sound of my mother's laughter mingled with the high-pitched giggles of my nephew Nabil who was currently showing her how to play with tops. Across the room, my nephew, Fadil, was perched on my lap, his tiny hands fidgeting with my watch, fascinated by the way the second hand ticked forward.

My sisters, Laila and Tauhida, were in the midst of their usual animated chatter, their voices rising and falling like the hum of a distant conversation that I couldn't quite tune into. My brother, Hamid, was predictably absorbed in his phone, his eyes glued to the screen as he scrolled through whatever business deal or sports update had captured his attention this time.

And yet, despite the warmth and noise of the room, I couldn't focus. My thoughts were miles away, in a different city altogether, fixated on a woman who had somehow managed to lodge herself firmly in my mind.

It had been weeks since I'd seen her—since that unforgettable encounter in Paris. She had been infuriating, absolutely insufferable with her arrogance and sense of entitlement. If it had been anyone else, I would have walked away, dismissing her as just another spoiled brat who thought the world owed her everything. But there was something about her, something that made it impossible for me to forget.

Her image was burned into my memory: those sparkling brown doe eyes, so full of fire and defiance, and those full, perfectly shaped lips that had curved into a haughty smile when she'd insulted me. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. It was the way she carried herself, with such confidence and pride, as if the world was hers to command. It was maddening. It was... intoxicating.

"Muntassir!" My mother's voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I blinked, realizing that the room had gone quieter, and all eyes were now on me. My mother was looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What's got you so deep in thought, my son? You've been awfully quiet today."

I opened my mouth to dismiss her question with a vague answer, but before I could stop myself, the truth slipped out. "I was just thinking about a girl I met."

The reaction was instantaneous. Laila and Tauhida gasped in unison, their chatter coming to a sudden halt. Hamid looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Even Amir, sensing the shift in the room, stopped playing with my watch and looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.

My father, who had been reading the newspaper, lowered it just enough to peer over the top, his sharp gaze fixed on me. "A girl?" he echoed, his voice gruff with surprise.

"Yes, a girl," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but I could feel the heat rising in my face under their collective scrutiny.

Tauhida was the first to break the silence. "Muntassir, you're thinking about a girl? Since when do you think about girls?"

"Since never!" Laila chimed in, her tone dripping with disbelief. "Who is she? What's her name? How did you meet her? When did this happen? Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

The questions came at me like rapid fire, faster than I could process, let alone answer. I held up a hand to stop the barrage. "Calm down, everyone. I don't even know her name yet."

This revelation only seemed to shock them further. My mother placed a hand over her heart as if she needed to steady herself. "You met a girl, and you don't even know her name, but you're thinking about her?"

"Yes, Mama," I replied, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "All I know is that she was in Paris a few weeks ago, and she's... she's different."