The Accidental

Fiancée
A Romantic Short Story

Zeenat Mahal
 Version 1.0
Copyright © Zeenat Mahal 2015
Published in 2015 by
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resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-927826-69-0
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 PRAISE FOR ZEENAT MAHAL

Readers who have read her earlier work

should be well informed about her impec-
cable writing skills and those who are read-
ing her for the first time will simply become
mute spectators of what she has to offer!
Book News India

The writing is breezy and fresh. The author

does a brilliant job of telling a story and giv-
ing a glimpse into the culture of high-society
Pakistan of the times.
Adite Banerjie, Best Selling Harlequin
Author

I loved this book. L.O.V.E.D it!

I wanted to be the one who had written it!
Reet Singh, Best Selling Harlequin
Author

Dear Ms. Mahal, I love your voice …

Dear Author
 TABLE OF CONTENT

Accidental Fiancée
Excerpt from She Loves Me, He Loves Me
Not
More by Zeenat Mahal
About Indireads
About Zeenat Mahal
More by Indireads
 The Accidental Fiancé
‘…Tell me why exactly you want that
ring on your finger so badly that you’ll even
succumb, pitifully I may add, to your arch
enemy?’
‘Bad boy’ Akbar and ‘firebrand’ Khayyam
were rivals and enemies back in college,
while studying architecture. While he
laughed at her feminist sentiments and views
on preservation, she denounced him as a
commercial sellout with no originality or tal-
ent. Humiliated in front of his admiring
hangers-on, Akbar will not pass up the
chance to get his revenge when fate presents
Khayyam as his unlikely fiancée.
Read this delightful story to discover
what happens to these wildly different per-
sonalities when they reluctantly exchange
rings.
The Accidental Fiancé
Akbar’s plan was simple.
Get engaged to the girl his mother had
chosen for him and delay the marriage for as
long as he could. So he drove with his moth-
er to the dingy little house that had seen bet-
ter days.
Giving her a disdainful look, as he helped
his mother out of the car, he queried, ‘She’s
obviously marrying for money. Aren’t you
afraid she’ll poison you to get to me?’ He
paused and then added as an afterthought,
‘And then me to get all of my money?’
His mother gave him a look that used to
send his father into unscheduled panic-at-
tacks. Akbar told himself he was immune to
them. Then he gave her his extra special
smile. It worked. It always did. On everyone,
he grinned.
They were shown into a drab little draw-
ing room and he sat down on a shabby old
 8/89

couch. ‘Ami, I really don’t have the time, so

please hurry with this whole…’
‘Akbar, be quiet, beta.’
Defeated, he got his iPhone out.
Soon there was a flurry of movement and
the prospective parents-in-law came in. The
father, thin and white haired, looking
crushed and forlorn, had put on a bravely
polite face. The mother, overweight and sad-
looking, smiled a faded tired smile. Akbar
felt the first stirrings of pity mingled with de-
pression. The girl would probably be a pretty
face with no personality. He chatted with the
prospectives pleasantly as they waited for
their daughter to make an entrance with the
requisite tea-trolley. He already knew they’d
claim their daughter had made ‘everything
from scratch’.
At last the creaking wheels of the trolley
became audible and the sound of china cups
tinkling. Thank God! They could get the ob-
ligatory cup of tea out of the way and he
 9/89

could go back to his life. He looked towards

the door out of sheer habit as it opened.
Nothing could have prepared Akbar for
the sight that met his eyes. He stared in dis-
belief. Of all the gin joints in the world, he
thought, with a grin. Did she know that she
was to be paraded in front of him? He got up
to receive his soon-to-be-fiancée. His arch-
nemesis, Khayyam Zafar, the terror of his
college days back in the 90’s, now pretending
to be the demure little bride-to-be. He
smirked. What a harpy she was and how
devious.
Let the games begin.
She walked in and greeted his mother
pleasantly, but didn’t even spare him a
glance. Didn’t she care who she was being
tied to for the rest of her life? The very pic-
ture of a demure eastern girl, shy with her
eyes cast down, she began to pour tea. She
was still oozing sexy though, with her warm
skin tones and high cheekbones, and that
there was that mouth…
 10/89

Her most misleading weapon, he re-

minded himself. She had a nasty, sharp
tongue in there somewhere.
As she handed him his cup of tea, he said
under his breath, ‘You must be pretty des-
perate to get married.’
Her hand jerked, nearly spilling the tea
on him. Their eyes met. Imperceptibly, hers
widened, and she squared her shoulders,
straightened her posture.
‘You! Is this some sick joke?’ she hissed.
‘You tell me, KK?’
‘Don’t call me that.’
And she offered him a plate.
He burst out laughing. He couldn’t help
it. It was so damn funny!
Still grinning like a Cheshire cat, his eyes
full of mirth and glued onto her, he ad-
dressed his not-to-be future in-laws, ‘Uncle,
Aunty, I am so happy to see K…Khayyam
after all these years! We were in college to-
gether, you know.’
 11/89

Khayyam glared, then closed her eyes and

clenched her teeth while she mustered con-
trol. Letting her breath out slowly, she
opened her eyes, pasted a smile on her face
and turned towards her parents.
‘Really? How wonderful Khayyam,’ her
father gushed. ‘Why don’t you two sit and
talk…and…we’ll be right here. Bhabi come
and sit here. We should give them a chance
to catch up.’
They moved towards the other couch,
which was only two feet away but apparently
that was all the privacy he was willing to ac-
cord them.
Akbar turned towards Khayyam, ‘What
were you thinking, KK? Why did you agree to
this?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
He scoffed.
‘You expect me to believe that you don’t
have an ulterior motive? You agreed to
marry me, the most, what was it again, ‘mor-
ally bankrupt man with pedestrian creative
 12/89

instincts’ you’d ever seen? You agreed be-

cause you have an agenda and I want to
know what it is. Or have you changed from
the rebellious firebrand you were, to a com-
monplace girl who just wants to snag a
husband?’
She looked angry but almost as if she
didn’t want to be. She said quickly, ‘Okay
look. I know what this looks like but we have
to go through with it for now…and I’ll…’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Why is what?’
‘Why do I have to go through with this? I
have the perfect opportunity to embarrass
you. Why would I not take it KK?’
‘Because you can’t embarrass our families
like this and you want to get even with me,
not them. Or are you still the arrogant,
selfish, spoilt kid that you were in college?’
‘Ah, the nostalgia of youth,’ he mocked.
Her words still stung.
The little…
 13/89

