The flight to Texas felt like stepping backward in time.
I sat by the window, the hum of the engines vibrating through my seat as the lights of Las Vegas disappeared below us.
I had chosen my outfit carefully that morning — a fitted cream silk blouse that hugged the full curve of my heavy breasts and cinched gently at the waist, paired with a high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt that followed the sway of my wide hips and ended modestly just below my knees. A navy blazer completed the polished look, left open so the silk could catch the light. I draped a light cream dupatta gracefully over my shoulders and pinned it a little looser than usual, letting it frame my face instead of hiding it completely. For jewellery, I wore my favourite small gold hoop earrings that swayed softly with every step, a delicate thin gold chain with a tiny pendant resting just above my collarbone, and three slim gold bangles on my right wrist that gave a gentle, feminine jingle whenever I moved. The outfit was professional enough for campus, yet it made me feel beautifully womanly in a way I had never allowed myself before — confident, desired, and quietly powerful.
My fingers kept drifting to the faint love-bite just above my collarbone, hidden beneath the edge of my dupatta. Even now, hours after I had left him, my body still remembered everything — the way Lucifer had grabbed my hair against his thickness yesterday, kissing me until my knees gave out; the way he had looked at me swallowing his love inside, praising how much of a good girl I am, embracing the wet reverence while whispering how perfect I was. Every "good girl" he growled against my throat had felt like honey and sin mixed together.
Astaghfirullah…
I closed my eyes and tried to pray, but the words kept slipping away, replaced by the memory of his hands on my hips, his breath hot against my neck, the way he had looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth keeping.
Ya Allah, how had I let it go this far? Two days of pure, stolen bliss, and now I was flying back to the place where I used to feel so small.
The distance between us already felt unbearable. I pulled out my phone and read his last message again: "Come home to me soon, Love." My heart squeezed so tightly I had to bite my lip to keep from tearing up. I was his angel — but I was also still Aafreen Khan, the girl who prayed Fajr every morning and whispered istighfar even while my body burned for him.
The plane landed in Dallas just after sunrise.
The Texas air felt heavier, warmer, familiar in a way that made my chest ache. Marcus had arranged a similar black Escalade to pick me up from the airport and take me straight to campus for my mid-point review.
I climbed in, the temperature-controlled air was cool against my skin, and watched the city lights blur past. For a moment I let myself imagine what it would feel like to have Lucifer here beside me, his hand on my thigh, his voice low in my ear. The thought sent heat blooming low in my belly again.
Forgive me, Ya Allah. I am trying to be good… but my heart has already chosen him.
Soon enough we were pulling through the front gate of the university. Marcus got us permission to drive though the campus in the car. This was my first time travelling through the gate inside a vehicle. And somehow it felt different.
The students and staff were looking at the vehicle window, trying to figure out who it was. I felt special, felt as if I was not that Aafreen Khan anymore who was a unknown.
The car stopped right in front of the department entrance, I got down and walked into Dr. Patel's office with my report and the signed Hardpound evaluation in my hands.
He looked up from the glowing review, raised his eyebrows, and leaned back in his chair.
"Aafreen, that was impressive. The Chairman himself signed off on your performance. We've not seen this kind of report for a long time."
"But… you seem different. More confident, Yes. Has life in Las Vegas changed you in ways that might affect your focus on your studies or your faith?"
The old Aafreen — the one who used to shrink in her seat and apologize for existing — would have lowered her eyes and promised she was still the quiet, good girl. But something in me had changed. I met his eyes steadily, my voice calm and clear.
"Dr. Patel, the work I did at Hardpound was challenging and rewarding. I contributed to major deals and learned skills I never would have in a classroom. My faith is still important to me — I pray every day. But I've also learned that strength and confidence aren't the same as losing my way. I think I'm growing, sir. And I'm proud of it."
He blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly. "You've matured, Aafreen. This is the kind of growth we like to see. Keep that fire — but don't forget where you came from. Anddd with this we can say your evaluation is completed. Classes will resume post 2-3 weeks. Keep checking your email."
He extended his arm for a handshake.
"Thank you, Dr. Patel," I responded, completing it with a steady grip.
I walked out of his office with my head held high, feeling a quiet pride I had never known before. For the first time, my worth wasn't tied to being small and invisible. It was tied to the woman I was becoming.
