03-10-2024, 12:15 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-10-2024, 12:24 AM by Zoz34. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene: Vishal's Office –
Afrah entered Vishal's cabin, a swirl of nerves and anticipation churning in her stomach. As she sat down, the tension in the air was almost electric, making her acutely aware of his tall, commanding frame. *Focus, Afrah,* she reminded herself, forcing her eyes to remain on his face instead of allowing them to wander.
Vishal leaned forward, a casual yet intense look in his eyes. "Afrah, I called you here to discuss something important."
Her pulse quickened, and she straightened her posture, trying to project calmness. "Yes, sir?"
A smile spread across his lips, that confident smirk that made her heart flutter despite herself. "We’ve been noticing your work lately. You’ve been performing exceptionally well. I think it’s time we reward that hard work."
*Reward?* The word caught her off guard. "Uh, reward?" she echoed, her mind racing.
"Yes, a promotion. I’m recommending you for a higher position—more responsibilities, better pay." He leaned back in his chair, watching her closely, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
The room seemed to close in around her. *This can’t just be about my work,* she thought, her heart pounding. "A promotion? For my work or... something else?" Her voice trembled slightly, revealing her uncertainty.
Vishal's lips curled into a teasing smirk. *Does he know what I mean?* "Something else? Afrah, you're an asset to this company. Your work speaks for itself. Why would you think otherwise?"
Afrah felt her stomach tighten at his words. "Because of... what happened the other night," she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. "It was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again."
Vishal chuckled softly, a low and dangerous sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, Afrah... I would never mix business with pleasure like that." His voice dripped with a teasing edge, and he leaned forward slightly, making her heart race. "Your promotion is because you deserve it. But..." He let the word hang in the air, drawing out the tension. "If you think about me outside of work, well... that’s a different story."
*What does he mean by that?* Afrah's cheeks flushed. "I don’t—" she began, but he cut her off.
Vishal's gaze softened, yet his smirk remained. "Relax, Afrah. This is purely professional. But if you’re worried about what happened, I won’t bring it up again. It’s up to you if you want to forget it." He paused, his eyes lingering on hers with a heat that made her pulse quicken. "Though I doubt you’ll be able to."
*Doubt I’ll be able to?* The thought spiraled in her mind as her heart raced, her mind flashing back to that night—the kiss, the heat, the way his hands had ignited something inside her. The taste of him lingered on her lips like an unspoken promise. "I should go," she blurted out, standing abruptly, feeling overwhelmed by the mix of relief and confusion.
Vishal didn’t move, but his voice followed her as she reached the door, lingering in the air like smoke. "Just think about it, Afrah. Both the promotion and... whatever else crosses your mind."
As she stepped out, Afrah's mind raced, battling a storm of emotions. *Why is he so casual about this?* The memory of their kiss replayed in her mind, a vivid reminder of the fire that had sparked between them. *Does he kiss every woman like that?* A surge of jealousy washed over her as she recalled the sight of him kissing another woman in the parking lot just days ago. She remembered the way the woman had clung to him, the ease with which he had leaned in to whisper something in her ear.
*Am I just another conquest for him?* The thought twisted her stomach. She shook her head, desperate to dispel the image, but it lingered. *He’s charming, confident—of course, he has women storming around him. Why would he want someone like me when he could have any of them?*
Her heart ached with the reality of her situation. The promotion was tempting, but working closely with Vishal? It felt dangerously intoxicating. *Could I really resist his charm?* The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. She knew she should be focused on her engagement, her family’s expectations, and the life they envisioned for her. But with every encounter, every teasing word he threw her way, her resolve weakened.
*No,* she told herself firmly. *I can't let him get to me like this.* But deep down, she felt the excitement of the unknown creeping in, whispering promises of passion and adventure that were hard to ignore.
---
Afrah left Vishal’s cabin, the door softly clicking shut behind her, but the words *promotion* and *deserve* kept swirling in her head, buzzing louder with every step she took. A promotion. A seat at the table with more responsibilities, more money, more everything. But working alongside him? Close, day in and day out, where every look, every touch, even in passing, would be charged?
*Why is this happening?* She paced down the hallway, feeling the burn of her confusion turn into something else—something warmer, deeper. She could still feel the heat of his eyes on her, like they were undressing her even in that professional setting. *It was a mistake.* She had told him that. *A mistake.* But why did her body tremble at the thought of more mistakes?
Her mind raced. *I should take it, I worked for it... but being near him...* Her skin tingled at the memory of his touch. *Oh God, his touch.* Her body, against her will, had leaned into him when he’d kissed her, betrayed her mind’s attempts to resist. She could feel her pulse quicken just thinking about it, about the way his hands had sent ripples of desire straight through her, how they had played with her skin, teasing it, like he knew just how much she craved more.
She shook her head. *No. I have to think about this logically.* This wasn’t about attraction, this was about her career. But her body was already betraying her again. The thought of working side by side with him, of being in the same room—she could imagine his cologne filling her lungs, the sound of his voice low and smooth, that charming smirk on his lips as he spoke to her, teasing her without ever saying a single suggestive word.
Her breath caught in her throat. *I can’t... I shouldn’t...* But her body wasn’t listening. Every time she thought of him, something inside her shifted. Her stomach flipped, her legs felt weaker, and her skin burned as though his touch had never really left her.