‘Look Akbar, if you go through with

this…farce, just think of the satisfaction you
get out of it. You get to show people that you
won in the end. I was no better than all those
girls in college who drooled over you.’
Khayyam gave Akbar quick look and was
relieved to see that he was interested in this
new angle. He was frowning but there was a
speculative gleam in his dark eyes now.
‘Keep talking, KK.’ He watched as
Khayyam took a deep calming breath as if to
control her anger, which he secretly thought
was completely uncalled for.
She said with a half-smirk, ‘You’ll be the
hero. I’ll be the weak-minded girl who falls
for brawn and not brains…’
‘You’re doing it again, KK.’
‘Fine…I’ll be the girl who falls for you.’
He smiled and nodded.
‘Now you’re talking, KK. I like that angle.
And I can see you really want this. I’ll find
out why eventually, so why not tell me
yourself?’
 14/89

She didn’t reply.

That had to be a first, he thought sur-
prised, as he looked at her sideways yet
again. Her face looked stricken and it was
apparent she was trying to control her
emotions.
‘Are you planning on defending your be-
loved local ruins with my name attached to
yours? Because unlike you, I have been
building landmarks and making a name for
myself, so obviously my name counts and
yours…not so much,’ he taunted.
She rolled her eyes. Then shrugged and
said casually—too casually, ‘It’s just that
my…parents want this and…’
Akbar looked at her squarely now, and
while there was a flash of panic that showed
for an instant in her eyes, she stared back at
him steadily. There was a strange expression
on her face. Almost as if she were…oh,
wow…pleading? Akbar sniggered.
The moron knew. Khayyam could tell. He
was grinning at her with that same devilish
 15/89

look he had used on all the girls in college.

His eyes were dancing with joy.
He whispered, ‘If I do this, you owe me
big time and I will collect the debt.’
She had no option. Wearing the same
plastic smile, she nodded with relief. Too
eagerly perhaps, because at once he said,
‘What a come down, you’ve had KK. You ac-
tually seem visibly relieved to be getting en-
gaged. At your age I can understand the
desperation.’
‘I’m the same age as you…’
He interrupted smoothly, and with obvi-
ous relish, ‘But for a man to be twenty-eight
and unmarried is nothing out of the ordin-
ary, but a woman to be all of twenty-eight
and unmarried. Tsk, tsk, probably desperate,
and sexually frustrated.’
‘Shut up you sick juvenile…’
‘You want me to put a ring on your
finger?’
 16/89

Khayyam fumed in silence for a full three

seconds. But she desisted from another
attack.
Akbar watched in smug satisfaction. ‘This
is going to be so much fun, KK.’
Thankfully, Khayyam’s parents got in-
volved after that and Akbar didn’t get a
chance to take any more digs at her. With a
sinking heart she realized that she had just
committed herself to voluntary torture. And
boy, did Akbar Rasul know how to vindicate
himself.
She got the first dose of it the very next
day. Her parents were all aflutter when she
came down into the living room. There was a
huge bouquet on the center table. Red roses.
Ugh! So clichéd and…gag…over the top, just
like the man who’d brought them.
‘Khayyam, Akbar is here to take you out
for lunch,’ her father beamed.
Akbar, who had stood up as she entered,
said with a mocking smile at her, ‘Hello,
again.’
 17/89

Her father was overtly cheery. Unusually

so. She didn’t have the heart to resist. She
smiled, ‘If you’re okay with it, Abba.’
‘Yes, yes. Go ahead,’ her father practically
shooed them out of the room.
‘You’re such a hypocrite!’ Akbar said as
soon as they were out of earshot. ‘All sweet-
ness and sting-less with your parents, and
for the rest of humanity you’re nothing
but…KK.’
‘Well at least I’m not a walking cliché.’
‘What? You don’t like red roses? There
isn’t a woman in the world who doesn’t like
red roses. But then you’re not a woman are
you, KK. Which is why instead of saying
thank you nicely, you’re complaining.’
‘Would it kill you to have some style, Ak-
bar? You’re still stuck with romance moves
from your college days.’
‘Darling, I don’t know who you’re calling
style-deprived, because this man in front of
you is a class act. See this thing I’m driving?
 18/89

It’s called a Mercedes in case you didn’t

know. It’s synonymous with class.’
‘I bet your clothes are branded and your
shoes are Italian.’
‘You sound accusatory, KK. Are you still
stuck in your graduate mentality of…what
was it…oh yeah, equality, fraternity and
some such shit?’
‘Stop calling me that or I swear I’ll…’
‘You’ll what? Not marry me? Break my
heart and walk all over it? Oh, but
wait…that’s you if I refuse! Tell me why ex-
actly you want that ring on your finger so
badly that you’ll even succumb, pitifully I
may add, to your arch enemy?’
‘Nothing that concerns you. What we are
going to do about this engagement however,
does concern you. My plan is…’
‘Whoa, hold it right there, KK. Your plans
don’t feature in this gig okay? You begged me
to put that ring on your finger…’
‘I did not beg you!’
 19/89

