"Why did you give the photo back? You should've kept it with you, poophead. I really want to see him!" Badr yells at me, lying on my bed and munching on her favorite American Style Cream & Onion flavored Lays, as I continue to sit in front of the mirror and brush my natural black curly locks of mid-back length. My eyes go from the mirror to her reflection to see if any chip crumbs are falling on my bed.

"You will see him today. He is going to be here anytime," I say nonchalantly.

"Aren't you excited?" she asks me as she gets off my bed, wipes her hand with her olive green hankie and adjusts her specs before walking towards me.

Realizing she won't be getting an answer, Badr takes the hairbrush from my hands and untangles the knots I can't reach. As she glides the brush through my curly strands, I see her reflection in the mirror in front of me, a sly smile playing on her lips.

I frown a bit seeing her and ask, "What is it?"

"Huh?"

She looks at my mirror image with her dark brown eyes wide open. I raised my eyebrows to which she smiled again and shook her head.

"Stop acting, doofus. Now spill," I say.

Badr purses her lips into a thin line, drags a stool from the corner of my room and sets it beside me. She sits and looks at me with her sly smile appearing again. I roll my eyes at her and before I can shout at her, she says, "I met a Korean guy!"

Badr is my childhood best friend who is also my neighbor. She moved next door when we were four and since then, we have been attached hip to hip, doing all sorts of mischief, getting into trouble and chastised together. Her parents are strict unlike mine and I'm always that one friend her parents have warned about. They think their daughter is an angel with a halo lingering above her dark brown wavy hair. They think that I'm a bad influence on their spotless daughter but only me and God knows. I don't have to do anything to direct her way to hell. She's born with an innocent face and a dirty mind. She's naturally the exact opposite of what her parents believe her to be. She has wild fantasies and that too about Korean guys, as she heard it from somewhere that they are good in bed. And since then, she has been on a hunt for Korean guys to which I paid no heed until now.

"What?" I ask her, not being able to digest the hot news I just heard.

She nods her head, the bangs that are out of her hijab dancing on her forehead along with her excitement.

"Yes."

"Wh- How?"

"On Insta. We are dating! His name is Ye-Joon. Kim Ye-Joon!"

I roll my eyes again. I grab the hairbrush from her, turn to face the mirror and continue to do my work.

"He's so hot, Pari! Like really hot. And he's so cute. Just imagine, having a body of Greek God and being boyfriend material. Isn't it amazing?" she asks, throwing her hands in the air.

"I don't know," I reply.

"And he sends me cute insta reels of cats because I mentioned once, just once, that I love cats. You know he has the same body as Jungkook but likes to wear big hoodies because he doesn't like showing off. Isn't it amazing?"

I sigh and turn to face her. Seeing my face that is void of expression she asks me, "What?"

"Can I see him?" I ask.

Her eyes light up hearing me. She nods her head and mumbles 'one sec' before rushing to my bed and grabbing her mobile.

She comes back and sits in front of me. She goes through her mobile as she says, "He has posted only three photos but they all are, oh my God, you take a look and see for yourself!"

She holds out her phone screen right in front of my face. I take a look and the first thought that hit me is, Damn! He's one fucking snack. But then I take a close look, more like observe. Taking the phone from her hands, I stare at her Korean guy for a few more minutes. He isn't showing his face but just his body, with and without a shirt.

"What? You like him? He's mine, Pari!" she says with a tone of pride and possessiveness.

I look at her with narrow eyes. She smiles like an idiot that makes me want to smash the phone on her pretty face and poke her pimples with a pin that is right next to me.

"Are you really an idiot or are you acting like one?" I ask, making an agape mouth replace her smile.

"What?"

"Baru, these pictures are from Pinterest," I say.

"Pinterest? No!" she defends.

"Yes, they are! I'm 101% sure about that."

"How do you know?"