But not all interactions with people made me happy. Walking down the hallway felt suddenly narrower. My heart gave a small, unexpected lurch when I saw him.
Jake.
***
He was standing a little further down the corridor, laughing with a girl I didn't recognize — petite, blonde, wearing a short summer dress that showed off long legs and a bright, easy smile. His arm was slung casually around her waist, the way he never did on mine. He looked exactly the same — messy brown hair, easy grin, the same faded university hoodie he'd worn the last time I saw him. Nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
A strange mix of feelings rushed through me all at once. There was the old ache — the memory of how he used to push my clothes aside and finish on my skirt without ever really looking at me. It was not even a proper love. But the guilt that we never had a proper breakup, that I had simply stopped messaging after he ghosted me for three weeks. And beneath it all, a quiet, almost shameful curiosity: So this is who he moved on with?
I couldn't complain. Not really. I had let Lucifer kiss me, touch me, mark me while Jake left my last messages still unread in his phone. In my heart, I had already cheated long before any official goodbye. The thought made my cheeks burn with shame, yet at the same time, a strange calm settled over me. I wasn't the same girl who used to cry in the bathroom after Jake left. I wasn't waiting for scraps of attention anymore.
Jake glanced up and our eyes met for half a second. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a flash of surprise when he took in my outfit. His gaze lingered on me towards my chest before he quickly looked away.
He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just turned back to the blonde girl and laughed a little louder, told her that he loved her and kissed, as if trying to prove something.
I kept walking. A small, dark satisfaction curled in my chest — the same one I had felt earlier. Look at me now, Jake. Look at what you lost.
***
As I crossed the quad, the familiar brick buildings and laughter echoing around me, I literally bumped into them — Zara and Angila. My old "friends," the ones who had sabotaged my applications with that fake Hinge profile all those months ago. They stopped dead in their tracks, eyes widening as they took me in — the subtle glow on my skin, the confident way I carried myself, the faint love-bite peeking above my collar that I no longer tried too hard to hide.
"Hiii.. Are you here for post graduate admission ?"
They didn't even recognise me. It was not sarcasm, I could see genuine curiosity in their eyes. But I felt they should have atleast be able to recognise me.
I had to reply, "Hi Angila, Zara.. It's me Aafreen."
They took a pause and scanned me top to bottom.
Zara smirked first. "Look who's back from Sin City. So, did you finally get that BBC you wanted? Please tell me you became the kind of girl who forgot to pray five times?"
Angila laughed, sharp and mean. "Still the same hijabi girl or have you finally loosened up? You look… different. Like you've been doing more than just filing papers."
The old wounds tried to come out again, but it didn't cut as deep as it used to.
I smiled serenely, my voice steady. "Oh yes I have to thank you for the profile upgrade, a giant firm actually took notice due to it's uniqueness. I have loosened up but I did not forget who I am. And my performance review at Hardpound was glowing. And I do a lot more than filing papers."
"You can try doing the same thing again. But I stopped letting people walk over me."
I had said everything I wanted to say to them. It made my heart feel lighter, and the regret of letting myself down was not there anymore.
They left giving me a side eye and murmuring the words "Someone's a bitch."
I turned to leave, as I stepped outside the building, a sleek black Escalade was waiting at the curb. The driver opened the door with quiet respect. I climbed in, lowered the window, and gave Zara and Angila a small, graceful wave while moving out. Their jealous faces twisted in envy as they stared at the luxury car, and the confident woman I had become. For a moment I just watched them — their narrowed eyes, the way their smiles faltered.
I knew they were going to talk about me later with their friends group. They would verbally degrade my position, but that didnt matter to me anymore. I know how real friends take care of each other, how they behave, and how much you need to do to maintain their relationships.
Something very dark and satisfying bloomed inside my chest. Standing here making my bullies jealous feels… good. Really good. A quiet, possessive pleasure I had never known before. I realized I had a new side to me now — a little wicked, a little vengeful — and I didn't hate it. In fact, a small, secret part of me savored it. I leaned back against the leather seat as the Escalade pulled away, a soft smile playing on my lips.
Thank you, Lucifer. Even from miles away, you make me feel untouchable.
