17 Chapter 17

Aarib's POV

What. The. Heck.

What did I just say?

What—

Everyone on this table has gone quiet, their expressions ranging from confused, to baffled, and in Azaan's case, pissed.

"What did you say?" Azaan spits out, his jaw ticking.

I've had enough. I have given enough time for Haya to make the decision—and I would have still married her even if she didn't want to. She's got no choice on this. I can't fathom the thought of her getting hurt—makes me lose my temper. And what does it matter anyway? I just told everyone what I would've said maybe some other day, so why not now when everyone was together?

Better now than never.

"I said I want to marry Haya."

Oh, boy.

Azaan shoots up from his seat ready to plunge on me but his mother grabs his arm and pulls him back down, warning him with her eyes.

That's right, Azaan.

Chill out.

"I'm sorry, but I don't get it," Maira, Hassan's wife leans forward and frowns at me. I know she doesn't hate me. In fact, she likes me for Haya. Thank God. At least she'll be on our side to convince Haya's two neurotic brothers, though Hassan shouldn't really be a problem.

I think.

"What's there not to get? I've known Haya for a long time. We've been in the same school since grade five, and I want to marry her," I mumble coolly.

Speaking of Haya, she looks like she might vomit any second. A hand is clamped to her mouth and her gaze is lowered.

Crap.

I hope she doesn't start crying, or this whole thing will look all kinds of wrong. Her family might start thinking I am forcing her or something.

"We refuse. She's not marrying you," Azaan is quick to open his mouth. He glares at me and I can tell it's taking every fiber of his being to not beat me bloody right now. "She doesn't even like you that way!"

"Oh, she doesn't?" I counter back. "How would you know that?"

That seems to piss him off more.

Good.

Haya. Wil. Be. My. Wife.

"What I know is that you need to get lost—"

"Azaan!" his mom once again whisper hisses, losing her calm. "I did not raise you like that. Get out, now."

He obliges. Pushing back the chair and almost knocking it to the ground, Azaan leaves the table and exits the restaurant. Some people turn to look over at our table but then leave the matter and get back to their work.

"I apologize for his behavior, Mrs. Feroze," Hassan apologizes beside me, and that's a sincere one. "He should not have treated Aarib here with such—"

"No, don't apologize son. I've got quite the temperamental son as well," mum smiles. She turns to Haya's mom and says, "Now that Aarib has decided to tell you all himself, I don't really have to worry any further. Aarib has been talking about your daughter lately. He really likes her and wishes to marry her." She then turns to Haya. "I don't know how you managed it, but you're about to do something I never thought would ever happen. I must say, you're one special girl if my son likes you that much. I never thought Aarib would marry."

At that, Haya's eyes rise and she peers at me through her lashes, an adorable expression on her face.

Punch. To. The. Heart.

How does she manage to get to my heart?

No girl has ever been able to do that.

And I literally couldn't agree with mom more.

As if Haya isn't already flushed enough, Maira decides to add, "And Haya likes him too."

This just makes Haya's cheeks beet red.

I stifle a laugh and make myself serious because this situation doesn't require a laugh at this moment. Not when things are this tense. Not when it comes to making Haya mine.

"I understand how young love can be," Haya's mom begins. She looks relieved, as if she was just waiting for me to ask Haya's hand in marriage. "Although I have no reason to say no, we'd like some time to discuss this with each other. I'm sure Haya has no issues and that she's very eager to marry Aarib—"

"Mom," comes Haya's warning. She even sounds embarrassed. After all, I'm finally getting to know that she's been into me all this time. And of course she likes me too. It's hard to resist someone like me.

Just saying.

Her mom chuckles. I notice they both have the same eyes. But Haya's are more on the caramel brown side than a dark brown. "You might not have told me about it, but I know. I'm your mother, Haya. You think I don't notice these things?"

"Okay, I get it that you notice but just don't embarrass me." The last words that she said were a hushed whisper.

I could tell my mom was trying not to smile.

And me? This time I just let the grin creep up on my face. I even chuckle a little which makes Haya groan with annoyance.

I am so enjoying this.

"Yes, we understand these matters should not be dealt in urgency," mom says, but I disagree with her. Haya and I need to get married as soon as possible. "But we're always hopeful and would love to welcome Haya to our house."

The conversations continue on for another fifteen minutes during which the food arrives and we all fall silent to devour it except for a few questions here and there asked by Hassan to me. I understand a brother needs to make sure where his sister is going is safe. I would've done the same for my sister, if I had one.

Thirty minutes later, we leave the restaurant and mom bids farewell to Haya's family.

"Is your brother going to be fine?" I ask Haya, staring ahead at the road that seems to stretch on forever.

She's standing right beside me, watching the two mom's laughing and chatting their hearts away. I glance sideways and see a smile tug on her lips. Cute.

"I don't know. He has to be fine with this. I have to tell you something," she mumbles, biting on her bottom lip. I wish she'd look at me.

My heart skips a beat. "I hope you're not backing away from our marriage," I mutter with a frown creasing my forehead. My mood sours in less than two seconds.

"What?" she laughs, hopefully not at my bad mood. "Quite the opposite, actually." She nibbles on her bottom lip. She does that a lot, especially when she's extra nervous. And that happens almost every time when she's with me. "I was gonna tell you today that I have agreed to marry you. For obvious reasons," she adds, rubbing her palms together and blowing into them.

