Taabindagi (Sequel Of Sharar)

Nineteen

The warm glow of the evening sun bathed Baig Haveli in golden hues, its old stone walls now illuminated by the soft flicker of lanterns.

"Nani, hum bahar jaye?" Unable to hold back her impatience, Sharfa finally spoke up, glancing toward the door.

(Nani, can I go outside?)

"Haan, jao," Hamna granted permission without a second thought.

(Yes, go.)

"Momo, bahar mat jana, ghar mein hi rehna," Kazim interjected. He knew a city girl like Sharfa wouldn't be familiar with village ways, and her jeans and oversized t-shirt would only invite unnecessary stares from the locals.

(Momo, don't go outside, stay at home.)

"Okay," Sharfa mumbled distractedly, already pulling out her phone. She started typing a message to Aliyar, ready to tease him she was at his grandmother's house.

But before she could hit send, she collided hard into someone entering through the front door.

A sharp gasp left her lips. The impact sent a few strands of her wavy hair tumbling forward, falling across her face as she stumbled. Her phone slipped from her grasp, crashing to the ground. She would've fallen too-but before she could, strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her in place.

Deep blue eyes met intense green ones.

For a fleeting second, everything else faded. One gaze held an unspoken thrill, the other, impatience.

Before she could register anything more, he straightened her up, his grip firm but fleeting, and he stepped back, his hands dropping away as if he had touched something forbidden.

As soon as he let go, her hair swayed with the sudden motion, the long wavy locks cascading down her back once again. Some stray strands lifted slightly in the breeze before settling over her shoulders, still wild from the momentary chaos.

"Dekh ke chala karo," he muttered gruffly before walking past her without a second glance.

(Be careful while walking.)

Sharfa remained frozen in place, staring at his retreating figure.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind clouded by the unfamiliar sensation blooming in her chest. This was new. This restlessness, this flutter, this feeling of being caught between a childish crush and something deeper.

Maybe it was her age-that fragile stage where fleeting infatuations could turn into something more without warning.

Maybe it was just him. Issam Baig.

The boy, who was once just her brother's best friend, had somehow become someone more.

Sharfa bent down to pick up her phone and followed him back into the lounge, slipping into the seat beside Ayla. But her focus wasn't on the conversation-it was on Issam, who was casually talking to others as if nothing had happened.

Not once did he look at her.

They had grown up together. She had watched Shahnan and Issam's friendship evolve over the years. Yet, now, he sat there as if she was just another face in the room, a stranger.

He had always been like that, never paying much attention to her.

"Bohot kaam karne lage ho tum toh," Kaif remarked approvingly when he learned that Issam had just come back from the fields.

(You're doing a lot of work these days.)

They had expected someone who had lived abroad to carry a certain distance from village life, but Issam blended in effortlessly. Dressed in a simple brown kurta pyjama, the fabric was slightly wrinkled from a long day. He carried himself with an ease that made him look every bit a part of Baig Haveli.