I stay indifferent towards the camera. Apart of some assalamualeikums I don't utter a word.

He switches on his boring mood and I gulp down my yawns a hundred times until tears build up and my head weighs too much to stay up.

I put my elbow up on the table and lean my face on the palm of my hand to watch him speak.

He looks at me. A silence interrupts his sentence.

My eyes move towards the camera, having forgotten they are capturing me too.

I yawn one fucking last time and apologize in the mic, "I'm sorry, I— I'll go," I push my chair back and get up.

A laugh or two from the journalists before Haider puts a hand on mine.

"I'm sorry. As I was saying, this is the love of my life, my beautiful wife, Alaya Haider."

I sit down as his political rants end and the conference gets more personal. He talks about how the happiness of our wedding brought his family back here for this ritual.

I, still upset with his threats, stay mum.

"Bhabhi ko urdu aati hai?"
(Does Alaya understand urdu?)

I look at Haider and he raises his brows.

I grab the bottle of water in front of me, denying to answer.

"Bas thori reserved aur shy hain. Urdu toh bohot achhe se aati hai innhain." (She's just a bit reserved and shy. Otherwise she speaks Urdu very well.)

"Kyun nahin aati ho gi," I murmur to him.
(Why would I not understand it?)

"Bhabhi mic mein bolein please. Arranged marriage hai yaa love—" (Alaya, speak in the mic please. Is it an arranged marriage or a love—)

"—Ji haan, arranged marriage hai." I cut off the journalist's question, afraid of Haider's answer. (Yes, it is an arranged marriage.)

Baba and the family's going to watch this.

He looks at me, "In ke yahaan shaadi ho rahi thi, waheen pe mile the." (There was a wedding at her house, we met there.)

"Mile nahin the, wahaan in ki ammi ne passand kiya tha mujhe," I cover it up and he chuckles. (We didn't meet there, his mother liked me there.)

"Alaya ma'am ka taaluq kisi political party se nahin hai," (Alaya isn't related to any political party.)

I grin at the ma'am. Bhabhi was acceptable. This level of respect is excessive.

"Nahin hai." (No, she isn't.)

Back at home they don't consider me anything. And it's not like I am anything. But the difference that came in my status in the matter of seconds. I signed a paper and pum! Alaya Haider's worth, net worth and power just spiked.

Alaya Hamid.

"Alaya, hum ne sunaa hai aap pehli dafaa Pakistan aayi hain. Aap yahaan ke politics mein kitni involved hain? Kaisa lagaa humaara mulq?" (Alaya, we've heard this is the first time you have come to Pakistan. How involved are you in its politics? How did you like our country?)

"Aap ka mulq? Meri pehchaan yehi hai. Yeh mera bhi mulq hai." (Your country? This is my identity. It's my country too.)

They ask how much I know about the politics of this country and I show them my perfectly aligned teeth and let my attention shift to a leaf of a tree.

Until I realise that's not enough of an answer,

"Mujhe koyi dilschaspi nahin hai," (I have no interest.)

"Aap yahaan ke laws ke baare mein kitna jaanti hain? Yahaan ki security ke baare mein kyaa khayaal hai aap ka? Kyaa aap ke saath koyi aisa waqeya huaa hai jise experience karne ke baad aap ko iss mulq ke hukumranon se shikaayat huyi ho?"

(How much do you know about the laws of this country? What do you think about the security here? Have you experienced anything that made you upset with its rulers?)

In case you try to act smart, just remember that I know the location of your baba's house. And I own many excavators, and way more many rifles.

I close my eyes.

He takes advantage of it to mention how NVP, their party, has been working on security the most, on the safety of our public, and the importance of it.

I push my jhumkas up. They're a pain.

●•○°●○°○

I break down. I'm not stepping on this grass.

"Alaya, please. Aa bhi jaao ab."
(Alaya, please. Come out now.)

