Forbidden (Now Published On Amazon,Kobo, B&N and Apple Stores -FREE)

Careful What You Wish For.

9

Armaan downed his second shot of whiskey and screwed up his face as the burning liquid travelled down his throat. Beside him, Alex was nursing a glass of brandy and his eyes were searching the huge living room. They were sitting at the bar, served by a tall guy named Luca whom Armaan had hired for the evening.

It was nine p.m the next evening already and the party was in full swing. Loud, hip-hop music pounded through the crowded room, reminding Alex of a nightclub. Almost a hundred people were there. Friends from Milan. Friends from around Pavia. Even some friends from the States. Blue and silver lighting streamed from the gigantic disco globes strung from the ceiling; bathing the guests and waitresses in short skirts who weaved between them, carrying trays of drinks and delicacies. Along the walls, there were long, cream sofas covered with soft leather for those who wanted to lounge rather than dance.

Armaan smiled as he surveyed the room. The caterers had arrived at four in the afternoon and had completed their job before eight. He was pleased at their competency. He was pleased with the overall effect. It resembled a club scene and that was what he had been aiming for. He had not been clubbing for an entire month in Amira. Not because there were no clubs as the innocent believed. He knew of a few private spots where fun could be had after hours. It was just that he had not had the opportunity. He had been too busy pretending to be a dutiful son while showing the maids in his house a good time.

He frowned when he glanced at Alex and saw that his friend was still nursing the same glass of brandy. "Hey! What's wrong with you?" he said loudly in Alex's ear and the guy jumped.

"I can't see Jas anywhere," Alex complained. "I texted her but she hasn't replied."

Armaan turned to survey the crowd and could not spot her either. "Don't tell me she isn't here. It's a party, for heaven's sake! Where is she?" he demanded.

"She wasn't in her room. I checked before coming down."

Armaan felt disappointed that she had not showed up at his party. He wanted her to have a good time, not withdraw into herself like he had noticed she was prone to doing. Scowling, he drank some more whiskey, realizing that he was on the road to getting drunk but not really caring at that point. He wanted to go and see her but didn't want Alex to become suspicious.

Scott Warner, a guy he had met in the States during his boarding school days, joined them at the bar. "Bourbon. On the rocks," he told Luca. Then he grinned at Armaan. "Love those waitresses, buddy."

Armaan laughed. He and Scott shared the same weakness for girls in short skirts. "Glad you're having fun, man. You've met Alex."

"Oh, yeah. How you doing, man?" Scott turned to Alex and soon, the two of them fell into a discussion about Alex's work.

Armaan knew that this was going to be a long conversation. He tossed back his sixth shot of whiskey, pushed the glass away and stepped into the crowd. Ignoring the inviting looks given to him by some of the girls he pushed past, Armaan headed towards the door. Right now, he had only one girl on his mind. And she was not in this room.

~~~~

Running her fingers lightly over the spines of the books in the classic section, Jasmine paused when she reached an old edition of The Time Machine by Alexander Dumas. Dumas was her favourite when it came to classics. At first, she smiled softly as she remembered how much she loved this story but just as quickly, her expression became melancholy.

If she really had a time machine, she knew exactly what she would do. She would go back to that one day when her whole world had turned upside down and refuse to take that note from Rizwaan. She would tell him that it was too risky and he would have understood. Then she would still be with the man she loved. The man whose arms she still ached to be in.

Closing her eyes, Jasmine leaned her forehead against the spine of the books, drawing comfort from something familiar. She felt so raw and needy tonight. The demons were back to attack her relentlessly.

Her eyes snapped open when the sound of music from outside suddenly poured into the room. Then it was muted as the door closed.

"Jasmine? Are you okay?"

Sighing, she turned to Armaan who stood near the door in a tight black t-shirt and ripped jeans, regarding her uncertainly.

"Yes." Her voice came out soft and sad and she tried again. "Yes, I'm fine. Look, I know this is awfully rude of me but I did come to the party. I just couldn't bring myself to stay." Her shoulders slumped and she looked apologetic. "I'm not in the mood for large crowds and loud music tonight." When Armaan did not reply, she sighed. "I'm really sorry-"

"No, don't," he interrupted her suddenly and she blinked at him, unable to understand whether he was angry or not. He closed the distance between them in a few seconds and looked at her with such kindness in his eyes, she wondered if she was hallucinating. "You don't have to apologize to me," he murmured softly. "You're not in the party mood. I get it. It's an artistic thing." He slurred the last few sentences and the alcohol from his breath reached her nostrils.

Jasmine realized that alcohol seemed to have a taming effect on him instead of fuelling his wildness. That was why he was looking at her so strangely.

"You're drunk," she stated, trying to sound accusatory but failing. She just felt weary. Weary of being herself. Weary of being so uptight and righteous all the time.

She had had an affair with a married man. A man she still loved. That did not leave her in any position to judge others. No matter how religious she forced herself to become, in the end she will always be the girl who fell for someone else's husband.

"You're gorgeous," he breathed, coming closer.

"Armaan," she said in a warning tone. "Don't."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," he challenged, his eyes burning like twin blue flames.

"Because I don't like feeling powerless and that's exactly how you're making me feel right now."

He stared at her for a moment after she had confessed what her real issue was and Jasmine let out a sigh before speaking again. "Someone hurt me, Armaan," she told him in a monotone. "I loved him and he hurt me. You know why? Because I gave him the power to do so." She paused, remembering. Fire ignited in her eyes. Bitterness invaded her heart. "I let myself become weak. I'm not over him. I don't know if I ever will be. But I do know that if I'm ever going to be involved with another guy again, it will be on my own terms."

There. She had said it. She had confessed what was in her heart. The pain of remembering Hamza flooded her soul and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. She was not going to cry. Not anymore. Not for him or for anyone else.

"Jasmine. I won't hurt you if you let me take control."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Stop. You don't say that to me. I don't want to hear it."

Puffing out an impatient breath, Armaan turned around and began walking away from her. Clearly, he was not interested in her baggage. Or the drama and complications that came with it. What guy would be? They all wanted one thing and one thing only these days. The easier, the better. Lowering her head, she let out a small sigh and turned to face the bookshelves again, deciding to spend the rest of the evening moping in here until her dark mood wore off. She shouldn't have come here at all. He'd only brought more of her pain to the surface by reminding her of the past.

"What terms?"

He spoke softly but clearly and she turned to find him standing at the door with a serious expression on his face. His question puzzled her. What was he going on about now?

"You said if you ever got involved with someone again, it'd be on your own terms," he murmured, watching her intently. "I want to know what those terms are. I want to be that someone you get involved with."

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