"Look here, he posted only three photos and all are faceless. If you look closely, you can see his hair styles are different in all of them. The shape of his body also differs and his mobile too. He has two lenses on his camera in one pic and three lenses in another. These are definitely from Pinterest. If you don't believe me, just type faceless hot Korean guys and see for yourself. You will find many pictures of your "boyfriend"," I say, air quoting the last word to which she frowns.

"Maybe he changed his hair style when he took these pics. The body, you know he works out so maybe there can be changes and the camera, he's rich, girl. He's filthy rich. He told me that," Badr defends him again, like a good and loving "girlfriend" she is.

Even though she's a rank holder in English literature, her common sense is one big zero. Her parents are busy buying her PSC books as both of them want her to be a government employee, just like them. Her parents didn't allow her to join the same college as mine, as they said I would be a distraction for her. And so, we both went to different colleges but didn't miss out on anything that was to be shared about our lives in colleges.

I have always thought about this. Instead of keeping an eye on other people's children and pointing out their mistakes only to warn their daughter about them, Badr's parents should keep an eye on her and warn her about the world outside and people in general. This said Korean guy can be anyone- a honey trap that tastes sweet at first and then gets bitter, a slow poison that can put her life on a noose. It's social media after all. No one can say anything. Nothing is believable.

"Baru, listen to me. Just stop this dating and all. You don't know whether this guy is real or not. He doesn't have a photo of him on his account. How can you trust a faceless guy? And how do you know whether his name is even real? And you said he doesn't like showing his body. Then why did he post two shirtless pictures? Just ask yourself."

Badr stays silent for some minutes before adjusting her specs and opening her mouth, "But he is a good guy, Pari."

That's it! Some people tend to prefer cow dung instead of brain and so, me being a kind hearted woman, I let them. Especially my best friend who lost her complete sense as she's busy simping over a faceless imitation of Jeon Jungkook.

"Do whatever you want! But remember, if he asks for your photo or to join a video call, don't. Just don't, ok?" I warn her.

"I have already send a selfie of mine."

I facepalm hearing the words that just rolled off from a dumbass girl who is sadly my best friend. This facepalm is no new thing as I have been doing this since four. And the fact that Badr isn't having enough making me do this makes me want to literally take the pin and literally poke, not just her pimples but also her hollow head.

"I think I love him, Pari. You know, he always says-"

Ring!!!

God heard my silent prayers and the blessings come in the form of a phone call. The ringtone of Dancin Remix by Krono cut off Badr's prate about her inauthentic Korean boyfriend. A smile appears natch on my face as I see my another best friend's name flashing on my mobile screen.

"Oh! It's Kritika. Wait a minute," I say to Badr and walk to my balcony.

"Hey Kriti," I say as I take the call, only to hear silence as a response from the other side. "Kriti?"

"Did he come?" she asks me straightforwardly.

"Uhm...no but he will be here anytime, I guess. What is it?"

"Do you really have to do this?"

Kritika has been asking me this question since yesterday night, after I texted her about the New Zealand guy. She's against my idea of marrying him for New Zealand and not for love and a happy married life. She has been trying to talk me out of this whole ploy of using him for making my dreams come true. But everything is vain as I'm single-minded on this.

"I have to, Kriti. This is the only way I can get the ticket to my dream as far as I know. I just want to get out of here and go to my dreamland. You know how much I want that, right? More than anything and anyone, I want to fly away, Kriti."

"But you can convince your parents again, right? Try to change their mind, Pari."

"I have been doing that for the past three months. And what is the result? Only to get hit with questions regarding my graduation, marks, courses and internships to which I have no answer. Aththa and umma are happy and excited with this proposal and it just elevated when I said I'm interested. And that's why they are coming today, to see me."

"Pari..." she trails off and I get that she's upset with me.

Me and Kritika met on the first day of our college. She forgetting her wallet and me paying for her tea at our college canteen on the first day made us the thick friends we are, blessing me with a boon companion like her as a result of my goodwill. Whenever my family pulls me down, she's there to hold me and makes me stand on my feet again. She's a friend that anyone wishes for, once they see through her cold and intimidating exterior.