‘Yes you did, with your big beautiful

brown eyes…it was heart-wrenching, KK.
Now, this is what you’re going to do. You’re
going to act like a devoted fiancée until the
time I decide to call off the engagement, in a
few weeks.’
Khayyam was secretly quite relieved so
she kept her peace.
They stopped at a red light. Leisurely Ak-
bar turned towards her and continued with
open enjoyment, ‘You’ll be pleasant and ac-
commodating, you’ll dress up nicely to please
your future husband-who won’t be, but no
one needs to know that, and you’ll thank me
nicely when I give you roses.’
‘As long as they’re not red.’
‘You have to have the last word, don’t
you?’
‘So it would seem.’
Akbar had to hand it to her; she didn’t
lose her cool, or show how much she resen-
ted his power over her. Why though? What
was hanging over her head that she’d expose
 20/89

herself to his humiliation and taunts so eas-

ily? But then he thought smugly, that wasn’t
really his problem and he was going to take
full advantage of the situation because he
hadn’t had so much fun in a long time.
The very next day Akbar came to
Khayyam’s house with his mother and his
uncle to make it official. He brought with
him a diamond ring, the size of which made
Khayyam flinch. It was the most vulgar and
ostentatious thing she’d ever seen and it
weighed a ton.
As Akbar put it on her finger, he said with
a charming smile that fooled everyone but
her, ‘I chose the ring myself because I know
exactly how much you like this kind of
thing.’
She smiled, with her eyes daggers drawn
to his jeering ones. But she couldn’t say a
single thing as he laughed cheerfully in her
face.

***
 21/89

It became a habit with him to call on her

for dinner dates or lunches. It was so much
fun goading her, especially in front of her
parents when she pretended to have re-
formed and couldn’t bite back.
He recalled clearly the first time he’d seen
her in college. He’d been besotted with her
dusky beauty, until she’d started speaking
vociferously about her favorite causes—fem-
inism, helping the marginalized and saving
old buildings. And then she’d gone head to
head with him in their first year of college,
competing for the prestigious Punjab Stu-
dent of the Year Award. It was to be judged
by none other than his idol Shoaib Peerzada.
Akbar considered him to be the greatest
Pakistani architect of all time and desper-
ately wanted to impress him.
Her architectural project had been im-
practical but ‘green’ and she’d snagged the
coveted prize that he’d been after. Just
swiped it clean from under his nose, and
 22/89

done it while openly criticizing him and his

‘loose ways with everything that should be
sacred’. Just because he’d designed
something that represented commercial con-
temporary architecture as a replacement of
the old, dilapidated buildings of the city,
which were practically a heap of stones and
dust, even if they were historical. She’d come
down on him and his project like a ton of
bricks. It had been epic. It was a politically
correct decision for the administrators of the
award, but she’d taken it as a validation of
her stance.
She sat across from him now, absent-
mindedly eating her salad. He recalled his
lame-ass attempt to bury the hatchet at
graduation. In her typical KK-way, she’d
been arrogant and dismissive. His youthful
fragile ego had been bruised badly. She shot
him down in front of all his friends and all
the girls who worshipped the ground he
walked on. She’d called him quite a few epi-
thets that were probably true and a few that
 23/89

weren’t but it was that last thing she’d said

that still rankled.
‘Akbar Rasul, you’re a depraved, grossly
over-confident, spoilt boy, without an iota of
real talent! What you have is a pedestrian
and cheap desire to make a name for yourself
by razing to the ground what men greater
than you have accomplished. And if you
think your charming little act is going to
work on me, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not
your average bimbo, and you’ll never be able
to fool me, so why don’t you take your offer
of friendship somewhere else, and start plan-
ning your vulgar high-rises?’
He bristled at the memory.
What better way to put an end to their
feud other than right where it had started?
He was going to have to intimate their old
classmates with this latest development.

***
 24/89

Akbar invited Khayyam to dinner but for-

got to divulge the delicious little detail about
their classmates joining them. He looked for
her reaction as she walked in with the bad
boy as her fiancé, in front of all the people
who had once hero-worshipped her. Her ex-
pression of stunned disbelief was as reward-
ing as could be expected.
It was so worth it.
She hesitated on the threshold just for a
minute, but then she walked in with her head
held high and the same plastic smile on her
face that he was beginning to recognize as
her pitiful new trademark. Poor KK.
Where the hell did that come from?
He shook himself mentally and followed
her, determined to enjoy her comeuppance.
‘Oh my God, it’s true!’
‘Khayyam! What were you thinking?’
‘All that time in college you made us
believe…’
 25/89

He smiled and said in an undertone,

‘Sweet, sweet vengeance, KK. Now go and
look happy.’
He shoved her lightly towards the table
while he laughed and joked with his friends,
who were openly making suggestive jokes
about how he had ‘tamed’ Khayyam. He
made no effort to stop them. In fact, he
grinned every time someone said anything
that suggested she’d actually had a torch
burning for him since college. He was enjoy-
ing himself immensely.
Khayyam laughed and smiled initially,
but gradually she fell into a dignified silence,
embellished with her plastic smile as the
jokes became more aggressive.
Akbar was intrigued beyond measure.
What had happened to her? Her house had
looked pretty shabby and her father was now
retired from the government job he had held;
but how was her marriage going to help?
Alia, a classmate who had never liked
Khayyam piped up. ‘So Khayyam, you’ve sold
 26/89

out too. What happened to your dreams of

fighting for women’s rights and joining the
UN? You’re ending up marrying, just like,
what was it you said you’d never be, an aver-
age bimbo? Well now…’
They laughed.
Khayyam tried to shrug, but Akbar could
see Alia’s words had hurt her.
Mubashir added, ‘And to submit to Ak-
bar, the man you called an example of
everything that was wrong with the youth of
this country. What a man you are, Akbar! An
inspiration for us all.’
Khayyam swallowed visibly, smiled and
said in a low voice, ‘He’s the man.’
Mubashir and the others winked and
nudged but suddenly, Akbar had had
enough. He hadn’t forgotten the old slight
because it had hurt at the time. She had been
young and passionate about some things that
he had been obviously opposed to and maybe
she had said things she probably wouldn’t
say now.
 27/89

