---

Past – Third Person POV

She was gone. He was left alone with her thoughts, and the night ahead felt endless. Sighing, he entered his room, still thinking about her—her pain, her wounds—they were his concern too. There was nothing else on his mind. She ruled his thoughts completely.

Zain didn’t notice Hassan standing there, silently watching him, as he took out his nightwear and went to change. Hassan, holding a bowl of ice cream he had brought from the kitchen, kept observing him. Zain came out of the bathroom and headed straight to the balcony, ignoring Hassan completely.

“Bhai,” Hassan called, a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth—but got no reply.

Nothing. Zain wasn’t mentally present. His mind was completely lost in thoughts of the girl who had stolen his peace. Hassan called him again, but Zain didn’t respond.

“Zoya Api,” Hassan said mischievously. Zain immediately turned to look at the closed door, then at Hassan, who was now wiggling his eyebrows with a cheeky smile.

“What?” Zain asked, trying to compose himself. He turned toward the balcony again, closed the door, and began fixing the curtains.

“I was thinking about something,” said Hassan, now leaning back against the headboard with the ice cream bowl in his lap.

“Don’t think. Just sleep,” Zain replied, avoiding eye contact. But he had clearly underestimated Hassan.

Hassan turned on the television, sneaking glances at his brother, who had now laid down and pulled the comforter over himself.

“Oh, my Zoya Api!” Hassan suddenly exclaimed, making Zain sit up instantly.

“This... this!” Hassan pointed at the TV, where a show was playing, but Zain stared at him instead, waiting for an explanation.

“This show is Zoya Api’s favorite—especially the hero. I should text her to watch it,” Hassan said, grabbing his phone, but Zain quickly snatched it away.

“How do you know? And how do you even have her number?” Zain asked with a frown.

“Because she gave it to me. She said I’m like a little brother to her. She likes me a lot. She told me about this hero too—she loves his hairstyle and beard and…” Hassan rambled on, while Zain’s frown slowly faded.

“Shut up. He’s not even that good,” Zain muttered and lay down again.

“Are you jealous?” Hassan teased, scooping another spoonful of ice cream, making Zain sit up once more.

“Jealous? Why would I be? And why are you eating so much ice cream?” Zain asked, frustrated—and confused by his own feelings.

“You’re definitely jealous. But don’t be. Here, have some ice cream,” Hassan offered him a spoon.

“Why did you react so quickly to her name? I called you so many times, and you ignored me. But the moment I said her name, you turned as if you were waiting for her,” Hassan said, holding a mirror to Zain’s emotions. But Zain looked away and laid down again.

“There’s nothing like that,” he said, closing his eyes—only for her face to appear in his mind, forcing them open again.

“I can sense it, Bhai. You’re changing,” Hassan whispered, winking at him before eating another spoonful.

“You’ve never eaten this much ice cream,” Zain pointed out.

“I actually took it from Hooria. I like teasing her. She was about to eat it, but I snatched it and ran inside,” Hassan laughed and lay down beside him.

“Good for you. When your throat hurts in the morning, don’t come running to me,” Zain warned.

“This time I’ll run to Zoya Api,” Hassan replied cheekily.

Zain’s eyes shot open again, and his heartbeat quickened at the sound of her name.

The night kept passing, but Zain couldn’t sleep. His heart wasn’t in his control. Sweet tingles in his chest, smiles on his lips, restless thoughts—it was all because of her. He had no control over what he was feeling. He couldn’t stop her face from appearing every time he closed his eyes.

“This is not helping,” he mumbled, sitting up and burying his face in his hands.

“I have to sleep. No more thoughts,” he told himself, laying back down.

He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to stay blank. As sleep began to take over, blurry images started flashing—her face, her tears, her pain, her limping walk.

“Zoya…” he whispered, eyes flying open.

He was breathing heavily. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to calm the chaos inside him. Why was he missing her so much? Why did he only want to see her? Why was she all he could think about?

“She’s not letting you sleep, right?” Hassan’s voice startled him.

Zain looked at him, shocked.

