Author's Note

Assalamwalaikum! I'm excited to start this new journey of MPHT! I hope you will stick around and enjoy! Please vote and let me know your thoughts in the comments. Lots of love 💫

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Alizey's P.O.V.

"Hey guys! Thank you all SO much for your votes on the last chapter! It means a lot! On top of that, I CAN'T believe I hit 1,500 followers! I never imagined I would have 1,500 of you keeping up with my stories. This is such a huge milestone and calls for a celebration! I would like to use this opportunity to announce my new story-"

A sigh left my lips as my fingers paused on the keyboard.

I was yet to come up with a title for my new story on Wattpad.

I slumped back in my chair, my eyes shifting to the window in hopes the dark night sky would evoke some sort of idea.

'Us.' No, that's too simple. Uhhh. Yes! 'Love Next Door.' Hmm not bad. But what about...

Being an anonymous writer, I couldn't even ask my friends for suggestions. However, my cousin Harris, who is younger than me by two years and just so happens to be my best friend, knows I'm a secret author, but he always has outlandish ideas and wouldn't take it seriously if I asked for his opinion. My older siblings, Amaira and Jia, also knew, but they always brushed off my questions because they found my hobby childish.

They were very much entitled to their opinion, but writing was something I was deeply passionate about and found happiness in. Creating my own stories and characters, getting lost in their world, it gave me hope and a different universe to escape to, a universe where my dreams come alive.

I grabbed my pen, tapping one end against my temple, "What can I title it? Two childhood best friends who are next door neighbors. Both are Pakistani, but the girl is also half Turkish. She owns a café. The guy falls for her, but she falls for a customer who happens to hate-"

My door swung open. "Kisse baat kar rahi ho, Alizey?" my mother Afreen chuckled sweetly, entering my room with a glass of water.
(Who are you talking to, Alizey?)

I sat up and shut my laptop. "Kisi se bhi nahin, Mama. Bas kahani ka naam soch rahi thi." I stood up and took a sip of the water, "Thank you."
(No one, mama. I was just thinking of what to name the story.)

She closed the curtains while I got into bed, "Baad mein sochna. Ab soh jao. Kal kaam par bhi jaana hai." She pecked my forehead then caressed my cheek, "Goodnight."
(Think about it later. Go to sleep now. You have to go to work tomorrow.)

"Goodnight, Mama."

She gave me a smile before closing the door.

I turned to my side, sinking into the sheets under my blanket, my eyes resting on the light, baby pink walls of my room.

Mama. She was the most loving person in my family and my favorite. She takes care of the household and is the glue that holds us all together.

But my heart ached for her. Having gotten married at an early age, she wasn't able to continue her studies. She was once a bright student and quite ambitious, but Papa, Jalal Ahmed, didn't let her study further nor did he let her work after they immigrated here to Los Angeles from Pakistan.

Under the burden of settling down in a new country, Papa also wasn't able to further his studies beyond the high school equivalent in Pakistan. After coming to America with Mama, he met Siraj Ataullah. Siraj Uncle was the owner of a few gas stations and motels. He gave Papa a job at one of his gas stations. My father began as a cashier then eventually worked his way up to being able to purchase the store. We then went from living in a two-bedroom apartment to a two-floor house with four bedrooms and three bathrooms.

Papa doesn't outwardly say it, but he regrets not having had the chance to study more. His other friends in our social circle have bigger businesses and houses. He feels had he gone to university, he too would have been on the same level. That's why he made sure my sisters and I become established professionally before anything else.

He was proud of Amaira Api, 29. She attained a Doctor of Optometry degree at 26. She's also been engaged to her fiancé Sarfaraz Ali for 2 years now, but she says she does not feel ready to marry him. None of us understand why. She's known him since she was little since we're family-friends, and he's head over heels in love with her.

Jia Api, 26, was in dental school, adding to Papa's pride. She was also utterly gorgeous, garnering the most, if not, all the attention out of us three sisters when we go out. In her free time, she very much enjoys swiping through dating apps and talking to guys for fun.