What would it be like to be in meetings with him? Sitting next to him, their arms brushing by accident—or would it even be an accident? And then those moments between work, where the lines blur and the atmosphere shifts. He could lean in, whisper something in that dangerously seductive voice of his. And her heart—her traitorous heart—would race again. *And I’d want it.*
Her body reacted just to the idea of it. *What’s wrong with me?* She could still feel the pressure of his lips, the warmth of his body so close to hers. *I should say no.* But did she want to? That was the real question, wasn’t it? Her mind was screaming at her to make the rational choice, to protect herself, her engagement, her reputation, but there was a forbidden thrill in all of this.
Working with him would be... dangerous. Seductively dangerous. Each day, a new temptation. Could she resist him? Did she even want to?
*You can’t keep running from this,* her thoughts whispered as her pulse thudded in her ears. *What if he’s right? What if it’s not over?* She pressed her fingers against her temples, willing the thoughts away, but they clung to her like the warmth of his hands on her waist that night.
*No. I can’t work with him. But... I want to.* She felt the flutter of excitement deep in her belly, that familiar pull. *This is too dangerous.*
Her breath quickened. She knew her body’s answer already. It had always been ahead of her mind.
At home:
The atmosphere at the dinner table was different tonight. Afrah sat quietly, feeling the weight of her own thoughts as her family carried on with their meal. She had just shared the news of her promotion—something she thought would be met with joy or, at the very least, a sense of pride. But the excitement quickly faded when she noticed her mother’s stiff expression. Her father, as always, remained neutral, sipping his soup in silence, while her younger sister, with all her youthful energy, couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.
**Afrah’s Sister (excited):**
“A promotion, Api? That’s so cool! You’re going to be in charge of more people now, right? And the extra money! Think of all the things you can do!”
Afrah allowed herself a small smile, but her gaze shifted to her mother, who had barely reacted. The lack of response gnawed at her. Afrah knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she hadn’t expected such immediate resistance. Her mother, usually full of opinions on even the smallest matters, had remained silent. Until now.
**Afrah’s Mother (suddenly):**
“More money, more responsibilities, more hassle,” her mother said, setting down her spoon with a sharp clink against the plate. “And for what? You’re getting married soon, Afrah. What’s the point of all this? We don’t need the extra money. You don’t need it.”
Afrah’s heart sank. *Here we go again,* she thought. Every achievement of hers seemed to be met with the same dismissive tone. It didn’t matter what she did—it always came back to marriage. To expectations. To her “role” as a future wife.
**Afrah (calmly but firmly):**
“It’s not just about the money, Ammi. It’s about having a little independence, about making my own way. It’s good to be self-sufficient.”
Her mother’s disapproving sigh filled the room, as if Afrah had just suggested something scandalous. Her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat but still remained silent, avoiding the growing tension.
**Afrah’s Mother (frustrated):**
“Independent? We’ve given you plenty of independence, Afrah. You’ve already had more freedom than most girls your age. And now you’re asking if you can travel for business?” She folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “Why bother with all of this? You’re going to be a wife soon, a homemaker. What’s the use of getting caught up in all this stress?”
Afrah felt her pulse quicken, frustration bubbling up. She hated how every decision seemed to come back to marriage, to this looming role that was expected of her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get married—she did—but she wanted more. Couldn’t they see that?
**Afrah (voice tightening):**
“It’s not about stress, Ammi. I haven’t even decided yet. But it’s my decision to make.”
Her mother’s eyes widened slightly at her assertive tone, and she quickly turned to Afrah’s father, seeking support.
**Afrah’s Mother (to her father):**
“This girl doesn’t listen to me anymore. Look at the way she talks! She’s setting a bad example for her younger sister, acting like this. All this freedom—it’s dangerous. Look at Syeda’s daughter—she’s younger than Afrah and already married, settled down, expecting a child soon. No issues like this in that house.”
Afrah’s jaw clenched. It was always the same comparisons. The constant judgment based on what other families were doing. She could feel the anger building inside her, but she forced herself to stay calm.
Her mother, however, wasn’t done.
**Afrah’s Mother (lowering her voice, but still intense):**
“And too much freedom for girls... it leads to trouble. You remember Nafisha from the Khan family? She was doing the same thing—working, making money, traveling. And what happened to her? She got caught with a man. And not just any man—a H"*"*u. Pregnant before marriage, rumors said. Her parents were mortified, had the pregnancy terminated in secret, and married her off to her cousin as quickly as they could. Is that what you want to happen, Afrah?”
Afrah felt her blood boil. How could her mother compare her to that? How could she reduce all her hard work, all her ambition, to some cautionary tale meant to scare her into submission? She felt the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her, suffocating her spirit.
**Afrah (angry, her voice shaking):**
“That’s ridiculous, Ammi. I’m nothing like Nafisha, and you know it.”
The frustration in her voice was clear, but her mother’s face remained stern, unyielding.
**Afrah’s Mother (sharply):**
“You don’t see it now, but this is how it starts. A little bit of independence, a little bit of freedom, and before you know it, you’ve gone too far. You’re so concerned with making your own way, but look where it leads—”
**Afrah (cutting her off, standing abruptly):**
“Enough!” Her voice cracked through the air, silencing the room. “I’m not Nafisha. And this isn’t about running wild, it’s about my future. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
Her mother’s expression softened for a moment, but her resolve remained strong.
