This story is about Zoya and Aryaan. On the day of her wedding, Zoya finds out a disturbing truth about her parents' death. A series of events take place, misunderstanding after misunderstanding, which results in her losing her child and her husband...
The car ride was silent. There was no music or the Qur'an playing. Zoya got bored. She glanced over at the window, watching the busy street in Delhi that had lots of traffic, and then slumped back against the chair in the car.
She felt alone. The Uncle fell asleep barely five minutes after he went inside the car. She wondered if her Aunt had added something to his tea that made him sleepy or if he's naturally a car sleeper. If he is, she noted to remind herself never to enter his car because what if, when they start their journey, he falls asleep? Thank God now, it was a driver driving not him.
"Grrrrrrr," she heard a roar. Her body tensed up before she realised again it was nothing but her new uncle snoring.
"How long will this journey take?" She sighed. Had she known Agra to Delhi was a long distance, she wouldn't have agreed to come along. She would have tolerated the beating her aunt would give her rather than go on such a tedious journey.
"God, please make these two days interesting. Please!" She whispered in her heart. She is a talkative person. This journey was torture for her because she didn't speak to anyone. Even the driver was a silent spectator. At first, she tried to initiate a conversation with him, but after seeing his lack of interest, she let him go. If she doesn't talk, she starts becoming sick. The only remedy that can cure her is her meeting someone who can talk as much as she does; if not, she is likely to fall sick.
Another twenty minutes elapsed in silence amidst them three. Not total silence, though. Her new uncle snored really loudly. He was enjoying his sleep to the fullest, as if he hadn't been able to for days.
"We've arrived." the driver broke the silence at last.
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Her head turned towards the window to see the house. It wasn't a modern but a medieval building. She wondered silently about how many generations had lived there before him judging by how the paint on the walls had washed off and the building seemed like it would collapse at any day.
"Uncle!" she muttered to wake him up. In his sleep, his hand hit her forehead that made her groan, irking her more with annoyance because he had made the trip boring for them, and then he hit her for no reason. Her groan got him to wake up and in a panic, he asked what happened.
"We've reached your home." she answered in a whisper.
"Have we?" He looked out from the window and then laughed out as both of them stepped out of the car. After taking their luggage, they started to walk towards the gate.
"The paint on the walls may have faded, but the love etched in it will never vanish," as if he knew what she was thinking about the house, he shared.
Her eyes caught the huge trees that served as a fence around the house. Given how huge they were, she was certain it would take decades to grow them. Her uncle, noticing where her gaze was stuck, spoke.
"They are 109 years old."
"More than a century?" she asked. Her eyes, which had slightly expanded in bewilderment, stared at the trees again. "How? How are the trees so old yet still alive?"
"My father nurtured them. When I became the owner, I continued the legacy, and when I'm gone, one of my two sons will continue. Eventually, after he dies, his son will continue," he told her proudly.
She forced a smile on her face.
They entered the house. She was welcomed by the frame of salaam alaikum hanging over the nail on the wall. The house looked typical, like in the olden era. She wasn't sure whether it was the living room or just the relaxation room she was seeing because she saw no sofas. All that was visible to her eyes was the carpet and a wooden table on it. Some cushions—three to four, to be exact. She felt too lazy to count, and beside it was a wall TV.
"Thank God there is a television," she mumbled under her breath.