‘You’ll have to excuse us, guys, Khayyam

and I have to go somewhere. We should do
this again.’
He was already helping her out of her
chair. Why did he feel this sudden urge to
protect her? Her face was rigid with the con-
trol she’d been exercising. Now that he had
embarrassed her and got even, why did he
feel…defeated?
Her hand felt small and delicate in his as
she walked by his side quietly, and he looked
at her surreptitiously. She was even more
beautiful than before. She exuded a strange
aura of strength, and yet he could sense the
vulnerability that had never been there
before.
He certainly wasn’t the same. People
grew up, changed…so had they.
She slipped into the passenger seat and
stared ahead rigidly. For the first time since
he’d met her again, he felt tongue-tied. Had
it gone too far?
Had he?
 28/89

‘Khayyam…’
‘It’s KK, remember?’ she said icily and
then added with irritation, ‘What does it
even mean?’
He smiled.
‘It’s pretty lame. Your not knowing was
the punch line. If I tell you, it loses it’s edge.’
Facing her, he added, ‘So I’ll tell you, as a
peace offering. It’s Kosher Khayyam.’
She nodded and gave a mirthless half-
laugh.
‘I see. Standing up for hopeless causes
and right and wrong, self-righteous…yeah it
is lame.’
‘Told you it was. And Khayyam, I’m sorry
about tonight. They went a bit too far. I
should have stopped…’
‘Don’t bother, Akbar. I can pay my debts
and I paid mine with you tonight. Or at least
I think I did. If you don’t agree, lead on. I can
handle whatever you have to throw at me.’
‘Still the tough firebrand somewhere in-
side, I see.’
 29/89

He smiled but she didn’t.

And Akbar wanted to know how, or who,
had extinguished the fire in Khayyam. He re-
membered her passionate speeches and her
dedication to some good cause or other. Now
she seemed to be fighting herself, some in-
visible constraint that kept her from inciner-
ating her opponents with her biting barbs.
He was beyond curious.
After dropping her off, he went straight to
his mother to get to the bottom of things.
And she told him exactly why Khayyam
would let him go to any lengths to stay en-
gaged to him. Not that his mother knew that
particular bit of information, but he under-
stood. Akbar felt that strangely unfamiliar
emotion again, to protect.
The very next day he hired a lawyer to do
what he needed him to do.

***
 30/89

Akbar and his mother sat at the dinner

table with Khayyam and her family. She was
dazzling—laughing and glowing with happi-
ness. She was unable to take her eyes off of
her younger brother who’d recently been ac-
quitted of a kidnapping charge that had
proven to be fabricated and groundless.
Everyone had known that and yet, it had
been an uphill battle to prove it.
Her parents looked stronger, as if a pres-
sure had lifted off of their shoulders.
But Akbar had eyes only for Khayyam
that night. It was likely the last time he was
going to see her, now that she no longer felt
she had to shield her parents by being the
obedient and dutiful daughter. She could go
back to her actual mission of saving the
world.
She’d probably tell him to deliver on his
word and call off the engagement. Akbar felt
a sudden tug at his heart. He had unwillingly
admired her will and tenacity even in college,
but now, he felt more than that. He had
 31/89

respect and a deep…oh, hell, he thought with

disgust and an aching heart. Who was he
kidding? He was in love with her…and wasn’t
that just peachy! What a fool he was. She
hated his guts. Found him lacking in
everything; morality, depth, maturity, style.
And he’d gone and fallen in love with her. He
toasted his stupidity in silence.
After dinner, he walked back to the din-
ing room where she was cleaning up, and
getting things ready for the after-dinner tea.
He wanted to see her one more time. Maybe
bait her one more time, for old time’s sake.
She looked up and gave him an unusually
pleasant smile.
‘I guess your reasons to stay engaged are
obsolete now.’
Still smiling, she shrugged and said, ‘And
yours? I can assist you in your charade some
more…if you like?’
He shrugged. He didn’t want a charade.
Silence.
 32/89

She watched him from under her eye-

lashes. These past few weeks had been a rev-
elation to her. Akbar Rasul had changed.
And it was a change that made him even
more devastatingly attractive than he’d been
in college.
Khayyam broke the silence with her heart
in her mouth, ‘Do you want me to…return
your ring?’
A flash of something passed across his
face, but it was enough for Khayyam. She
knew what he’d done for her brother. She’d
been an activist too long to not get to the bot-
tom of things. Her brother had been victim-
ized—she had known that. But then, out of
the blue to be championed by one of the best
lawyers in the country had been too unbe-
lievable. It hadn’t taken much to convince
the lawyer to tell her the truth.
Akbar wasn’t just the charming boy she
remembered but a strong man, who could
admit to his own faults and take ownership
of his mistakes. That night he’d apologized
 33/89

for something that she had probably

deserved.
But she had already pleaded with him
once to get engaged. She wasn’t about to do
it again.
He ventured slowly, ‘There is another op-
tion…if you think it could work, maybe?’
He looked at her casually as he said it, as
if it didn’t mean anything either way.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘We could stay engaged…for real.’
‘Okay.’
She was afraid she may have said it too
eagerly. He stared at her. He looked
stunned…and then irritated.
‘That’s it. Okay.’
So she was still good, she thought with
some wicked relief. She tried not to smile
and looked at him innocently, ‘What else
would you like me to say?’
He looked uncomfortable and hesitant.
‘I don’t know…’
 34/89

‘Let me explain the obvious to you, Akbar.

Even though you’re not the last man on
earth, I’m willing to wear this atrocious
ring…voluntarily. Now that’s got to account
for something, right?’
He stared at her for just a second too long
and then slowly, his eyes lit up and he
smiled. His cocky grin replacing the hesita-
tion and doubts on his handsome face, as he
said, ‘You always were good at volunteering
for noble causes.’