**Afrah’s Mother (calmly but firmly):**
“Because your future is already planned, Afrah. You’re going to be a wife, a mother. That’s your future. This career, this promotion—it’s a distraction from what really matters. You need to focus on your marriage. On your duties.”
Afrah couldn’t take it anymore. The walls were closing in, the weight of their expectations becoming unbearable.
**Afrah (furious):**
“I can’t believe you think like this. That you want me to just sit and wait for my life to happen to me, instead of taking control of it. This is my decision, not yours.”
With that, she stormed out of the room, her heart pounding, every nerve in her body on fire with frustration. Her mother’s voice trailed after her, but Afrah didn’t listen. She was done listening.
**Afrah’s Mother (to her father, her voice soft but weary):**
“See what I mean? She doesn’t listen anymore. All this freedom... it’s dangerous. It changes them.”
---
Her room:
Afrah threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in her pillow as a wave of frustration washed over her. Her heart was still pounding from the argument with her mother, and her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
**Afrah (thinking, fuming):**
*Why does she always do this? Why can’t she ever just support me without throwing marriage in my face?*
She squeezed her eyes shut, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind: *"Why all the hassle when you’re about to get married? We don’t have money problems. You don’t need this."*
*Need?* Afrah seethed. *Since when is it about need? It’s about what I want! My independence. My career. Why is that so hard for her to understand?*
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her mother had always been like this—overbearing, strict, and endlessly focused on what people thought. Ever since she was a child, Afrah had grown up under the shadow of *what others would say*. Her mother's reputation in the community was impeccable—*a pious woman,* they’d say, *raising her daughters with the utmost care.* And Afrah had been raised to be the perfect daughter, at least in the eyes of society.
But the more Afrah tried to break free, the tighter her mother’s grip became. Her freedom, the little independence she had, was constantly under scrutiny.
**Afrah (thinking, bitterly):**
*"We’ve given you enough independence," she says. How much is ‘enough,’ Ammi? How much until I’m allowed to live my life without being reminded of what Syeda’s daughter is doing or how I’m supposed to fit into some mold I never asked for?"*
Afrah felt her jaw clench. Her mother’s intuition was another thing that made her feel trapped. There was no denying that her mother had a sixth sense when it came to certain things—especially when it came to men. Afrah had seen it before, how her mother would catch wind of a scandal even before it became gossip.
And now her mother had dropped that bombshell about Nafisha from the Khan family, as if it were a subtle warning to Afrah. The girl had been caught with a man, and not just any man—*a Hi789*. The rumor was that she had gotten pregnant, and her parents had swiftly married her off to her cousin to save face.
**Ammi’s voice:**
*"Too much freedom for a girl is harmful. Look at Nafisha. She was caught with that man—ruined her family’s name. We had to hear about it from the neighbors before they could even cover it up. Do you want to end up like her?"*
Afrah’s hands balled into fists at her sides. *I am nothing like Nafisha,* she told herself. But the weight of the comparison sat heavy on her chest. The constant warnings, the pressure to be the perfect daughter, the good wife, the obedient woman—it was suffocating.
And then, as if her thoughts weren’t already spiraling, Vishal’s image entered her mind again, uninvited and unwelcome.
*What would Ammi say if she knew about him?* Afrah shuddered at the thought. Her mother had a way of sensing things, of picking up on the slightest change in behavior. Would she have already guessed something was going on with Vishal? Would she somehow know about the kiss, the attraction, the dangerous tension that brewed between them?
Her mother’s intuition felt like an invisible hand guiding her every move, reminding her that one slip, one misstep, and she could be the next scandal in their community.
*But Vishal...* Afrah’s mind betrayed her again. Despite her anger at her mother, despite the warnings, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His smirk, his touch, the kiss that still made her body heat up whenever she thought about it.
*Why do I even care what she thinks?* Afrah thought bitterly. *Why do I care about any of it?*
But deep down, she knew the answer. It wasn’t just about her mother or the community—it was about how much power they had over her. As much as she wanted to rebel, to claim her independence, she couldn’t fully shake the fear of disappointing her family. Of being the girl who strayed too far.
**Afrah (thinking, frustrated):**
*She’s acting like I’m already guilty, like I’ve already crossed some line.*
The truth was, she hadn’t. Not yet. But Vishal made her feel like she could, like the line was just within reach—and crossing it would be thrilling, exhilarating, everything she wasn’t supposed to feel.
Afrah sat up, brushing her hair out of her face, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Anger at her mother for constantly controlling her, fear of disappointing her family, and the undeniable pull of attraction to Vishal.
*Ammi is wrong about me,* Afrah thought, her jaw tightening with resolve. *I’m not going to end up like Nafisha. But I’m also not going to live in a cage.*
She glanced at her phone, her mind wandering back to the office, to Vishal’s teasing smile and the promotion he had offered. Could she really work alongside him, knowing how he affected her?
Her body betrayed her even now, as she thought of how he looked at her, how his fingers had lingered on her skin that night. She felt that familiar heat rise in her, and she hated herself for it.
But at the same time, it thrilled her. Vishal was dangerous, and she knew it. But part of her wanted to see just how far that danger could take her.