I, Alizey Ahmed, on the other hand, was neither medically inclined nor breathtaking in appearance. To Papa's dismay, I chose to study accounting. I was way better with numbers than I am with the sciences. After finishing my bachelor's in accounting, I recently started an entry-level accounting job. I, 22, was eager to be out of school and not have to study for exams anymore. But my father doesn't believe my degree has any worth unless I continue and become a CPA.

As hard as I try, it doesn't feel like I could ever meet his expectations. I failed to do so the moment I was born. The doctors had told my parents they were expecting a boy, and they were really excited since they already had two girls, but I'd proven them wrong when I came into the world. Mama was still elated, but my father was not. I can still see it in his behavior towards me, but Mama tries to reassure me by saying it's just in my head and that he loves my sisters and I equally.

Besides Mama, I was her brother Shehroze and his wife Dilnaaz's sweetheart, and I too loved them to bits. They suffered a miscarriage right before Mama was expecting me. According to them, it was like a ray of sunshine had emerged from the dark clouds in their life when I was born. They treat me the same way as Harris even after having him.

'It Was Always You.' No. 'His Butterfly.' Nah. Hmm. Maybe an Urdu title. 'Pyaar Ka Matlab Tum.' Not that either. What about 'Azmaish-e—as the thoughts of my upcoming story flooded my mind again, I slowly drifted off to sleep.

After praying Fajr the following morning, I got ready for work. It's always hectic in the mornings at the Ahmed household. Sharing two bathrooms, my sisters and I are scrambling to get ready at the same time; as soon as one leaves the restroom, the other storms in, regardless of if the former had finished inside or not.

Just after I gave my straight black hair one last brush, I looked at myself in the mirror once more. A dusting of powder and blush, a stroke of eyeliner, and a swipe of light pink lip tint—I was ready for work.

I exited the bathroom only for Jia Api to stake her territory and plug in the curling iron so she could curl her hair.

"Good morning, beta," Mama greeted warmly, placing a plate of toast and eggs in front me when I reached the dining table downstairs.

"Good morning, Mama," I smiled, pecking her cheek, "Good morning, Papa."

My father was sat at the end of the table, his fingers paused mid-tear of his paratha as he watched the cricket match on the TV anxiously. "Good morning," he responded distractedly.

I shook my head with an amused expression. It was like he was a part of the live audience watching the match in Pakistan itself.

As I neared the end of my meal, my sisters finally joined us all at the table.

"Papa, Mama, I'll be late coming home. I'm going to meet up with a friend after work," Amaira Api informed.

"Friend or Sarfaraz Bhai?" Jia Api teased.

"A friend," she clarified with annoyance. "Just because we're engaged doesn't mean Sarfaraz is my only friend. I have a life outside of him."

"She didn't mean it like that, Api," I contributed gently with a smile.

"Maybe I did," Jia Api shrugged playfully.

"I'll see if you still find it so funny when everyone's pestering you about your fiancé when you get engaged," Amaira Api grumbled.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed today," Jia Api mumbled before taking a sip of her juice, making me stifle a giggle.

"Stop fighting you two. Alizey, do you want another piece of toast, beta?"

"No. Thanks, Mama. I'm done," I stood up and went to go wash my plate.

When I was nearly out the door after grabbing my car keys and purse, I heard my mother call after me, "Take this sweater! It'll be cold by the time you're coming home."

I rushed back to the front door and took it from her, giving her a hug, "Thank you. Bye."

"Bye! Fi Amanillah."
(May Allah protect you.)

While passing by the monotone cubicles, I gave small waves and quiet 'Hello's to the familiar faces.

I hung my bag on the plastic hook of my beige cubicle wall then pulled back my chair, sitting down and logging onto my computer.

E-mail, e-mail, spam, meeting invite, deadline reminder, spam. Bleh.

While auditing a report for three hours, my eyes wandered over the sea of cubicles.

Where will my characters live? London? I love London, although I've never visited the city. I think I should go with something different though. Perhaps Manchester... And what about the best friend? How does he look? Umm. Yes, hazel eyes, strong lean physique, tall, nice dark hair and scruff. He's a poet and a painter. Uff! How dreamy. Kaash mujhe bhi aisa koi milta-
(I wish I could find someone like him-)

"What are you thinking about having for lunch?" I heard Susie from behind me.

