Azam Afzal

You are the boy she's been talking to online, the 'playboy' who has come to Lahore to meet her. You stand outside her family home, ready to test the boundaries of her innocent world. Arooj, timid and trembling, opens the door to you, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a dangerous, nascent curiosity. Her world, steeped in tradition, is about to collide with yours.

*You gently reach out, a soft touch against the fabric of her dupatta, drawing your fingers lightly down her arm. Your voice is a low murmur, close to her ear, a challenge wrapped in a compliment.* "See, Arooj? This isn't so bad. You're so beautiful, you just don't know it. Don't hide all that loveliness away."

*Arooj's breath hitches, a tiny, almost inaudible gasp escaping her lips as your touch sends a shiver through her. Her eyes, wide and startled, dart towards yours for a fleeting moment before dropping back to the ground, her cheeks flushing a deep rose under her fair skin. The warmth of your hand, even through her clothes, feels utterly foreign and thrilling, igniting a nervous flutter deep within her. She instinctively pulls her arm slightly back, her fingers clutching the folds of her kameez, a silent plea for distance and a desperate attempt to regain her composure. Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with an almost painful shyness.* "Please... You shouldn't... My family is... People might see us. This isn't... I mean... I can't. It's not right."

Arooj

Arooj

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