***
Keep reading for an excerpt from She
Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, by Zeenat
Mahal, available as an ebook from Feb
14, 2015
 Excerpt from She Loves Me, He Loves Me
Not
The clear February sky was crowded
with kites, and the rooftops with
enthusiastic boys and girls. Most of
them were attired in yellow, and had
to shout to be heard over the blaring
music.
Zoella, however, registered all of
that as a faraway din. She barely
noticed the colorful kites and everyone
else, focusing only on the
delicious-looking Fardeen. The music,
shouting and laughter did not distract
her from her goal one bit. Her
concentration did not waver. Her eyes
were firmly fixed on Fardeen.
With bated breath, she waited for the
miraculous moment when angels would
trumpet their silver bugles, flowers would
bloom in deserts and Fardeen Malik’s eyes
would finally meet hers. The realization that
the love of his life, Zoella Khan, though un-
sophisticated and from a modest
 36/89

background, had been right under his nose

all this time would hit him like a bolt of light-
ning. Overcome with passion, he’d fall to his
knees and declare, enraptured…
“Bo Kaata!”
Salaar’s yell invaded her ear-drums and
Zoella’s imagination crash-landed back to
reality, and back to the rooftop of Swaba’s
family friend’s house in the old city. Half of
Lahore had gathered there to celebrate the
advent of spring with Basant: kite-flying,
food, fun and flirting.
“Take that, you pretty boy,” laughed Sa-
laar as he gave Fardeen’s kite-string one fi-
nal tug with his own.
“Tsk-tsk, such gross insults. On losing
your own kite too!” Fardeen replied. In re-
sponse to Salaar’s questioning lift of the
brow, he clarified, “That’s not mine little
brother, it’s yours.”
Zoella looked upwards. Indeed, Salaar’s
flamboyant red kite was now floating down
the busy skyline mournfully. Around them,
boys hooted and girls tittered. Ignoring Sa-
laar’s groan, Zoella’s eyes were back on
Fardeen, who stood a full two feet away from
 37/89

her, skillfully steering his own kite towards

another prey. A big green one.
That was Omer’s wasn’t it?
“Swaba!” called out Fardeen. “Want to
see me humiliate Omer, or Salaar again?”
Zoella’s best friend, who was sitting on
an old stone bench sulking. At her brother’s
question, she glared in response.
“I hate Basant!” said Swaba. “It’s a stupid
festival, where we have to dress in this stu-
pid yellow, which is highly unflattering to our
skin tones, and watch stupid boys fly stupid
kites…”
“We get the picture,” said Fardeen drily.
Turning towards Salaar’s friend, he said
cheerfully, “Watch it Omer, fair warning.”
Salaar threw frantic instructions at
Omer, as Fardeen tugged and pulled at
his kite-string, trying to trap Omer.
“Tighter, Omer!”
Omer pulled on his string,
tightening his grip.
“Not that much, you fool!”
 38/89

Omer let the string loose.

“This way, this way!” yelled Salaar. “Left,
you idiot! That’s my left! Leave me alone!
Fardeen Bhai….”
Omer stopped short as the big green kite
began drifting away towards the boys on the
neighbor’s rooftop, who were yelling, dan-
cing, hooting and throwing loud insults at
them cheerfully, having poached Omer’s
kite.
Omer glared at Salaar and
stomped towards the pile of brand
new kites, looking shamefacedly
towards Swaba.
“Pitiful,” mocked Fardeen, looking at
him.
“I don’t know why they think they’ve
been castrated every time their kites go
down,” Swaba whispered to Zoella.
“Interesting choice of words,” Zoella
whispered back.
That made both of them laugh. Zoella’s
eyes gravitated back towards Fardeen
again.
But no matter how many times she
looked over towards Fardeen, his handsome,
sculpted face never ever turned her way.
 39/89
Ever. Angels had better things to do than
blow trumpets for her. The earth continued
to rotate on its boring old axis, following the
same well-worn orbit. God was not in His
heaven, all was not right with the world.
Fardeen was still not hers, nor ever likely to
be.
Zoella’s defeated sigh originated all the
way from her coral-tipped toes.
“Nice job, you!”
At the sound of the lilting, sing-song
voice, Zoella grudgingly looked at Neha,
Fardeen’s soon-to-be affianced, long-time
girlfriend. Neha was sophisticated and ex-
uded oomph. It wasn’t difficult to see why
Fardeen never spared anyone else a glance.
Zoella knew she did not have oomph.
Oomph eluded her. And oomph was import-
ant. Especially in Lahore.
“Thanks! Just let me cut my brother
down to size one more time before we go on
to the Gardezi’s,” Fardeen said smiling, eyes
firmly fixed on the sky that seemed to be
throwing up kites.
“I’m not the only one with a kite here, am
I?” Salaar snarled.
“True,” grinned Fardeen.
 40/89
“Well then? Go alpha on someone else,
will you?” Salaar almost whined. Almost.
“Aw…is that a tremor I hear in your
voice?”
Salaar harrumphed.
Zoella was holding the big pinna, the
spool of string of his kite for him. Salaar had
already cut his fingers twice on the string,
which was laced with ground glass, appar-
ently all the better to cut other people’s kite
strings with. Most boys sported Band-Aids
on their fingers and each had a girl standing
a few feet away from him, holding his pinna,
trying to keep up with his frantic re-
quests—‘loosen it’ or ‘back, back’ or ‘roll
it’—and standing by for a defeated, ‘yaar!’ or
a victorious ‘bo kaata’. Usually it was the
girlfriends, or fiancées or wannabe girlfriends
who liked to do that sort of thing. Zoella,
however, had offered to hold Salaar’s string-
ball and be his spool-girl so she could watch
Fardeen without interruption.
“Aaaaaaannnd, done,” announced
Fardeen, as Salaar’s second kite, a beautiful
black and red one with a big fancy tail, came
gliding down.
 41/89