"Nahin, gaari reverse mein lo. Pathway pe utaaro mujhe." (No, reverse the car. Take me off on the pathway.)

I see him sick and tired of me. The moment his body bends a millimeter, I push myself back.

I grit my teeth and look at the driver, "Mujhe. Peechhe. Utaaro." I mutter between clenched teeth, "Abbhi ghaas ke neeche se haath oopar aaya naa, main mar jaaun gi."

(Take me off on the pathway! If a hand pops out of the grass I'll die.)

"Kyaa keh rahi ho? Main bhi tou kharaa hoon jaana. Kuchh nahin hota."

(What are you saying? I'm standing right here, nothing will happen.)

"Tumhaara roz ka hai. Tumhain Allah taala jahannum mein ddaal ke poochh lein ge. Gaari peeche karo. Haider, mohabbat yeh, woh, aik gaari nahin peechhe kar sakte tum mere liye?"

(It's an everyday thing for you. Allah will put you in hell and ask you about it. Reverse the car! Haider, love, this and that but you can't move a car for me?)

He slams the door and goes to sit on the driver's seat, then reverses the car.

I get out of it and run upstairs as quick as possible.

●○°○•●●

Tumhain Allah taala jahannum mein ddaal ke poochh lein ge. (Allah will put you in hell and ask you about it.)

Alaya you haven't fallen in love.

I need someone to comfort me. I need a long warm hug right now.

When will I get rid of him?

If it goes so slow I'll fall in love somewhere in the middle.

Falling in love is a stupidity when there's no ending up together.

I breathe and see those opened eyes.

I go to the kitchen.

"Aunty, yahaan pe aik aurat thi naa, chaalis pachaas saal umar ho gi? Aap ke saath hi kaam kar rahi thi teen din pehle."

(Aunty, there was a woman here, right? Around 40-50 years old? She was working with you three days ago.)

"Yahaan toh bohot auratein hain madam, aap kis ki baat kar rahi hain?"

(There are many women here, madam, who are you talking about?)

"Woh joh ajeeb sa chal rahi thi, jin ke chehre pe jalne ke nishaan aur alag alag daag the."

(The one that was walking weirdly? She had burn scars on her face along with other scars.)

Her eyes say she knows who I'm asking for.

"Maaf karna madam, mujhe nahin pataa aap kis ki baat kar rahi hain."

(I'm sorry madam, I don't know who you're talking about.)

"Aise kaise..."

(How's that possible...)

Why is she avoiding it intentionally?

"Jis ka do din pehle Haider ne qatl kiya." I word it out clearly.

(The one that Haider murdered two days ago.)

"Ya Allah! Madam khuda ka naam hai yeh alfaaz dobaara naa dohraaye ga. Haider baba ne kahaa tha— aap, aap se kis ne kahaa? Aisa kuchh nahin hua."

(Madam, for God's sake don't repeat these words again! Mr. Haider told us not to— you, who told you? Nothing of that sort happened.)

"Aisa huaa, main jaanti hoon aisa hua. Mujhe bas un ka naam bataa dein."

(It did happen. I know it happened. I just want to know her name.)

"Yeh baat aap ko nahin pataa chalni chaahiye thi. Haider baba ne sakht manaa kiya tha."

(You shouldn't have learnt that. Mr. Haider had strictly forbidden us.)

"Kyun manaa kiya tha?"

(Why did he forbid you?)

"Naa kahein kuchh, kuchh naa poochhein, Allah ka waasta hai aap ko." She hyperventilates and I hold her arms to calm her down.

(For the love of God, don't say anything, don't ask anything.)

I look around to make sure no one's listening to us, then look straight in her eyes "Kaun thi woh?" (Who was she?)

"Woh... Woh... Sultana... Sultana beghum aur—"

(She... Her... Sultana beghum and her—)

"—Alaya,"

"Maine kuchh nahin kiya!" I fall off the bed along with the duvet, "Maine nahin kiya."