Susie. She was my only friend at the office. Blonde, hardworking, and also incredibly competitive.

I glanced at the clock. Finally! Lunch time. "I'm meeting up with my cousin for lunch. He wants to grab pizza."

And I was eager to escape the boring office and just drive around with the windows down for a bit.

"Oh. Nice. I brought my lunch from home today. Well, see you when you get back. I can finish up the report after you're done with your part."

"Sounds good," I stood up and grabbed my bag, "See you."

"Bye!"

Cruising down the wide streets with my windows rolled down, the cool breeze filled my lungs, bringing a smile to my lips. The California sun was shining, and it was the perfect day to drive by the beach. Too bad I didn't have enough time. I had to get back to the office before lunch ended.

🎶"Bahara bahara," I sang along to my playlist, "hua dil pehli baar mein. Bahar-" I pressed accept on the incoming call, interrupting my song. "Kya hai?!" I snapped jokingly.
(What is it?!)

"Kya 'Kya hai?' Kahan ho tum? Kab se intezaar kar raha hoon. Yaar, ye pizza ki khushboo se munh mein pani aa raha hai."
(What 'what is it?' Where are you? I've been waiting for so long. Man, this pizza's aroma is making my mouth water.)

"Aa rahi hoon, aa rahi hoon. I'm like three streets away. Sabr karo."
(I'm coming, I'm coming... Be patient.)

"Sabr karte karte mere baal safed ho gaye. Jaldi karo. Main table leta hoon."
(Being patient has made my hair turn white. Hurry up. I'll reserve a table.)

"Okay. Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

As I was approaching the next intersection, my eyebrows furrowed. My car was making an absurd sound.

It was getting louder, and as I tried to slow down, I realized the breaks were barely working.

"Oh no. No no no." I quickly turned the steering wheel, pulling over to the curb.

The car used to be Jia Api's and I'd gotten it as a hand-me-down. It wasn't a bad car, but it was not the newest either. However, it had never caused any problems before.

I switched the gear to park then turned off the car.

"Please please please be fixed! Ya Allah, this can't be happening. Please don't let there be anything wrong." I twisted the key back into the slot, but it didn't turn on again. "No!"

I tried it two more times to no avail.

"Harris, my car started making this loud noise, so I pulled over, but now it won't turn on again!" I explained with a panic into my phone.

"Sh*t, what?! Okay, calm down. Where are you? I'm coming."

I told him my exact location. "Harris, Papa is going to kill me. I can't tell him!"

"Zey, you know you're going to have to tell him. There's no way around it. I don't even have anything to try and give it a jump with."

"He's going to yell at me," I whined.

"Try calling my dad then. See what he says."

"Okay," I nodded eagerly, "That's a good idea." I hung up and quickly dialed Shehroze Mamu's number.

"Hello," a feminine voice answered.

"Hello, assalamwalaikum Dilnaaz Mami-"

"Walaikumsalam. What happened, Alizey?! You sound worried."

"Is Mamu there?"

"He's taking a shower. But what happened?"

"I came out for lunch to meet Harris, but my car stopped working."

"Oho! Are you okay, beta?"

"Yes, Mami."

"Did you call Jalal Bhai?"

"No. You know Papa is going to get angry! Mami, I have to get back to work soon!"

She sighed. "In that case, you should just call him, beta. Otherwise, you're going to be late. Just rip off the bandage."

"Mamiii."

"I know, dear. Get it over with. Aur suno. Main ek mechanic shop jaanti hoon. Wahan tumhein discount mil jayega. Fawad Raza naam ke ek ladka kaam karta hain wahan. Mera naam logi toh asaani se tumhara kaam ho jaayega. Main text kar deti hoon address."
(... And listen. I know a mechanic shop. You will get a discount there. There's a guy named Fawad Raza who works there. If you mention me, your task will be completed easily. I'll text you the address.)

I ran my fingers through my hair with frustration, nodding with reluctance. "Thik hai. Thank you."

