Bewitched

19

MUMTAZ

The wave of heat hit me the moment I stepped out of the airport. It was the kind of heat that clung to your skin, sticky and relentless. I could already feel the sweat beading at my temples, but I took a deep breath and adjusted my sunglasses, trying to calm the whirlwind in my chest. Nigeria—home. Everything felt exactly the same. The same hot air, the same bustling crowd, and then... that same, all-too-familiar face.

You've got to be kidding me.

Muntassir was striding toward me, a grin plastered across his face. He was wearing one of his usual tailored kaftans, crisp and impeccable even in this oppressive heat. Of course, he'd come to pick me up. I'd been hoping, praying for a day or two to myself to figure out how I was going to break things off with him. But no. Here he was, the first face to greet me after months of pretending I was still interested in this engagement.

"Welcome back, beautiful," he said, his smile broadening as he reached me. I mustered the biggest fake smile I could, hoping it looked genuine enough.

"Thanks, Muntassir," I replied, trying to sound cheerful. "You didn't have to come to the airport."

He waved off my protest. "I missed you. I couldn't resist. I hope you don't mind?"

I hesitated for just a moment before shaking my head. "No, of course not."

Of course I did. I wanted time to think, time to plan out what I was going to say to him—how I could break off this engagement in the smoothest way possible. I only had three weeks before I had to head back to Milan, and in that time, I needed to convince my father not to blow a gasket and let me return to my life. But now, I was stuck. I watched as Muntassir effortlessly took the handle of my suitcase and led me toward his car.

Once we were in the car, Muntassir glanced at me with that same affectionate look he always gave me, the one that used to make me feel guilty. Now, it just made my stomach twist with the looming conversation I had to have with him.

"How was Milan?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the road but his voice bright and eager. "Tell me everything."

I took a deep breath and launched into a detailed account of my time there. I couldn't help but get animated, talking about the shoots I'd worked on, the chaotic but exhilarating atmosphere, and the sheer thrill of working in fashion. For those moments, I wasn't thinking about the ticking clock or the conversation hanging over us. I was lost in the memories of Milan—my dream finally within reach.

Muntassir smiled at me, that calm, patient smile of his. "Sounds like it was incredible. Even if it was just for a short while, at least you got to experience it, right?"

I forced a small smile back at him. Short while? This short while was about to become my full-time life, my dream, and, unfortunately for him, it didn't include marriage. Not to him, at least.

I quickly changed the subject. "How's your family doing? And Mr. Whiskers? I've missed him."

Muntassir chuckled. "Everyone's fine. As for Mr. Whiskers, he's been sulking ever since you left. I'll bring him over tonight. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

I smiled at that. **Would he let me keep the cat after we break up?** The thought came unbidden, but I pushed it away. One issue at a time.

We arrived at my house, and as soon as I stepped inside, I was bombarded by my brothers and my father, all eager to see me. My father pulled me into a tight hug, laughing in that deep, booming way he always did.