"Don't worry, Kriti. Everything will turn out to be good. I'm doing this for myself and if it makes me selfish, then I am selfish. A woman who is set to go to any extent for her dreams to come to pass is always selfish in the eyes of others, when in reality she's strong, gutsy and diligent. Those people are blinded by jealousy and so a woman that has power to change this world gets to be called selfish and egocentric. The society is like that, especially a society with people that eat their own shit for breakfast so that their brain can also be shitty just like them and their mouth. I'm so helpless when it comes to changing these literal shits, sorry not sorry!"

I hear a chuckle followed by laughter from the other side that makes me want to join her as well. My metaphor of people and shit worked well that Kritika is now laughing her eyes out.

"That's a good one, Pari!" she says in between her giggles.

"Gee, thanks!"

"Shitty people!" we say simultaneously to which we laugh more, making me wipe off the small teardrop form on the corner of my eye.

"Oh Pari! I hope that guy loves you for who you are. You deserve the best girl. I hope he's the one for you," she says, making me halt my laugh and purse my lips.

Deep down, in my heart of hearts, I hope the same.

Honk!

A car horn is heard behind my gate and when I turn my head to the direction of the sound, I see a black BMW X1. With the second horn, I see my brother running towards the gate and unlocking it and at the very same time, I hear my mom from downstairs, "Parisa, they are here! Come down. Don't forget to wear your hijab. And put some cream on your face."

"Oh, Pari! They are here! Come, let me get you ready," Badr says, beckoning me to go towards her.

"Oh shit!" I say on my phone.

"What?" Kritika asks from the other side.

"They are here."

"Holy fuck! Ok, don't panic. Take deep breaths and just don't panic, you're going to make things worse. You heard me?" she asks, trying to pass some confidence through the phone.

"Yeah yeah. I got it! Thanks, Kriti. I gotta go now," I say, taking the orange color shawl that goes with my orange salwar kameez from the couch and walking towards the mirror.

"Yeah, ok. Call me when they are gone."

"Yeah, I will. Bye!"

"Bye!" she says and cuts the call.

Without wasting a second, Badr turns me around to face her and does my hair, brushing some strands that are falling over my eyes. She takes the shawl and wraps it around my head, setting the strands of hair that are out of my hijab to the side.

She takes lipstick from my dressing table and asks, "Lipstick?"

"Fuck off!"

"No? Ok. Come, they are waiting," she says and takes my shivering hand in hers.

I take deep breaths like Kritika said. I can feel my stomach churning and something crawling up my throat.

"Baru."

I stop her, making her look back at me with concern.

"I wanna throw up."

━━━━━━━━»•»❀«•«━

The fragrance of my umma's snacks lingers around the house, filling up my lungs and making me drool. My ears catch the faint sounds of talking and laughing from the living room, making me more nervous.

I climb down the stairs with Badr holding me by my arm, fearing I may stumble down and fall on my face after seeing me throw up like a boozer. This boking is wonted for me as it can be awful when anxiety and panic attacks hit me like a damn truck.

I go straight to the kitchen to see Mohsin helping mom bring the snacks to the living on her special ceramic plates that she kept untouched since the day it was bought.

"Did you see the guy? He's so handsome!" my mom says, muffling her laughter with her shawl. "Now go and greet them like an elegant lady. Walk delicately and sit properly, not like how you walk and sit like a boy. Behave yourself. Don't talk unnecessarily and talk very gently like a soft spoken lady. And-"

"I can't do all these. If you can, then congrats! You are eligible to marry that guy. Now go and greet them," I cut off my mom, making her shock and Badr refrain herself from guffawing.

"This is what I said," my mom says and smacks my arm.  "Don't show your glib tongue to them. They will say you're arrogant and we didn't raise you well. So behave yourself! Now go."

