Chapter 13

The rays of the morning Sun fall slanting through my windows. I blink a few times to adjust my eyes with the bright light. Memories of yesterday flash through my mind, and I groan slightly. Today was going to be difficult for us. And today I am going to meet his family. To say I'm nervous would be an understatement. I've never been this nervous in my life. There's this kind of weird feeling inside, the one I cannot recognise.

Fear, maybe?

Getting out of the bed, I walk towards the bathroom stretching lightly. Oh God! When was the last time I'd worked out? I don't even remember. Gym, here I come. 

It's currently 9 am, and I've still got an hour. I descend downstairs towards the kitchen, my stomach screaming to put something in it. I grab my favourite cereals, put some in the bowl, and add my favourite caramel milk. Hmm, so tasty. 

After finishing my breakfast I go upstairs and get ready. 

I'm wearing a yellow knee length dress (first impression on parents) with my white pumps and black tights and I've added some curls at the end of my hair. My makeup is light, barely visible. 

The door bell rings and I jump out of my skin. 

"Okay....." I mumble to myself as I take in deep breaths. This is going to be awkward.

I run towards the door from my room upstairs , and then mentally slap myself. I'm literally panting.. 

I unlock the door, and...

He's looking like a  modal. He's wearing a black suit with a gray tie loosely wrapped around his neck. His hair are perfectly styled. But his eyes are cold, a purple-ish shade underneath them indicating that he didn't sleep properly. He does not have his usual trademark smirk on his lips, but a faint smile that for sure looks forced. 

Realisation drags me out my own world, and then I remember both of us haven't said anything at all, so I greet. "Umm.. hi." Ugh. Awkward. 

But he doesn't even seem a little nervous.

"Hey, beautiful girl," he cooes, his smile looking a little natural now.

Ugh! Why does he always have to be so cute?

Slightly flushed, I ask, "Would you like to come in?" 

He shakes his head. "No, come on lets go." He extends his hand to me, and I almost immediately put mine in (but don’t), and he immediately jerks it back as if realizing what he did.

"Am I supposed to know anything specific about your family?" I ask him, as he slides in his seat beside me.

He looks at me affectionately, and my heart feels lighter than before. "Not exactly."

"You're quiet today," I speak sadly. He doesn't look at me this time, as he cruises the car on the road. His eyes are glued to the path ahead of him.

"I don't think one is supposed to be chatty when they have to tell someone a past that has haunted them forever. Especially to the girl they like knowing she would leave."

"Is it so bad that you think I'll leave?" I question, my voice breaking. What possibly could he have done? Nobody would believe that underneath this cocky, flirty, aggressive billionaire is an 18 year old boy who is scared of himself. His mistakes. 

He half laughs at that. "You'll eventually know at night. Untill then, I want to hold you, adore you, make you happy, and most of all I want to be your best friend because I don't know if I'll ever get to do all this stuff with you after tonight. You have no idea how much it hurts, Abeera. No idea. I don’t know if you’d ever marry me—whenever the time comes." 

It hurts him. 

But it hurts me more. 

Water gathers in my eyes, and a few drops flow down my cheeks. Quickly, I wipe then away. 

You need to be strong. You need to be strong.

"Let's not talk about it, okay?" I suggest. 

He nods. Not once taking a look at me. 

Trying to lighten the tension between us, I ask him about his family. "Who do you love the most? Mom or dad?"

His jaw tightens, and he turns red. "I don't like her. She's a prick." 

He's probably talking about his mother. But why does he hate her? So many truths to be unfolded. "Why do you say that?" I ask curiously.

He increases the speed and I tense all over. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. "She's not my mother. She's my fathers wife. I don't give a damn about her."

His stepmother. I can imagine that she never treated him like a son. I feel the urge to cry, tell him everything will be just fine.

"Does she have any children?"

With his other free hand he grips the steering wheel more tightly, his knuckles almost white, the right one gripping the gear. Taking in a deep breath, he exhales loudly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Yes." His tone is harsh, angry and irritated at the same time.

I get this feeling that all of his mistakes are made because of his stepbrother or sister. The way his face fell, the way his breathing quickened, makes me want to try to tell him not everyday is bad and tell him that everything is going to be okay. That we will be fine. 

It's in this moment I realise I really like him. I knew it before also, but I've admitted it now.

"Would you like to share with me?" 

He presses the breaks and the car stops. A red signal, I notice.

"His name is Hassan, and you've met him."