Four guys connected by family.
Four girls connected by friendship.
???.? ???.????.? ???.????.? ???.?
"Dont give me that look." I say, trying to break the eye contact.
"Like what?" He steps closer.
"Like if I ask you to burn this world, you...
~Maut par bhi mujhe yakeen hai, Tum par bhi aitbaar hai, Dekhna hai pehle kon aata hai, Hume dono ka intezaar hai~💐💚🍃🎋
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Song: Mehrama🎶
I have seen some wild things in my life.
Playing a championship match in front of a stadium packed with screaming fans? Check. Getting tackled so hard I saw my ancestors? Check. Saif actually shutting up for more than five minutes? Rare, but check.
But this? This was different.
Azlan. Dancing.
Not just standing there stiffly, waiting for it to be over-actual dancing. Leading Haiza across the floor like he knew what he was doing. Like he wasn't the same man who avoided human interaction like it was a contagious disease. Like he wasn't the same guy who once glared a waiter into rethinking his entire life just because his coffee was two degrees colder than he liked.
Bro was cooked.
I just stood there, arms crossed, watching as the impossible unfolded before my very eyes. This wasn't just a mild shift in behavior-this was a historical event. Scientists should be here, taking notes. Documenting this phenomenon.
Azlan-our Azlan-was holding someone gently.
I would've continued to stare in absolute shock, but unfortunately, I had another problem. A much louder, never-ending problem.
Mahi.
I had been standing near her for exactly fifteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds (yes, I was keeping track), and in that time, she had spoken nonstop. Not a single pause. Not a single breath, apparently.
About food. About some time she burned a cake and ate it anyway. About how some guy in the corner looked like her high school teacher. About air.
Yes. Air.
Who talked about air?
The only time this girl was ever mute had to be when she was asleep or if she fainted. And I was seriously considering testing the second option.
"-so personally, I think chefs are just artists but with food, you know? Like, imagine if Picasso made a cake-wait, do you like cake? What's your favorite dessert? Wait, no, let's talk about this logically. As an athlete, do you think carbs or protein-"
I ran a hand down my face. God, grant me patience.
"Mahi."
She blinked up at me, tilting her head. "Yeah?"
"For five seconds. Just five. Silence."
She gasped. Clutched her chest like I had physically injured her. "Zian! Are you saying I talk too much?"
