9 Chapter 9/Too Bad, huh?

Haya's POV

Great. Perfect. Awesome.

Now I not only have to bear Aarib, but also my obnoxious cousin, Mahmat. Aarib cocks a brow at me, trying to gauge my reaction because I am pretty sure my facial expressions are a mixture of frustration and relief. Relief, because I want to be as far away from Aarib, and frustration, because

I don't know why I am not doing that.

"So, you're allowed to have guy friends?" Mahmat pipes in, stepping forward.

I plaster on the fakest smile possible. "Actually, he is my partner in religion class." And none of your stupid concern.

"Huh," my cousin ponders, examining Aarib like an article.

Aarib shows no emotion. He just coolly stands there with his hands in his pockets while he stares my cousin down with bored eyes. Mahmat, who is leaner than any guy I have known, and who has shoulder length hair that match his black eyes, tries his best to look tough and all bad boy type. Does he think he trying to protect me from Aarib? Pfft! What a troll!

I peer at Aarib. As if sensing my eyes on him, he cuts his gaze to mine and smiles triumphantly. Uh . . . what? What's that look he is giving me? Oh God. Is he trying to give an impression to my cousin that we both are. . .close? What a desperate fool!

"Mahmat! Dude come here!" Hassan calls him and saves me from any further embarrassment.

Once Mahmat leaves, Aarib chuckles with midnight laughter. "You've got quite the love interest there," he snickers, a twinkle in those icy blue eyes. "Enlighten me, do you also possess feelings for him?"

The nerve of this man. . . "I don't like him. Seriously, you really think he is my type?"

He clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Nah, sorry, my bad. I forgot I am your type." The corners of his mouth twitch, clearly telling me he is fighting off a grin.

I close my eyes and just. . .breathe. he definitely knows how to get on my nerves. But. . .a part of me knows I like him—guys like him. And a part of me definitely does not like how my heart speeds up when he scrutinizes me with his sharp eyes. Eyes that are always curious. Intelligent. I keep forgetting he is dangerous, a son of Mafia. Yet here he is standing in my house as if he doesn't impose us any threat.

When I open my eyes, he is still staring at me. I look anywhere and everywhere except in his eyes.

"I'll introduce you to my brothers. You've already met Azaan, so now lets go meet Hassan," I say. (Without looking at him.)

"Actually," he sighs. "I have somewhere I have to be right now. What's today? The Nikah?" he questions with interest, as if he genuinely cares what is going on.

Maybe he does. I wouldn't know.

"Yes." A question pops in my head. "Where are you originally from? San Francisco?" I remember his brother mocking me with the information that Aarib is the son of the biggest Mafia of San Francisco, although it's kind of a blur because hello? I was scared to death.

I finally look at him when he doesn't answer immediately. A muscle in his jaw ticks—oops, not good. Note to myself: he doesn't like to talk about his life.

He runs a hand through his dark locks, a sign he is not sure he wants to tell me or not. Looking heavenwards, he blows out a huggeee breath. Uh, did I really ask such a difficult question? He is acting like I asked him to explain double circulation in mammals. Though I bet he would be able to answer that in mere seconds.

"You can trust me."

UH—WHAT DID I JUST SAY? Ugh! Why am I acting like this? WHY AM I BEING SO SWEET AND CONSIDERATE! AAAAAAAAAAAAA.

His lips thin and the muscles in his jaw start ticking. Super. I just made him mad. Again. Wohoo. Hurray. Can I please get a drum roll?

"You being interested in my life will never make sense. I just don't get it, you know? Are girls just really this stupid or are you a rare case?" My heart sinks at the rudeness in his voice, but he continues, oblivious to the damage he is doing to my heart. He levels me with his gaze.

"How many more warnings do I have to give you, Haya? Tell me. Tell me now, so I know how many times more I have to have this talk with you." He is breathing heavily now, sweat trickling down his forehead. "Stay away from me. You being attracted towards me will be of no benefit, trust me on this."

I gape at him, my pupils widening in surprise. He thinks. . .what? I am attracted to him? Could he literally be any more full of himself? I mean, who does he think he is?

