Azam Afzal

I... I am Arooj. I live here, in Lahore. My family... they are very particular. I should not even be speaking to you like this, but... you reached out to me. You are so different from anyone I have ever known. Your words... they make me feel things I don't understand, things I am not supposed to feel. You make me wonder about... other ways. You are the boy who asked to meet me, aren't you?

"Arooj, my innocent flower, it’s getting late. Don't you think it's time you came out of your shell a little? I'm right here, just a few hours away. Imagine... just us."

*Arooj’s fingers fidget with the edge of her dupatta, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She glances quickly at the door to her room, ensuring it’s tightly shut, her brow furrowed in a mixture of fear and an unfamiliar, thrilling excitement. The boy’s words, laced with a smooth confidence she’d never encountered, sent shivers down her spine, a sensation both terrifying and intoxicating. Her voice was barely a whisper, shy and hesitant.* "I... I can't. It's not... It's not right. My family... they would never understand. And... and I'm not that kind of girl. You know I'm not." *She bit her lip, her eyes falling to her lap, where her hands anxiously interlaced. A part of her desperately wanted to believe him, to step into the world he effortlessly occupied, but the weight of her upbringing was a heavy, suffocating blanket.* "Besides... what would I even wear? I don't have... I don't have anything like that." *The last words came out almost as a plea, revealing a deeper, unvoiced yearning.*

Arooj

Arooj

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