till destiny brings us together

The girl's name was Laleh.

When she had first opened her eyes twenty springs ago in a dingy flat to a pair of brown fatherly eyes staring down at her, that was the name given to her. At that time, it had less to do with her nonexistent Persian descent and more with her father's obsession with the tongue.

She didn't like the name particularly – having never heard anyone pronounce it correctly – but when her father had passed away a few summers ago, it was the only thing of his she was left with. Her given name and a handful of lessons.

One of the lessons she vividly remembered, amongst quite a few, was to never, ever, press your soles on the ground when running.

And that is what she had in mind while dashing across the uneven terrace of a building, life on the line – quite literally.

"Stop right there!" She heard a rough shout from behind, making her head turn around momentarily to gauge the distance she had been putting between them.

It looked handsome.

"No, thank you!" She shouted back, brown eyes alight with mirth and excitement, while clutching the bag to her torso and sharply turning around the corner.

Stopping abruptly, Laleh cast another glance over her shoulders and with one tug, strapped her bag to the back while picking the wooden plank from the floor. For a second, she just stood there. Waiting. Observing. Collecting her breath. And only when the sound of approaching footsteps sounded nearby, the night winds witnessed a woman running towards the edge of the terrace.

Without stopping to look down at the narrow street, she jumped.

And threw the wood to the side building.

Her fall on the terrace of the neighbouring building was cushioned by abrupt front rolls, quick in hiding behind the cemented wall. The sound of the wooden plank falling down on the other building and curses rising from behind had her clamping down on the lips to stifle a laugh, pressing further back into the wall.

"Did you see the long jump, Baba?" Laleh grinned up at the sky, already crawling her way to the wooden door with agility of a cat. "If that jump alone doesn't get you in heaven, I don't know what will."

Still half lying on the floor, she extended her arm above the head and tested for the knob.

It was closed.

Shaking the head, she uprighted herself and made a run for the next building, jumping over the ledges. This time, she didn't stop to check the knobs and continued the run, only halting when she had jumped over a few buildings and was a good few buildings down the road.

When she checked the knob this time, it was open. Sighing heavily in relief while pushing back the lock pin in the hair, she turned it around before hurrying inside. Turning her head around only when the door was almost closed, she witnessed the silhouette of three men still looking around the building she had thrown the wood on.

Idiots.

Scoffing, she softly shut the door behind her and made to adjust her pupils to the darkness. Standing at the top step of the staircase, Laleh narrowed her eyes in focus while checking the bag strapped around her lean frame and beginning the descent.

The room she stepped in was a lounge and pulled in absolute darkness, only light filtering from under a door at the opposite end throwing shadows across the furniture. Eyes wide, she stepped further into the room, arms splayed in front.

And that's when she heard the grunt of a frying pan knocking into her head, easily taking her subconscious away.

...

The boy's name was Faris.

And Faris was sweating.

Holding a frying pan above his head with eyes wide, he had every shade of apprehension and confusion swirling in his hazel orbs. Looking down at the woman now sprawled on the carpet, unconscious, face down, he felt a strange unease in his heart.

You didn't have to hit her so hard, Faris.

Admonishing himself, he turned on the lights  before walking back into the kitchen and hurriedly pouring ice cold water into the glass, rushing back. The woman was probably a thief – if her all-black outfit was any indication – and was no doubt here to rob him but a frying pan to the head?

That was extreme.

Curious, the man lowered his frame beside her, eyes squinting to have a look at her face. No significant vision touched his retina, courtesy to the curtain of black curls falling over her expressions. Extending a hand, he began to tuck her hair behind the ear when gold-plated eyes landed on the bag strapped to her back, stilling him.

Faris was many things and curious was most definitely one of them.

So, without even a shame, he gripped the straps of the bag and began to remove them from around her. The task was completed after a lot of tugs and pulls and by the time he had the bag in his lap, the woman was lying against the edge of the couch – face now bare to his eyes, which Faris had to admit, was one of the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

Not that he'd seen many anyways.

Before he had the chance to rummage through the bag, the woman shuffled in her place. His frame stilled, eyes raising to focus on a pair of brown orbs fluttering open. Still bent on his knees beside her, Faris' heart picked speed when the woman's gaze immediately narrowed after gaining focus, arm raising to cup the head.

"A frying pan? Seriously?"

Her voice held a groan and anger, straightening a little at her place and Faris took that as a cue to stand up, taking her bag with him. Her eyes zoomed in on her bag, eyes sharpening in alarm, but other than that, didn't move a muscle to take it back.

"I was going to cook an egg," Faris replied evenly, surprised that what lay in his mind for this woman was mere curiosity and not apprehension. "Sorry for hitting you so hard but you did break into my house. So, no. No sorry."