---
Afrah lay back on her bed, feeling the weight of the argument with her mother still pressing on her chest. Her head spun, full of conflicting emotions. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something reckless. Instead, she reached for her phone, hoping for some solace from the one person who should be her partner, someone who might understand her struggle. Sohail.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she sent the text:
*"I got offered a promotion at work today. It’s a great opportunity—more pay, more responsibility."*
She stared at the phone, waiting, her heart pounding faster than it should have been. Finally, it buzzed, and she eagerly opened the message, hoping for some validation, some encouragement.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"A promotion? That’s good, I guess… but don’t you think this could be too much with the wedding coming up? Will you have the time for it?"*
Afrah’s face fell. The air left her lungs in a slow, bitter exhale. *Of course,* she thought. *Of course, that’s what he would say.*
It wasn’t outright disapproval like her mother had shown, but there it was—disappointment, masked as concern. The subtle pressure, the unspoken expectation that she should be thinking about their future, not her own career. Her stomach churned as the realization hit her: Sohail was no different from her mother in that regard.
She typed back quickly, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts.
*"I can handle it, Sohail. It’s a good opportunity. And it’s important to me, to have my own career and independence."*
Afrah tossed the phone onto the bed, pacing the room as she waited for his response. Her mind raced, full of the echoes of her mother’s earlier words about *too much freedom* for girls. The way her mother’s face had twisted in disapproval when Afrah mentioned her independence. Now, it was happening again, this time from the person she thought would support her the most.
The phone buzzed, and she snatched it up, her stomach flipping with equal parts hope and dread.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"I get that you want independence, but we’ll be married soon, Afrah. You won’t need to work after that. I can take care of everything. And honestly, my mother wouldn’t be happy if you kept working after the wedding. You know how she is."*
Afrah felt her blood boil. *His mother.* It always came back to her. The invisible force that seemed to govern everything. Afrah could practically hear his mother’s voice through the text, her disapproving gaze, her quiet yet suffocating control over their future. She’d heard about her expectations enough already—how a wife should be, what her role would be. And now Sohail was echoing it, repeating his mother’s beliefs as though they were his own.
Afrah typed furiously:
*"Why does it matter what your mother thinks? This is my career, Sohail. I want this."*
Her heart pounded as she hit send, and she threw her phone down, unable to even look at it for a moment. *Why is it so hard for them to understand?* she thought angrily. *Why do I need to justify every single thing I want?*
She paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. She could still hear her mother’s voice from earlier:
*"We’ve given you enough freedom. Look at Syeda’s daughter, she’s already married and expecting a child. Too much independence leads to trouble."*
*And now Sohail, saying the same thing in a different way. It’s like they all have a plan for me, and I don’t even get a say.*
Her thoughts spiraled further. Her mother had always had a strange intuition about men, constantly warning Afrah about the dangers of too much freedom. She had told her stories of girls who’d lost their way, like Nafisha from the Khan family. How she had gotten pregnant by a ***** man while working. How her parents had hurriedly married her off to her cousin to cover up the shame. The way her mother’s voice dripped with disdain every time she mentioned Nafisha.
*That’s what she’s afraid of,* Afrah thought. *She thinks I’ll end up like Nafisha. As if working, being independent, somehow means I’m heading toward scandal.*
The thought of it enraged her. She wasn’t like that. She had control over her life. She wasn’t some reckless girl. But the more she thought about it, the more the walls felt like they were closing in on her. Every move she made seemed to come with judgment. And now, with Sohail echoing her mother’s words, it felt like there was no escape.
Her phone buzzed again, and she reluctantly picked it up.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"It’s not just about my mother, Afrah. I want you to be happy too. We’re going to have a family. You won’t need to worry about working so much. Isn’t that a good thing? You’ll be able to focus on other important things."*
Other important things. Like what? Like being a perfect wife, attending to every need of his family? Like staying out of the workplace, where she felt alive and accomplished? The words felt patronizing, as though he were trying to gently push her back into the box they all thought she belonged in.
*He’s doing it too,* she realized. *He’s trying to manipulate me, to make it seem like it’s for my own good.* But she saw through it now. He was wrapping his control in pretty words, but it was still control.
Afrah’s anger surged. She typed back, her fingers trembling with fury:
*"It’s my decision, Sohail. I haven’t decided anything yet, and I won’t be pressured."*
She hit send and threw the phone down again, her heart racing, her mind spinning. She couldn’t stand it—everyone telling her what she should do, how she should live. And in the middle of it all, the memory of Vishal crept into her mind.
*Vishal wouldn’t care about any of this,* she thought bitterly. He wouldn’t be telling her to give up her independence, her career. If anything, he’d probably laugh at how ridiculous it all was. And for a brief moment, she imagined him, with his sharp eyes and easy confidence, smirking at her over a glass of whiskey, telling her to go after what she wanted without a care in the world.
She shook her head, trying to push the thought away. *Why am I thinking about him again?* she wondered. But deep down, she knew why. There was something about Vishal that excited her, something that made her feel... different. He represented everything that was forbidden, everything that she was told not to be. And right now, as she fought against the walls closing in around her, that temptation felt stronger than ever.
Her phone buzzed one last time. She glanced at it, but didn’t pick it up. It was Sohail again, no doubt trying to placate her, to gently push her back into line. But she wasn’t in the mood to be placated anymore.
Instead, she lay back on the bed, her thoughts swirling between frustration, defiance, and something far more dangerous.
