The phone clicked dead in his hand, leaving him staring at the dimly lit wall of his apartment. Fun, Murtasim had said. Fun. He was pretty sure his brother's definition of fun differed greatly from his. His idea of fun involved a quiet evening with a good book and maybe, just maybe, not being awake at this ungodly hour.

He rubbed my eyes, the lingering fatigue of a double shift pressing down on him. "Party," he mumbled, the word tasting bitter. They weren't kids anymore. What was the point of a birthday party? Especially one thrown by their mother.

Murtasim, of course, wouldn't understand. His life was a constant flurry of activity, of managing properties and people, of wielding authority with a casual ease he could only marvel at. His life, on the other hand, was governed by shift timings and the normal rules of a fairly normal job that didn’t involve inheriting vast lands.

“I’ll manage that,” Murtasim's voice had declared, as if his work schedule was a minor inconvenience he could simply wave away with a flick of his wrist. And he probably could. That was the infuriating, undeniable truth of Murtasim’s world. He could manage it. He could probably call his boss directly and have him placed on indefinite leave, just because he felt like it. The thought sent a fresh wave of irritation through Saad.

He sighed, running a hand through my already messy hair. Maheer. Right. Meerab would invite her. That was a small mercy, he supposed.

Well, he wasn't going to be there if his wife wasn't invited anyway.

Maheer was good, a familiar, calming presence amidst the inevitable chaos. She understood his aversion to large gatherings, his need for quiet.

Groaning, he pulled himself up from the bed and lumbered into the small kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His mind drifted back to his last birthday party, years ago. It wasn't even a party, just the two families in a small restaurant. He had treated everyone on his own birthday from his first paycheck.

Maheer had smiled the whole time, looking at him with so much pride. Something in his chest still aches thinking about their easy affection, the soft friendships of their youth.

"Why are you awake?" Right, Maheer was not next to him on bed.

"You're awake too." He leanes on the counter, now facing her fully. She was dressed in her pajamas, flour marks all over her milky cheeks and raven locks.

"I had something important to do."

"Hmm." Taking a sip of water, he grinned at her non existent subtlety. "What's so important?"

She was making him a cake, just like she does every year. And every year, she tries to hide the fact from him.

Saad could predict everything she was planning. She would bake the cake now and decortae it tomorrow before he wakes up. Than, she would carefully wrap his presents. After that, she would attempt to make his favourite breakfast with his mother.

He could also guess the presents she had gotten him. Throughout the year, every time he told her about anything that had interest him, she would get this adorably concentrated look on her pretty her face. Then she would write it down in the bedazzled journal he had given her in high school.

Than, as his birthday came near, from time to time, she would shoot him the most smug looks. This is usually an indicator that she had brought those things for him.

And after all this, how was he to not fall in love with her?

Even now she was desperate trying to hide his surprise gift, despite the fact that he could clearly see the wrapping papers she had pushed underneath the sofa.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. "Still trying to surprise me, are we?" he teased, stepping closer to her, the faint scent of vanilla and flour clinging to her. "You know I can smell the batter from a mile away."

Maheer, however, was stubbornly unrepentant. She crossed her arms, a smudge of flour on her nose, and a mock-indignant pout on her lips. "It's not batter, it's... um... a new kind of face mask."

"Right," he said, taking another sip of water, his eyes twinkling. "And those are 'face mask' wrappers peeking out from under the sofa, I suppose?" He gestured subtly with his chin.

Her eyes darted to the sofa, a brief flicker of panic in them before she straightened, a defiant glint returning. "They're... for the rubbish bin. I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Of course," Saad murmured, stepping even closer, until he was just an arm's length away. Her cheeks, already a little flushed from the kitchen's warmth, deepened to a delightful rose hue. The sight still did something to him, a familiar flutter in his chest that had been there since they were children.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you're really bad at keeping secrets from me."

Maheer finally broke, a soft laugh escaping her, and the pretense melted away. "It's harder when you're always so nosey!" she retorted, nudging his arm playfully with her elbow.

"Only because your secrets are always so charming," he replied, and for a moment, the playful banter faded, replaced by something deeper, warmer. Her smile softened, her gaze meeting his, and in her eyes, he saw the same easy affection, the comfortable understanding that had always existed between them. It was a silent conversation, a recognition of years of shared laughter, quiet comfort, and unspoken feelings.

"So," she said, her voice a little breathy, pulling back slightly to break the intensity, "What is it that awoke from your coma?"

Saad sighed, the comfortable bubble of their moment slightly deflating as the reality of Murtasim's "fun" crashed back in. "Murtasim's Maa is throwing a party tomorrow for our birthday. We are going, I guess."

"We are?" Maheer's forehead crinkled in a frown, she looked just as lost as he.

"Hmm." Saad forwarded a hand, tenderly swiping away the white stain on her cheek. "You're invited too."

"I am?" Her frown deepened.

"Of course. Why would I go without you?"

"Why?" Her eyes widened at his question. Saad looked at her like she had grown another head.

"Because you're my wife?" Now, she was confusing Saad with her confusion. "Have I ever spent a birthday without you?"

"Oh!" Maheer's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise mixed with something akin to pleasure. "Oh. I guess it could be fun. I would be the birthday boy's wife!"

He grinned, leaning in again. "Consider it an honor. You know, for the man who's about to turn even older and even more burdened with responsibilities."

She rolled her eyes, but a genuine smile spread across her face. "Poor, poor Saad. Always the martyr." She reached out and gently brushed a flour mark from his cheek. Her touch was soft, familiar, and utterly comforting.

"Someone has to be," he mumbled, a wave of warmth spreading from where her fingers touched his skin. "Especially with a brother like mine, who thinks a he can "manage" me a leave by tomorrow. Someone has to take the responsibility of being realistic and normal."

Maheer chuckled. "Well, at least you'll get a break! Think positively."

"I cannot think of one positive thing about a birthday party. They are loud, obnoxious and gaudy."

"Gee, Mr. Sunshine, really dialing up the pessimism, are we?"

"And the terrible singing," he added, pulling her closer, a silent invitation in his eyes.

She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. "And the terrible singing," she agreed, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Happy almost-birthday, Saad."

He held her close, the scent of flour and something uniquely Maheer filling his senses. Maybe a huge, over-the-top birthday party wasn't his idea of fun, but with her by his side, it certainly wouldn't be unbearable. In fact, it might even be... almost fun.