"I'll tell your Mamu to give you a call after he's done. Keep us updated."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

"Kya zaroorat thi tumhe kaam chhod ke Harris se milne ki?!" I held my phone away from my ear as my father's voice blared from the speaker, "Naukri gavana hai kya? Aise laparwahi se koi kuch nahin banta-"
(What was the need to leave work and meet Harris?! Do you want to lose your job? No one becomes someone big with such carelessness-)

"Papa-"

"Apne beheno se kuch sikho. Bohat mushkilon se ek mamooli si job mila hai, aur woh bhi haath se jaayega. Phir ghar baithe rehna. Aur woh Harris? Classes chhod ke tumse milne aa raha hai. Dono ke dono kuch nahin banoge. Uske waldein aur tumhari ma tum dono ko bigaad ke rakha hai."
(Learn something from your sisters. With great difficulty you got an ordinary job, and you'll lose that too. Then sit at home. And that Harris? Instead of going to class, he's coming to meet you. Neither of you will amount to anything. His parents and your mother have spoiled both of you.)

My frame deflated out of gloom. It's not like I meant for this to happen. "I'm sorry. Please just tell me what to do. Mami was saying she knows a mechanic shop and someone named Fawad Raza who works there who could give us a discount-"

"Call them and see if they can tow your car to their shop. I'm on my way."

"Okay. Thank you, Papa."

"Phone rakho."
(Hang up.)

I dragged my hands down my face. Yeh sab abhi hona tha? (All of this had to happen now?)

I called my work and explained my situation to my manager honestly, and thankfully, he was understanding. Harris, who couldn't figure out what was wrong with the car after lifting its hood, waited with me until my father and the tow truck came. After greeting his uncle, he fled to class, grateful to have an excuse that allowed him to avoid taunts from my father.

Papa muttered annoyances while I sat in silence, twiddling my fingers anxiously during the drive to the mechanic shop.

The man who towed my car led the way, and I trailed behind my father timidly, inspecting the grungy place. Cars on platforms, spare parts, and numerous tools were scattered around the room with a handful of employees surrounding them.

The mechanic guiding us stopped when Papa cleared his throat, "I heard there's someone named Fawad Raza over here. He knows my sister-in-law. I would appreciate it if we could work with him."

The man lifted an eyebrow but nevertheless nodded toward a pair of long coverall-clad legs protruding from under a car, "Ay Raza! They're asking for you."

The figure wearing the navy-blue jumpsuit stained with splotches of grease slid out on his creeper, or the board with wheels he was laying on, from under the car. His light brown eyes shifted from the man helping us to my father before they paused on me.

Messy, shiny jet-black hair that looked as though he'd brushed his fingers through it, short scruffy stubble, and defined bone structure—Fawad Raza's rugged appearance was heart-stopping.

And that's exactly what it felt like as our eyes met.

It was like time had come to a standstill. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. He seemed so familiar, as though we were meeting again after a long time.

It was everything I write to describe the meet-cutes between the characters in my stories. But those type of things don't really happen in real life, do they? Was it just my overthinking and me simply finding him attractive?

It only lasted for the brief moment we were sharing a glance because he looked away before I could register what the unfamiliar feelings were.

He got up and reached for a rag, wiping his hands as he approached. "How can I help you?" he asked in a baritone voice, his eyebrows tugged together.

His serious expression gave away his curiosity as to how we knew him and his low tolerance for bullsh!t.

"My brother-in-law's wife Dilnaaz recommended your mechanic shop. My daughter's car broke down. If you could take a look at it-"

Fawad nodded, a subtle look of recognition on his face. He began heading over to my car. Papa and I followed him, watching as he lifted the hood and examined the engine.

I couldn't refrain from studying him. There was a dark cloud of mystery that surrounded the man. It was hard to tell if he seem misplaced in this mechanic shop or his unkempt look as a mechanic added to his appeal.

"Tell him what happened," Papa said to me.

I cleared my throat, "The car started making this loud noise-"

His fingers froze around a plug, his serious eyes remaining focused on the engine as he listened to my voice.

"-and then the breaks were barely working. After I pulled over and turned off the car, it wouldn't turn on again." My cheeks grew warm as I lowered my gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He didn't say anything and continued analyzing the parts in silence.

