Lut Gaye || لٹ گۓ

THIRTY | Thirty Kisses (Part Two)

"dil mera dharka tha kass kay, kuch kaha tha tune has kay."

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SIGHT of espresso brown hair made his rapid flight down the stairs come to a standstill.

Omer stopped on the landing space of the main stairwell of his university, his gaze focalizing on the only feminine figure standing in the middle with her back turned, her tall and willowy silhouette limned with streaks of gold seeping in from the expansive glass windows on the left.

Of course, Zunyra Awan―with her signature high ponytail, long classic burgundy coat over a black midi dress, and a bordeaux leather bag clutched between her fingers. Adorned in luxury from head to toe, as usual.

Quietly, he noticed the tilting movement of her head, from right to left, as if she was in deep contemplation.

If he had to make an educated guess, it was about the statistics quiz they had had in the class earlier. She had made quite a fuss over it in class to her friends. Well, he had seen her answer sheet while the professor had told him to bring them to his office and she had gotten nine out of ten answers correct. But obviously he was not going to tell her that and make her day better.

Omer descended down two steps, stopped, then decided to call out the brunette.

"Did you know, there are so many places where you can stand and contemplate other than the middle of the stairs?"

Immediately, she whirled around, dark feline eyes clashing with his aloof copper. Always reamed with fiery confidence. Bold as brass.

"I will stand and contemplate wherever I want," Zunyra bit out without moving from her spot. "What is it to ya?"

"Don't end up like this in the middle of the road someday and get hit by a bus," he said snarkily.

That spurred her into action. She climbed up and halted on the step right below him. Shoulders poised and chin in the air, she levelled him with a look full of conceit.

"If I stand on the road, all the traffic will get jammed, sweetheart."

As impassively as he could, without breaking the noxious eye-contact, Omer tried to put all his focus on the bitterness of that endearment she had spat out instead of how sassily she had given it right back to him.

He was just about to retort when she spun around―the abrupt movement causing her ponytail to flip in his direction―and he immediately jutted his chin up like he was dodging a sword attack.

It wasn't entirely an exaggeration because everything about Zunyra had an edge that could not only bite but also burn. It was better to stay far away-

A sharp chorus of click-clack-clack pierced through his thoughts and hauled his attention toward it. His gaze skied down and landed on the size of her black pencil heels and the way her feet heedlessly moved on the sleek marble tiles.

Is she stupid? His brows stitched into a frown.

Why did she treat every damn place like a ramp where she could catwalk? One sloppy step and she was going to end up embracing the floor with a broken bone or two.

Not that he cared.

Curling his hand around the strap of his shoulder bag, he whizzed down the stairs, taking three-at-a-time, and easily caught up to her in less than a few seconds, repeating the same thing in his head that he did not care. He did not care. He did not―