A journey of a couple who don't even know what plans destiny have for them and what will be thier future....what will happen when these two souls will get tie in a relationship which they both don't want.
Is Haroon and Maham meant to be together or...
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-maham pov ᯓ★
It had been weeks since that horrible night. I wasn't talking to anyone—not my family, not my friends. I just didn't have the energy. The only person I found myself talking to was Haroon. I don't know why—maybe because he had been there when everything went wrong, or maybe because he didn't push me to say anything. He just stayed. And that... it helped.
Haroon was different now. He wasn't teasing or trying to annoy me like before. He was calm, patient, and always around when I needed someone. I still didn't like him—at least that's what I told myself—but his presence made me feel less alone.
One random afternoon, while we were sitting in the living room, he suddenly said, "Maham."
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"Let me take you on a pottery date," he said, leaning back on the couch like he had just said something completely normal.
I stared at him, confused. "A pottery date?"
"Yes," he said, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, where we play with clay and make pots or vases or something. It'll be fun."
I blinked at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. "You want me to go to a pottery class? Haroon, are you feeling okay?"
He smirked, ignoring my sarcasm. "Yes, you. You need a break, Maham. Something fun, something different. Trust me, you'll enjoy it."
I folded my arms and gave him a look. "And why exactly would I want to do that with you?"
He shrugged casually, a playful grin on his face. "Because you like me now. Just admit it."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "I don't like you, Haroon."
"Fine," he said dramatically, pretending to be hurt as he placed a hand on his chest. "But you tolerate me now, and that's pretty much the same thing."
I couldn't help it—I laughed a little. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"And yet, you're still talking to me," he shot back with a grin.
I shook my head, trying not to smile. "Why pottery, though? Out of all things?"
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Because it's messy, fun, and you'll get to yell at me for messing up—which I know you secretly enjoy."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not wrong about that."
"Exactly," he said, standing up and holding out his hand. "So, come on. One pottery date. If you hate it, I'll never bring it up again."
I hesitated, staring at his outstretched hand. Part of me wanted to say no and stay in the comfort of my room. But another part of me—tired of being stuck in the same sadness—thought maybe he was right. Maybe I needed to do something different.
