BOOK #1 OF "MEANT TO BE" SERIES
"𝑰𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔..."
Siddique Khan, age 26 is an ideal Muslim young man with good values and morals. He practices his deen regularly. He loves his family and can do anything...
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“God! I hate that bitch so much,” Rizwan said, shaking his head in disgust.
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. He was still fuming about Mariyam, the girl who’d somehow managed to involve my father in her crazy plan to marry Siddique.
“I know, right,” I replied, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth, trying not to laugh at his dramatic reaction.
We were sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by snacks and watching Barbiein the 12 Dancing Princesses. This was probably my twentieth time watching it, but I never got tired of it. It was a nice distraction from all the chaos happening around me.
“Naaz, have you seen her?” Rizwan continued, his tone dripping with irritation. “She looks like a witch. A fucking witch!” He shoved a chip into his mouth as if he needed to fuel his irritation.
“I know, right?” I agreed, taking a sip of my cold drink. “I can’t stand her.”
“Me too.” He nodded, serious. “Have you seen her hair? It’s so black and long. Such witch vibes.”
“Absolutely,” I replied, trying to stifle a laugh. She did have longer hair than mine, and okay, I was a little jealous of it… but that was all.
“Did you notice her nails? They’re so long, and she always paints them black. Ew!” He made a disgusted face, shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
I shrugged, “Really? I never noticed her that closely.”
“Trust me,” he nodded. “Witch nails. I swear, she looks like she’s straight out of a horror movie.”
“Well, I hope she disappears like one,” I replied, grinning. “Before I make her.”
“Definitely!” he cheered, giving me a thumbs up.
I laughed, enjoying how dramatic he was.
"Movie?"
"Yeah," we focus back on the movie. At least he did.
A sudden thought drifted into my mind about his new crush from medical college. Rizwan seemed to develop a crush on every beautiful girl he met, a stark contrast to his brother---my Siddique.
Unlike Rizwan’s fleeting fascinations, Siddique’s feelings were deep and steady. The thought of Siddique made my heart swell, but it also brought a twinge of sadness that clouded my mood.
Just two days ago, at a cozy corner of our favorite café, Siddique had told me he wanted to stop sneaking into my house at night. The words stung. I’d grown used to our midnight visits, the comfort of his arms, and the thrill of being close to him even if it meant risking everything. When he first suggested it, I felt a rush of disappointment, even frustration. For a fleeting moment, I’d thought of distancing myself from him until we were officially married.
