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*
Rehan Tariq
I put my sunglasses on and stepped out into the chilly morning, buttoning up my grey coat. The autumn sun was not powerful enough to fight off the cool temperatures of early October, yet it remained determined to shine through the thick grey clouds.
The concrete footpaths of the London streets were wet due to the overnight rain, and puddles were formed all over, with the occasional pedestrian being splashed as the result of a passing car. I narrowly avoided being soaked myself as I slid into the black of the black Audi waiting for me.
The door opened on the opposite side, and shaking off her umbrella outside, Josephine Fernandes slid in next to me. Known as 'Josie', she was my personal assistant, and in the time we had worked together, she was one of the people who knew me the best.
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at her purple umbrella with white stars all over it.
"It's cute." She shrugged. "Don't throw a fit over my umbrella now. And get that grumpy look off your face. You are meeting fans for a book signing. Look more enthusiastic."
"Am I your boss, or are you mine?"
"It seems like I'm yours, considering that I basically have to tell you everything." She set the umbrella to the side and reached into her brown tote bag to pull out her thick schedule diary. "Faisal will meet us there. In fact, he messaged me, and he is already there."
Faisal Akhtar was my agent, and although he was brilliant at his job, he was a bit of nagger, which got on my nerves at times.
"Have you considered selling the rights of Blood Crimes to any film producers?" Josie asked me. With black hair that was almost always in a braid, dark chocolate smooth skin and large black eyes, she had initially chosen modelling as a career, but had given up after the constant pressure had started to cause her health to decline.
"No."
"Why not? It's such a brilliant masterpiece! It's made it to the New York Times bestsellers, and you have won awards for it!"
"Josie, we have already discussed this. I'm not selling the rights to this book."
She sat back in her seat, pursing her lips. A few seconds later, she broke the silence as she read something on her phone. "Faisal says that it's like the Pakistani Independence Day at Westfield. Pakistanis have gathered there, proud of the success of a Pakistani origin author. Media from Pakistan is also present."
I didn't reply and continued staring out of the window.
*
Flashes of camera lights and the chatter of a loud crowd greeted me as I stepped through the crowds, with Josie by my side.
Faisal appeared from God-knows-where, and holding out an arm towards the cheering crowd, he led me inside like a bodyguard.
"REHAN, YOUR BOOKS ARE LIFE!" A young girl screamed from the crowd.
My books were dark, serious, about thought-provoking subjects. And yet, Josie always claimed that my book signings usually seemed like it was the first day released of a new Twilight novel.
The bookstore, which was one of the newest shops in Westfield, was filled to the brim, and there were guards placed to stop more people from entering. The manager of the store personally escorted me through, along with the regional manager of the franchise.
"Have a seat, Ray." Faisal instructed me, when we reached a table and chair set up specially for the book signing. A poster of my book Blood Crimes was displayed in front of the table, as well as on the wall beside me. Copies of my book rested in boxes beside the table, and a marker was placed on the table.
"Shall we begin?" The store manager asked me, and I nodded.
A guard opened a barrier that was holding off the crowd, and he started letting people through one at a time.
It was a variety of people, ranging from excited twentysomething females, to middle-aged gentlemen, and some kids even came, accompanied by their parents or guardians. I signed the books until my hand started to ache, but I kept my expressions friendly and warm.
'Outer appearances matter a lot. Your expressions define your personality often, especially as a celebrity.' Faisal had instructed me repeatedly.
'Your inner darkness must only come out in the form of words on a paper, written or typed. You must never act upon it.' This was my own personal reminder for myself. If my expressions were as expressive as my written words, I would not have people queuing up for a book signing.
*
Anabia Zohaib
"Anabia!"
"I want to have the book signed! Hurry up!" I told my twin brother, Saim, to speed up.
"Speed up? You are forgetting we are in a traffic jam on the North Circular Road. Am I supposed to fly the car?" He looked irritated as he always was in bad traffic jams.
"We are going to miss the book signing, and it will all be your fault." I shook my head.
"My fault?" He asked. "Just because we had been invited to Laila's family's house for lunch?"
