As the aroma of spices filled Aunty Sayeda's home, I felt both comforted and anxious. The room was alive with laughter and chatter, but my mind kept drifting back to Zaviyaar. He was charming yet frustrating, and the unexpected twist of discovering he was Aunty Sayeda's son added to my confusion.
"Jannat, can you please place the Rogan Josh on the table?" Aunty Sayeda called from the dining area, her voice warm and inviting.
I nodded, gripping the container tightly as I made my way toward the kitchen. Zaviyaar followed closely, his presence both unsettling and oddly exhilarating. The air felt charged between us, and I sensed a tension that made my heart race.
As I reached the kitchen, I carefully set the Rogan Josh down on the counter, allowing myself a moment to breathe. But before I could step back, Zaviyaar leaned against the doorframe, watching me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
"Nice dish," he said, a playful smirk gracing his lips. "I can see you take pride in your cooking."
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but my cheeks felt warm. "It's just a family recipe. Nothing special."
"Nothing special?" He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "If it's anything like the smell, I bet it's incredible."
"I guess we'll see," I replied softly, my heart fluttering.
The moment felt heavy as he drew nearer. I focused on the food, but the air between us felt thick with unspoken words.
"Do you always come home to visit, or is this just a special occasion?" I asked, attempting to break the tension.
"Only when I can," he replied, his voice low. "Life in Karachi keeps me busy, but I always miss home. And the food, of course."
"Karachi must be so different from here," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what it was like?"
He stepped closer, his arm brushing against mine, igniting a spark that made my heart race. "I remember everything, especially the warmth of home and family."
Before I could respond, he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair that had escaped my scarf behind my ear. The simple gesture sent a jolt through me, and I felt myself freeze, our eyes locked.
His fingers lingered near my face, and for a moment, the noise of the gathering outside faded away. The warmth of his body radiated toward me, and I felt an overwhelming urge to step back, to regain some distance.
But instead, I found myself captivated by his gaze, caught in a moment that felt both intimate and unfamiliar. I wanted to look away, to break the spell, but I couldn't.
"Why do you seem so distant?" he asked, his voice soft but steady. "It's okay to let your guard down."
I wanted to respond, to say something clever, but the words caught in my throat. I felt an intense mix of curiosity and fear, and the uncertainty held me in place.
Just then, a loud laugh erupted from the other room, snapping me back to reality. I took a small step back, trying to regain my composure. "I... I should check on the food," I mumbled, breaking eye contact.
Before he could respond, I turned away, my heart racing as I hurried out of the kitchen, desperate to escape the overwhelming feelings swirling inside me. The moment hung between us, heavy and unresolved, and I couldn't shake the impression he had left on me.
As I rushed into the dining area, I could still feel his gaze lingering on my back, and I knew this encounter would linger in my thoughts long after today.
"Jannat! There you are!" Hira Baji exclaimed, pulling me back to the present. "Come help us set the table."
I quickly joined her, trying to shake off the lingering heat of that moment with Zaviyaar. As I arranged the plates, I heard Zaviyaar's voice drift in from the kitchen, mingling with the other guests.
"So, what's the latest on the political scene?" Zaviyaar asked, his tone teasing.
"Don't get me started," Uncle Atif replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "These politicians are more interested in selfies than serving the people."
"Oh please, they're just trying to keep their 'image' intact," Zaviyaar replied, rolling his eyes. "As if anyone cares what they post on social media."
I stifled a laugh, catching a glimpse of him leaning casually against the counter, his demeanor relaxed yet engaging. I wanted to join in, to throw my own sarcastic remark into the mix.
"What's the point of having a reputation when you have no integrity?" I piped up, surprising even myself with my boldness. The room quieted for a moment, all eyes turning to me.
Zaviyaar's expression shifted, a playful glint in his eyes. "Ah, we have a bold one here! And who might you be to judge? A self-proclaimed expert on political integrity?"
I straightened, trying to match his playful banter. "Let's just say I have a degree in observing the ridiculousness of it all."
Aymen, Aunty Sayeda's daughter and my childhood friend, chimed in with a chuckle. "What's your opinion then, Jannat? Should we start a revolution?"
"Why not?" I shot back, crossing my arms. "If we don't start asking questions, nothing will change."
"Revolution sounds great, but what's the plan?" Aymen teased. "A march down to Islamabad with a banner saying, 'Wake Up!'?"
"Hey, at least it's better than the usual political theatrics," Zaviyaar interjected, his tone growing more serious. "People are fed up with empty promises. If we can't even trust the ones in power to do their jobs, then what's the point?"
Uncle Atif nodded in agreement. "Exactly. We're stuck in a cycle where they only care about their interests. It's disheartening."
Zaviyaar leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "We need fresh voices, people who actually care about the future of this country. And frankly, Imran Khan's time has passed. We need someone who can genuinely bring about change."
"Not all politicians are bad," Aymen argued, trying to lighten the mood. "Some are genuinely trying to do good."
"Trying is different from succeeding," Zaviyaar countered, his assertiveness evident. "And at this point, trying feels like a half-hearted excuse. We need action, not just words."
I felt the conversation swirling around me, the passion in Zaviyaar's voice pulling me in. I admired how he articulated his thoughts, the conviction behind his words.
"But what can we do?" I asked, wanting to be part of this discussion. "We can't change things overnight, can we?"
"Maybe not overnight," Zaviyaar replied, his gaze steady. "But every little effort counts. Engaging with the community, raising awareness, holding them accountable. It starts with us, doesn't it?"
"I like that," I said, feeling a surge of enthusiasm. "It's true. If we don't engage, we're just as guilty of letting things happen."
"Finally, someone gets it!" Uncle Atif laughed. "It's about time we have more young people like you around."
"More like Jannat," Zaviyaar said, his tone lightening again. "She seems to be our fearless leader in this revolution."
"Oh, please, don't put that kind of pressure on me!" I replied, waving my hands dismissively. "I can barely lead myself to the grocery store."
"Leading a revolution starts with a grocery list," Aymen teased, and laughter erupted around the table, breaking the tension.
As the conversation continued, I couldn't help but feel a newfound connection with Zaviyaar. We may have started with an intense moment in the kitchen, but now we were sharing a lighthearted debate that made me appreciate his perspective even more.
But even amid the laughter, I sensed that our earlier moment lingered in the air, leaving a question in my heart: what would come next?