(I didn't do anything. I haven't done anything.)

"Kyaa ho gayaa hai yaar?"
(What's wrong dude?)

"Mujh se dour raho tum." I reply coldly.
(Stay away from me.)

He takes offense and turns the heater off before removing his kurta.

I watch him watching me, "Do I get the duvet back or nope?"

"No. I'm going to— it used to be like that. I don't know who started this husband and wife sleep together they always had different rooms." I wear my slippers.

He goes locks the room and walks against me having me step back until I reach the bed.

I lie down.

He's sick of me.

I kind of thank God.

I watch him lie down.

I almost instinctively put my head on his chest but thankfully remember on time that I ought not to be so carefree.

He looks at me, willing to initiate something but leaves it.

I turn to him after he lies on his stomach.

I stare at his closed eyelids. My eyes travel down on the scars of his back.

His eyes open and I take my nail out of my lips, "How did you know I've had braces?"

"The retainer."

"You can feel it?" I whisper.

He closes his eyes, "hm."

I touch it.

"Haider?"

"Hm?"

"Tum ne uss ka qatl kyun kiya?" (Why did you murder her?)

He opens his eyes and studies my face.

"Main tum pe yaqeen karoon gi, manipulate karne ki koshish naa karna bas" (I'll trust you, unless you give a manipulative answer that makes no sense.)

"Tumhaare jhumke gaari mein hi reh gaye the, maine—" (You left your earrings in the car, I—)

"Haider! Main dobaara nahin poochhoon gi." (Haider! I won't ask you again.)

"Kal baat karte hain." (We'll talk tomorrow.)

Kyun? Abhi tak koyi kahaani nahin banaai?
(Why? Have you not made up a story yet?)

Main bhi mar nahin rahi. Dafaa ho.
(I'm not dying either. Get lost.)

Koyi chances nahin milne chaahiye tumhain.
(You shouldn't be getting any chances.)

I turn to my side and hit his hand when he tries to pull me to himself.

●•○°●•●

I don't want to go to their beloved sepulchre, but the cameras are more important.

I stand by his side and fix the veil on my head as he bows his head on the shrine and the single chosen and allowed camera records the ritual.

The rush of people is unbelievable.

My mind rewinds his replies everytime I told him he's evil. He said you've not been in this country before, you don't know.

I'd believe him had I not been a witness to that murder.

He holds me above my elbow, "Come."

As if I could go anywhere else.

God knows who the heck this peer is, but we sit in front of him for fifteen minutes, listening to random anecdotes and his prayers for us.

And I want to go and search on his elder brothers' weddings. Did they do all of this too? If they did, I'd like to know when it all ends.

Why does everything in their house take so long? I couldn't count because of the miserable feeling, but I remember the nikkah procedure took more than an hour for sure.

The peer starts with his shia metaphors and I remain patient at the first one but then I look at Haider, unwilling to keep sitting down.

He's focused on the words and I don't want to ruin anything by getting up.

I don't think I've ever hated a decision made by baba any more. If he's watching this, he must be regretting it too.

The old man gives us blessings, putting his right hand on our heads.

I look at Haider in anger. He avoids eye contact until the cameras close.

There's a contagious smile in his eyes, along with a certain level of pride.

I take the veil off my forehead, dreading to inform him how tired I am but something else takes his attention.

He gets a phone call and I look where he's looking to see that companion of his. My hater. The guitar guy.

Haider picks up the call and it's him on the other line, "Le aaye ho?" (Have you brought it?)

I mutter badtameez in my head as Haider walks away without excusing himself but he instantly looks back as if I had said it out loud.

I skip a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry,"

I turn round and try to read the calligraphy above the arch on the complex.

Arch.

"You know what a rainbow's called in Spanish?" I caress my delicate earlobes holding the weight of the not so light earrings.

He puts my hand down and I turn to look behind but his kiss on my cheek wins the race.