“Don’t worry, she won’t be able to sleep either,” Hassan said, yawning.

“But please let me sleep. I’m stuck with you lovebirds,” he mumbled, turning to the other side.

“Excuse me? What lovebirds? Just sleep,” Zain retorted.

“I’ll answer that in the morning,” Hassan muttered, drifting off, while Zain sighed and tried again to fall asleep.

---

Zoya’s Side

She looked at the clock on her side table and sighed. Pushing the comforter aside, she sat up and held her head in her hands. Her hair fell forward as her fingers tangled in frustration. She couldn’t sleep—and the reason was him. Since she had seen him, her heart hadn’t been calm. Her longing to see him again was growing.

“What is happening to me? Am I really this attracted to him?” she asked herself, a soft smile curving her lips at the thought of him.

“No, no. This can’t be.” She waved her hand, denying her feelings. Trying to distract herself, she opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a notebook.

Lying on her stomach, she took a pencil and thought of something—anything—to write. But her fingers betrayed her. They moved on their own and wrote his name in the center of the page. Her lips smiled.

“I’m going crazy.” She turned to the next page, shaking her head. But she was enjoying these feelings—the happiness his thoughts brought.

She placed the pencil between her lips, thinking, then began sketching.

“I should be studying. I should be buried in books. But what am I doing? Sketching him. What spell has he cast on me?”

Her fingers moved across the paper, sketching his eyes.

“His eyes…” she whispered, pausing to stare at them. Then she scolded herself—but continued sketching.

One sketch after another filled the notebook. Some had half his face. Some showed his profile. Some showed his hair falling over his forehead.

Then came the most shocking one—she had drawn them together. Half of her face, half of his. And then another: the two of them walking hand in hand through an autumn path, leaves scattered under their feet. She closed the notebook, stunned.

“What was I thinking?” she whispered, laying back and covering her face with her hands.

“What are you doing to me? Why am I dreaming like this?” she whispered, her heart overflowing with emotions she couldn’t control.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she hugged the notebook tightly to her chest.

Suddenly, her phone rang. She wiped her face, sat up, and looked at the screen.

“Hoorain? Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice low as she leaned back against the headboard.

“Just wanted to check one last time if you’re coming with us to Nigah’s village. We’re leaving in an hour,” Hoorain said.

Zoya glanced at the clock—it was 4 a.m.

“No, I can’t come. We have guests. My uncle’s family arrived from London,” she replied, her eyes drifting back to the notebook in her lap.

“Oh. We’ll be back in a week. Then I’ll come to meet them. We’re going to miss you,” Hoorain said.

“Me too. Take care,” Zoya replied softly.

“You sound sad. Are you okay?” Hoorain asked.

“I’m fine.” But Zoya opened the notebook again, unable to resist the pull of those sketched eyes.

“Okay, bye then—”

“I don’t know what it is about his eyes,” Zoya suddenly said. “I can’t sleep. I want to run from these thoughts but I can’t. I spent the whole night sketching him. I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Wait—what? Who are you talking about?” Hoorain asked, shocked.

“I don’t understand these feelings. His eyes trap me. I try not to look but I can’t help it. They’re beautiful. I love his eyes.”

“Zoya! Come to your senses! What’s gotten into you? This isn’t like you at all!”

“I know, but something is changing in me. These feelings… they’re overwhelming. He’s pulling me toward him,” she whispered helplessly.

“Just be strong. Don’t let these emotions take over. I’ll be back soon—we’ll figure it out then. Try to relax and don’t think about him.”

Hoorain ended the call.

Zoya smiled faintly and placed the phone aside.

“It’s too late now,” she whispered. “I think I’ve already lost everything… to his eyes.”

She lay back, hugging the notebook to her chest, and finally closed her eyes.

---

A/N: Assalam-o-alikum readers
How are you all??

It's been long, isn't??

I'm just busy with family and kids.  Thats why I couldn't update on time.

Hope you all understand and I'll try to finish the stories I have started.

Till update Allah Hafiz.

Keep reading...
Keep smiling...