"Can I get an egg as well? I'm starving." The woman replied with a frown, placing a hand on the table and beginning to stand up.

Faris kept staring at her blankly, wondering if maybe she'd lost her mind after being hit so hard. "No, no eggs for you."

Her frown deepened, eyes squinting at him in displeasure. "You're rude."

"You're a thief."

"Thieves have appetite as well," She scoffed, picking the glass he had forgotten on the table and emptying it in one gulp. "If you're not offering any food, I should better get going. Give me back my bag."

"No."

"No?" Her brow raised, something akin to intimidation in her actions.

"Who are you?" Faris asked in response, dumbstruck, hiding her bag behind him – clearly intimidated.

"No one of significance. Just give me back my bag and I'll be on my way."

"You broke into my house, woman. I should probably call the police."

"Laleh," she replied heatedly, as if telling him her name was a favour to his seven generations. "And calling the police is a bad idea."

"Of course you'd say that. You're a thief." Faris scoffed again, noticing how her body tensed whenever he said that word.

"Am I? What did I steal?" Laleh coiled her arms in front of her chest and Faris only just realized how small she was.

The woman was half a foot shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulders even in her shoes. But despite her timid physique, she was undoubtedly the fiercest woman he'd ever encountered, pulling on a rough exterior seamlessly.

"You would have if I hadn't hit you."

"That's a supposition," she replied with barely restrained anger. "And what I'm doing is trespassing. I'm not a thief, so stop calling me that."

"And trespassing isn't a crime?"

"You know what? Think whatever you want. The only thing that stopped me was the mention of eggs. And since you're a pathetic host, I'll just see myself to the door."

"Woah, stop right there," Faris fixed his body in front of her when she took a step in the direction of the hallway, eyes widening. "You're not going anywhere unless you tell me what on earth you are doing here."

"Look, unhostful guy, I was running away from some people, found your door open, came inside. End of story. Now, if it isn't too much of a bother for you, I'd like to leave."

"Why were you running away?"

Instead of responding, the woman extended her hand and before Faris had the chance to flinch away, she had the bridge of his nose between her fingers and pushed it back. "Keep your nose in your own business, will you?"

Faris only swatted her hand away, glaring at her disinterested expressions. "You can break into my house and I can't even question?"

"You can, of course. But I'm not obliged to answer."

"Fine, then. You can leave. But I'll keep this bag with me." Faris shook the bag in front of her eyes, brows raised, and Laleh's eyes only narrowed dangerously.

"The only reason you're still holding the bag is because I'm letting you. Don't make me do something to your pretty face, unhostful guy."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

And with that, the woman moved in a flash and before Faris could realise what was happening, he was falling to the floor on his back, legs throbbing from being hit so harshly. When his back hit the ground, a cry escaped his lips, eyes shutting in pain and when it opened a few seconds later, Laleh was already halfway out of the door.

"That was for the frying pan."

And then she was gone.

...

When people described Laleh, they said she was fire.

Shuffling out of the man's house, she couldn't help but think how right everyone was in describing her. She was fire and sometimes, the person on the receiving end of that fire was a mere undeserving, curious man.

Like the man she had left inside.

Refusing to let guilt swallow her whole, however, she walked out into the cold night, bag safely slung across her frame. The man's house was nestled in the middle of the street, a row of double storey houses lining the either side of the road.

And when she stepped out on the said road, the first thing her eyes landed on was the three men still standing at the end of the street.

Hissing, she retreated her steps and braced her back against the front door. Why weren't they gone, she cursed to herself, thankful to the night lights protecting her from entering their sight.

When she saw the men talking among themselves, taking slow steps deeper into the street, Laleh groaned when understanding of their intention dawned – they were going to search the houses. Closing her eyes, she considered her options for a second.

Take a bruising to her ego and walk back inside.

Find some place else to hide – hoping to not freeze to death in the meanwhile.

Without even thinking twice, she turned her back and softly knocked at the door – whose owner she had hit in the leg before making her heated exit. God, she was such a drama queen.

She hoped the man wasn't.

After a second, the door was answered, the man's gaze instantly turning into a glare when his eyes landed on her. "Go away."

He began to shut the door on her face but Laleh was quicker. Shuffling forward, she stuck a leg in the doorway, eyes widening in alarm. "I'm sorry."

"Have you come back to humiliate me some more?"

"I've said sorry, haven't I?"

"You hit me in the legs." The man hissed, not budging from the door.

"You hit me in the head. What's your point?" Laleh asked distractedly, eyes running back over the street where the men now stood closer than before.

