LET ME HATE YOU

Is this love?

Amaan underestimated the depth of Asmaira's love for Kabir.

One evening, returning from the office, he found Asmaira's books strewn on the floor, and she was absent. His instincts led him to Kabir's room, where he discovered her gently rocking their son.

Shaking his head, he caught her attention. "You were meant to be studying. It's only been a few weeks, and you're already falling behind in your syllabus."

However, a soft whimper from her brought him striding toward her urgently. "What is it? Why are you crying?"

Standing before her, he saw she was on the verge of tears.

"Kabir's fever isn't coming down," Asmaira whispered, her gaze fixed on the baby in her arms.

Amaan stifled a laugh. His son lay peacefully against her chest, his face slightly flushed. Asmaira's concern was excessive, but Amaan kept his thoughts to himself.

"It's normal for children to get sick as they grow," he said instead.

He knew she wasn't using Kabir as an excuse; rather, she was growing fiercely sensitive about him. Perhaps it was the guilt of not giving him the time and attention she used to. With college occupying her mornings and afternoons, her time with Kabir was increasingly limited.

Evenings were dedicated to catching up on her studies. Unlike an average student, she had to exert double the effort to keep pace with her classes.

"Amber will look after him. You're already on a tight schedule," Amaan reminded her.

"No, I'm not leaving him like this. He's so unsettled," Asmaira countered.

Amaan wanted to point out that their son was, in fact, being perfectly calm and more mature than his mother. But knowing she wouldn't yield, he offered, "I'll stay with him. Better now?"

If he thought he had won against his petite wife, Amaan was mistaken. He hadn't anticipated Asmaira taking Kabir to their room and personally ensuring the baby was resting comfortably.

"Don't be as stubborn as your mother," Amaan murmured to his son, catching Asmaira's constant worried glances between chapters of her textbook.

Realizing it was pointless to try and stop her from worrying, Amaan walked out to the balcony, holding Kabir. She started to follow, but when he subtly motioned toward Kabir's drooping eyelids, she reluctantly gave in.

The clock struck midnight by the time Asmaira finished her studies. Satisfied, she stood up to find the father-son pair. The moment she stepped onto the balcony, she couldn't help but smile. Amaan was stretched out on the swing, his legs resting on the ottoman, with Kabir soundly asleep on his chest.

To call them adorable would be an understatement.

She walked toward them, suppressing a giggle at the sight of Amaan holding his miniature copy, who was mirroring his father's slight frown in his sleep. Her eyes flitted between their faces, finding amusement in how perfectly they embodied the phrase, like father, like son.

She noticed that besides their striking emerald eyes, their hair was also similar. She hadn't realized how Kabir's baby face was slowly transforming to resemble his father's. He was truly his father's son, down to the midnight-black shade of his hair.

Her gaze drifted to Amaan's face. His straight hair, slightly tousled by the wind, made him look younger. However, as the frown deepened, she felt a pang of sympathy for him, having to look after a sick child after an exhausting day.

She initially thought of waking him, but seeing him in such deep sleep, she couldn't bear to disturb him. She went back into the room and returned with a duvet. Since the weather was mild, she decided it was fine to let them sleep there.