That Feeling Called Love...
She wore a loose green kurta and a white dupata draped almost half her body. Her hair was neatly tied up in a bun and she stepped inside the college campus nervously. Her finger nails kept pinning down her bag straps. She got more nervous seeing her classmates. Not a single girl she could find was without make up. Her cosmetics kit consisted of a vaseline petroleum jelly, a comb, a cold cream and ponds powder. The girls flaunted their curves in tights, their coloured lips were shining, and their open hairs were swinging. She wondered how they could manage to walk swiftly with those thin pencils underneath their shoes. Nahid knew she was ordinary, she wasn’t like them and she could never be like them. But her Abbu always told her she was his star, his Nahid. She did not feel like a star here. A guy brushed past her, she literally started trembling. She had never ever talked to any guy other than her Abbu. Being born in a middle class orthodox Muslim family Nahid was instilled heavily