She knew she was off-base, clearly off-base, but she could hardly care at this point. When your doom is lurking around looking for you, you have a right to act irrational. And nobody said she was a goddamn professional, anyways.

"Look," she began, cutting the man who looked every shade annoyed. "Can we do this inside? I'm kind of in a hurry."

The man considered his options for a great while before his brow raised and arm extended. "Bag first."

"What?" She snapped, eyes narrowing at him.

"Give me your bag and I'll let you inside." He shrugged simply, earning a lethal glare from her first before a bag was slapped to his chest.

"You're a one curious, unhostful guy." She snickered but couldn't complain for long when, true to his word, he stepped aside to let her in.

"Why did you come back?"

Laleh heard him walking behind her and she had to clamp down on a sarcastic answer. You owe him, Laleh. "The men who were following me are just down the street."

Apparently, the man wasn't prepared for her to answer and Laleh heard him coming to an abrupt halt behind her. Smiling to herself, she walked into the living room and now that she looked around, she found the living room designed with grace and love.

"Do you live alone?" She asked, taking a seat on one of the dining chairs and looking up to find him staring at her with perplexity.

"No, I live with my mother. But she's out of the city tonight," he murmured slowly, mind probably still caught around her previous remark. "If they're outside, do you think they will search the houses?"

"Probably."

"And what will happen when they find you here?"

"Nothing because they won't find me here. When they come knocking, you'll turn them away in the other direction. Simple." Laleh shrugged, eyes taking in his lean frame clad in a washed out jeans and t-shirt.

"Do you think they're stupid?"

"I know they are," Laleh stretched her lips in a fake smile, blinking at him. "Now that I'm here, do you think you can change your mind about those eggs?"

The man opened his mouth to reply but shut it tightly closed after a beat, frowning deeply. Shaking the head, he turned around and walked into what Laleh deduced was a kitchen. Soon after, a strong scent of eggs filled the air and when he placed the plate in front of her, he was downright glaring.

"Now talk."

He took a seat in front of her, placing the bag between them on the glass table while crossing his arms. Laleh placed a spoonful of omelette into her mouth, chewing slowly while observing him. "Talk what?"

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are those men following you?"

Laleh took her time swallowing her food before a sigh escaped her lips and she leaned back in the seat.

"I'm Laleh, a political journalist," she replied with so much cheer in her voice that the man physically flinched. "I was looking around for some evidence in a place I most definitely wasn't allowed to enter. Luckily, I found the evidence," she pointed towards the bag. "But sadly, I found the men as well."

"Who did you steal from?" The man asked, curious.

"A senior journalist."

"So, you are a thief." The man's lips pulled up in a smile and Laleh's fingers twitched.

"The facts he was hiding were destroying people's lives. If I hadn't taken a stand, innocent people would have paid, so if you want to call that stealing, be my guest," She replied harshly, defensively, before placing the last morsel of food in her mouth. "Thank you for this."

"Is your life in danger?" The man suddenly asked, his brows furrowed and Laleh stilled.

"Yes?" She replied, unsure of what he meant.

As a political journalist, her life was always in danger. What he classified as a danger was unknown to her but according to her definitions, she wasn't. She had been in situations worse than this, more times than once, and wasn't even bothered this time.

"Is my life in danger?" He suddenly asked, eyes widening and Laleh had no choice but to let out a laugh.

"No," she laughed, cheeks rising as warm lights slanted into her brown eyes. "You're not in danger. No one is. Those men will go away by morning."

"It's a good few hours before the morning." He mumbled to himself and Laleh narrowed her eyes at him – this time in observance.

He was an average-heighted, average-looking, average-dressed man and yet there was a strange calmness to him, a pull she couldn't understand. Maybe it was the peaceful vibe he so effortlessly radiated or the gentle touch of his facial expressions but whatever it was, it touched the parts of her that had only encountered ruthless men thus far in life.

"Do you mind if I stay here for a few hours? I'll leave before dawn." Laleh asked after a moment, eyes raking across his thoughtful face.

"Sure," he nodded, sighing softly. "As long as it doesn't get me in any danger."

"What's life without a little danger?" Laleh shrugged with a smirk plastered on her face, watching his lips lift in a small, barely there smile which he bit down on hurriedly.

"A pretty decent life, if you ask me."

"Decent, sure. But boring as well."

"It's been almost an hour since I've met you and in this time, you have managed to call me unhostful, rude and now boring. I can only wonder how many more adjectives will be added to the list by the end of the night." The man groaned and Laleh stifled a smile, shrugging slowly.

"Add a wonderful cook to the list as well."

"I'm a horrible cook. The only thing I can prepare even half decent is eggs and maggie." He replied with a shudder, shaking the head hurriedly.

