chapter 1

Chapter:1 The Bitter Beginning

​"I hate him! I absolutely hate him!" I screamed, throwing my school bag on the floor.

​His name was Zayan. Since we were toddlers, he had been the thorn in my side. We grew up in the same neighborhood, our families were close, but between us, there was nothing but fire and ice. He once pulled my braids so hard I cried for an hour, and I, in return, hid his favorite cricket bat.

​"Mehak, calm down," my mother sighed, but she didn't understand.

​Zayan wasn't just a neighbor;he was my ultimate rival. Every time our eyes met, sparks of anger flew. He had this smug smile that made me want to push him into a puddle.

​"Don't worry, Mehak," Zayan’s voice came from the door. He was leaning against the frame, looking at me with those cold, mocking eyes. "The feeling is mutual. I can't stand your face either."

​We were ten years old then. We thought this hate would last forever. Little did we know, fate was weaving a story that neither of us could escape. As we grew taller and the years passed, the silence between us became heavier, and the hate... well, the hate started to feel a lot like something else.As the years blurred into one another, our small neighborhood in Lahore felt smaller whenever we were both outside. By the time I turned eighteen, the childish pranks had evolved into a sophisticated game of avoidance. Zayan had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a jawline that could cut glass, but his attitude was still as sharp as ever. He walked with a newfound confidence that irritated me to my core.

​One humid evening, during a joint family dinner on our rooftop, the air felt thicker than usual. I was standing by the railing, staring at the distant lights of the Minar-e-Pakistan, trying to find a moment of peace.

​"Thinking about how muchyou still hate me, or just enjoying the view?"

​That voice. I didn't even need to turn around. It was deeper now, vibrating with a calm arrogance that made my skin prickle. Zayan stepped up beside me, leaning his elbows on the railing. He didn't look at me; he just stared into the distance.

​"I don't think about you at all, Zayan," I lied, my voice steady despite the way my heart had started to drum against my ribs.

​He finally turned his head, his dark eyes searching mine inthe moonlight. The mockery was gone for a split second, replaced by an intensity that made me want to catch my breath. "Liars shouldn't look people in the eye, Mehak. Your face always gives you away."

​"And you shouldn't be so obsessed with what I'm thinking," I snapped, turning to leave. But as I moved, my foot caught on a loose brick. I felt myself tilting backward, a small gasp escaping my lips.

​Before I could hit the ground, a strong hand caught my arm, and another steadied my waist. I was pulled forward, crashing right into his chest. For a moment, time stopped. I could smell his cologne—something like sandalwood and rain—and feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt.I looked up, and he was looking down, his face only inches from mine. The old fire of anger was there, but beneath it, a new spark had ignited—one that terrified me. I pushed him away, my face burning.

​"I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and strange. "Like I always have."

​I hurried away without a word, my mind a mess of confusion. I was supposed to hate him. I had practiced hating him for ten years. So why did my hand still feel warm where he had touched it? The war between us hadn't ended; it had just changed its battlefield.

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