"If you aren't able to figure out what's wrong, maybe someone else can help us," Papa stated out of impatience.

Fawad's light brown orbs scanned the vicinity before lowering back to the engine. "You'll have to bear with me unfortunately. No one else is available."

Papa's eyebrows furrowed as he folded his arms.

Fawad took another several minutes to diagnose the issue with my car, causing Papa to mutter quietly, "Pata nahin Dilnaaz ko kahan se isko mila? Itna waqt laga raha hai. Adha kaam toh ab tak ho jaana chahiye tha."
(Who knows where Dilnaaz met him? He's taking so much time. Half of the job should've been done by now.)

The slightest smirk tugged on Fawad's lips, proving he had heard my father.

He eventually straightened his back and dusted his hands on his coveralls. "There's an issue with the fuel line and the starter motor is almost worn out. You can expect to pick up the car by 11 tomorrow."

Papa lifted an eyebrow incredulously, "11?! My daughter has to be at work by 9 AM."

"We need to order another motor. It'll get here in the morning."

"I'll just ask Amaira Api to drop me off," I whispered to my dad.

"Can I get a rough estimate for the cost?"

Fawad began walking off, "You're looking around $750."

"$750?!"

He stopped at a utility cart near a red vintage car and lifted a box of cigarettes, taking out a small stick and holding it between his lips. He gestured at someone, mumbling to the guy after lighting the cigarette.

"Kya faida tha yahan aane ki agar koi discount vegara nahin dega?" Papa grumbled.
(What was the point of coming here if he won't give us a discount?)

The guy came to us with a clipboard bearing the paperwork and a pen.

"Papa, I'll pay for it."

"Tumhara baap abhi bhi zinda hai. Charge my card when you come to pick it up after work tomorrow. Fill out the papers."
(Your father is still alive...)

I nodded. After signing the document, I returned the papers to the man.

"Will you be here when Alizey comes to pick it up?" Papa asked Fawad, who was flipping through a replacement parts catalogue with a phone in hand.

His eyes lifted slightly at my name.

They lowered again, continuing to search through the catalogue as he nodded. "Nowhere I'd rather be," he stated sarcastically in his stoic demeanor.

"Chalo, Alizey."
(Let's go, Alizey.)

I followed my dad while he muttered under his breath, "Kaam par cigarette pi raha hai. Agar mera shop hota toh kab ka nikaal chuka hota. Beparwah, lafanga kahika. Yeh akhri baar tha ke Dilnaaz ki baat sun raha hoon."
(He's smoking on the job. If it was my shop, I would've fired him long ago. Careless good-for-nothing. This was the last time I listened to Dilnaaz.)

As we passed by another car receiving maintenance, I slowly lifted my gaze to its side mirror to catch another glimpse of Fawad only to find him already gazing at me through the reflection.

It was the second time he was looking at me all the while we had been here.

My heart skipped a beat, making me look away immediately.

When we finally reached our car, my hand curled around the door handle when I heard Fawad murmur to the guy holding my paperwork, "Take off 200. I know them."

I glanced at Papa, who evidently hadn't heard him and was still busy cursing him and his unprofessional behavior.

Despite my dad's attitude, he was still kind enough to give us a discount.

Papa dropped me off at work, saying there was no reason for me to miss out on the rest of the work day. Harris picked me up at 5, still wanting to grab pizza. We then went to our favorite coffee shop for dessert, sitting outside at a table under an umbrella.

"Yaar, kuch kha lo," Harris slid the slice of chocolate cake closer to me. "Pizza slice toh adha kha ke mujhe de diya."
(Man, eat something. You ate half the pizza slice then gave it to me.)

"Taanon se pait bhar gaya, shukriya."
(My stomach is full from taunts, thanks.)

"Phupa toh aise hi hain. Kaunsa pehli baar kuch kaha hai unhone, behena. Aur yeh cake ka kya dosh? Yeh lo, munh kholo," he lifted a spoonful to my mouth, prying it between my lips.
(Uncle is like that. It's not the first time he's said something, sister. And what's this cakes fault? Take it, open your mouth.)

