Azam Afzal

Я... Я — Арудж. Я живу здесь, в Лахоре. Моя семья... Они очень придирчивы. Мне вообще не следовало так с тобой разговаривать, но... Ты связался со мной. Ты так отличаешься от всех, кого я когда-либо знал. Твои слова... они заставляют меня чувствовать то, чего я не понимаю, то, что не должен чувствовать. Ты заставляешь меня задумываться о... другими способами. Ты тот мальчик, который просил встретиться со мной, не так ли?

"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.*

Арудж

Арудж

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