CHAPTER ONE: I DON'T BELIEVE IN LOVE. (Ahad's POV)
I don't believe in love.
And no—this isn't me trying to sound profound.
I say it because I mean it. Because love is chaos wrapped in silk. Because every time I saw someone fall in love, they ended up crawling out of it—bleeding, bitter, blaming God for their own idiocy.
I don't blame Allah.
I believe in Him. I always have.
But love?
Love is where people lose their minds and start calling it destiny.
And I'm not the kind of man who lets emotions drive the car.
Iman Khan makes that difficult.
She lives across the street. Close enough that her balcony feels like it was built to mock mine. She laughs like she's never had pain touch her. She stares like she sees through layers I never meant to show anyone.
And I hate it.
I hate how I wait for her.
How I know the rhythm of her footsteps better than my own breath.
She doesn't even try to be charming—
And maybe that's why she is.
My parents have invited hers for dinner. Every time, I pretend not to care. I sit in the room like a stranger. But my ears? They betray me. They follow her voice, catch the way she speaks.
And when she's not here?
It's too quiet.
People think I'm cold.
I let them.
It's easier that way. Easier than explaining why I keep a list in my head—of the things she says, the colors she wears, the way she sighs when she thinks no one's listening.
She's not mine.
She never will be.
And still, here I am—pretending to believe my own lie.
That I don't believe in love.
Because if I did…
I'd already be drowning.
I don't remember when she became the only exception in my carefully crafted life.
I've known her since we were children—two brats fighting over the last laddoo at some Eid daawat, or pretending to be annoyed at sitting next to each other during those long, boring family drives to Gulmarg. Our families have been tangled up together for decades now—her mother and mine, close as sisters. Her father and mine, business partners before mine took over entirely.
It made things… simple.
Until it didn't.
Now every time I see her, my thoughts spiral into places they shouldn't. And it pisses me off. Because I don't fall for anyone. I don't believe in all that sentimental crap people write poems about. Love? A weakness wrapped in pretty packaging. Obsession? Just biology doing its job. Feelings? I'd rather not talk about it.
But lately, every time I hear her voice, I forget half of what I was about to say. Every time she smiles at someone else, I want to pull her away and say, "No. Not for you."
Of course, I never do.
Because that would mean admitting something is shifting inside me. And I don't allow shifts. I control everything—, my name, my emotions.
Even now.
Even when I heard my parents have visited her home to invite her and ,my mom insisting her mother and dadi to join us.Since,Uncle Is out for bussines mostly its just her mother and dadi,and my parents along with us.Iman will come. I know she will.
And I've told myself it's nothing.
That I just want her here because she belongs to this circle, not because I like the way her presence rearranges the air in every room. Not because I'm waiting to hear her laugh tonight like a man addicted to sound.
I'm not in love.
I'm not.
Even if the lies I keep telling myself are starting to taste like truth.