ZAYAN'S POV
I was asleep in my natural habitat, my bed, surrounded by my real soulmate's novels. Not the boring, academic kind, but the good stuff. The kind that makes you forget where you are until your mom decides to scream you back into reality.
"ZAYAN! YOU BETTER WAKE UP NOW!" she yelled, her voice cutting through my dreams like a sword through paper.
I groaned, turned over, and pulled a pillow over my head like it could protect me from the apocalypse.
"ZAYAN!" came another shout, this time with the power of thunder and pure maternal fury.
Defeated, I sat upright, hair a mess and soul still halfway in the dream world.
Dragging myself downstairs, I flopped into the dining chair. The smell of breakfast at least made the pain of waking up slightly worth it.
"Mummy, seriously… enough, yaar. I'm not three anymore," I muttered, yawning as I grabbed a paratha.
She didn’t even bother replying. Just handed me a glass of juice with a look that said “eat before I remind you exactly what age you act like.”
While I started eating, my grandparents shuffled over and joined me at the table with their usual morning chatter. I remembered something about a guest coming to stay with us probably someone from back home but no one had given me the details.
Then, I heard it.
The creak of the gate opening.
I wiped my hands quickly on a napkin, not giving much thought to my appearance, and stepped outside. The sun hit my eyes like a personal insult. I ran a hand through my messy hair and tried to look at least halfway human.
That’s when I saw her.
A girl standing by the car, pulling her suitcase behind her, talking to my dad and mom. For a second, I just stared confused. She looked... familiar?
Tall, composed, sharp features, and eyes that sparked with something I couldn’t quite place. And then she looked at me and really looked at me and it hit like a delayed punch to the memory.
"Izra?" I asked, voice slower than my thoughts.
She nodded, smiling a little.
"Zayan," she said back.
No. Way.
"You… actually remember me?" I asked, surprised, squinting a bit.
"A little," she replied, her tone teasing. "You were the one who always cried first, right?"
I blinked. "What? That’s so not true!"
Behind me, I could hear Dad laugh.
"It absolutely is," he said.
I rolled my eyes, though a smirk crept up before I could stop it.
And just like that, all the years in between didn’t feel as unknown as I thought, she could be a bearable person, I hope.
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