"He wanted to marry her, but he's my husband."
"She's beautiful, kind, caring, loving, but I wish she wasn't my wife."
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Tara Hamid was born and bred in an average family: loving, caring, with just the right amount of family drama. She dreams...
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Just a littlehumourlol. We desis don't like simplicity ;)
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Tara
Karaoke Night with the Hamid sisters, also an old tradition.
It turned out that Mama and Papa had also gone out for their date, so Misha and I ended up putting on the karaoke system and started singing. Papa had bought this for us despite Mama repeatedly saying, 'Astaghfirullah!'. Papa loved to join us as well sometimes, with classic songs.
Today we were singing wedding songs.
We were singing 'Mehendi Laga Ke Rakhna', from the classic film Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayengay, when my phone started ringing.
"I have to take this." I immediately rushed to get it, hoping it was Zain.
It wasn't. It was Rumi, just wanting to chat. I gestured to Misha that I was leaving and then headed up to the room to talk to her.
"I'm at my parents', Rumi. But I was thinking of calling you and Ashi to meet up tomorrow." I lay on my back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"I would love to come, but I'm babysitting my brother's kids tomorrow." She sighed. "And after that I need to go to work for a while."
"Were you new and innovative designs approved?"
"Yeah, actually! Mr Waleed managed to convince the producers to try them out, and they excepted. Either I'm truly talented, or Mr Waleed is really good at convincing people."
"Well, you definitely are truly talented, but it could be his talent as well." I smiled as I continued shipping them hard. They had that 'Will they/Won't they' chemistry that keeps an audience/reader at the edge while watching a tv show/reading a book.
"The only talent he has is p***ing me off."
I laughed. "And that's how a good love story begins."
"Shut up! Love story, my a**."
"One day you're going to tell me how right I was."
"Or you're going to eat your words." She shot back.
"I admit that I eat a lot of things, but I rarely eat my words." I said, confidently.
We both burst out laughing like crazy chickens.
We chatted for around forty-five minutes, before she had to go as her mother was calling her.
"Say Salaam to Aunty for me." I said. "And tell Anaya Bhabi that the pasta salad she had sent for me at work the other day was absolutely delicious." I had once complimented the pasta when I was at Rumi's place, and Anaya Bhabi, Rumi's brother's wife, had made some and sent it to work with her a few days later.
