I Married the Boy Who Hated Me

I Married the Boy Who Hated Me

He was the boy who made high school unbearable for me.

The one with the sharp jawline, messy hair, and that arrogant grin teachers adored. Every girl in school whispered his name as if it were a prayer, while I sat in the back row with my second-hand notebooks and oversized sweaters, praying he wouldn’t notice me.

But of course, he always did.

And every time he did, his words left bruises on my self-esteem.

His name was Ayaan Malik. My sworn enemy. The boy who hated me.

Or so I thought.

Chapter One: The Proposal

When the marriage proposal came, I laughed. Actually laughed. My mother stared at me like I’d gone mad.

“Not funny, Noor,” she said. “His family is serious.”

Serious? About me? The same Ayaan who once dumped my tray of food in the cafeteria, smirking as the whole room roared with laughter?

I wanted to scream no. I wanted to tell them this was a mistake. But in our culture, my voice wasn’t the only one in the room. Families had history, fathers had respect for one another, and my refusal wasn’t final.

Two months later, I stood under fairy lights with henna on my hands, my heart thundering like a prisoner’s drum. And beside me stood Ayaan Malik, smug as ever, yet strangely unreadable.

When the imam asked if I accepted him as my husband, I whispered, “Yes.”

My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Chapter Two: Married Strangers

Married life was colder than winter.

We were polite, distant. Two strangers sharing a roof. His books on one side of the shelf, mine on the other. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, mine faded before they reached him.

It was lonelier than high school. At least back then I could escape his presence at the final bell. Now, he wasn’t just the boy who hated me—he was the man whose name I carried.

One night, I couldn’t hold it in.

“Why did you even agree to this?” I asked in the kitchen, my voice trembling with anger. “If you despise me so much, why marry me?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. But his words cut deep.

“Because I had no choice either.”

Chapter Three: Small Cracks

Weeks slipped by. Silence grew roots. And then—slowly—it cracked.

One evening, I came home late and found my favorite tea waiting on the table. He didn’t say it was for me, but I knew.

Another day, I discovered him repairing the clasp of my old bag, his fingers moving with careful patience.

And one stormy night, when thunder shook the walls, he handed me his hoodie without a word. It smelled faintly of soap and something safe.

It was then I began to wonder: maybe hatred wasn’t the whole story.

Chapter Four: His Truth

The answer came unexpectedly.

I found an old notebook in his drawer, filled with messy high school scribbles. Between football notes and equations, there were scattered lines—about me.

“She’ll never notice me.”

“Why does she smile at everyone but me?”

“She deserves better than a fool who only knows how to tease.”

My hands shook. My chest felt hollow.

That night I confronted him, notebook in hand. “You didn’t hate me,” I whispered. “You liked me.”

His usual arrogance faltered. “I didn’t know how else to show it,” he admitted. “You were… good. Smart. Untouchable. And I was a stupid boy who thought teasing would make you look at me.”

All these years, I’d carried the weight of his cruelty, never knowing it was clumsy admiration in disguise.

Chapter Five: A Different Ending

Life didn’t change overnight, but it shifted. Conversations replaced silence. He started walking me to my classes, carrying my heavy books even when I argued. Laughter began to slip into the corners of our home like sunlight through old curtains.

One evening, as the sun sank and the world turned gold, he said softly, “If I could go back, I’d do everything differently. I’d tell you the truth sooner.”

I looked at him—the boy who once threw insults like daggers, now offering his heart like a fragile gift.

“Maybe,” I whispered, “this was the only way we were meant to arrive here.”

The Ending: Not Hate, but Fate

I married the boy who hated me.

Or maybe, I married the boy who never did—he just didn’t know how to show the opposite.

Sometimes love wears a cruel disguise. Sometimes fate ties knots we spend years trying to untangle. And sometimes, the boy who made your teenage years miserable becomes the man who holds your heart more carefully than anyone else ever could.