I roll my eyes at her and turn my heels, heading to the living room. With each step I take, I can hear my heartbeat rising steadily.

"There she is!" my dad says as soon as he sees me walking to the living room.

The laughter comes to halt as everyone's gaze turns towards me and I have my eyes on the floor.

"As-salamu alaykum."*

"Wa ʿalaykumu s-salam."*

Everyone greets me back while I look at my dad, whose face is beaming with happiness.

"Masha' Allah."* I hear a woman's voice, making me look at her.

I see a woman in her 40s smiling at me with a cup of tea in her hands. She's wearing a light pink simple sari with its end covering most of her hair, her henna* dyed hair standing out. Her smile is so natural that I return a genuine smile to her.

"Oh, so this is Parisa. Beautiful!" the man sitting next to her says and I get that it's her husband, the guy's father.

He's a cheerful man, resembling my dad in terms of specs as both of them have thick black glasses. He's fat, unlike my dad, with a round belly that reminds me of Kung Fu Panda. The two buttons that are struggling to keep his belly in shape are having enough, threatening to burst out anytime.

I can see a figure sitting on the opposite couch but I don't look at him.

"Come here, Parisa," the woman calls me as she keeps the cup on the teapoy in front of her.

I walk towards her and the man gives me space to sit by getting up and sitting next to his son. I sit near the lady and smile at her again. She caresses my back lovingly before saying, "I'm Nabeesa, Cyrus' mother."

"And I'm Hameed, this guy's father," the man says, sticking out his thumb at the guy sitting near him and that's when I take a look at him, our eyes meeting each other's.

His onyx eyes are so intimidating that I feel like it pulled me into it and drowning me. His hair is longer than I saw in the photo, making him appear more Godly like. There are also a few streaks of dark brown hair peeking out of his neatly styled to the side black hair. He's much more dusky and slender than I saw in the photo. But I have to say, his skin is so fucking flawless. His taunt cheeks are brighter than my future- not even a single speckle! There's a small mole right in middle of his cupid bow and I find it attractive in a way. The designer stubble perfectly goes with his diamond shaped face, the edges of it enhancing his sharp jaw. He's way more attractive than I saw in the photo.

He's wearing a dark blue button down shirt along with black pants, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up, exposing his tanned veiny hands. His long fingers are drawing random patterns on the sofa arm and his sharp jaw clenches as we continue to stare at each other.

I gulp and my cheeks start to burn. I silently pray to Allah to make the scarlet tint on my cheeks invisible but I think I'm too late to pray as he sees my face and smirks. He fucking smirks that makes me frown a bit, being aware of not to make a face in front of the people around us.

"If you two have anything to talk or ask personally, go on," his dad suggests. "We can give them their space, can't we?"

It takes a few seconds for my dad to answer him. Unlike the retired teacher, my dad is a tad narrow minded and it is quite detectable from his delay of response.

"Ye- Yeah, sure. Parisa, take Cyrus to the courtyard," my dad says reluctantly.

I shift in my seat as his mom also coerces me to talk to him. I have no other option but to get up and lead the way to the courtyard with the Cyrus guy following me. As I'm heading towards the courtyard, I take a look at my mom and Badr, who's standing in front of the kitchen.

'Don't ruin it'. My mom mouths and I regret taking a look at her. Badr gives me a fist pump and mouths 'hwaiting', making me shake my head at her.

We enter the courtyard. I'm expecting him to say something but nothing. He's just standing there, his hands tucked inside his pockets and looking at the flowers my mom has planted. The air becomes tight with every passing second and beads of sweat form on my forehead and upper lip that I wipe off with my cotton shawl, being aware of him not seeing the edgy me.

Approximately after five minutes, I turn around hearing his cough to see him smiling at me.

As I continue to look at him, he says, "I'm Cyrus Hamid."

I nod my head slightly before saying, "I'm Parisa."

"Pretty name," he compliments to which I pass him a flash smile.

