"I'm on fire! I am on fire! I am on fire!"

Like any other day, I was lying on the sofa using my phone after coming back from the coaching center, where I had been taking classes. I was singing "I'm On Fire" from the movie Fifty Shades of Grey. In a high pitch.

I hadn't watched that movie yet, nor have I seen the 365 Days series! I don't know why, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I always make up my mind to watch them, but I end up texting Siddique instead and telling him I am watching it. Then it happens!

I can easily watch it on Netflix, but I never do. Thanks to him. But to be honest, it's all me. It's always me who texts him to inform him I'm going to watch it. Then he asks me not to, and I follow his damn order, like the good girl I am.

But today, I've made up my mind. Tonight, I'll finally watch Fifty Shades of Grey. To prepare myself, I'm listening to the songs and singing in high pitch to get in the mood. This time, I won't message him to inform him I'll watch it tonight before I sleep. I'm going to do it, tonight.

Christian and Anastasia. Ah! Hot couple.

"I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" I sang carefreely, not bothering that my mother was at home, in the kitchen making dinner, and cringing as she heard me sing this risqué song shamelessly. I knew she would come running to make me shut up. I know my mother.

As expected, she came to me almost running, holding a spatula in hand, perhaps to beat me? Her face was red, and her hair was messy. She looked tired and angry for some reason. I could see her mouth moving. I guessed she was telling me to get up, freshen up, and change.

"Going," I said before getting up from my place and moving towards my room.

Ah! I almost groaned after I inhaled the smell of the delicious dishes she was cooking. I could tell she had made biryani, my favorite. Our favorite. Siddique, Rizwan, and me.

We had invited them for dinner. It was an excuse to get Rizwan home and for my mother to pamper them, especially Siddique! Sometimes I feel like he is her son, not aunt Amina's.

I don't know what got into me, but I moved towards the kitchen just to check what she had cooked for them.

"Great!" I wasn't surprised to see her preparing all of Siddique's favorite dishes and some of Rizwan's for dinner. Sometimes I feel my mother would exchange me for him with his mother. Honestly, I wouldn't mind. His mother loves me a lot, just like my mother loves Siddique.

She came running to me and pulled the earbuds from my ears forcefully, hurting me. I winced in pain and rubbed my ears to soothe them.

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

She ignored my question. "Go to your room, freshen up, and change into something nice."

"Why would I do that? What's the need to wear something nice? I can wear anything. A simple, comfortable salwar kameez? Or maybe a t-shirt and trousers?"

"Don't ask, just do as I say!" She literally dragged me out of the kitchen, pushed me into my room, and shut the door behind me.

I stood there in utter shock! "She had gone mad."

I locked the door behind me before heading to my cupboard to pick out my clothes.

Something nice.

After going through all my dresses, I decided on a light green salwar kameez. It had a deep "U" shaped neckline, full sleeves, almost floor-length, with beautiful pink flower work on it. It's vail is beautiful too. I love this dress. It was simple yet elegant.

Just perfect!

My room is just like the dress—simple but elegant. The walls were white, and the furniture was wooden, including a queen-size bed, nightstand, triple-door cupboard, study table and chair, dressing table, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror that I had especially requested my father to install. There was also a small couch next to my ironing stand.

I moved towards the ironing stand and quickly ironed the dress I had picked. I placed the dress on the bed along with my necessary undergarments.

I put my phone on charge and placed my earbuds in their proper place on the nightstand. Then I turned on the AC to cool down my room for when I came back from my bath.

I took my towels and went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. I like to take a shower at night after coming back from coaching. I picked up this habit from Siddique. Otherwise, I used to bathe either in the morning or before lunch, around 1 p.m.

According to him, he gets good sleep by taking a shower before bed. But it doesn’t work for me. It keeps me awake until late at night, around 2 or 3 a.m. Then I wake up around 10 or 11 a.m., ensuring I get my eight hours of sleep— priority.

After taking a quick shower, I came out with a towel wrapped around my body, drying my hair with another towel. But my hands and legs froze when I reached my bed. There was a different ironed dress on it: a gorgeous soft pink Anarkali.

I knew my mother had done this. She has a bad habit of poking her nose into my business, which I don't like at all. If she believes I'm going to wear that dress to impress her or them, then my answer is no. I won't. I'll wear what I wanted. I am not going to please anyone. I will wear my simple but elegant dress. It's better than the pink one.

"You look beautiful in my favorite color. Wear it more often, Naaz."

"Really?"

"Yes. I don’t lie, you know that. Don’t you?"

'I do."

I smiled, remembering his compliment. He likes green. It's his favorite color.

Now who is wearing green to please someone? Bipolar! my mind mocked.

''Fuck," I frowned.

I looked at the pink dress for a moment, then grabbed it from the bed, walked to the cupboard, and shoved it inside. I pulled out the light green one and put it on, convincing myself that I wasn't wearing it to please him. I was wearing it because I liked it. It’s simple and elegant, or as my mom would say, something nice.

As I walked out of my room, I met my father. I greeted him with a smile and a salam. He returned the gesture, pulling me into a hug and kissing my hair.

