Bewitched

12

MUMTAZ

The night air was cool, and the stars above twinkled like tiny diamonds scattered across a velvet sky. I sat cross-legged on the rooftop, savouring a spoonful of ice cream, letting the cold sweetness melt on my tongue. Beside me, Muntassir was eating his own ice cream, making casual conversation as if we hadn't already spent every evening together since our engagement was formalized.

"This is nice," he said, looking out at the city skyline. "I like this spot. It feels... peaceful."

I glanced at him, noting the way the soft light from the nearby lanterns highlighted his sharp features. He wasn't totally unpleasant to be around, especially when I wasn't trying to get rid of him and had ice cream in my hands. It was almost too easy to forget that I wasn't supposed to enjoy this.

I took another bite, letting the silence stretch comfortably between us. Muntassir had a way of talking that made even the most mundane topics seem interesting. He was eloquent, confident, and undeniably attractive. I couldn't deny that. But I had to remind myself that a man—any man—would only hinder my dreams.

"Did I tell you about the time I almost got expelled from school in switzerland?" he asked, breaking the silence with a mischievous grin.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "No, but now you have to."

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that made me smile despite myself. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I was a little too good at chemistry. Ended up blowing up a small lab experiment. Nothing major, but the principal was convinced I was trying to burn the school down."

I couldn't help but laugh at the image of a younger Muntassir, all serious and studious, accidentally causing chaos. "You, a troublemaker? I don't believe it."

He shrugged, still grinning. "I had my moments. But what about you? You must have some stories. What's the worst thing you did as a kid?"

I thought for a moment, trying to recall something suitably scandalous. "I used to sneak into my dad's office and play with his stamps," I admitted. "He was a stamp collector, and I'd use them to 'decorate' my drawings. I ruined quite a few rare stamps before I got caught."

"Stamps? How rebellious," he teased, nudging me with his elbow.

"Hey, those stamps were valuable!" I shot back, nudging him right back. "My dad was furious. I thought he'd never forgive me."

"But he did," Muntassir said, his tone more serious now.

"Yeah, he did," I agreed, a soft smile playing on my lips. "He never stayed mad at me for long."

We fell silent again, the conversation lulling as we both ate our ice cream and lost ourselves in our own thoughts. I found myself admiring him as he spoke, the way his eyes lit up when he was passionate about something, the way his words flowed so effortlessly. But I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn't real—at least not for me.

"This is nice," he said again, his voice softer now. "Just being here with you."

"Don't get used to it," I replied, half-joking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You keep saying that, but I'm starting to think you're just playing hard to get."

"Hard to get? Please. I'm impossible to get," I said, smirking at him.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"More like a fact," I retorted, licking my spoon clean.

Muntassir leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. "You know, I can't wait for you to get back from Milan. I want to have you all to myself."

His words caught me off guard, and I glanced at him, trying to gauge how serious he was. "Muntassir, we're not even married yet. Don't get ahead of yourself."