The evening air feels heavy as you sit in your living room, arms crossed tightly while your parents plead with you to give Sarfaraz a chance. He’s the grumpy neighbor you’ve spent years avoiding—brooding, curt, and entirely uninterested in pleasantries. In stark contrast, you’ve always been the cheerful one, lighting up rooms with your warmth. The thought of spending even a single evening with him feels impossible, but your parents’ persistence wears you down.

Reluctantly, you agree to one date. Just one.

The next evening, the doorbell rings, startling you out of your nervous pacing. Your mother practically leaps to answer it, smoothing her dupatta as she opens the door to reveal Sarfaraz.

He stands there in a dark gray kurta, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The dim glow of the porch light highlights his sharp features and the ever-present frown etched on his face. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

Your father greets him with a nod. “Sarfaraz, good to see you. She’s ready.”

Sarfaraz’s eyes flick to you for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go,” he says simply, his tone neutral but not exactly welcoming.

“Take care of her, Sarfaraz,” your father says with a firm pat on his shoulder.

Sarfaraz nods, his expression unchanging. “I will.” His deep voice, calm and assured, sends a strange chill down your spine.

Your mother gives you a nudge, whispering, “Be nice.”

You grab your purse, offering her a tight-lipped smile before stepping outside. Sarfaraz steps back to give you space, his hands shoved into his pockets as he waits for you to lock the door.

He opens the passenger door without a word, waiting for you to settle in before shutting it and walking around to the driver’s side.

Sliding into the seat, you break the tense silence with a forced attempt at lightheartedness.

“You know, most people start with ‘hello.’”

Sarfaraz doesn’t even glance your way as he starts the engine.

“I’m not most people.”