The Bad Boy's Girl (COMPLETE)

Amir Khan.. At My House?!

    I look up from my feet, as Auntie talks. I hear another husky voice, a hot voice echoing from the men's seating area. Astagfirallah, Annie, I scold myself.

"So, tell me a bit about yourself. I know one thing for sure though. You're  absolutely stunning." Auntie compliments. I blush, my eyes automatically fluttering down. That's what the stares were all about.

    "My name is Qura Tul Ayn but everyone calls me Annie. I'm 22 years old and I got my degree in Language and Literature from Waterloo university. I was, em, on a scholarship. And I love to cook.." I stutter, only to realize that while I was talking the whole house had managed to become silent, as if they all were listening to my awkward and weird introduction. I mentally groan.

"Mashallah, a scholarship? That's impressive. Well, I love to cook as well." She smiles at me feebly and I notice her blue eyes. She's gorgeous and welcoming. Gosh, I wonder how cute her son is! Can I stop? Curiosity is killing me!

"Jazakallah." I murmur and look down at my lap, a layer of sweat covering my nose.

    "I'm Hala Khan and my family and I are from Faislabad." Oh no wonder, that's where the beautiful skin and the blue eyes came from. "Well, my husband and I were mostly raised there, but after our marriage we came here and my son was born." I itched with curiosity every time she said my son, and not his actual name.

"That's great. Well I was born here but Usman Bhai was born in Islamabad and he spent his 7 years in Karachi before they moved up here." I introduce as well and realize talking to this Auntie is actually kind of easy and pleasant.

   After a while I decide to set up dinner but the bad thing is the fancy dining table is right in front of where the men are sitting. And what if I drop something? Shoot me. I take the dishes silently and Bhabi helps me. After we are done, Bhabi tells Auntie the food is ready, oblivious to the fact that I will have face the men. I shiver, wiping my sweaty hands on my legs, and walk toward where they are sitting. The plush cream sofas, blue and brown embroidered pillows and furry carpet greet me like always, but the new faces don't.

     Usman, my brother, is seated beside who I think is the son, who looks entirely bored but now he pipes up when he sees me coming. His striking blue eyes are the first things I notice about him. The way they swirl with mischief and secrets and all types of emotions I can't articulate. The next thing I notice about him is his style.

      I've always loved a man with style. It wasn't a necessary trait, but I always imagined my future husband to have it and not lack it. Style was a huge part of my life, and I wanted it to be part of my partner's, too. I knew this man may not be my partner, but I knew I wouldn't be minding. He had on a slightly distressed leather jacket, clearly from Gucci, with the Gucci logo engraved into the chest, small yet noticeable. Underneath it he had on a basic white tee, and some matching Filas. The most breathtaking part is his hair. It's swept back, lightly slick with gel to give him a just rolled out of bed look along with a little more charm.

       I don't realize I'm gawking at him until he meets my eyes, an unknown emotion swirling in them. I quickly divert my eyes from him and mutter, "Asalam O Alaikum. The food is ready."

"Jazakallah," They all say. He mutters it.. As if he's mouthing it and not wanting to say it. Then, abruptly, a weird sense of familiarity comes when I meet those blue eyes one last time before scurrying off.

        Isn't that. . . No. It can't be!

    But when he says something to Usman with a bored tone, I realize I could recognize that husky voice anywhere. It used to echo down the hallways of the university, laughing mockingly at someone or flirting with some girl.