Afrah entered Vishal's cabin, a swirl of nerves and anticipation churning in her stomach. As she sat down, the tension in the air was almost electric, making her acutely aware of his tall, commanding frame. *Focus, Afrah,* she reminded herself, forcing her eyes to remain on his face instead of allowing them to wander.
Vishal leaned forward, a casual yet intense look in his eyes. "Afrah, I called you here to discuss something important."
Her pulse quickened, and she straightened her posture, trying to project calmness. "Yes, sir?"
A smile spread across his lips, that confident smirk that made her heart flutter despite herself. "We’ve been noticing your work lately. You’ve been performing exceptionally well. I think it’s time we reward that hard work."
*Reward?* The word caught her off guard. "Uh, reward?" she echoed, her mind racing.
"Yes, a promotion. I’m recommending you for a higher position—more responsibilities, better pay." He leaned back in his chair, watching her closely, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
The room seemed to close in around her. *This can’t just be about my work,* she thought, her heart pounding. "A promotion? For my work or... something else?" Her voice trembled slightly, revealing her uncertainty.
Vishal's lips curled into a teasing smirk. *Does he know what I mean?* "Something else? Afrah, you're an asset to this company. Your work speaks for itself. Why would you think otherwise?"
Afrah felt her stomach tighten at his words. "Because of... what happened the other night," she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. "It was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again."
Vishal chuckled softly, a low and dangerous sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, Afrah... I would never mix business with pleasure like that." His voice dripped with a teasing edge, and he leaned forward slightly, making her heart race. "Your promotion is because you deserve it. But..." He let the word hang in the air, drawing out the tension. "If you think about me outside of work, well... that’s a different story."
*What does he mean by that?* Afrah's cheeks flushed. "I don’t—" she began, but he cut her off.
Vishal's gaze softened, yet his smirk remained. "Relax, Afrah. This is purely professional. But if you’re worried about what happened, I won’t bring it up again. It’s up to you if you want to forget it." He paused, his eyes lingering on hers with a heat that made her pulse quicken. "Though I doubt you’ll be able to."
*Doubt I’ll be able to?* The thought spiraled in her mind as her heart raced, her mind flashing back to that night—the kiss, the heat, the way his hands had ignited something inside her. The taste of him lingered on her lips like an unspoken promise. "I should go," she blurted out, standing abruptly, feeling overwhelmed by the mix of relief and confusion.
Vishal didn’t move, but his voice followed her as she reached the door, lingering in the air like smoke. "Just think about it, Afrah. Both the promotion and... whatever else crosses your mind."
As she stepped out, Afrah's mind raced, battling a storm of emotions. *Why is he so casual about this?* The memory of their kiss replayed in her mind, a vivid reminder of the fire that had sparked between them. *Does he kiss every woman like that?* A surge of jealousy washed over her as she recalled the sight of him kissing another woman in the parking lot just days ago. She remembered the way the woman had clung to him, the ease with which he had leaned in to whisper something in her ear.
*Am I just another conquest for him?* The thought twisted her stomach. She shook her head, desperate to dispel the image, but it lingered. *He’s charming, confident—of course, he has women storming around him. Why would he want someone like me when he could have any of them?*
Her heart ached with the reality of her situation. The promotion was tempting, but working closely with Vishal? It felt dangerously intoxicating. *Could I really resist his charm?* The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. She knew she should be focused on her engagement, her family’s expectations, and the life they envisioned for her. But with every encounter, every teasing word he threw her way, her resolve weakened.
*No,* she told herself firmly. *I can't let him get to me like this.* But deep down, she felt the excitement of the unknown creeping in, whispering promises of passion and adventure that were hard to ignore.
---
Afrah left Vishal’s cabin, the door softly clicking shut behind her, but the words *promotion* and *deserve* kept swirling in her head, buzzing louder with every step she took. A promotion. A seat at the table with more responsibilities, more money, more everything. But working alongside him? Close, day in and day out, where every look, every touch, even in passing, would be charged?
*Why is this happening?* She paced down the hallway, feeling the burn of her confusion turn into something else—something warmer, deeper. She could still feel the heat of his eyes on her, like they were undressing her even in that professional setting. *It was a mistake.* She had told him that. *A mistake.* But why did her body tremble at the thought of more mistakes?
Her mind raced. *I should take it, I worked for it... but being near him...* Her skin tingled at the memory of his touch. *Oh God, his touch.* Her body, against her will, had leaned into him when he’d kissed her, betrayed her mind’s attempts to resist. She could feel her pulse quicken just thinking about it, about the way his hands had sent ripples of desire straight through her, how they had played with her skin, teasing it, like he knew just how much she craved more.
She shook her head. *No. I have to think about this logically.* This wasn’t about attraction, this was about her career. But her body was already betraying her again. The thought of working side by side with him, of being in the same room—she could imagine his cologne filling her lungs, the sound of his voice low and smooth, that charming smirk on his lips as he spoke to her, teasing her without ever saying a single suggestive word.
Her breath caught in her throat. *I can’t... I shouldn’t...* But her body wasn’t listening. Every time she thought of him, something inside her shifted. Her stomach flipped, her legs felt weaker, and her skin burned as though his touch had never really left her.