●•°○°●•●

The media's questions tire the heck out of me.

I don't know how they do it.

We've moved to a more shaded area but as the noon comes on our head the sun gets harsher.

Sick and tired, I give rest to my earlobes by taking my earrings off.

"Aur jaisa ke aap bhi jaante hain, yeh pehli dafaa nahin hai ke aap ko, aap ki party ko aise comments sunn'ne ko mile haun."

"Dekhein, jahaan tak sawaal opposition ka hai,"

He puts his hand out, while in the middle of an answer, and I take a quick double look on the camera, the grass, everything in front of us.

I don't know if he's asking for my earrings but I hand them to him.

And he quietly puts them in his pocket.

"Tou aap ka iraada hai iss saal ke aakhir tak yeh rates pachaas feesad se giraane ka?"

"Ji, bilkul. Yahaan sirf reported cases ki nahin, un cases ki bhi baat ho rahi hai joh izzat kharaab ho jaane ke ddarr se FIR tak pohonchte hi nahin."

I try to act as interested as possible for the rest of our screen appearance.

But maybe half an hour later I almost faint when through my peripheral vision, I see a huge black specie making its way to us.

I pretend to fix my hair and look towards it to see a panting dog.

I don't want to move my eyes off Haider, but the nearer it gets the more I freak out.

When it's ten human steps away, I sheepishly take a small unnoticeable step back.

It moves in the same pace and I don't want to scream on a live TV channel BUT WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

His name comes out as a whisper in my heart as I nervously fist his salwar kameez, my perfect smile fading as I look at Haider, having moved right behind him.

Haider gives a small but firm glance behind and just raises his chin a bit towards his companion, —whose name I'm yet to learn— and he immediately gets it and gets the heavy dog moved away.

I want to move off the camera but he makes it go inconspicuous as he casually takes a step behind and gently puts his hand on my back to move me to a better angle on the camera.

I look at my nails but resist the urge.

●○•°•○●°

He sits in the jeep. I see the rose petals and don't ask any questions.

Once there, when he's down he looks at me and I hand him the rose petals.

He gives a soft expression before leaving.

Haider's beautiful, only towards his amma.

I pray that woman he killed is in a grave too.

I go sit in the backseat and bite my nails.

He comes back around fifteen minutes later.

●•°○●•○•

In the evening I sit down in the living room and think of our Walimah.

He was extraordinarily nice. I couldn't even imagine him killing an ant.

I was truly happy that day. To the extent that I didn't care about posting myself on my story.

My online presence is really important to me.

Or at least, it was. People's opinions mattered to me a lot. Only of people I know, if that makes it any better.

Now they'll all judge my meme reposts.

There's no way I'm this calm. Haider has destroyed the Alaya I knew. My behavior isn't recognizable to me.

Harmeen comes and offers me a kulfi.

I wipe my tears and she narrows her eyes at me, "Aap ro rahi thi?" (Were you crying?)

"Nahin." (No.)

"Aap ro rahi thi." (You were crying.)

"Pataa hai tou kyun poochh rahi ho? Banda ro nahin sakta iss ghar mein?" (Why are you asking if you know it? Can't one cry in this house?)

"Kyaa huaa aap ko?" She puts both kulfis on the table and sits with me. (What happened to you?)

"Kuchh nahin." (Nothing.)

"Bhai ke saath jhagra huaa?" (Had a quarrel with brother?)

"Nahin." (No.)

"Haan, iss hi liye Jashn-e-Bahara chal rahaa hai do din se." (Yea, that's what it is. It's the third day in this Jashn-e-Bahara phase.)

"Huh?"

"Jodha Akbar ban ke phir rahe hain aap dono. Khamoshi mein khafaa khafaa." (Both of you are roaming around like Jodha Akbar. Silent and upset.)

"Nahin." (No.)

"You want to talk? Rant?"

"Nahin, gr— thank you." (No, th— thank you.)