“Bloody hell, Bhai!” Salaar glowered at

his brother.
Fardeen laughed heartily as he
walked towards Neha.
Zoella let her arms fall, now that the
string was kite-less. The pinna consisted of a
heavy wooden rolling pin, with two big discs
on either side fitted with handles. Her arms
were aching. They’d been at it for hours.
“Just…you’ll see. I will crush
you…and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fardeen said. Looking at
Neha, he shook his head in disgust at his
brother’s performance. She handed him a
glass of lassi. Fardeen took it with a sala-
cious wink at her and then as he sipped his
drink, he turned and said, “Salaar, kite-flying
is an art. It’s a legitimate sport. You can’t just
hold a string and say you’re flying a kite. This
is Lahore, not Karachi. The three years in
IBA there took their toll on you. I’m afraid
you’ll never be the same again. You’re dam-
aged goods.”
Salaar was busy stringing his new kite,
muttering curses and Zoella caught a few
words like ‘bloody show-off’, ‘I’ll show him’
and then, “thinks he’s…some…some…”
 42/89

“Prince?” supplied Zoella. Salaar

scowled at her.
She felt rather than saw Neha’s cool
gaze on her. Had Neha heard? Ooops! The
once-over Neha subjected her to made
Zoella want to straighten her clothes. She
felt fat. And short. Neha was a sylvan nymph
at five foot seven and a hundred and ten
pounds. Zoella was only five three, and she
was curvy. Ugh!
“I don’t believe we’ve met…” said Neha
to Fardeen, still surveying Zoella.
Looking confused for just a moment as
he chugged his glass of lassi down, Fardeen
paused, empty glass resting in his hand, and
said hesitantly, “Oh, this is Swaba’s
friend…Zohra.”
Salaar snorted. Swaba frowned at her
eldest brother for a full ten seconds before
correcting him, “This is my best friend since
kindergarten, Zoella.”
Fardeen smiled at Neha as if all was clear
and none of their business anyway. Swaba
wasn’t going to let it go so easily though. He
knew he’d made a tactical error. He might as
well have forgotten his sister’s name. Best
friends were serious business and he knew
 43/89

this friendship meant a great deal to his sis-

ter, judging from the fact that Zoella was al-
ways around, staring at him like a lost puppy.
Giving Swaba a disarming smile, he said,
“Aim the icy daggers at Salaar, Miss Piggy.
He’s been seeing that girl you went to school
with. Your arch-enemy, Mah-something?”
Swaba and Zoella swung towards his
younger brother in unison and yelled simul-
taneously, “Mahnoor?”
Fardeen wasn’t one of the best lawyers
in the city for nothing. He was forgotten and
Swaba’s attention was now on their brother.
Salaar could only scowl at the betrayal. It
made Fardeen laugh even more. Thoroughly
entertained, he watched his brother try get-
ting out of that one.
“Salaar, you traitor! You’re going out with
Mahnoor?” Zoella looked appalled as she
asked the question, while Swaba merely
curled her lip in disgust. Then, very deliber-
ately, Zoella put the ball of string down on
the ground and crossed her arms. That
meant Salaar was officially in trouble.
He retorted somewhat guiltily, “Yes, I
am. And I’ll have you know that she’s a very
nice girl.”
 44/89

“Nice girl?” Fardeen asked in a tone

loaded with meaning. Then added, “Now,
Zo—ella here is a nice girl. Mahnoor, on the
other hand…” Fardeen gave his brother a
wicked grin and shook his head.
Zoella felt a warm prickle of embarrass-
ment. First he’d forgotten her name. He’d
been seeing her in his house for the last
decade and a half at least and he didn’t even
know her name. Now he was calling her a
nice girl.
She felt insulted. Nice girls were boring.
Nice girls were to be avoided like the plague.
Nice girls married the first man who asked
their parents, bore said man two children,
and got fat. Nice girls did not have fun. Nice
girls did not have rich, handsome Adonises
hankering after them. She was not a nice girl.
Nope. Hell, no.
Was she?
“I’m…I’m…” Zoella stuttered, wanting to
change the impression Fardeen had of her
as the bland vanilla nice girl. She didn’t want
to be a nice girl. She wanted to be the girl
Fardeen would fall in love with, marry and
live with happily ever after. She needed to
say something clever. She certainly did not
 45/89

want to appear gauche and awkward by say-

ing the wrong thing, or worse, not saying
anything at all. She wanted to be witty and
funny and dazzling. Instead, she was stam-
mering, frantically searching her blissfully
blank mind for a droll retort.
Fardeen however, had moved on already
and was addressing his brother, “I can smell
nice girls from across the galaxy. Take it
from me, that girl you’re seeing is not nice.”
There was too much noise to think,
Zoella consoled herself, as Fardeen casually
snagged Neha’s hand and was halfway
across the rooftop before anyone could say
anything more. There, he turned and asked
Salaar with another wicked grin, “What do
you want with a nice girl anyway? You’re not
thinking of marrying her, are you?”
“F…Get off my back,” Salaar said with
open irritation. His brother’s laughter at Sa-
laar’s discomfiture made Salaar glower even
more.
Chuckling, Fardeen walked
towards the winding stone staircase,
with Neha on his arm.
“Fardeen, how very naughty of you!
What’s wrong with nice girls?” Neha batted
 46/89

her eyelashes at him. Still chuckling,

Fardeen walked towards the winding stair-
way with Neha on his arm.
His eyes warmed as he looked at Neha.
“Nothing, I’m sure. I’d have no clue what to
do with them, however.”
A dark, bitter disappointment swelled
within Zoella. He’d just called her a nice girl.
Her brain however, chose that moment to re-
gister, yet again, the dark hair that fell in soft
waves, his perfect profile and the broad
shoulders that carried his designer jacket so
well. She sighed again.
She’d lost count of her sighs long ago.
There were too many. There were different
kinds. There were those she secretly en-
joyed because they were for Fardeen. Then
there were those that escaped from the
depths of her troubled soul because her
mother never took her side against her dom-
ineering brother, who treated her like his per-
sonal slave. There were some she tried to
suppress because she realized that perhaps
she was too much of a dreamer.
Perhaps it was her youthful arrogance
born of optimistic inexperience that kept her
dream of true love alive, because without it,
 47/89
her life was desolate. There was a part of her
that understood that Fardeen’s sexy smile,
his black unruly hair that fell roguishly across
his forehead, the angles and planes of his
chiseled face, were not meant for the likes of
Zoella Khan, the wretched of the earth, who
would neither inherit said planet, nor Adonis-
like older brothers of best friends.

