25
Nasrin
“You have to eat something.”
As if prodded by my younger brother’s command, my stomach growled. “See? Starving yourself won’t bring you any joy, Nasrin. Eat,” Imran said, taking a piece of my favorite sweet kunafah, and twirling it across my face.
“Stop it,” I grumbled and shuffled on the bed. The same old white-washed, simple bed in the Maahnoor palace. “I don’t want to eat anything right now.”
Imran sighed. His warm brown eyes had lost the gleam they had since the news of my father’s crime. “You have been saying that for the past three days. Look at yourself in the mirror, you look worse than Sadiq did when he woke up after Hussain pranked him with the laxatives in his food for his thirtieth birthday.”
I cracked a small smile, remembering that day. Hussain was a year old