"It's my lucky day, then."

"Can't say the same for myself."

At his response, Laleh pressed her lips in a fake apology, biting back the smile. The woman was naturally easy-going, the smile on her face almost always a constant feature in the presence of family and friends and yet she couldn't remember the last time she had smiled so genuinely in the company of a stranger.

"So, what do you do?" Laleh asked, crossing her legs underneath the table and making herself comfortable.

"Software engineer to pay the bills, photographer for passion." He replied with a smile to his voice and Laleh found her head nodding, impressed.

"You look too young for a software engineer." She remarked before hurriedly adding. "No offence, though."

"None taken," he shook his head, his smile warm and Laleh was once again surprised by the way this man reminded her of soft summers. "What about you? Where are you from?"

"Lahore."

"Ahh, Lahore. I've been there once," He added, nodding his head. "Nice people, bad infrastructure."

"Tell me about it." Laleh groaned, rolling her eyes. "The city's heading for a disaster and nobody even cares."

The man only nodded, lips pressed in displeasure and hurt. "And your family?"

"My father passed away when I was twelve. I live with my mother and younger sister in my uncle's home."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." He added hurriedly and Laleh shook her head, dissipating his apology.

"It's okay," she shrugged, maintaining a nonchalant front. "What about yours?"

"Just me and my mother. Baba died before I was born."

Laleh nodded, offering her silence as a condolence and the man tipped his head while accepting it. For a moment, they sat there with satins of deep silence coiling around them, buried in their own thoughts.

"It's been enough time, I guess. I think the men aren't coming." The man mused and Laleh nodded, standing up from her seat.

"I'll go check."

"No, you stay here. I'll look."

Just when he took a step in the direction of the hallway before Laleh could stop him, the doorbell rang and both of them stilled in their place. Their eyes found each other, shades of brown colliding, understanding passing between them. Slowly, he nodded his head and walked to the door.

Laleh didn't miss the way her heart faltered when he walked away, knowing she had dragged him into a mess which clearly wasn't his. He was nothing but polite and hadn't said anything and somehow, that worsened her guilt. If he had at least snapped, she would have found a way to rid herself of the guilt.

But what to do now?

She could hear noises rising from the door, hushed whispers and calm replies, before the door was closed and footsteps sounded in the hallway. When he turned the corner, he was at ease and the sight of his calm expressions had Laleh releasing a heavy breath.

"I owe you. Big time." Laleh let out a gasp, looking at him with sheer gratitude.

"I'll hold you to that," he shrugged easily. "The men went away, though. For now. They were searching house to house and I don't think they're going away anytime soon."

"I know," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. "I would have left but I'm tired after the shit day that I had. I can't handle a chase at this point."

"It's okay, Laleh. You can stay here," he shrugged once again. "It's the least I could do for someone who is fighting for people."

"What makes you so sure I'm on the right side of all this mess?"

"The fact that you have the decency and guts enough to even ask that question tells me all I need to know."

This time, his smile wasn't warm.

This time, it was awed.

And Laleh felt a strange tug at her heart. Having someone look at her as if nobility rested in her spine, as if her actions merited an ovation was a flattering feeling. How he had progressed from looking at her with contempt to respecting her actions, she didn't know. But she wasn't the one to complain.

"Thanks." She murmured, and the man only shook his head.

"Come, I'll show you to my mother's room. You can sleep there."

Silently, Laleh picked her bag and followed him down the other side of the room towards a pair of wooden doors facing each other. When he opened the one to the right and gestured for her to walk in, she stepped into a minimalist room which clearly looked like it belonged to an old-fashioned mother, if the instant reminder of home was any indication.

When he turned around after pointing towards the washroom and allowing her to rummage through his mother's closet, Laleh stopped him. "Thank you. Seriously. For everything."

"It's nothing."

"It is. Maybe you don't realize it because you're a man but for me, as a woman, finding a man so respectful and polite is a strange occurrence." Laleh added truthfully, lips depressed in a frown.

"I'm sorry for what my gender did to yours."

"I am, too." She nodded silently before the man turned around once again.

Laleh saw his retreating figure with deep thoughts swirling in her orbs. Maybe she was naive for trusting a stranger but how could she not trust someone whose first ever sentence to her was an apology for hitting her after she had all but broken into his home.

"Wait," Laleh called out, a confused smile on her lips. "You never told your name."

"I didn't?" He turned his head around, surprised for a second.

"No."

And then, the man completely turned around and took a few steps towards her, his smile warm again. And when he extended his hand in her direction for a handshake, a smile slipped across her face as well. And when she caught his hand, she swore she felt a strange feeling in her stomach.

"I'm Faris."

...