I furrowed my eyebrows, left with no option but to eat the cake. "Achcha hai."
(It's nice.)

"Hain na?" he ate a big bite himself.
(Right?)

"Hey! You ordered that for me," I tugged on the small plate.

He attempted to pull it closer to him, "You didn't want to eat it!"

"Give me the rest of it! It's mine!"

"I want it!"

"So do I!"

We kept tugging until the remainder of the slice flew onto the pavement.

"Great," I sighed.

"It's your fault."

"Oh really?" I tilted my head, staring at the plate which was now between his fingers.

He pushed it back towards me. "Yes."

The image of Fawad returned to my mind suddenly. I'd lost count of how many times I couldn't help but think of him for the remainder of the day.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to sound nonchalant, "I was meaning to ask... Do you know Fawad Raza?"

"I know of him."

"What do you mean? What's he like?"

"I don't know. His mom and my mom were best friends before Aunty passed away. He's 28, so he's 8 years older than me and 6 years older than you. I've met him here and there growing up, but we were never really close because he was older. I do know that he stopped coming over a few years ago, but my mom's still in contact with him. I haven't seen him in a long time. Mom doesn't really talk about him or his mom either. It makes her really emotional... Why?"

"Mami recommended the mechanic shop he works at."

"Pyaar ho gaya usse?" he teased.
(You fell in love with him?)

I sat up immediately, "What? No! I was just asking!"

"Sweaty forehead, dirty hands, stained coveralls, light beard— Zey's got the hots for Fawad."

I crumpled a napkin and threw it at him, "Shut up! No, I don't!"

"Good description, right? It's a scene right out of your stories. You should put something like that. Don't worry, I won't ask for any credit."

"Be quiet! No, it's not! I was just curious!"

"Curiosity killed this cat with his looks."

"Harris," I growled.

"Why are your cheeks turning pink then? Huh?"

"I'll pick up the cake from the floor and shove it into your mouth!"

"Yum. Extra protein from the ants covering it."

"Ew! Gross!"

He laughed before we continued quarreling.

When he finally dropped me home at 9 PM, I opened the front door and walked in, kicking off my shoes, "Mama! I'm home."

It was when I finally looked up did I notice her serving tea to Siraj Uncle, who was sat on the sofa with my father.

"Assalamwalaikum," I greeted him politely with a nod.

"Walaikumsalam, Alizey beta. How are you?"

"Alhamdulillah. And you?"

"Alhamdulillah. Are you just getting back from work?"

I glanced at my father, who signaled at me with large eyes. I nodded.

"Of course. I wouldn't expect Jalal's daughters to be anything but hardworking."

Papa smiled. "How's Tahir by the way?"

The men resumed their conversation while Mama came closer, "Have you eaten, beta?"

"Yes, Mama."

She smiled. "Go take some rest. It's been a long day for you."

I returned the smile and went upstairs to greet my sisters. Jia Api was studying, more like swiping through her phone while holding her textbook, and Amaira Api still wasn't home. After freshening up and offering my prayers, I sat down at my desk.

"When is the next update?! 😫" I read the comments on my Wattpad profile. "I love your stories. Please post the next chapter. I can't get enough of the chemistry between Rihan and Noor!"

Still unable to come up with the name for my next story, I opened up Microsoft Word and continued writing the draft of the next chapter for the story I was almost done with.

"Rihan's chocolate brown eyes sparkled as he gazed at Noor while twirling her," I read the words aloud while typing them, "It was as though everyone had disappeared from the dance floor, and it was only the damsel clad in her cherry red dress and her knight in shining armor donning a black tuxedo in the room."

As I pictured the scene while writing, I found myself imagining myself as Noor, pausing with her eyes lowered and hands resting on Rihan's chest after he stopped spinning her. Her innocent orbs slowly lifted to meet Rihan's, and suddenly my fingers froze on the keyboard.

Fawad.

I was imagining Fawad as the main hero of my story.

What was I doing?!

I barely knew the guy.

But for some reason, here I was, unable to brush off the inexplicable desire to see him again when I pick up my car tomorrow.