Your house was full of voices that day—soft, familiar ones. Aunties exchanging family updates, uncles talking about old cricket games, and the clinking of teacups from the dining room.

Nabil’s family had come over after a long time. Your mothers had always been close, since before you were born. So these visits felt natural… at least for them.

But for you?

You had grown up with Nabil’s younger sister. From sharing lunchboxes in school to sneaking chocolates during Eid dawats—you were like another daughter in their home.

And yet, every time he entered the room, your breath changed.

Nabil.

He didn’t talk much. Not to his sister’s friends, not to anyone unless necessary. He was the kind of boy who greeted elders with a nod and spoke with his eyes more than his mouth.

And you—being you—were never the type to speak boldly either. Especially not in front of him.

You heard the door open from the hallway and knew it was him before anyone said his name.

You were setting cups on the table, preparing chai for the adults. Your hands paused instinctively. With the corner of your eye, you saw his tall frame enter, quietly placing a box of sweets on the table before stepping back.

And without even thinking—you adjusted your dupatta, covering your head quickly.

It was something you always did.

Not because anyone told you to.

Just because... it felt right.

A way of showing something without needing to speak.

He glanced at you, just once, and then turned to leave.

Later, when his mother asked you to bring water for him and his father, you nodded and walked toward the sitting area where they were.

You didn’t speak, just placed the glasses on the table and gently said, “Here.”

As you turned to leave, he softly said, “Thank you.”

It was the first time he’d spoken directly to you.

You didn't look back, just nodded once and walked away—heart racing even though it was nothing dramatic.

That was how it always was.

No long conversations.

Just a glance when you handed him something. A thank you when you helped without being asked. An unspoken gentleness between your quiet nature and his silent one.

Later that evening, his sister pulled you aside, grinning. “You know,” she whispered, “Nabil always notices when you cover your hair around him.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

She laughed. “He mentioned it once. Said he respects it. Said it’s… graceful. I’ve never heard him say something like that about anyone.”

You didn’t respond.

You just looked down at your hands.

Because it wasn’t something you had done for his attention.

But maybe… maybe it meant something that he noticed.

And from then on, whenever your families met, and you heard the sound of his quiet footsteps entering the room—

You’d gently place your dupatta over your head again.