ShortVerse by LAURA AYSAR

"Which idiot are you flirting with, huh? Have some self-respect, Za! Do you think I’m just a piece of wood standing here? Zana, if I catch you with that idiot again, I won’t hesitate to lock you up in this house. Got it?" Zafkil’s voice roared, while Zana stood just a meter away, looking at him with eyes that seemed to shrink and grow with annoyance. "Abang, what idiot are you even talking about? I don’t get it." Her brow furrowed. Since when did I flirt with a bowl? Hello, I’m still sane, okay? Who even flirts with a bowl? Is he crazy or what? "Which idiot, you ask? The man who had lunch with you at the Coffee House. Who else?" Zafkil’s voice rose again, his breath moving up and down as he tried to control his temper. "Abang, he’s just my old friend," Zana replied softly, still patient with her husband’s ridiculous jealousy. She was used to this. "From today, I don’t want you seeing that idiot again. I don’t like it. You’re a woman ...

The night breeze was a fresh breath in Nizam’s lungs. He gazed intently at Syafzira’s curled-up figure, sleeping gracefully on his bed. A small chuckle escaped him—her sleeping position was just like a spoiled baby’s. To him, Zira looked irresistibly cute. He felt an urge to tug at her adorable nose. But… could he? He might end up getting a “free slap” for no reason. If only Syafzira’s heart could spare a little space for him as her husband, Nizam would be celebrating in joy. But maybe that was just a far-fetched daydream. Patience, Nizam. He moved closer to her sleeping form and crouched by the bed. His eyes never left her innocent face, feeling the gentle rhythm of her breath on his skin. Resting his chin on his left hand, his other hand wandered on its own—restless, mischievous. Sometimes it touched her hand, sometimes her nose. Well… he was just trying to set the “happy mood” before bed. "My wife’s actually quite pretty. Ah, my luck… got myself a fierce wife. Bu...

Syafzira had thought long and hard — so hard that her brain felt overcooked — about her beloved mother’s request to find her a husband. For nearly a month — every single day, hour, minute, and second — she had been mulling over this matter. Like it or not, she would eventually taste the sweetness of marriage… even if she was forced into it. But was she truly ready to be called a wife? And if she agreed to her mother’s request, who would be the lucky guy to become her husband? Syafzira wondered for a moment. Her mother was really something else. Syafzira had planned since primary school that she would only marry at the age of 24. Repeat: twenty-four years old. Not twenty. But it seemed her mother couldn’t wait to welcome a son-in-law. Huh… four more years wasn’t that long, right? Blink and it would pass. The more she thought about it, the messier her head felt. Back when she was 12, she’d made a vow that she wouldn’t be swayed by any man until she turned 23. That was her life princ...