There are some dialogues in Urdu. Translation is here.

Lagi Shart?

The bet is on then?

Agar Mein Jeet Gai Tou?

What if I win?

Tou Haarne Wala Tumhara

The Loser will be Yours

Chichora: Indecent

Dholki: Drums relatively is small size

Chapter 2

He admires the neat and soft outlook of washroom. It is in cream and wood color. He had helped his Uncle, Yousaf Hamdani, to pick out the best design for his dream home.

The shampoos, face washes, rose water, Vaseline, coconut oil, scrubs, facial foams, black head removers and much more things are decked up nicely, shrieking that the bathroom belongs to a girl.

"So, her soft and long hair has this secret - Parachute's Coconut oil."

Getting free of his bathroom business, he is amazed seeing the changing hue of his face in mirror while washing hands.

Stunning!

He thinks of those hazel eyes which are blue today - more attractive.

This girl has stated to rule out his day as well as his night thoughts. Her sweet face teases him when he closes the door of his bedroom and feels forlorn. It's high time he gets a companion for himself.

To wipe his hand, he looks for the towel. It is missing from the towel rack. His wet hands may ruin the neatness of his clothes or may present him as a kid.

He looks around for the towel and finds it hung on the hook nail plate against the wall at right. As he pulls it forward, he discovers a treasure hidden beneath it.

Camisoles, braziers and panties of various colors and styles...

Being a pervert man, he caresses a few, biting his bottom lip at the sensations mere fabric is arising.

Surely, a sale's swag!

He smirks thinking of women and sale.

He does not have a habit to use girls' things, thus he simply pats his both sides of hands on towel.

Finally, moving out of the privacy of washroom and his pervert thoughts, he pays his gratitude - not only for the washroom.

"Can I?" Keeping his words at minimum, he offers a helping hand for gift bags. He is not a man of fewer words. But this women... one wrong word and he would lose her.

"No, I can manage." Oh, wow. Ego!

She does not want him to think of a her as a weak girl who cannot even manage a few bags. She can and she will.

By the way, why does his thoughts matter to her?

***

As she reaches near the stage, her sister's mother in law and sister in law stands to hug her.

"MaShaAllh." The mother of the man she has come along, praises her.

"Totally worth the wait." Aiedah Ejaz side hugs her with cheek kisses. She was also a Meer until marrying her dream man Ejaz Ali.

"You are looking beautiful, too." Out of formality, she praises them back. Gift bags are not in her arms as they will be given at the departure - later at night. She has set them in one of the hallway drawers.

Thankfully, her mother is busy with guests and the insult is saved for later.

She flares her Lehenga with her Aiedah Aapi for Boomerang and then they both pose as the photographer calls them. She has craze of pictures. She looks behind the main photographers and feels heat biting her cheeks. Arnav Raza Meer is also clicking pictures. His extremely private DSLR is now in his hands. No one is allowed to touch it. But for sure, if you ask him for a picture, and you will get one of the best pictures of your life.

"Let's get the fun started."

The youth hoots and then on the beat of Dholki, the Punjabi traditional wedding songs commence from the groom side.

"Chitta Kukkar Baneray Ty...

Chitta Kukkar Baneray Ty...

Kaasni Dupattay Waliye Munda Sadqay Tere ty...

Kaasni Dupattay Waliye Munda Sadqay Tere ty..."

There is a white cockerel on the parapet,

Oh girl with sky blue dupatta, I have fallen for you!

They end the lines merrily, challenging the bride side.

"Kunda lag Gya Thali nu...

Kunda Lag Gya Thali Nu

Hatha'n Uttay Mehendi lag Gai,

Ik Qismat Wali Nu..."

The plate is now locked

The one of the luckiest girls have gotten henna on her hands

The bride side sings back, enjoying the starter with common couplets.

Khushi looks towards her sister, lovingly, praying zillionths of happiness for her. They may fight but she will always want good to happen to her siblings like any other.

On their turn, groom side smiles and sings another couplet.

Maheen, the youngest sister of bride tugs Khushi's shirt. "Aapi, which song would we sing now?"

"Stay at ease, sweets." She fixes her younger sister's clip and looks towards her cousin for reply. She cannot think of anything with these stupid goosebumps which are not because of twelve Celsius. The actual reason is the constant stares of that specific man whom she has let to use her washroom. He is making her mind flabbergasted.

Her fourth number cousin clears her throat and leads her team before the voice from groom side could fully diminish. She glares at her cousin, telling her not to repeat it. The respect factor should be kept high in such functions.

She looks downwards to her attire, changing her sitting position on floor. "I am wearing clothes." She more of reassures herself. Why is he gazing me as if I have nothing on my body?

"Sarkay Uttay Rori Aa...

Sarkay Uttay Rori Aa...

Naalay Mera Challa La Leya, Naalay Ungal Marori Aa

Naalay Mera Challa La Leya, Naalay Ungal Marori Aa."

There is pebble on road

You have taken my circlet ring as well as sprained my finger

She loudly choruses with her squad, boosting up her morale. She cannot let a hazel pair to snatch her comfortable zone.

The groom, Aqeeb, takes the lead in reply, making the crowd chuckle in adoration.

"Kothay Uttay Chori Aa...