***
If you enjoyed reading this excerpt, then
pre-order now on Amazon
MORE BY ZEENAT MAHAL
49/89
 50/89

itle: Haveli
ISBN: 978-1-927826-02-7
Genre: Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Read an excerpt, and buy on Amazon
Book Blurb:
Abandoned by her father, C. is brought
up by her domineering, intractable
grandmother, whom she privately
refers to as ‘The Broad’. Raised in the
closed environs of a haveli in
Jalalabad, C. is rebellious,
quick-witted and a self-proclaimed
cynic.
So, when The Broad presents her with
the ‘suitable’ Taimur as a possible
husband, C. isn’t too happy with the
arrangement, no matter how gorgeous
‘Alpha Male’ may be. As it happens,
the feeling is mutual. Or is it?
And when C.’s long lost father enters
the scene, things get really
complicated…
Praise for Haveli:
Though Austen might have taken
pause with some of Chandni’s
wardrobe options, I think she would
whole-heartedly approve of the
buildup to the romance between
 52/89

Chandni and Taimur (who turns out to

be a respectable gentleman even Mr.
Darcy would approve of
The Lemon Review
Dear Ms. Mahal, I love your voice
here!
Dear Author (Jayne S)
A reading treat both for eyes and for
minds alike.
Books News India
A sweet romance with sparkling
dialogue and a gallant hero. Just my
favourite type of read. I look forward
to more from this worthy author.
Maria Perry Mohan – Contemporary
Romance Reviews
I will revisit it whenever I want to read a
modern, Asian version of Jane Austen books.
Rekha Seshadri
What comes to mind with a setting of
1971, Nawabs and Haveli? Iridescent
chandeliers, flowing gharara,
shimmering dupattas, tinkling
bangles, and an intense, magnetic
 53/89

hero, each of these things came alive

for me from the first page when ‘C’
starts to pour tea under the watchful
eyes of ‘The Broad’.
Ruchi Singh
Though Austen might have taken
pause with some of Chandni’s
wardrobe options, I think she would
whole-heartedly approve of the
buildup to the romance between
Chandni and Taimur (who turns out to
be a respectable gentleman even Mr.
Darcy would approve of).
L Gregory Blog Review
Title: The Contract
Author: Zeenat Mahal
ISBN: 978-1-927826-15-7
Genre: Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Read an excerpt and buy on Amazon

Book Blurb:
“…I’ll pay you a monthly salary to behave
and appear for all practical purposes as my
wife…If you agree, the marriage vows can be
 55/89

taken on the phone on Saturday, since I have

an hour free in the morning.”

Circumstances have forced the young divor-

cée, Shahira, to accept Hussain’s unusual
proposition. As per their contract, she’ll have
his name, will be paid to look after his ailing
mother and motherless daughter and will be
left well alone by him. Perfect!

Until her new husband decides to stop play-

ing by the rules…

Praise for The Contract:

One reason I love to read books set in a
country other than my own is for the chance
to vicariously live there for the duration of
the story. "The Contract" allows me to do
just that. It's packed with little details about
life in Lahore, Pakistani families, weddings,
Daahta Saheb and life in general."
Dear Author (Jayne S)

She is a blessed writer who spreads ‘the fra-

grance of motherland’ through her prose.
 56/89

She hails from Pakistan and her understand-

ing of Pakistani culture and her admiration
oozes from her stories and characters alike.
Books News India

A perfect leisure read which thrills and

excites
NjKinny's World of Books

Read this story for the brilliant language,

portrayal of emotions and strong female
character (that is an indireads norm, I
guess). A very enjoyable, short read.
Readers’ Muse

This book sure is a hidden gem that only a

few lucky bookworms have discovered.
Prity Malhotra
 ABOUT INDIREADS
Indireads was started
with the aim to
revolutionizing the
popular fiction genre in
South Asia. We showcase
vibrant narratives that
describe the lives,
constraints, hopes and
aspirations of modern
South Asian men and
women. We take great
pride in our role as a
channel for South Asian
 58/89

writers to engage readers

at home and abroad.

Please visit us at www.indire-

ads.com to learn more, and
browse our entire collection.
Please subscribe to our news-
letter at ht-
tp://www.indireads.com/sub-
scribe/ to hear about our new
releases, get access to
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We also invite you to join the
conversation on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/indire-
adsbooks and follow Indireads
on twitter at @indireads
We welcome your feedback at
feedback@indireads.com
 ABOUT ZEENAL MAHAL
Zeenat Mahal (@zeemahal) is an
avid reader and has been writing
for as long as she can remember.
She has an MPhil in English liter-
ature from Government College
Lahore and recently completed an
MFA in creative writing from
Kingston University, London.
Zeenat has eclectic tastes
and an insatiable desire to
learn. Her romances are a
heady mix of the traditional
and the contemporary, old
world values face the
challenges of a shrinking
globe that impinge upon and
help shape South Asian
sensibilities.

She can be contacted on her FB

page https://www.facebook.com/
pages/Zeenat-Mahal.
MORE BY INDIREADS
61/89
 62/89

Title: A Scandalous Proposition

Author: M M George
ISBN: 978-1-927826-03-4
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:
“What is your price, Mira?”
“You’ll never be able to afford it!”

Feisty, small-town girl Mira Talwar is just

finding her feet in Delhi when she encoun-
ters the hottest bachelor in the country, Ran-
bir Dewan. The sparks flying between them
sizzle with sexual tension, but when Ranbir
puts a scandalous proposition before her, she
turns him down spiritedly.

