Page 45 of Writing Mr. Right

“Sabaa?”

“I have a cousin up in Canada named Sabaa.”

Aashiq fixes me with an annoyed stare, and I hold up my hands in defense. “Hey, I have a lot of female relatives, so we might be here for a while.”

We continue our walk, and finally Aashiq says, “What about Manahil?”

I chew my cheek as I mull it over. “Hmm. I have a second cousin whose name is Manahil, but she lives in Pakistan, so I don’t talk to her. That could work.”

“Great!” Aashiq says, and judging by the way the line of his shoulders relaxes, he’s relieved we’ve finally gotten over this hurdle. “Okay. What about the love interest’s name?”

“I don’t know.” I huff, and my breath comes out in a puffy cloud. “Can you give me options again?”

“Are you going to reject every single one I give?”

“Hey, I decided on Manahil, didn’t I?”

Aashiq fixes me with a long stare, but eventually he sighs. “Fine. How about Zain?”

My tongue sours like I’ve bitten into a lemon. “That’s such abasicPakistani male name,” I say. “Give me something with pizzazz.”

“Alright.” He swings his arms at his sides. “Danish?”

“Nah, it doesn’t feel right.”

“Salman?”

“I feel like that would make everyone think of Salman Khan, the actor.”

Displeasure wrinkles his brows, and I stick out my lower lip. “Listen, the name of the love interest is very important,” I insist. “It has to be nice or have an important meaning because he’s the one readers have to root for. If I don’t like a love interest, it completely ruins my enjoyment of a book.”

Aashiq shakes his head. “Fine, fine,” he says. “What do you think about Junaid?”

“Huh.” Junaid. I roll it over my tongue. “It’s just unique enough to work.”

“Wonderful! So, with the names settled, what is the relationship between these characters?”

I tilt my head to the side. “If he’s her writing muse, then he’s like her helper. So I’d say some kind of friends-to-lovers arc.”

“Okay, great.” Aashiq makes a rolling motion with his finger. “Let’s move on.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Shouldn’t we be writing this down? I can use the notes app on my phone.”

“Why?” Aashiq quirks a brow. “I’ll remember everything. Don’t worry. I’m a walking, talking notebook.”

Handy. “What do we need to figure out next, then?”

“I guess the important question is what the romance itself will be like,” he offers.

“That’s an easy answer—playful but angst-filled.” I snap my fingers. “Especiallythe angst part.”

“How d’you mean?” Aashiq tilts his head to the side.

“Well, there’s just something super delicious about characters who are so alike and into each other but can’t be together for one reason or another,” I explain. I move my hands upward as if I’m cradling something. “It ups the emotion and makes everything feel palpable.”

Aashiq’s gaze searches my face. Something odd clouds his eyes; usually his expression is so clear you can immediately tell what he’s thinking. Now, though, his soft blue-green eyes are as restless as the deep sea. My heart thunders in my own sternumas if it’s a storm pelting his ocean eyes, and I swear it’s going to burst out of me.

After a beat, Aashiq says, “What if you make it so they can’t be together?”

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