Another five minutes of awkwardness and tension passes before he decides to break the ice again.

"So Parisa, what are your hobbies?"

The customary question!

"Uhmm..I like cycling, photography and watching movies, English only. I also play Among Us."

"Mm," he hums and nods his head.

I want to ask about his hobbies but if I do, then this conversation will be going on and on and that's the last thing I want right now.

"Do you cook?" he asks me.

A typical guy!

"No." I shake my head.

I see him staring at me and smiling to which I raise my brows and ask, "What?"

"I didn't expect you to be this honest," he says, as cool as a cucumber.

"What?" I ask, my eyes narrow and chin poking out.

"You know, most girls tend to lie about these things because they think if they say they don't know how to cook, they aren't qualified to be a wife," he says to which I look at him and scoff in disbelief. "I know that because I have seen it. It happened with my cousin sister. She didn't know how to cook but she lied to her husband when he came to see her as her mom, my aunty, told her to."

"Firstly, that's ridiculous. Marrying by lying. Seriously, that desperate? Secondly, if that guy wants someone to cook for him, why does he have to marry? He can hire a maid or a cook. And lastly, that guy has to be special for her to lie just to marry him," I say, ticking off with my fingers.

The first point I state makes me a hypocrite in this scenario, but I shrug it off.

"And you think I'm not special?" he asks me, his eyebrow arching.

"No. Of course, no!"

I'm pretty sure he's taken aback hearing my response. Well, it's the truth. I didn't find him special and if it's his looks he's implying, then I have seen a lot of guys who are more handsome than him. I can take my Regé-Jean Page as an example! And as for his personality, I don't know much but I'm sure of one thing- he is so full of himself.

"Wow! You're honest, like brutally honest," he says, chucking.

"Thanks! I'll take that as a compliment," I say, giving him a cheeky grin.

"Oh, it indeed is!" he says, smiling to which I roll my eyes at him.

"Cyrus, let's go?" his mom comes to the courtyard and asks him.

I already like this lady and now, I like her more!

"Yeah, coming," he says and turns to me. "Anything you wanna ask? To know?"

Do we get halal* chicken in New Zealand?

I want to ask that but I bit my tongue, refraining myself. I can't look that desperate in front of them, especially him. I shake my head and turn to his mother and give her a bright smile. She walks towards me and plants a kiss on my forehead.

"I'm happy to meet you, Parisa. I like you," she says and gives me a ring box. "This is for you."

That's it! It's sealed. His mom likes me and this ring box is enough to tell that they've already accepted me as their daughter-in-law. And I have already booked a window seat on a plane that's en route New Zealand.

"Thanks," I say as she caresses my face.

She gives me a smile before turning around and walking away, leaving me and Cyrus alone.

"I'll see you soon, my habibi," he says, making me astound.

"Wh-what?"

He says nothing but gives me a smirk and walks away. I stand on my spot, interpreting his endearment. I wonder if he cursed me in Arabic or Urdu, so I take my mom's phone from the dining table and Google for the meaning of habibi. As soon as the meaning appeared on the screen, I grit my teeth and my jaw clenches.

Habibi means my love in Arabic. He called me his love, his habibi even before getting married and knowing each other. Well, I'll show him how perfect his habibi is.

"Just wait till I set my foot on New Zealand, my golden ticket!"

╰★╮

As-salamu alaykum- a greeting in Arabic often used by Muslims around the world that means "Peace be upon you."

Wa ʿalaykumu s-salam- an Arabic greeting often used by Muslims around the world that means "may peace be upon you."

Masha' Allah- an Arabic phrase that is used to express impressment or beautifulness for an event or person that was just mentioned. It is a common expression used by Muslims to wish for God's protection of something or someone from the evil eye.

Henna- a reddish-brown dye made from the powdered leaves of a tropical shrub, used to colour the hair and decorate the body.

Halal- denoting or relating to meat prepared as prescribed by Muslim law.