W I N D S blew through the crowded MM Alam road on the wonderful October Monday. The fancy cars stopped one after the other at some fancy restaurants to enjoy the designated lunch break. Everyone that stepped out of the glossy cars was dressed better than the other, as if to show their wealth.
The popular road was home to some of the most renowned eateries as well as the chosen place for some household names such as HSY. The place was famous for being visited by the elite and upper classes that resided within the city of gardens. Nothing in the whole district could top the lavish-ness and presentation of the area. Hence why Mustafa's father had opted to build his office on the road named after the record breaking Air Force Pilot.
Rizwan got down from the Mercedes that he and Mustafa used as their daily drive. He could feel the gaze of people around him, the whispers reaching his ears. No matter how sophisticated the elite liked to act, at the end of the day, they too were addicted to the concept of "gossip". Rizwan pulled out the new wheelchair they had bought for Mustafa. It was one that could be automatically driven. However, much to Mustafa's displeasure Rizwan would never let him drive himself around, instead claiming he felt honoured to serve him by pushing him around.
Rizwan pulled open the heavy black car door, providing Mustafa support to sit on the plush cushions of the wheel chair. The wheels began to roll smoothly against the tarmac floor of the parking, as Rizwan led Mustafa and himself to their ultimate favourite spot. Nando's.
"Good Afternoon sir! Welcome to Nando's. How many persons?" The server who was standing at the podium right next to the entrance inquired.
"Two". Rizwan politely smiled.
"Follow me please," the young woman turned on her heels and led them to a table next to the large windows, overlooking the small garden and the parking lot of the restaurant.
"Here are the menus. A waiter will join you momentarily to take your order". The kind waitress left them, leaving behind two menus for them.
For which they had no need. The two men knew their orders by heart at this point.
"Good Afternoon! I will be your waiter for the day. Are you ready to place your order?" A young boy in his twenties walked to their table. His name tag reading Jalil.
"Yes we are". Mustafa smiled.
"Yes. We will have two quarter chickens with wedges on the side. As well as 12 piece Peri bites," Rizwan ordered.
"What will be your spice level?" Jalil inquired.
"Both will be Mild. For drinks two cokes," Mustafa completed the order.
Jalil nodded and after telling them their estimated time, he walked away.
Rizwan and Mustafa sat in silence for a few minutes. With the former wondering in his head about how to break the news of his potential engagement. He had yet to meet the girl that had wowed his father so much in just the first meeting. Rizwan knew that he would not marry her, his heart belonged to another woman. One who was far more educated and matched his standards better than a girl who had infact never seen the face of an academic institution.
Finally forming enough courage, Rizwan looked at his dearest friend.
"Mustafa mujhe tumse kuch baat karni thi," Rizwan said reluctantly.
"Bolo kiya baat hai? Mein bhi notice kar raha hun keh subah sai chup chup sai phir rahay ho tum". Mustafa smiled.
"Baat yeh hai keh aba nai merai liye eik ladki pasan ki hai. In-fact aaj hum uskay ghar jaa rahay hain," Rizwan blurted out in one breath.
"Tou iss mein parishanai ki kiya baat hai?" Mustafa looked at him, still confused as to why it was a huge deal.
"Mujhe koi aur pasand hai. Aaj ghar wapis aakar mein aba ko sab kuch bata dun ga magar-"
"What do you mean Rizwan? I'm sure if you had told your father he would except your choice. Why the fuck would you play with a girl?" Mustafa questioned his childhood friend.
"Listen its not like I will run away at the time of Marriage. Tonight I will come clean. But thats not my worry," Rizwan still looking tense, sighed.
"Tou phir kia hai?"
"I just worry about you. You need my help. And after I get married then I will obviously have some responsibility towards my partner. We can not be together most of the time. Especially weekends".
Mustafa laughed at his friend's worries. He was acting as if that was the worst case scenario eventhough he could hire a nurse for himself.
"Rizwan sahab aap shaadi ki tiyaari karein. I will hire a nurse for myself". Mustafa said as if it was the simplest thing.
Yet Rizwan was thinking of something else.
"Ya phir tou bhi shaadi kar le!" Rizwan exclaimed, ecstatically.
"Mujh mazoor sai kon shaadi karai gi?" Mustafa spoke in a soft tone, the pain of expected rejection shining from every word he spoke.
"Koi tou Hoor khuda nai teray liye bhi utari ho gi!" Rizwan gave some hope to his best friend. Unable to see him in such pain.
Mustafa was one of the kindest, most humble person that he knew. He was always helping others, keeping their comforts over his own. It was a shame that no one wanted to look past the added baggage of his legs. There was so much more to him than just his mazoori. Unfortunately no one was willing to know Mustafa for who he actually was. Keeping their distance from him just because he was different.
J A M A L H O U S E, ANDROON LHR
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Hoor lay on her bed. Having no will power to move around. All her energy had been drained thanks to the crying session of the night before. She had no idea why she was being so emotional. She just prayed for one day, one free of any form of emotional drama to heal and be free.
The responsibilities of being born into a poor family in the city were to much. All eyes were on her. No matter where she went or what she did, it was never enough. Downstairs her mother had raised a storm in the home to make it look nice for tonight. After breakfast, Hoor saw her father to the door and since then she had been laying in bed, relaxing.
"Hoor aaj neechay nahin ana?" Jahan-ara huffed as she finally made her way up the narrow stairs.
"Ammi bula leti tou mein ajati. Aap khud kyun upar aai?" Hoor sat upright in the small charpai shifting to the side to make some space for the large figure of her mother.
Jahan-ara sat down with a huff. Extending her short, stout legs infront of her. She ran her hands across Hoor's forehead. Looking into her eyes to identify the reason behind her daughter's misery.
"Kia huwa hai Hoor? Pehlay tou tumne aisay kabhi nahin kiya?" She whispered.
"Ammi pata nahin kyun mera dil ghabri ja raha hai iss rishtay keh baray mein soch keh. Rehman sahab ka beta parha likhe bara afsar aur mein? Androon shehar mein choti sai gharanh ki ladki jis ko angreezi ka na sar pata hai na pair!" Hoor spoke of her worries out loud. For the first time since she had heard of this proposal.
"Tou kiya huwa? Agar meri beti ko angreezi nahi aati? Ya phir kiya faraq padta hai agar tum kabhi school nahi gai? Kamazkam ghar chalana janti ho. Aur phir silai, kadahi iss safai sai karti ho keh lajawab. Tum kisi sai kam nahi ho!" Jahan-ara tried to erase Hoor's worries.
Unfortunately it had no effect on her. Hoor could not feel good no matter what she tried to tell herself. She just wished to dig herself a hole and not come out for a long time.
K A M A L H O U S E, DHA LHR
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Rumaisa sat on her vanity, coating her lashes with mascara. Her eyes already lined with khol to make the hazel in them pop. Her outfit was a plain black sleeveless shirt with capri trousers. Black heels in her feet helped to tie the look together.
"Rumi kahin ja rahi ho?" Her mother questioned.
"Ji mama. Doston keh saath". She smiled, her pearly white teeth showing vibrantly against the bright red lipstick.
"Theek hai magar jaldi ana," her mother replied, not caring to ask her daughter about the "friends".
Rumaisa stepped out of the house and sat inside the car Mustafa had provided for her family.
"Driver Pearl Continental jana hai," she spoke arrogantly, shooting her beau a text about the location for their meeting. She had carefully planned the days itinerary. It would start with high tea and then end in one of the lavish hotel bedrooms. Today was her birthday and she would be damned to let anyone ruin it.
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