My name is Muhammad. Muhammad Naqvi. Born on the 11th of March, just two days before her...her her her her her. My whole live revolves around her. Her name is Hania Shoaib, my best friend, she has big beautiful dark brown eyes. Long dark brown hair and gorgeous light brown skin. I have light brown hair. My eyes are a dark shade of blue. My skin is paler than hers. We have been best friends for most of our lives, but it wasn’t always that way. Back when we were ten, she was my arch nemesis and I was hers.

 We were competitive over everything. We were most competitive over pranking. The constant battle of whose prank was better, but that day everything changed. The school day was just over and I got up to walk out of class, next second I was on the floor face first. Another jerk had tied my shoelaces up. Great! Just when I was about to get up, a pair of feet stood in front of me, I looked up to see her. Smiling at me and offering me her hand. That day she turned from my worst enemy to my best friend. It might seem like a small thing to you but to me it was the kindest thing anyone ever did to me in two whole years. After my mother died I was highly depressed. She was my only friend. I had never really made any friends at school and my identical twin brother had his own friends to play with. After her demise I was lonelier than ever. 

My brother was in the same condition as I was, so he wasn’t there to stop the bullying, the kicking, the punching, the hatred. My father got over his love for our mother and us quickly enough because he introduced us to his first wife who was apparently living in Paris for the past thirteen years. I wonder if my mom knew about her. I hated her and her two children. Hira and Haider. Hira is eight years older than me and Haider is two. Eventually, our father stopped caring about us and paid more attention to our step siblings. All we got from him was food, shelter and clothing. We did the same in return, we stopped caring about him as well. So I never got any attention, friendship, love or even any sympathy from anywhere. She was the first to ever care. And that changed everything. I started noticing her beauty, her perfection, her smile, her laugh and absolutely everything about her. After five to six months I finally conjured up the courage to ask her the question I never asked anyone. 

“Can we be friends?” I ask, coming up to her.

Like always, she didn’t fail to amaze me.

“Of course.” She answered. 

After that we sat together at recess and lunch everyday. She used to listen to my complaints, my pain, my life, honestly. Holding my hand to comfort me. What I didn’t know was that her best friend was my twin; Mustafa. After a little while it started to sink in and I accepted him as my best friend too. The three of us were inseparable, we spent all our time together, everywhere we went, we were together. Unsurprisingly, Hania was quite popular at school. That automatically made us popular as well. So my life was completely perfect. I used to play with my brother at home and hang out with Hania at school.

Around that time I started developing feelings for her, feelings I didn’t quite understand myself. I used to wake up thinking about her, go to sleep thinking about her, think about her in class. When she talked to me or I saw her, butterflies would erupt in my stomach. Forget butterflies, it felt as if a whole zoo had found it’s way into my abdomen. I didn’t know how to describe those feelings, but what I knew for sure was that she was mine and I was hers...

“Obsession...that’s my life.” Muhammad Mohsin Abbas your average everyday boy has an obsession...over a girl. What happens when this obsession goes a bit overboard... 

 Five years passed by with learning four languages, learning to play the piano, kicking soccer balls and loving her more than ever. In my culture, you can get engaged at fifteen and then married at the age of eighteen. 11th of March came around, I turned fifteen, and my wish was to propose to Hania. I planned to talk to her grandfather first, as it was tradition to speak to the elders of the girl prior to proposing personally. Afterwards, I desired to propose to Hania directly. I walked up the steps to her mansion. After two hours of searching for her grandfather’s study in the gigantic house. ( I only went into Hania’s room when I visited. I wasn’t well versed with all the other rooms.) 

I gently pushed open the door and knocked three times. There was a sofa and a coffee table at the side of the room, for meetings or relaxation I suppose. His study table sat opposite the fireplace. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered three of the four walls of the room. All the furniture was polished and presumably made of oak. To my surprise Mustafa was seated on the couch while Mr. Mansoor was seated on the arm chair beside him. At my knock, their attention snaps towards me, interrupting their seemingly interesting conversation. 

“Come in Muhammad, we were just talking about you.” Mr. Mansoor exclaims.

“Good Afternoon, sir.” I greet whilst making my way to the couch. 

“What brings you here?” He questions.

“An important matter, sir.” I say, before quickly adding, “one I would like to discuss privately.” 

As though he understood, Mustafa gets up and approaches her grandfather, “It was a pleasant chat we had sir, however, I have an appointment elsewhere.” After bidding us farewell, Mustafa left the room. 

“Now, what would you like to discuss?” He asks, directing his attention towards me.

“It’s regarding your granddaughter, Hania.” I start.

“Go on.”

I take a deep breath and blurt it all out, “I would like to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“You boys have put me into a very difficult position.” He replies with a sigh.

“I am not sure I understand...” I say, confused.

“You see, your brother has asked for the same proposal.”

My breath hitches in my throat. I didn’t know my brother had the same intentions. Just great! Now, I have to compete with my own god forsaken brother. I could have just backed away and let them get married, but something didn’t let me do that. I guess, it was the undying love I had for her. I had a feeling Mustafa wouldn’t back down either. The only other solution to the problem was...

“My granddaughter is very dear to me, I cannot give her to just anyone. I understand why you two would want to marry her, she is a very special girl, one not to be given to just anyone.”

“I understand, sir.” I reply. 

“Now, the only way to determine who will win the hand of my granddaughter is the Test.”

“When will you hold the Test?” I ask.

“In two weeks time, Muhammad.” 

“Alright, sir.” I say, “I should be heading home now.” 

We both stand up. He shakes my hand and we bid farewell to each other. I make my way out of the mansion and into my car. As the driver drives me back home, my thoughts start running around in my head, too fast for me to catch. Absoluetly perfect. I will have to compete with my twin. And that twin is better than me in every way. So be it. She is mine and always will be mine.

My alarm wakes me up and I stumble out of bed. The next two weeks will be filled with training for that test. Just the thought of all that training makes me want to go to bed again. A knock brings me out of my trance. I go over to open the door to a very hyper looking Zee. From the way she was hoping up and down, I think she found out. I guess by now the entire city knew. Oh boy.