What would it be like to be in meetings with him? Sitting next to him, their arms brushing by accident—or would it even be an accident? And then those moments between work, where the lines blur and the atmosphere shifts. He could lean in, whisper something in that dangerously seductive voice of his. And her heart—her traitorous heart—would race again. *And I’d want it.*
Her body reacted just to the idea of it. *What’s wrong with me?* She could still feel the pressure of his lips, the warmth of his body so close to hers. *I should say no.* But did she want to? That was the real question, wasn’t it? Her mind was screaming at her to make the rational choice, to protect herself, her engagement, her reputation, but there was a forbidden thrill in all of this.
Working with him would be... dangerous. Seductively dangerous. Each day, a new temptation. Could she resist him? Did she even want to?
*You can’t keep running from this,* her thoughts whispered as her pulse thudded in her ears. *What if he’s right? What if it’s not over?* She pressed her fingers against her temples, willing the thoughts away, but they clung to her like the warmth of his hands on her waist that night.
*No. I can’t work with him. But... I want to.* She felt the flutter of excitement deep in her belly, that familiar pull. *This is too dangerous.*
Her breath quickened. She knew her body’s answer already. It had always been ahead of her mind.
At home:
The atmosphere at the dinner table was different tonight. Afrah sat quietly, feeling the weight of her own thoughts as her family carried on with their meal. She had just shared the news of her promotion—something she thought would be met with joy or, at the very least, a sense of pride. But the excitement quickly faded when she noticed her mother’s stiff expression. Her father, as always, remained neutral, sipping his soup in silence, while her younger sister, with all her youthful energy, couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.
**Afrah’s Sister (excited):**
“A promotion, Api? That’s so cool! You’re going to be in charge of more people now, right? And the extra money! Think of all the things you can do!”
Afrah allowed herself a small smile, but her gaze shifted to her mother, who had barely reacted. The lack of response gnawed at her. Afrah knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she hadn’t expected such immediate resistance. Her mother, usually full of opinions on even the smallest matters, had remained silent. Until now.
**Afrah’s Mother (suddenly):**
“More money, more responsibilities, more hassle,” her mother said, setting down her spoon with a sharp clink against the plate. “And for what? You’re getting married soon, Afrah. What’s the point of all this? We don’t need the extra money. You don’t need it.”
Afrah’s heart sank. *Here we go again,* she thought. Every achievement of hers seemed to be met with the same dismissive tone. It didn’t matter what she did—it always came back to marriage. To expectations. To her “role” as a future wife.
**Afrah (calmly but firmly):**
“It’s not just about the money, Ammi. It’s about having a little independence, about making my own way. It’s good to be self-sufficient.”
Her mother’s disapproving sigh filled the room, as if Afrah had just suggested something scandalous. Her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat but still remained silent, avoiding the growing tension.
**Afrah’s Mother (frustrated):**
“Independent? We’ve given you plenty of independence, Afrah. You’ve already had more freedom than most girls your age. And now you’re asking if you can travel for business?” She folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “Why bother with all of this? You’re going to be a wife soon, a homemaker. What’s the use of getting caught up in all this stress?”
Afrah felt her pulse quicken, frustration bubbling up. She hated how every decision seemed to come back to marriage, to this looming role that was expected of her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get married—she did—but she wanted more. Couldn’t they see that?
**Afrah (voice tightening):**
“It’s not about stress, Ammi. I haven’t even decided yet. But it’s my decision to make.”
Her mother’s eyes widened slightly at her assertive tone, and she quickly turned to Afrah’s father, seeking support.
**Afrah’s Mother (to her father):**
“This girl doesn’t listen to me anymore. Look at the way she talks! She’s setting a bad example for her younger sister, acting like this. All this freedom—it’s dangerous. Look at Syeda’s daughter—she’s younger than Afrah and already married, settled down, expecting a child soon. No issues like this in that house.”
Afrah’s jaw clenched. It was always the same comparisons. The constant judgment based on what other families were doing. She could feel the anger building inside her, but she forced herself to stay calm.
Her mother, however, wasn’t done.
**Afrah’s Mother (lowering her voice, but still intense):**
“And too much freedom for girls... it leads to trouble. You remember Nafisha from the Khan family? She was doing the same thing—working, making money, traveling. And what happened to her? She got caught with a man. And not just any man—a H"*"*u. Pregnant before marriage, rumors said. Her parents were mortified, had the pregnancy terminated in secret, and married her off to her cousin as quickly as they could. Is that what you want to happen, Afrah?”
Afrah felt her blood boil. How could her mother compare her to that? How could she reduce all her hard work, all her ambition, to some cautionary tale meant to scare her into submission? She felt the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her, suffocating her spirit.
**Afrah (angry, her voice shaking):**
“That’s ridiculous, Ammi. I’m nothing like Nafisha, and you know it.”
The frustration in her voice was clear, but her mother’s face remained stern, unyielding.
**Afrah’s Mother (sharply):**
“You don’t see it now, but this is how it starts. A little bit of independence, a little bit of freedom, and before you know it, you’ve gone too far. You’re so concerned with making your own way, but look where it leads—”
**Afrah (cutting her off, standing abruptly):**
“Enough!” Her voice cracked through the air, silencing the room. “I’m not Nafisha. And this isn’t about running wild, it’s about my future. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
Her mother’s expression softened for a moment, but her resolve remained strong.
