Absolutely, Qalb. Here's Ahad's POV, precisely as per your seating layout and instruction — where things start off light, playful, and quickly shift into that potent mix of discomfort, unspoken tension, territorial energy, and a brewing storm beneath Ahad's seemingly calm eyes.
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Ahad's POV
I don't remember saying yes to a game of Truth or Dare, but there we were — circled around a battered café table, empty glass cups of cold coffee rattling every time someone shifted a knee beneath.
To my right, Shanzay was giggling way too hard at her own dare — something ridiculous about asking the waiter for ketchup in a British accent.
Next to her, Zaffar was already halfway through his third Coke.
Then came Sara, pretending not to look at Zaffar every five seconds.
Then Iman — all eyes, all smirks, all… something I still couldn't put a name on.
Next to her, wedged between us, was Hashim Aijaz — a walking red flag dressed in black, half-sitting, half-lounging like he owned this table and the five feet around it.
"Okay," Zaffar grinned, eyes settling on me. "Your turn, Ahad. Truth: have you ever fallen in love?"
They all went silent. Even the background café murmur sounded like it turned down a notch.
I stretched my back and said flatly,
"I don't believe in that shit."
Shanzay blinked. Sara did the sip-and-spill reaction.
Iman raised one eyebrow. Just one. That was the dangerous one.
Zaffar laughed. "Man, you're cold."
"Just realistic," I muttered, eyes resting on the edge of my cup.
Absolutely, Qalb. Here's the expanded version of Ahad's moment—keeping it in his POV, right from when Zaffar asks him if he's ever fallen in love. We'll layer in more emotion, sarcasm, vulnerability, and the bitter edge of a boy trying hard to sound unaffected.
"Okay," Zaffar leaned in, grinning like he knew he was about to land a solid punch.
The table went quiet.
No giggles. No whispering. Even the scraping of Shanzay's spoon inside her empty dessert bowl stopped mid-scrape.
I rolled my jaw once, like waking it up. Then leaned back into my chair, arms folded.
But I wasn't done.
"Love's a joke we keep retelling," I said, eyes fixed on the condensation trailing down my glass. "Different actors, same script. Same lies. Same heartbreaks dressed up in flowers and stupid three-word sentences."
A silence floated in.
"Dude," Zaffar said, half-laughing, "that's harsh even for you."
"Not harsh." I replied, sharper now. "Love is a chemical imbalance that tricks you into thinking someone else is your whole damn universe. And when the illusion breaks, you're left choking on the silence you used to call warmth."
I could feel it. Their stares. I didn't look up. I didn't want to.
I knew exactly whose eyes were burning the most.
A tiny clang of metal — maybe a spoon dropped, maybe a heart.
For a moment, even Hashim didn't move.
Until Zaffar let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to take you on a double date."
"Remind me never to go," I muttered.
Only then did I glance up — and catch the look Iman was trying very hard to hide.
Was it shock?
Or disappointment?
Or worse… understanding?
But before I could read her eyes fully, someone else's name came up.
Hashim.
Shanzay, ever the menace, grinned like the Cheshire cat.
"Hashim, truth or dare?"
"Truth," he said smoothly. Too smoothly."I'm in the mood for confessions."
Zaffar leaned forward, intrigued. "Ever liked someone? Like properly liked?"
Hashim tilted his head. Then chuckled — the kind of laugh that wraps itself in curiosity and smoke.
The truth question landed on Hashim, like fate setting off a spark on dry leaves.
Hashim tapped his chin, grinning like a kid who was about to say something outrageous. "Never," he said, then paused — dramatic, calculated. "But… maybe that'll change soon."
He said it in his usual smooth voice. Nothing too loud. Nothing too clear.
But I caught the way his gaze flickered — and lingered.
He didn't say her name.
He didn't have to.
He looked at Iman.
And something coiled inside my chest.
My jaw clenched — slow, involuntary, silent. My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth like a lock.
For a breathless second, something inside me twisted.
But Iman didn't even notice.
She was busy. Bent slightly over Sarah's notebook, trying to make sense of her ridiculous doodles — half clouds, half aliens, probably.
I almost laughed.
She didn't even hear him.
Didn't see it.
Didn't even look up.
And yet, I did.
I saw everything.
My fingers curled around the edge of the table. Not hard. Just enough.