"Zaroori nahin iss baare mein ho." I watch her go and sit on the other corner of the sofa, a seat away. (It doesn't necessarily have to be about this.)

She spreads her legs towards me and I grumpily stare at them.

Leaned on the sofa, she nods, "Aur koyi masla bhi sunaa sakti hain aap mujhe. I'm all ears. Gossip ke mood mein hoon, ab aap kharaab naa kar dena mera mood." (We can discuss some other topic too. I'm all ears and in the mood of gossip, don't ruin it now.)

I get up and sit on the single chair sofa.

"Kyaa parrh rahi ho?" I ask her. (What are you studying?)

"Uff yaar, bhabhi. Mujh se parrhaai ki baat nahin kiya karein. Abhi kahaa mera mood kharab naa karna, phir bhi kar diya aap ne." (Uff dude, sister-in-law. Don't talk to me about my studies. I just told you to not ruin my mood and you went on and did.)

"Umar poochh rahi hoon. Straightforward awkward tha, I thought I'd calculate the semesters." (I'm asking that to know your age.)

"Why do you want to know my age?"

"I don't know anything about you except your name. And that you live in this house with me."

"I'm your age."

"20?"

"20."

I frown, then open my mouth to ask her something but let it go.

"Kyaa? Bol dein. Boring bhi huaa main sunn loon gi. Iss waqt khaamoshi se boring kuchh nahin." (What? Say it. Even if it's boring I'll listen to it. Nothing's more boring than silence right now.)

I think of Haider's amma's age. She died in 2007. They don't mention her here but Harmeen must know about her. She was four when their amma died.

But how is she their mum? Who's Sultana begum then?

Can I ask it to her, or will Haider kill me?

"BHA. BHI!"

"Tumhaari ammi kaun hain?" I ask.
(Who's your mum?)

"Boring kahaa tha, senseless nahin. Kaun haun gi meri ammi?" (I said boring, not senseless. Who could my mum be?)

I nod, "Sorry."

She doesn't know anything.

●•°○°●•○°●

"Arham?" I ask.

"Haan, uss ka naam maine rakhaa tha. Shaayad? Yaa unnhon ne bhi mere waala hi naam socha tha." (Yea, I named him. Maybe? Or they thought of the same name as me.)

"Kinnhon ne?" (Who?)

"Ji? Arham? Aap ko nahin pataa? Arham aur Raina, Jafar bhai ke bache?" (What? Arham? You don't know? Arham and Raina, Jafar bhai's children?)

"Jafar bhai... bare waale?"
(Jafar bhai... the eldest one?)

"Ji. Haan." (Yep.)

"Doosre bhai ka kyaa naam hai?" (What's the other brother's name?)

"Baqir bhai."

"Baqir bhai. Sorry."

"Aap itne pyaare pyaare naam kaise rakh leti hain? Hamza, Zaira, Sawera, Azaan, Barkha, Zaviyaar. Aur kitaabon ke bhi."

(How do you think of such pretty names? Hamza, Zaira, Sawera, Azaan, Barkha, Zaviyaar. And the books too.)

"Suno, Arham aur Raina kahaan hain?"
(Listen, where are Arham and Raina?)

"Boarding school."

"... Shaadi pe nahin the naa?"
(...They were not at the wedding, were they?)

"Nahin. School chal rahaa hai unnh ka." (No, they've got school.)

I bite my nail, "Kyaa umar hai dono ki?" (What's their age?)

"Arham's 7, Raina's 6."

"Boarding school mein hain? Itne chhotte bache? Weekends pe bhi nahin aate?" (They're in a boarding school? Such little children? They don't even come on the weekends?)

"They have a nanny there. Karishma bhabhi hates them. They're a stain on her youth. She wanted to remain twenty all her life. Haider bhai's the only one who dares to talk about Arham and Raina in this house. Whenever the rest of us do, we act like they're not Karishma bhabhi's children."

