Page 46 of Writing Mr. Right

Something about the dejectedness in his tone nearly stops my pulse. “I mean…it’ll be hard for them,” I reason, even while my mouth dries. “He’s technically not real, and she is.” I swallow thickly. “But I’m sure we can figure out a way for them to end up together. Just because the book has underlying angst doesn’t mean it can’t have a happy ending.”

Aashiq blinks slowly. “Right,” he practically breathes. He nods firmly once. “Right. So, what is their relationship like when they first meet?”

“I guess if I’m basing the story off my own experience, I’d have to say Manahil is annoyed by Junaid when he first appears.”

Aashiq stops walking. “You were annoyed by me when we first met?”

I snort. “I was pretty obvious about it. I told you multiple times to go away. That didn’t clue you into anything?”

“No,” he replies, because of course it didn’t. “Or, maybe it did but I instinctively ignored my feelings because I knew I had to help you.”

The thought of Aashiq thinking, even on an unconscious level, that his feelings don’t matter shoots an arrow through my heart. I ignore the pain and knot my fingers together. “Moving on,” I eventually say. My thoughts quickly shift, and a gasp bursts from me as I latch onto Aashiq’s arm. His eyes widen in response, and he stiffens under my touch, but I’m so wired by my new idea I barely digest it. “Maybe they don’t like each other at first! Or maybe she doesn’t like him, and he gets on her nerves a lot, even though he’s trying to teach her or be helpful to her. She can think he doesn’t know as much as he actuallydoes. Or maybe he’s so good at his job it annoys her, so by extensionheannoys her.”

Aashiq is quiet for a moment, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t draw away from me, though; he just sucks in his cheeks. “Okay,” he croaks. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is steadier. “So, what’s the turning point? What happens in their relationship that makes them realize they like each other?”

“Should it be a thing one of them does?” I ask. “Or should it be because of the external or internal conflict?” I let go of his arm, and I swear I catch relief relaxing his eyebrows. “Speaking of which… I don’t know what the conflict is going to be.”

“We can get to that later,” Aashiq says. “There’s no rush. You’re on a roll right now, so I don’t want to do anything that’ll disrupt it.” He waves his hand to the side. “Let’s change course instead. What about the couple is romantic? What’ll they do that’s romantic?”

“I don’t know,” I confess. I dig my hands into my pockets. “What do you think?”

He frowns. “I don’t know, either. Think back to moments in your own life. What was it like when you were in love?”

Instantly, heat rushes to my cheeks. I chew my tongue and lower my chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before,” I murmur.

His eyes widen. “What?”

My hand whacks him in the arm before I can stop myself. “Don’t act soshocked. If you live in my head, then you know I’m a workaholic shut-in whose idea of a well-spent Saturday night is a pint of ice cream and a K-drama binge.”

“It’s not that,” he quickly amends, shaking his head. “I’m just shocked because of the type of person you are.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re beautiful, smart, dedicated, hardworking,” he rattles off. “You’re loyal and ambitious. Plus, you’re kindto animals. I’ve seen you leave water in a plastic bowl for the neighborhood stray cats. How could someonenotfall in love with you?”

Heat floods my cheeks. My stomach clenches at each item he lists off, though I don’t know why. Isn’t a good thing for someone to recognize you’re actually a good person?

But something in my head says that because it’s Aashiq, it’s different. Because it’s his soft blue-green eyes, which mirror elegant turquoise waves, that gaze upon me as he says it. Because it’s his firm, solid torso that always seems to be turned toward me, that gives me his full attention as he says it. And because it’s his gentle voice, like a legato that seamlessly ties all his words together no matter how fast he speaks, as he says it. Because it’s all these things, it’s different.

My voice carries a light tremble as I reply, “I guess it’s not so much that someone isn’t falling in love with me as it’s I haven’t fallen in love with anyone. The complicated part is love itself.”

“Why?” he questions. “From what I’ve heard, love is great.”

“From what you’ve heard?” I repeat. “Meaning you’ve never been in love, either?”

He quirks a brow. “How could I?” he asks. “Before now, I’ve existed completely in your head. If you’ve never experienced love, I never have, either.”

“That’s a fair point,” I allow. “I’m just surprised because you seem to know a lot about romantic things.”

“Meaning?”

“You know how to make a person feel important,” I start. “You know how to offer support. You know how to pick someone up when they’re down.” I elbow him in the side. “Plus, you make sure I eat three times a day. Pure romance by today’s standards.”

Aashiq stops in his tracks, and I slow to a stop to avoid getting too far ahead. The streetlight we’re under bathes him in a golden light. “You find those things romantic?”

Several warning bells go off in my head, but I ignore them. My voice is as delicate as a harp’s string. “Yeah.”

“So, you findmeromantic.” This time, it’s not a question.

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