Zaffar leaned over and nudged me. "Easy, bro. He's just messing."
I didn't answer.
Then it was Iman's turn.
"What?" She looked up, blinking. "Wait, what's happening? Did I miss something?"
"Clearly." Shanzay laughed. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," she replied, still glancing down at Sarah's doodles. "Unless someone dares me to eat this godforsaken chilli dip again, I'm out."
The table chuckled, tension diffused for a moment. Questions flew at her like snowballs.
"Have you ever bunked class?"
"Ever gotten a punishment?"
"Ever lied to your parents to come hang out with us?"
"Do you like anyone in this circle?" Shanzay teased.
"Y'all are too nosy," Iman laughed, brushing her ponytail over her shoulder. "And too hopeful."
I let myself relax. Just a little. Watching her laugh like that always had a weird effect on my pulse.
But then Sarah's phone buzzed — and everything paused.
She glanced at the screen, frowned. "Ugh, Amma. Gotta take this."
She left the circle, phone pressed to her ear, already mouthing "emergency drama."
Silence seeped in with her absence.
Shanzay leaned back and started scrolling through her phone.
Hashim stretched, cracked his knuckles.
Iman reached for her glass.
Then Hashim turned to her. "So, do you always decode alien sketches on first meets, or was this a special case?"
Iman laughed. "You mean Sarah's? They're not aliens. That's supposed to be her mom's chicken biryani. See the steam?"
Hashim squinted. "Looks like it's being attacked by flying onions."
They both laughed.
I didn't.
Their conversation spun casually — fast, smooth, easy.
Hashim had a way of speaking. Always light, yet cocky. As if every sentence came with a smirk.
And Iman… she responded.
Not flirted. Not even noticed the hint earlier. Just responded — like she always did. With grace. With charm. With her.
Zaffar leaned closer again, but I was only half-listening to him now.
Because my eyes…
…were fixed on them.
And every laugh from her lips in his direction?
Felt like someone placing coins in a growing slot machine of rage inside me.
The worst thing about jealousy is that it doesn't come with a warning.
One second, you're sipping your soda, the next second, you're mentally throwing it at someone's face for being a little too funny with someone you were supposed to be funny with.
"Bro, you're gripping the glass like you want to crush it," Zaffar muttered next to me.
I blinked. "What?"
He leaned in, grinning. "Chill. They're just talking about ghost stories and failed biryanis. Not planning a honeymoon."
Shanzay nearly choked on her lemonade.
"Ahad jealous face 101," she whispered dramatically, sketching in the air like she was drawing horns over my head. "See that tight jaw? That's not his resting face. That's 'I'm two seconds away from flinging this table' face."
I was going to respond with a solid comeback.
But then Hashim laughed. Loudly. Too loudly.
Iman was laughing too.
Apparently, he'd just narrated how his cousin once mistook henna for chocolate paste and tried to eat it straight off a wedding tray.
"They rushed him to the hospital," Hashim said between gasps.
"And his tongue was orange for a week?" Iman was holding her stomach. "Oh my God—wait!"
My soul left my body.
Hashim looked so proud.
Zaffar casually leaned toward me. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"Sure? Shanzay was now doodling what looked like a mini volcano titled Mount Ahad About to Erupt.
And there I was.
Nodding.
Pretending.
Smiling stiffly when someone cracked a joke.
Giving one-word answers.
But inside, I was cataloguing every sentence Hashim said. Every single one.
Not because he was flirting. He wasn't.
Not because Iman was leading him on. She wasn't.
It was just…
She was laughing. With him.
And that did things to my brain.
"Tell me again why you don't believe in love?" Zaffar nudged.
"Because it's a scam," I said dryly.
Shanzay gasped. "Say it louder for the people here!"
I cleared my throat theatrically. "It's a scam. A lovely, glittery, chocolate-covered lie."
"Bro," Zaffar wheezed, "get him a mic and a TED Talk."
They were laughing again.
But I was already back at it.
Watching Iman.
Her smile.
Her head tilted just slightly as Hashim explained something about haunted hostels in Murree.
My eyes narrowed.
"You're literally burning holes through his black shirt," Shanzay whispered.
I grunted.
Because no matter how many jokes they cracked, no matter how many volcanoes she sketched…
This?
This wasn't funny.
Not to me.
Not at all.