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Fatima Zaheer


“This is my story. In fact, this is our story, right?” “Right.” “Right.” Around six that evening, when the doorbell rang, Ishaan was busy getting things ready for the evening’s party. Wondering who had turned up so early, he grumpily went to the door. It was Anwar. “I’m here to help you,” he said with a smile. “How much can you possibly do all by yourself?” Holding forward a single rose that had a long, slender stalk, he bowed dramatically. “Congratulations. For now, you could stop being jealous,” he sneered. Ishaan knew that the emphatic ‘all by you’ was hardly intentional, but it bothered him. I stood there staring into Anwar’s big brown eyes with a hint of orange in them, it was the most attractive pair of eyes I have ever seen and one could just stare at them and wish to be lost…