However, thrown together by unhappy coin-

cidence, Mira is finding it hard to resist
 63/89

Ranbir’s attentions. And he isn’t the kind to

give up easily…
T itle: Butterfly
Season
Author: Natasha Ahmed
ISBN: 978-1-927826-55-3
Genre: Romance
Book Page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
 65/89

Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

On her first holiday in six years, Rumi is ex-

pecting to relax and unwind. But when she is
set up by her long-time friend, she doesn’t
shy away from the possibilities. Ahad, a
charming, independent, self-made man, cap-
tures her imagination, drawing her away
from her disapproving sister, Juveria.

Faced with sizzling chemistry and a meeting

of the minds, Ahad and Rumi find them-
selves deep in a relationship that moves for-
ward with growing intensity. But as her de-
sire for the self-assured Ahad grows, Rumi
struggles with a decision that will impact the
rest of her life.

Confronted by her scandalized sister, a for-

bidding uncle and a society that frowns on
pre-marital intimacy, Rumi has to decide
 66/89

whether to shed her middle-class sensibilit-

ies, turning her back on her family, or return
to her secluded existence as an unmarried
woman in Pakistan.

We follow Rumi from rainy London to a

sweltering Karachi, as she tries to take con-
trol of her own destiny
Title: Done With Men
Author: Shuchi Singh Kalra
ISBN: 978-1-927826-32-4
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

Travel journo, Kairavi Krishna (Kay) has had

it with men. After a series of disasters
 68/89

(losers, philanderers, leeches, mama’s boys

and possessive psychos), she is all too temp-
ted to walk out on the prospect of ever find-
ing love. But just when Kay is Done With
Men, she meets Mr. Right.

Accompanied by her best friend and flat-

mate Baani, she sets off for Goa, hoping to
get away from her miserable love life and
vowing to stay clear of the male species.

Goa however, has a host of surprises in store

for her. Ricky, her pesky ex-boyfriend, is
busy painting the town red with his hot new
girlfriend. Now what is poor Kay to do, other
than overdose on vodka, smoke pot, get an
outrageous tattoo and fall off the hotel
balcony?

She wakes up in the hospital to the tender

ministrations of Dr. Vivian D’Mello—young,
suave and handsome as hell. Will Kay stick
to her guns or will she fall for his ridiculously
 69/89

sexy charms? And what’s up with the mixed

signals he’s giving out?
71/89
 72/89

itle: The Perfect Groom

Author: Sumeetha Manikandan
ISBN: 978-1-927826-14-0
Genre: Women’s Literature
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:
Very little has gone right in Nithya’s young
life. So, when a proposal from a young,
handsome NRI comes along, her mother
jumps at the opportunity and packs her
daughter off to the US with her perfect
groom.

Nithya seems to have settled in with Ashok,

ostensibly happy, if as yet childless, in her
new life. When an old flame comes back into
her life, however, the cracks in her perfect
marriage begin to show…
74/89
 75/89

itle: Girl from Fatehpur

Author: Sarita Varma
ISBN: 978-1-927826-18-8
Genre: Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

“I love you Rajan,” she had blurted out,

hands clenched tightly at her sides.
“Sana, you are only a kid…you will soon
forget all this. Besides, don’t you also love
Shahrukh Khan?”

A decade has gone by and Sanjana, now a

highflying professional in Mumbai, thought
she was over her childhood crush on the en-
igmatic Rajan. Back in her hometown
Fatehpur for a family wedding, she bumps
into him; he’s still enigmatic and the sparks
 76/89

are still there. Just when things begin to heat

up, though, in walks Krish, a colleague from
Mumbai, who seems to be very possessive of
Sanjana…
78/89
 79/89

itle: A Newlywed’s Adventures in Mar-

ried Land
Author: Shweta Ganesh Kumar
ISBN: 978-0-9919600-4-0
Genre: Women’s Literature
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

“Dependent!!?”

Mythili has just moved to the Philippines to

be with the love of her life and new husband,
Siddharth. From being a hard-as-nails re-
porter who covered crime stories of the gori-
est kind, Mythili is now just a ‘dependent’.
On top of that, unemployment, encounters
with expat-wives and culture shock leave her
feeling like she has fallen down a rabbit hole.
 80/89

Mythili and Siddharth slowly come to realize

that being newlywed in a foreign country is
very different from being passionately in
love, long-distance. Will this real life Alice
find her way out of her own little Wonder-
land, or will the Red Queen take her head?
82/89
 83/89

itle: Only a Dream

Author: Jazz Singh
ISBN: 978-1-927826-09-6
Genre: Romance
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

Rhea is successful, accomplished and per-

fectly content in the comfortable little niche
she has carved out for herself. She’s moved
on from the heartbreak of her past, and
hasn’t looked back in years. When Varun
comes waltzing into her life again, however,
Rhea is unprepared for the rush of memories
that upset her neat little life. Nor is she able
to push back her broken dreams, and learn
to trust again.
 84/89

Varun wants her back, but it looks like an

uphill task, at best…
86/89
 87/89

Title: Unsettled – A Search for Love

and Meaning
Author: Neelima Vinod
ISBN: 978-1-927826-07-2
Genre: Women’s Literature
Book page on Indireads
Book Page on Goodreads
Buy on Amazon
Read an excerpt for free (PDF)

Book Blurb:

The hundred-room house is a rich tapestry of

memories and hidden secrets, a dark, forbid-
ding place, rumoured to be haunted by a
vengeful Yakshi. Propelled by a desire to save
their marriage, Divya and Raghav journey to
the haunted mansion in search of the myth-
ical Scrolls of Love.

Written five hundred years ago by the ban-

ished court poet Shankara, they are fabled to
have the power to heal and reignite lost love.
 88/89

Is this just a legend, or are the couple head-

ing towards a chilling destiny?"
@Created by PDF to ePub