For obvious reasons? I feel my heart pulse erratically. "Oh, come on, Haya. We both know you want to marry me for more than just the reason because of my family. Adding 'obvious reasons' in your statement's not gonna fool me, keep that in mind."

She rolls her eyes which confirm that I am, in fact, right. I could almost do a happy dance.

Almost.

"Being so confident is not always so good."

"Confident is my middle name."

"You're impossible," she mutters.

"Only with you."

She mutters something under her breath but I also detect a hint of a smile.

Maira's eyes fall on us. She smiles and walks towards us, giving Haya a look. I have enough experience to know that look has something to do with me.

"So, you had a good day?" she asks me in a friendly tone.

Amazing, is what rests on the tip of my tongue, but maybe I should be a little calm. "Yeah, I definitely had a good time. But then again, I always have a good time with Haya."

I hear Haya's little gasp.

Maira's laugh makes Haya squirm beside me. "I am pretty sure Haya also had a very good time. I guess I should start preparing for the wedding, then."

"Uh, nothing's decided yet, though," Haya chuckles. She's so nervous, it's actually really cute. "There's going to be a fam session excluding me where everything will be decided. Wooh, so fun."

The two old ladies (finally) abandon their conversation and mom waves a hand at me, calling me over. I hold up two fingers and then turn to Haya, not caring that Maira is right there.

"All your wedding dresses will be from me, so don't stress up too much. Take your beauty rest. . . and Haya?"

Her big brown eyes gaze into mine, widening just a fraction. "Yes?"

"I'll always wait for you."

I spin around and saunter away from my soon-to-be-wife, a small smile playing on my lips. The more steps I take away from her, the more the longing grows—and the fear. I would try whatever I can to protect her from my ruthless father, his men, and Feroze. She's going to be my wife, and yes I probably might not be the best husband ever, but keeping her safe and happy will top number one in my priorities list.

I get behind the wheel and lean back against the seat, closing my eyes on a sigh. Is this what love feels like? Like you just cannot breathe. . .like someone is squeezing your chest whenever you're not with that one person.

This is not good. So not good.

From my peripheral I see mom marching towards the car. She opens the door and a gush of cold wind wooshes inside the car. I reach forward and crank the heater higher. Mom slams the door shut and shifts in her seat to face me with a look I can't decipher.

"Where are your manners, Aarib?" she folds her arms.

"My manners?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "You didn't say goodbye to Haya's mom. That's bad manners. Very bad manners."

I drop my head. "I forgot. And she knows I am a good boy, mom. It's just you who thinks I am all sorts of bad." When I raise my head, I watch Haya as she slides into the back seat of her car. Before she does so, she raises her eyes to look at me and in that moment, it was just the two of us for a very long time that was probably like two seconds. Her eyes twinkle, while a ghost of a smile plays on her lips. I try to hide my own.

"I like that girl a lot. She's going to make a great wife," mom comments, following my line of sight. "She's a very good girl."

That, she definitely is.

I chuckle in response and turn on the ignition.

Later that night, I lay in my bed watching the ceiling as if it were a movie, wondering what character I played. To the world I am a cruel, callous boy who has anger issues and who is warned to be stayed away from. My heroine is Haya, the sweet, caring genuinely honest girl who has gotten entangled in my mess.

I wonder if I am both the villain and the hero?

I am, though. For Haya, and my loved ones, I am a hero and villain both. But for my brother and father, I will be a villain. I think they both are underestimating my abilities, positive that I will go down without a fight.

Heck no.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, drawing my attention away from the ceiling. The message is from an unknown number, which makes me frown. I don't get texts from random people. Like, ever.

When I skim over the words, rage courses through my veins, making my heart beat harder. A bitter taste settles on my tongue and all sorts of violent thoughts appear in my head.

Haya is mine, is what the message reads.

I almost scoff if I wasn't feeling a burning fury inside of me. I can't think rationally. Even the mere thought of someone else having eyes on Haya is like a punch to the heart. Haya is his? Who is he? Why is he being such a chicken and not saying that right to my face? I'm pretty sure if he has my number, he'd probably know where to get to me as well.

Instead of typing back an old fashioned text, I hit the call button, my jaw ticking.

I see red.

I want to punch this moron until he never thinks of her again, let alone claim he owns her.

Haya is mine to be loved, cherished, and taken care of.

End. Of. The. Story.

Nobody picks the call on the other end and that awakens a rage inside me that I never knew existed before. So, let me get this out.

First, he has the nerve to claim my Haya, and second, he doesn't even pick my call.

Perfect.

As expected, I couldn't sleep the entire night, tossing and turning in the bed, kicking away the blanket and grabbing it back on because finding a comfortable spot was the hardest thing possible.

I am having the worst saturday morning of my entire life. Having barely an hours sleep, I was ready to bite at whoever tried to have a conversation with me. In the history of my bad moods, today is the worst. Mom detects it, too, but thankfully doesn't prod me for answers.

I'm sitting at the breakfast bar staring at the cup of cold coffee when I receive a text from Haya. I grab the phone immediately, jamming in the wrong password three times before getting it right.

There's a family meeting going on. Mom and Maira have agreed, but my brothers. . .mostly Azaan is being a problem. -11:32 am

He's the least of my concerns. -11:33 am

She takes an awfully long time to text—what five words?

I'm worried. What will happen? -11:40 am

My fingers do a quick work of typing.

If they don't agree, then I'll just whisk you away. So there's no need to be worried. -11:41 am.