Kothay Uttay Chori Aa

Naalay Tera Challa Dawaa'n Ga, Naalay Ungal charhawaa'n Ga

Naalay Tera Challa Dawaa'n Ga, Naalay Ungal charhawaa'n Ga"

Come on roof, secretly

I will return your circlet ring as well as heal the sprain

The tootles touch the sky as he shows a ring in his hand to his beetroot Mankooha. Winking naughtily at his impeccably dolled up bride in maroon and sky blue, he tucks it back in his waistcoat pocket. Must be saving it for post marriage private moment.

At this, Khushi laughs hard, too, coming out from her jitteriness of being watched. Thankfully, she has gripped command on herself - momentarily though.

Half an hour passes and the fun is doubled. By now, the hard and fast line among the bride and groom side is hazed and all are enjoying as a unit.

Khushi has been ardently participating being warmed up by continuous couplets until now... Her head dawdles out of a sudden and she feels nausea.

"You okay, sweetie?" Mrs. Kiran Raza Meer enquires. She is drawn towards this reputable, honest and goodhearted girl since she saw her at her eight birthday party.

"I think my stomach is knocking. The last proper meal was of yesterday's afternoon." She politely informs, feeling really sick.

"You must go into the kitchen. Do you want me to accompany you?" Aunt Kiran asks her, again, feeling genuinely worried for this perfect girl; neither slender nor chubby.

"No, I don't want to stop the fun. I will join back shortly." She excuses and steps back wisely, avoiding the eyes. However, her efforts mark up a total fail to the man who is ogling her since the function started. She could not ditch him.

Her feet stop outside the kitchen to let her admire the girl in a pillar encased mirror. She steps closer to be assured of her perfect make up. She would be damned if her liner is smudged.

But dare this liner. It is her loyal friend. After liner, she feels cute of her glowing skin. Her soft, natural skin absorbs the foundations very well and why not... that Chichora has gifted her a full make up set two years back when he returned home finishing six years of studies from Italy.

The cosmetics are not only branded and but long lasting, water proof and reliable. This gift probably has the lifeline of two more years.

And wait, did she just call him Chichora?

He is a man his employees fear of. He is man quite famous and valued on social media. He is man of billions. He is...

Whatsoever.

All of these traits does not permit him the license of staring at her like a toddler's candy.

He is officially a Chichora.

Arnav Raza Meer is a Chichora.

She blabbers too much about him that she captures his image in mirror. She rolls eyes at her hallucinations.

"Uh, why here?" His cheeky tone startles her.

What is he doing here? Surely, Aunty Kiran would never send her macho son to look out for a young girl of twenty-two.

"For food." She plainly replies with narrow eyes.

He picks the hint and steps closer.

Wallah, she is going to die!

"You sing good."

"Yes, thank you." She goes with the courtesy. The men are really unpredictable. Her one move can ruin the environment of dear sister's wedding function.

"We are not bad either." He clearly wants to have a friendly conversation. Her freedom of study, her speaking and her dressing does not mean she is characterless girl. She is not roaming on streets with makeup that boys flirt will her. She has dolled up herself on her sister's wedding. Why is he trying his luck? It can never happen!

"Praising your own self, groom's brother." She mocks, trying to handle him with sharp words coated in honey.

"Nah..."

"Then let's have a bet. Tomorrow is Mehendi." He openly challenges, liking her dealing sense with men if they come after her.

"Lagi Shart?" Arnav asks for confirmation seeing her contemplating the answer.

She fights with her senses to keep working when he is standing a breath away. His closer existence is radiating his body heat so well to hers. She can count on his shallow and audible breathing sound.

"Main Jeet Gai tou?" Obviously, she would answer only after knowing the reward. She looks up into his eyes, waiting for the answer. Why she wants to listen more form him? She will always have a complaint to him for being brief with her when he has jolly relations with the whole family.

He must think her unworthy for a cordial conversation. Why does it sting?

"Tou Haarne wala Tumhara."

She is blown off as he replies with his intense, darken orbs borne into hers, penetrating intoxication into her as well. His warm breaths are fanning her face, heating her up.

Well, if he is charmed by her, let it be. It will benefit her in tomorrow's healthy competition.

He moves aside, cherishing her expressions for almost a minute.

Grabbing her Lehenga, she rushes inside kitchen. Once her breaths smooth out, she pats her burning cheeks, taking great care of makeover. She is burning inside out with shyness.

"Did he really say that?" She grips her heart, to command some patience and absorbance. "Allah." She looks up to gather some strength. No man could ever get courage to flirt with her and here he said such intense words with head cocked to her. She was stuck to her place under his charm.

What had happened to you, silly girl!

She curses her own self, feeling what he would be thinking of her as a girl. Every man wants a bold, modern, flirty girlfriend but such girls are not considered for a respectable position of wife. She has ruined her image in front of him.

Anyhow, she quickly tastes salt and then dishes out Biryani for herself from fridge and pops the plate in microwave. Meanwhile, she quickly extracts yogurt from fridge as well. She does not like it with hot meals but in case she feels to have a spoon of it, it will be at arm's length.

Sitting onto the slab, she begins throwing spoons on spoons of delicious rice in her hungry stomach and only halts at the sound of cough.

What the!

Her spoon stops in mid as she eyes him invading her safe spot.

Go out!

Her quota of the day to stand his flirtatious nature is over. They may get into a fight if he attempts to try his luck, again.

***

Men are so pervert.

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