**Afrah’s Mother (calmly but firmly):**
“Because your future is already planned, Afrah. You’re going to be a wife, a mother. That’s your future. This career, this promotion—it’s a distraction from what really matters. You need to focus on your marriage. On your duties.”
Afrah couldn’t take it anymore. The walls were closing in, the weight of their expectations becoming unbearable.
**Afrah (furious):**
“I can’t believe you think like this. That you want me to just sit and wait for my life to happen to me, instead of taking control of it. This is my decision, not yours.”
With that, she stormed out of the room, her heart pounding, every nerve in her body on fire with frustration. Her mother’s voice trailed after her, but Afrah didn’t listen. She was done listening.
**Afrah’s Mother (to her father, her voice soft but weary):**
“See what I mean? She doesn’t listen anymore. All this freedom... it’s dangerous. It changes them.”
---
Her room:
Afrah threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in her pillow as a wave of frustration washed over her. Her heart was still pounding from the argument with her mother, and her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
**Afrah (thinking, fuming):**
*Why does she always do this? Why can’t she ever just support me without throwing marriage in my face?*
She squeezed her eyes shut, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind: *"Why all the hassle when you’re about to get married? We don’t have money problems. You don’t need this."*
*Need?* Afrah seethed. *Since when is it about need? It’s about what I want! My independence. My career. Why is that so hard for her to understand?*
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her mother had always been like this—overbearing, strict, and endlessly focused on what people thought. Ever since she was a child, Afrah had grown up under the shadow of *what others would say*. Her mother's reputation in the community was impeccable—*a pious woman,* they’d say, *raising her daughters with the utmost care.* And Afrah had been raised to be the perfect daughter, at least in the eyes of society.
But the more Afrah tried to break free, the tighter her mother’s grip became. Her freedom, the little independence she had, was constantly under scrutiny.
**Afrah (thinking, bitterly):**
*"We’ve given you enough independence," she says. How much is ‘enough,’ Ammi? How much until I’m allowed to live my life without being reminded of what Syeda’s daughter is doing or how I’m supposed to fit into some mold I never asked for?"*
Afrah felt her jaw clench. Her mother’s intuition was another thing that made her feel trapped. There was no denying that her mother had a sixth sense when it came to certain things—especially when it came to men. Afrah had seen it before, how her mother would catch wind of a scandal even before it became gossip.
And now her mother had dropped that bombshell about Nafisha from the Khan family, as if it were a subtle warning to Afrah. The girl had been caught with a man, and not just any man—*a Hi789*. The rumor was that she had gotten pregnant, and her parents had swiftly married her off to her cousin to save face.
**Ammi’s voice:**
*"Too much freedom for a girl is harmful. Look at Nafisha. She was caught with that man—ruined her family’s name. We had to hear about it from the neighbors before they could even cover it up. Do you want to end up like her?"*
Afrah’s hands balled into fists at her sides. *I am nothing like Nafisha,* she told herself. But the weight of the comparison sat heavy on her chest. The constant warnings, the pressure to be the perfect daughter, the good wife, the obedient woman—it was suffocating.
And then, as if her thoughts weren’t already spiraling, Vishal’s image entered her mind again, uninvited and unwelcome.
*What would Ammi say if she knew about him?* Afrah shuddered at the thought. Her mother had a way of sensing things, of picking up on the slightest change in behavior. Would she have already guessed something was going on with Vishal? Would she somehow know about the kiss, the attraction, the dangerous tension that brewed between them?
Her mother’s intuition felt like an invisible hand guiding her every move, reminding her that one slip, one misstep, and she could be the next scandal in their community.
*But Vishal...* Afrah’s mind betrayed her again. Despite her anger at her mother, despite the warnings, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His smirk, his touch, the kiss that still made her body heat up whenever she thought about it.
*Why do I even care what she thinks?* Afrah thought bitterly. *Why do I care about any of it?*
But deep down, she knew the answer. It wasn’t just about her mother or the community—it was about how much power they had over her. As much as she wanted to rebel, to claim her independence, she couldn’t fully shake the fear of disappointing her family. Of being the girl who strayed too far.
**Afrah (thinking, frustrated):**
*She’s acting like I’m already guilty, like I’ve already crossed some line.*
The truth was, she hadn’t. Not yet. But Vishal made her feel like she could, like the line was just within reach—and crossing it would be thrilling, exhilarating, everything she wasn’t supposed to feel.
Afrah sat up, brushing her hair out of her face, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Anger at her mother for constantly controlling her, fear of disappointing her family, and the undeniable pull of attraction to Vishal.
*Ammi is wrong about me,* Afrah thought, her jaw tightening with resolve. *I’m not going to end up like Nafisha. But I’m also not going to live in a cage.*
She glanced at her phone, her mind wandering back to the office, to Vishal’s teasing smile and the promotion he had offered. Could she really work alongside him, knowing how he affected her?
Her body betrayed her even now, as she thought of how he looked at her, how his fingers had lingered on her skin that night. She felt that familiar heat rise in her, and she hated herself for it.
But at the same time, it thrilled her. Vishal was dangerous, and she knew it. But part of her wanted to see just how far that danger could take her.
