The Corner Shop Romance
"Yasmin's late-night trips to the corner shop become the highlight of her week when she meets Junaid, the owner's charming son who's returned from Pakistan to help with the family business—and who makes buying milk feel like an event."
The Corner Shop Romance
It started with a pint of milk.
Yasmin had stopped at Khan's Mini Mart at 11pm, desperate for milk for her morning chai. The shop had been a fixture of Small Heath for thirty years, run by Uncle Rashid and his wife—comfortable, familiar, unchanged.
Until tonight.
"Assalamu alaikum." The man behind the counter was decidedly not Uncle Rashid. He was young, handsome, with a smile that made her forget why she'd come in.
"Um. Wa alaikum assalam." She held up the milk. "Just this."
"Late night chai craving?" His eyes crinkled. "That's £1.20. But I'll give you the family discount."
"We're not family."
"Not yet." His grin was shameless. "I'm Junaid. Rashid is my chacha. I just moved back from Lahore to help with the shop."
"Yasmin." She fumbled for her card. "I live around the corner."
"I know. My chachi talks about you. 'The nice teacher girl who comes in every Thursday.'" He leaned on the counter. "She didn't mention you were beautiful."
"I—that's—you can't just—"
"I can." His smile softened. "Sorry, was that too forward? I've been told my bebaaki is a problem."
"You think?"
"Hmm." He considered. "How about this: come back tomorrow and I'll apologize properly. With chai. My chachi's special blend."
She went back.
And the next night. And the next.
Within a week, Yasmin's "quick trip to the shops" had become hour-long conversations at the counter, interrupted only when other customers came in. Junaid was funny, earnest, and looked at her like she was the best thing in his shop.
"Why'd you come back from Pakistan?" she asked one night, perched on the stool he'd started keeping behind the counter for her.
"Family duty. Chacha's getting old, my cousins aren't interested." He shrugged. "But honestly? I wanted to see what my parents left behind. They came here with nothing, built this shop. I wanted to understand."
"That's... actually beautiful."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation as a badmaash to maintain."
She laughed, and his eyes softened.
"Yasmin..." He reached across the counter, his fingers brushing hers. "I know we've only known each other a few weeks. But I think about you constantly. Is that crazy?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And I think about you too." She turned her hand, interlacing their fingers. "My mother would lose her mind if she knew I was falling for the corner shop wala."
"Falling, huh?" His smile was blinding. "Interesting verb choice, jaan."
The first kiss happened in the stockroom.
Junaid had asked her to help him with "inventory"—a transparent excuse they both pretended to believe. The moment the door closed, he had her pressed against the shelves of Shan masala.
"I've been wanting to do this for weeks," he breathed against her lips.
"Then stop talking."
He kissed her like she was precious, his hands cradling her face with a gentleness that made her ache. When she pulled him closer, demanding more, he groaned.
"We shouldn't—chachi could come down—"
"Then we should be quick."
His control snapped.
He lifted her onto a stack of rice bags, his mouth finding her neck as his hands slid under her kameez. Yasmin gasped, wrapping her legs around him.
"Bohot sundar," he murmured, looking at her. "So beautiful. I can't believe you're real."
"Junaid, please—"
He touched her through her shalwar, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. His fingers were clever, thorough, and when she came, he swallowed her moan with his kiss.
"My turn," she said, reaching for his zipper.
"Later." He kissed her forehead. "Pehle, let me take you on a proper date. This isn't—I want to do this right."
"You want to do things right now?"
"I want to do everything right with you." His eyes were serious. "You're not just some girl, Yasmin. I want my family to meet you. I want your family to know me. I want this to be real."
It became real.
The families met over chai at the shop—neutral territory. Yasmin's mother was skeptical until Junaid charmed her with his knowledge of her favorite Pakistani dramas. His chacha cried when Yasmin offered to help with the shop's accounting.
But the nights still belonged to them.
Stolen kisses between customers. Heated moments in the stockroom. And finally, three months in, a night alone in Junaid's flat above the shop.
"I love you," he said, moving inside her. "I know it's fast. I don't care."
"I love you too." She pulled him closer. "Now stop being sweet and—"
"Yes ma'am."
He made love to her until the morning azaan, and when they finally slept, it was tangled together like they'd never been apart.
The wedding was held in the community center across from Khan's Mini Mart. The shop closed for the first time in thirty years—but only for one day.
Uncle Rashid said it was the best business decision the family had ever made.