I take some time to process it.

"Yaar pataa nahin kyaa bataa diya maine aap ko. Kyaa impression paraa ho ga humaari family ka aap pe? Waise hi abbhi tak aap se Haider bhai ka first impression nahin bhulaaya jaa rahaa."

(God knows why I told you all of this. I wonder what impression I gave you of our family? You haven't forgotten your first impression Haider bhai anyway.)

My jaw hangs slightly, "Tumhain pataa hai woh kaise milaa tha mujh se?" I was starting to trust her, Allah miyaan, please. I like her. I need someone normal in this house or I'll go crazy.

(You know how we met?)

"Nahin," the much awaited answer finally leaves her lips, "bhai ne bas yehi bataaya tha ke aap naaraz ho gayi thi. Bataaein naa, kaise mile the aap, kahaan shuroo hui love story," interest visibly spikes in her. (No, but bhai told me that you got upset with him. Tell me, how did you two meet? Where did the love story begin?)

I shake my head relieved, "Kisi aur din." (Some other day.)

○●°○°•○●

He pushes me up on one of the console tables. His rough hand holds me up by my arm while I fist his shirt and hold the surface beneath me to not fall towards him.

I put pressure on the fist after a while into the ferocious kiss.

I would kiss him better if my morals allowed.

I get needy for the image I was trying to forget so desperately. I bring that murder scene in front of my eyes intentionally, and despite wanting to get rid of the fear, it comes along.

He pulls back, "The other day," he whispers near my ear, "when you slept in the middle of the bed in that walimah attire, with that silky hair spread on your bare back... Only God knows the sense of relief I felt knowing you're my wife. And only God knows how I stopped myself. Had you not had fever the night before, you'd be taking a pregnancy test right now."

I don't know how to get angry. I only feel my lips curving downwards.

I want to talk to him about consent but the fact that he's still patient, a week after our marriage, that's appreciable for a Pakistani man.

He clicks his tongue, "Alaya, please stop with these tears. It's okay if you're angry but I hate this crying."

"Good. Hate me. That's what we want."

"I swear I'd tell you but you're not in that empathetic mood. You've only seen one side of the story and the other could sound unbelievable to you. I can't feign patience if you don't trust me."

"I am in an empathetic mood."

"No, you're not. You'll reply back defending her. Because she has no tongue anymore and you'd want to be it."

I raise a brow.

"I mean you're not in that after walimah - before gunshot mood. You do have empathy, but only for her, because you have it decided that she's the victim."

"So you're not going to tell me ever and you expect me to go back to the pre-murder jolly-molly energy and be all hearts for Haider?"

He smirks, "You were all hearts for me before that?"

"No."

His smirk intensifies with other teasing expressions and I roll my eyes.

"No, my English is weak. I mixed it."

"Don't play hard to get,"

"I'm not, Haider."

"You are. You're melting from the inside but acting hard to break."

"I've Alhamdulillah Alhamdulillah Alhamdulillah never witnessed a close death, you're telling me to forget a murder? And to fall in love with the murderer? It's not just creepy, it's not just a crime, it's a sin and then you go pray Maghrib all normally. What religion is that?"

"Alaya if you try to make more unnecessary differences between us I'm going to tape your mouth. There's no difference. You believe in the same God that I do, you believe in the same Prophet, in the same Shahada. Stop it." his anger rises, but he keeps the heat low, "This is awful. I'm here missing your touch and you're ruining the whole mood."

I watch him leave outside.

There's a lot of happiness, because he's finally getting tired of it, a slight bit of hurt, but that's a very small percentage and we're not going to focus on it.

What we are going to focus on, though, is that he used a word as simple as awful. When he came in the wedding hall in search of that girl he used slurs that I can't think to form again.

That's not something you do when you have infatuation for someone. That's not how you care about even the little things.

This is something men in love do.

And I know he's in love with me. He's mature enough to know the difference.