---
Afrah lay back on her bed, feeling the weight of the argument with her mother still pressing on her chest. Her head spun, full of conflicting emotions. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something reckless. Instead, she reached for her phone, hoping for some solace from the one person who should be her partner, someone who might understand her struggle. Sohail.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she sent the text:
*"I got offered a promotion at work today. It’s a great opportunity—more pay, more responsibility."*
She stared at the phone, waiting, her heart pounding faster than it should have been. Finally, it buzzed, and she eagerly opened the message, hoping for some validation, some encouragement.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"A promotion? That’s good, I guess… but don’t you think this could be too much with the wedding coming up? Will you have the time for it?"*
Afrah’s face fell. The air left her lungs in a slow, bitter exhale. *Of course,* she thought. *Of course, that’s what he would say.*
It wasn’t outright disapproval like her mother had shown, but there it was—disappointment, masked as concern. The subtle pressure, the unspoken expectation that she should be thinking about their future, not her own career. Her stomach churned as the realization hit her: Sohail was no different from her mother in that regard.
She typed back quickly, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts.
*"I can handle it, Sohail. It’s a good opportunity. And it’s important to me, to have my own career and independence."*
Afrah tossed the phone onto the bed, pacing the room as she waited for his response. Her mind raced, full of the echoes of her mother’s earlier words about *too much freedom* for girls. The way her mother’s face had twisted in disapproval when Afrah mentioned her independence. Now, it was happening again, this time from the person she thought would support her the most.
The phone buzzed, and she snatched it up, her stomach flipping with equal parts hope and dread.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"I get that you want independence, but we’ll be married soon, Afrah. You won’t need to work after that. I can take care of everything. And honestly, my mother wouldn’t be happy if you kept working after the wedding. You know how she is."*
Afrah felt her blood boil. *His mother.* It always came back to her. The invisible force that seemed to govern everything. Afrah could practically hear his mother’s voice through the text, her disapproving gaze, her quiet yet suffocating control over their future. She’d heard about her expectations enough already—how a wife should be, what her role would be. And now Sohail was echoing it, repeating his mother’s beliefs as though they were his own.
Afrah typed furiously:
*"Why does it matter what your mother thinks? This is my career, Sohail. I want this."*
Her heart pounded as she hit send, and she threw her phone down, unable to even look at it for a moment. *Why is it so hard for them to understand?* she thought angrily. *Why do I need to justify every single thing I want?*
She paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. She could still hear her mother’s voice from earlier:
*"We’ve given you enough freedom. Look at Syeda’s daughter, she’s already married and expecting a child. Too much independence leads to trouble."*
*And now Sohail, saying the same thing in a different way. It’s like they all have a plan for me, and I don’t even get a say.*
Her thoughts spiraled further. Her mother had always had a strange intuition about men, constantly warning Afrah about the dangers of too much freedom. She had told her stories of girls who’d lost their way, like Nafisha from the Khan family. How she had gotten pregnant by a ***** man while working. How her parents had hurriedly married her off to her cousin to cover up the shame. The way her mother’s voice dripped with disdain every time she mentioned Nafisha.
*That’s what she’s afraid of,* Afrah thought. *She thinks I’ll end up like Nafisha. As if working, being independent, somehow means I’m heading toward scandal.*
The thought of it enraged her. She wasn’t like that. She had control over her life. She wasn’t some reckless girl. But the more she thought about it, the more the walls felt like they were closing in on her. Every move she made seemed to come with judgment. And now, with Sohail echoing her mother’s words, it felt like there was no escape.
Her phone buzzed again, and she reluctantly picked it up.
**Sohail’s Message:**
*"It’s not just about my mother, Afrah. I want you to be happy too. We’re going to have a family. You won’t need to worry about working so much. Isn’t that a good thing? You’ll be able to focus on other important things."*
Other important things. Like what? Like being a perfect wife, attending to every need of his family? Like staying out of the workplace, where she felt alive and accomplished? The words felt patronizing, as though he were trying to gently push her back into the box they all thought she belonged in.
*He’s doing it too,* she realized. *He’s trying to manipulate me, to make it seem like it’s for my own good.* But she saw through it now. He was wrapping his control in pretty words, but it was still control.
Afrah’s anger surged. She typed back, her fingers trembling with fury:
*"It’s my decision, Sohail. I haven’t decided anything yet, and I won’t be pressured."*
She hit send and threw the phone down again, her heart racing, her mind spinning. She couldn’t stand it—everyone telling her what she should do, how she should live. And in the middle of it all, the memory of Vishal crept into her mind.
*Vishal wouldn’t care about any of this,* she thought bitterly. He wouldn’t be telling her to give up her independence, her career. If anything, he’d probably laugh at how ridiculous it all was. And for a brief moment, she imagined him, with his sharp eyes and easy confidence, smirking at her over a glass of whiskey, telling her to go after what she wanted without a care in the world.
She shook her head, trying to push the thought away. *Why am I thinking about him again?* she wondered. But deep down, she knew why. There was something about Vishal that excited her, something that made her feel... different. He represented everything that was forbidden, everything that she was told not to be. And right now, as she fought against the walls closing in around her, that temptation felt stronger than ever.
Her phone buzzed one last time. She glanced at it, but didn’t pick it up. It was Sohail again, no doubt trying to placate her, to gently push her back into line. But she wasn’t in the mood to be placated anymore.
Instead, she lay back on the bed, her thoughts swirling between frustration, defiance, and something far more dangerous.
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