"Ma Sha Allah! You're looking so beautiful," he said before breaking the hug.

"Thank you," I replied, smiling with tinted cheeks. I love my father a lot and would do anything for his happiness, and I know he feels the same about me.

"You're looking handsome," I said, taking a good look at him from top to bottom.

He did look handsome in his nude salwar kameez, a color that suited his tan skin well. He is a handsome man, with a tall figure and sharp features, traits I did not inherit.

I take after my mother with my light skin tone and soft feminine features. Not that I complain; I know I'm beautiful. Guys are often infatuated with me, but unfortunately, there's no one I'm infatuated with. Hashtag sad life.

"What are you wearing?" I heard my mom's angry voice.

Dad and I looked at her warily. She was standing near the kitchen door, hands on her hips, and her face red with anger. She looked furious, for no apparent reason. I was wearing good, decent clothes.

"That pink dress is too much for a simple dinner get-together. Anyway, they're not outsiders. They're family," I argued logically.

They are family—more than family. We are not with my father's family. My mother had no one when they got married, so I have zero knowledge about her side of the family. I never met them or knew them.

Of course, my father's family accepted their marriage and my mother when I was born. I was their firstborn. But there's still a bit of bitterness toward my mother. It's not that my mother is from a low caste or a different religion, is it?

To be honest, I hate them, especially that girl Mariyam. My cousin. She is two years younger than me, even being the elder daughter of my father's elder brother. My uncle got married a year later than my father, so they had their children late.

Mariyam has a younger brother, Imran. Imran is the same age as Rizwan, 18.

"I don't care, go and change," Mom's angry voice brought me back to the present. I didn't know why she was so upset.

"I won't." I can act like a brat sometimes.

"This girl—" She was about to slap me, but my father held her hand mid-air, stopping her.

I looked at her with wide-open eyes in disbelief.

I couldn't believe she was about to slap me over a simple dress change. What's so important about that dress? It's not like it had diamonds on it. Or is it something else?

"What's wrong with you, Sifat? You were about to hit my daughter? Just for a simple dress? A dress? What's wrong with this dress? She looks perfect to me." Dad yelled, shoving her hand away with force.

Mom looked hurt by his harsh tone, ready to cry at any moment. I understood why she was so sensitive. She doesn't have a family apart from Dad and me. On top of that, he never shouted at her like this. He is a soft-spoken person and very wise.

I didn't know what was wrong with both of them. They were both out of character today. I was confused and a little worried.

I held his arm. "Dad, it's okay." I tried to calm him, looking at Mom. She looked hurt and guilty.

"No!" he shouted. "She is overreacting. She has to stop acting like this."

By now, Mom had started to cry silently, covering her mouth and looking down. I felt bad for her.

"It's okay, Dad. She must be stressed about something," I said calmly and moved towards my mother to hug her.

She mostly acts like this when she is stressed about something. It's not new.

I pulled her into a teddy bear hug. She immediately hugged me back, sobbing and saying, "Sorry."

"It's okay, Mom," I said before breaking our hug. I looked at her and then at Dad. Dad looked guilty for shouting at her like that. I looked back at Mom again. "It happens."

I grabbed her chin and made her look at me. There were tears. I quickly wiped them away with my dress's dupatta, earning a small, cute smile from her.

"I'm not upset that you were about to hit me." Her smile fell, and she looked guilty. "Don't feel guilty, Mom. You have every right to punish me if I act like a brat." Both of them smiled a little.

I continued, "But yes, I did find it weird the way you were acting over a simple dress. Especially when Siddique and his family are coming. Mom, Dad," I looked at them. They looked a little tense.

I continued, choosing my words carefully, not to hurt her or my father, "For me, they're not outsiders that I have to deck up like a doll to impress them. They are family to me. I am closer to them than," I looked at my father, "your family."

"We know," both said, nodding in agreement.

I looked back at Mom, "Mom, they won't judge me for what I'm wearing. I could literally wear a T-shirt and trousers in front of them. No one would say a word to me."

Liar, Siddique will ask you to wear a dupatta with it, my mind mocked.

"Anyway, I don't think I'm wearing anything inappropriate. It's decent, simple, and elegant. I don't see any problem with it! Right, Dad?" I finished my argument, including him.

I didn't want to change this dress. Not because of him. But I felt too lazy to change it right now.

"Definitely," Dad said. "My daughter looks like an Apsara from heaven." He added, smiling proudly, as if he had a contribution in making me.

"Yes, you're looking beautiful. It's a nice dress." Mom nodded, finally appreciating my dress. I smiled, but it fell immediately when she added, "Wear some gold jewelry with it."

"Why?" I lost my cool.

"Don't ask, just do it." Saying this, she went back into the kitchen. God knows what else is left to cook.

"I won't." Ah, the brat I am.

"Naaz?" Dad called me.

"Sorry. But everything has a limit!" My patience.

I dashed back to my room, locked the door behind me, and sat on my bed to listen to a song from Fifty Shades.

"I'm on fire! I am on fire! I am on fire!"

••

Thank you ❤️