The happiness comes to an end.

A man like Haider could never put his family's reputation at stake.

Divorce is a no no after this media appearance.

●•○•●°●○

The girl I helped and the murdered maid smile at me.

I smile back.

They come closer.

I wait for them, starting to get a bit anxious.

They keep walking, getting nearer and nearer.

I notice their smile getting wider and wider until the lips reach their ears. Their eyes get darker and darker until the whole eyeball is covered.

Their teeth swing out of their mouths and their arms raise up to my neck's level.

They start running towards me and I step back, turn around and run.

I run and run, jump on the obstacles, dodge when there's space, slide left and right, zig-zag. They are behind me. Their arms getting longer. I run more and more.

Mikail helps me get through the obstacles. He swipes me left and right on a screen.

I grab a magnet and collect the coins in front of me.

I look behind and see them in a guard's outfit.

When I look ahead, I crash onto a wall and scream and wake up.

I look around to see my room. I'm so glad it was all a nightmare. I get up and run to the window to see the busy streets of Madrid.

But then... I've never seen Mikail? Who was that kid?

I get out of my room to ask mama but see the kids from the NGO playing with the toys Haider and I gifted them.

A few steps ahead I see some grass, a woman leads me towards the man bowing down to a tomb. She gives me a pink dupatta and I wear it over my head as I walk to the tomb.

I see a dog right next to it and move the man bowing.

Why am I not running?

The dog barks at me.

"Haider stop bowing, get up, the dog wants to bite me! Haider! Haider get up!"

I sweat as the dog takes steps ahead.

I open my eyes to see Haider's room.

What was a nightmare and what wasn't?

I don't care if the marriage wasn't a nightmare, at least the dog's gone.

I see Haider's place empty and put my hand on it.

A dog comes in from the door and barks loudly as he runs to me.

My heart beats at an unsteady pace.

I look at it and quickly hide myself in the duvet. I cover all sides and tuck myself in, making sure the edges are fully closed and I'm safe.

"HAIDER! HAIDER GET YOUR DOG! HAIDER!" The dog barks and bites the duvet. I feel the shape of his teeth on the duvet but the thickness saves me from any harm.

The dog moves around the room. The sound of his barking gets low and high as if a DJ were playing a sound effect.

I get my head out of the duvet to see if the dog's real and IT IS REAL!

It sees me and I hide my neck back inside.

He's probably hungry and looking for a bone.

The duvet doesn't cover me properly, I raise my hand up and cover my head properly but pull it too much and my feet go bare.

"Haider!"

The dog runs towards my feet and I try to save myself but he reaches it.

I push his mouth with my feet and get up on the bed with the duvet in my hand.

He barks and gawks at me with hunger, his eyes glinting.

"HAIDER!"

When I see the dog making attempts to climb on the bed I run out of it and have him chase the duvet.

As if he were a bull.

I run around the room shouting for help as I distract the dog.

Until I get tired, my speed gets slower and the dog licks his mouth.

I watch him laughing and walking to me as I crawl back.

He takes the last step towards me and I open my eyes with a scream.

I see Haider next to me on the bed.

Snoring.

I crawl to him for a moment, hiding myself in the duvet.

He opens one of his eyes and pulls me closer to himself after letting out certain sounds.

If I sleep again, I'll fall in that vicious cycle of nightmares.

I take a breath and look at the time.

I look around the room to make sure there's no dogs.

I lock the closet, make sure the door of the room is locked and with careful steps, head towards the washroom.

●•°○●°●°○

I watch Haider, asleep.

He looks terribly innocent.

I don't know how actors don't fall in love.

I don't know why I fall in love with everyone.

I don't know how people have breakups and move on.

I could never spend a single millisecond with someone with the intention of spending an eternity together and then not remain in love with them forever.

His alarm goes off and I turn around in an instant.

He stretches and yawns as I spread my prayer mat.