***
The Escalade turned right into the Indian street where my home was. It was already evening and the kids were playing outside and parents watching them. Ammi was waiting at the enterance with open arms and the tightest hug I had felt in months. She kept stroking my hair and saying, "My beta is home," over and over, her eyes shining with happy tears as we sat down to her famous biryani. For a little while it felt like old times — warm, safe, simple. We talked about everything and nothing: the weather in Vegas, how Marie had become like a sister to me, the barfi I had brought from home, how many fans she had because of her snacks. She laughed when I told her about the boardroom gossip, and for a moment I felt like the old Aafreen again — the good daughter who never caused trouble.
Then her face turned serious. She set her spoon down and looked at me with eyes full of love and worry.
"Beta… your father came yesterday."
My heart skipped. Dad. Who never came back to us after he left.
She told me everything, her voice trembling at times. He had shown up unannounced at the door, looking older but still carrying that same confident air. With him was a marriage proposal from one of his wealthy friends in Dubai — a businessman who already had two wives. Dad had said the man would take very good care of me. "Bohot khayal rakhega," he had promised. They even mentioned that I had already "crossed the age of marriage." Once I married, Dad swore he would accept both Ammi and me back into the family again. He would finally be the father he should have been.
Ammi had refused outright. "We don't need anything from you," she had told him firmly. There was a small, ugly back-and-forth. Dad had tried to guilt-trip her, reminding her how hard life had been without him, how Aafreen deserved a stable future. Ammi had finally stood up and threatened to call 911 if he didn't leave. He had stormed out, saying he may never come back.
Ammi's eyes were teary now. "I know you were still attached to him deep down, beta. I feel like I broke the last tie… I'm sorry if I hurt you."
I pulled her into a tight hug, my arms wrapping around her small frame. My voice came out steady, stronger than I expected. "Ammi, you did the right thing. We don't need him anymore. I can take care of us. He never really cared for us."
Ammi pulled back, stunned. She looked at me — really looked. She noticed the quiet confidence in how I carried myself, the change in clothes, she now noticed the fact that the temporary dupatta that I wore in the Escalade was not pinned, and the way my phone lit up and I smiled secretly every time.
"Beta, you look… changed," she said gently but firmly. "Are you losing your way? Is this job making you forget who you are?" She brought up marriage, faith, and her deepest fear — that I was drifting from Allah, that the bright lights of Las Vegas and the power of my position were pulling me away from the modest, prayerful girl she had raised.
I hugged her again, my heart full and aching at the same time. "Ammi, I still pray. I still love Allah. But I'm also learning that He made me with a heart that can feel deeply. I'm not the scared girl who let everyone walk over her anymore. I'm growing, Ammi. And I'm trying to find my balance. And during this process, I cannot be the little child who got hurt frequently anymore."
Ammi's eyes filled with tears, but this time they were tears of pride mixed with worry. She held me close for a long time, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little. For the first time I felt like I could honor my faith and my desires without having to choose one over the other completely. The guilt was still there — Astaghfirullah — but it no longer felt like it would crush me.
Later that night, alone in my old room, I stood in front of the mirror. Old photos of the insecure, crying Aafreen stared back at me — the girl who used to weigh herself every Sunday, the girl who let Jake use her and then discard her, the girl who cried after Zara and Angila laughed at her. The contrast hit hard. Guilt surged — Astaghfirullah, what have I become? — but instead of spiraling, I let myself feel the full weight of my growth.
I locked the door, lay on my old bed, removed my clothes and touched myself slowly, thinking of Lucifer, reading his texts. My fingers moved with new confidence, imagining his hands on my hips, his mouth on my breasts, his voice calling me his good girl. The pleasure built deep and steady, guilt and desire twisting together until I came hard, whispering his name into the pillow. When the waves finally faded, I smiled at my screen in the dark. I was Allah's servant… but I was also his angel now. And that didn't make me weak — it made me whole.
The next morning, I said my goodbyes to mom and the neighbours when the car arrived to pick me up.
As I boarded the flight back to Las Vegas, I felt lighter, sexier, and more certain than ever. I sent Lucifer a soft, teasing message with a subtle photo of the love-bite I no longer tried to hide:
"Coming home to you, my love. Let's make the two weeks count."
I was his angel.
And I was finally ready to fly back to him.