Novels by Muzna Malik

Chapter 4LyraGroaning, I forced myself upright, the blanket sliding off as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The events of last night began trickling back, unspooling like a bad sitcom. Anthony. The ridiculous condition I’d thrown at him—that his boss should show up personally if he wanted my forgiveness. I pressed the heels of my hands to my temples and groaned again.Dragging myself to the bathroom, I grabbed my toothbrush and began scrubbing, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. “What the hell were you thinking?” I muttered around a mouthful of toothpaste. Then, as I rinsed, I caught sight of the faint smudges of mascara under my eyes and laughed. No, correction—I cackled. Pointing the toothbrush at the mirror like it was a microphone, I said, “Well done, Lyra. Really. Top-tier decision-making right there.”The sound of my own laughter filled the tiny bathroom, echoing against the tiles. But as I stood there, dripping toothbrush in hand, the laughter began to fade, rep

Chapter 3 Lyra I stepped out of the shadows and into the glow of the streetlight and Anthony’s face lit up with relief. He looked like a man who had just spotted land after days lost at sea. His smile widened as he hurried toward me, bouquet and basket still in hand, his movements a mix of exhaustion and determination. “Miss Lyra!” he called out, his voice practically dripping with gratitude. “Thank goodness! I’ve been looking for you all day. Please, these are for you.” He extended the bouquet and the basket toward me like they were peace offerings, his tired eyes hopeful and sincere. I stared at him, then at the ridiculous gifts in his hands. Flowers that might’ve once been beautiful but now looked like an insult, a mockery. The basket was stuffed with expensive treats—chocolates, wine, maybe even something more indulgent—and the entire display made my stomach churn. What was this? An apology? A bribe? A sick joke? Anthony continued to ramble, his words barely registering

Chapter 2 Lyra Sitting at the bar, I glanced down at my drink—a rich, amber-colored Old Fashioned. Classy, potent, the kind of drink that wasn’t made to be sipped but savored. Or in my case, chugged, I thought dryly as I finished off the last of it, the burn of the whiskey trailing down my throat, warming everything but the cold ache in my chest. I’d come to New York for love, for something beautiful, something new, but the only thing I’d found here was heartbreak, sharp and raw. The ring. The Maldives. The stupid little dreams I’d been saving up for. My fingers drummed against the bar, wanting another drink to drown the bitterness that kept bubbling up. It was easier to let the alcohol numb me, easier to ignore the way my heart clenched every time I thought about Ethan and her. I caught the bartender’s eye, raising my empty glass. “Another,” I said, my voice low, trying to sound as unbroken as I could manage. He gave a small nod and went to make it without a word. Here, no on

Chapter 1 Lyra The rumble of the train beneath me hums with a strange sort of anticipation. I glance at my suitcase beside me, the small black box hidden within it. A ring box. It’s surreal, almost, that I’m the one planning to get down on one knee—or maybe not, if I let my nerves win. I picture the moment a dozen different ways, each one turning out perfectly. Or at least, I hope so. This wasn’t the way I thought I’d feel, a mix of thrilling excitement and a faint undercurrent of fear. I take a breath, exhaling as I look out the window. The winter scenery races by, a blur of gray and white, a mirror of how quickly things seem to be moving lately. Ethan and I had always talked about marriage, how we’d know when the time was right. We’d even made a little pact in college: “Let’s get married once we’re out of our early twenties and settled.” I’ve held onto that promise ever since, keeping it in the back of my mind as we both pursued our careers, carved out our places in the world.