7 parts Ongoing The plan was simple: press the bell and run. Easy.
Except... I didn't even get to touch it.
The door opened.
I froze.
A girl stepped out-older than us, maybe by a year or two. Long straight hair, calm expression. Casual, but perfect. And painfully familiar.
Yusuf's sister. From Instagram. From that Eid post.
Panic hit.
My brain: static. Useless.
"Uh... does Beenish aunty live here?"
WHO. IS. BEENISH. AUNTY.
She blinked. "No."
"Okay, sorry! Wrong house. Allah Hafiz!"
I spun around and half-tripped my way to the nearest bush-where Zainab had already thrown herself like the absolute traitor she is. I started smacking her.
"YOU SAID YOU'D STAY WITH ME!"
She was wheezing. "Your face! Oh my God, your FACE!"
"I panicked! I asked for a fake aunty!"
We were still giggling when-
The door creaked again.
Slower.
Heavier.
Zainab's laughter stopped.
"Zainab," I whispered. "I think... it's him."
I turned-just slightly. And there he was.
Saif.
Plain black tee, sweatpants, and that same cap from his profile. Tall. Calm. Phone in hand.
He looked sharper in real life. Taller too. Like the air around him knew who he was before I did. His eyes scanned the street, slow and aware, like he felt something was off.
I forgot how to exist.
Zainab leaned in. "He's hotter in real life."
"Shut. Up."
He hadn't seen us.
But I saw him.
And seeing him like that-real, breathing, quietly magnetic-was something else. He wasn't just a pixelated post anymore. He was here. And somehow, even across the street, he had that pull.
Zainab started poking me. qt qt qt on repeat. I elbowed her so hard she nearly fell.
Then-his eyes swept the street.
Paused.
On a cat.
He bent down, gently scratched behind its ears. Like they were best friends reuniting after war.
We ducked. Hard.
And in that moment, I knew two things:
One, I was going to murder Zainab.
Two, I was absolutely going to remember this forever.
And that's how I met him.