I roll my eyes at him, scoffing loudly. Then, I clap my hands together and pout fakely. "Finally! Finally you know of my true feeling for you, Romeo! How could you not tell before?" I level him with my stare, my eyes shooting daggers at him.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, as if he has some sort of hold over me and my behavior is disliked by him. "I think you're a rare case. I'll see you in school on Monday. Have fun, and please apologize to your Mum from me. Tell her I have somewhere important I need to be."

Where really does he have to go? Is he again in some sort of Mafia business? Is his brother forcefully wanting to take him back to San Francisco?

I clear my throat. "Okay. Bye."

He nods his head, gives me a final glance and leaves through the front door. I slam the door shut. . .feeling as if a shadow just fell over me. Why do I feel sad because he left? There is seriously something wrong with me. I really hope I am not developing feelings for this callous boy, because I know it won't end up well.

At least for me.

"Are you sure you just want me to put circles with the henna? I mean, that's too simple." Maira gives me a once over as if she detects something is wrong with me.

I pull my hair back and secure it in a tight ponytail. I don't want my hair to me a mess when I am getting henna on my hands. And definitely don't want the henna in my hair. Once I am sure every lock is in place, turn around, lean my hip against the dresser and smile brightly at Maira. She frowns.

"Yes. YES. How many times are you going to ask me about this? Won't you allow me to your wedding if I don't put on some fancy design?" I pucker my lips and bat my eye lashes, trying my best to be cute.

She sighs but smiles nonetheless. "It's totally up to you, hon. By the way, Azaan was pretty mad about some guy who was here earlier this morning. A friend of yours?"

Azaan and his big mouth.

"Azaan needs to chill out. Aarib was here to study, considering we both are partnered together, a very little thing that my brother JUST DOES NOT GET."

Maira laughs. "Are you flushed, embarrassed, or blushing?"

Indeed, my cheeks were warming up. When did I get so. . .pathetic? Just the mention of his name has made my heart go all whoooop. Just how more pathetic could I get?

"I am neither," I try to prove myself. Maira just gets more skeptical. Perhaps it's time to change the subject. "Show me your hands," I nod at her. She presents her hands to me and I grin at the maroon swirls of henna coating her hands and going up to her arms. There was not even a single inch of skin untouched by the dark color.

"You like?" she wriggles her brows at me in suggestion.

"I love," I reply honestly.

A dreamy look crosses her face. "I will be living in this house from today. It feels so surreal, you know, sharing a room with someone. Sharing your life with someone."

I couldn't agree with her more. "Yes, but the good thing is you actually know Hassan and are pretty comfortable with him. Even with us. And we love you already, so you don't have to make us all the good foods and try to impress us to win over our hearts," I joke.

I have always wondered how difficult it would be for me to get comfortable around my husband when I get married, because I want to fall in love with him after the marriage, not before. So technically I wouldn't know him that well except for the one time I would talk to him about certain things.

And not to forget I would have to share the same bathroom.

Fun.

Maira sighs dreamily, flipping her rockstar pink hair over her shoulder in a childish manner.

"What can I say, I am a pro."

I clap my hands in excitement, grinning from ear to ear. I try to force myself into thinking that the only reason why I am attempting to take more interest in henna is because I don't want to think about Aarib. I don't want to fall for that stupid toxic man, who also happens to the son of a mafia. Not the combo my family would ever approve of. But what can I say, I just always seem to fall for the baddest of the bad boys.

"Lets go down then, join the celebrations," I chirp, grabbing her hands and pulling her alongside me.

"Slow down, you're running as if Aarib is waiting for you at the door."

I halt in in the stairway, any form of smile disappearing from my face. Maira bumps into me, thankfully managing not to make us both fall.

Heart in my throat, nerves anxious, I turn my head to peer at Maira. "What do you possibly mean?" I gulp down the emotions building up inside of me, afraid they'll come to the surface and make me weak.

"I know you like him, Haya," she smiles sadly. I don't like that smile at all. "I saw how you were looking at him. How hewas looking at you. Trust me, he is just as much into you as you are into him."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart sort of slows down.

"He does not like me—he could never like me!" I mutter, suddenly confused and angry and devastated. "He is a mean, rude, a callous man who hates me with every fiber of his being."

Maira's eyes widen in surprise at my sudden outburst. "I'm sorr—"

"And I don't like him either." I push past her and run to my room, locking myself in.