Laila Siddique was his fiancée, and a girl we had known since secondary school. Both sets of parents had known about their feelings for each other since back in the school days, but there had been a strict rule in place about dating. However, with the completion of their education, they had asked the parents for marriage, and everyone had happily agreed.
I sat back in the seat, my stomach sinking with disappointment.
"There will be other chances, even if you miss this one." His tone softened as he noticed my expression. But being my twin, he didn't even have to look at me to know how I was feeling.
I didn't reply.
"Ana."
I stared out of the window, refusing to look at him.
"Princess Ana of Arendelle." His tone held a hint of amusement. He knew I loved Frozen, and he always made fun of me for that. "Look, the parents had wanted to discuss the wedding dates and details for a while, and today was the one chance where everyone was off. I'm sorry if that ruined things for you, but you know how important this was for us."
I looked at him. "Your wedding date fixing is important for me too, you know. That's why I wasn't selfish enough to skip it. I wanted to be there for you."
"I'm sorry if you miss the book signing because of it."
I shrugged. "There will be other book signings, but In Sha Allah, I'll only have one opportunity to be a part of my twin brother's wedding celebrations."
He gave me a small smile as we continued driving.
Well, driving, was a generous term. We were inching along like a stupid snail that's deprived of sleep. If snails even slept.
****
'The autumn colours had seemingly exploded over the treetops, painting them in hues of reds, oranges and yellows. As they walked, their boots crunched over the dead leaves, and he turned to look at her bright eyes.
For the flora, autumn meant death, but for him, the beautiful vision of her, with her auburn locks, and cheeks pink from the biting chilly breeze, held a promise of new life and new hopes.'
I published my latest fanfiction on the ImagineFans website, specially dedicated to fanfictions.
The whole section was dedicated just to Blood Crimes by Rehan Tariq, but my fanfiction was at the top, with the most views.
The disappointment of not being able to see him today was replaced by a genuine smile as comments immediately started to pour in.
Turning off my laptop, I stood up and headed to bed. Sliding under the duvet, I grabbed my worn-out copy of The Heirloom, one of Rehan's first novels, a dark mystery. I had read this book twice already, but it was so good that I returned back to it again and again.
My eyes began to drift shut as I read, and soon I fell asleep, dreaming about being a part of a Cluedo style murder-mystery, with Rehan Tariq playing the role of the lead detective.
****
Rehan
"Your books have fanfictions!" Josie told me excitedly as I walked into my office the next morning.
"What?" Sometimes I felt like there was a generational gap between me and my staff, even though Josie was barely eight years younger than me. But she got overexcited over the weirdest of things.
"I was reading this one about the detective and the victim's sister, and how they were married..." She continued blabbing on as she took a seat opposite my desk.
"This book isn't a romance." My voice boomed loudly in the office, as I released my irritation.
"Oh, hun, you really need to know what 'fanfiction' means." She grinned, shrugging. "Be grateful that this isn't smut." She held out her phone. "Here, read this."
Curiosity got the better of me and I took her phone, but not before giving her a disapproving glare first.
My gaze scanned the words, my finger occasionally scrolling down as I drank in the words. It was an unusual to see your characters play a role in a plot written by another person, but not necessarily negatively.
"Admit it, it's good." Josie's voice broke through my reverie and I realised that I'd almost forgotten her presence, as I had lost myself in the words on the screen. Whoever had written this had genuine talent, and for a few seconds I'd forgotten that I was reading a fanfiction of my own book.
"Who wrote this?" I asked her quietly.
"Scroll up and you'll see the username."
I did as she instructed and all I saw was the name 'Ana_B'.
"If you don't want to sell the rights to a film producer, sell it to this person." Josie told me. "She or he will make a romance novel out of it. And a good one, it seems."
I didn't reply, but I made a mental note of the website. "How did you know about this?" I asked, handing her the phone, as I scribbled the website name on a sticky note.
"I read fanfictions on it, of my favourite series." She looked at me sheepishly. "And I write some too."
"Say no more. I don't think I want to hear the details." I held up a hand, a soft chuckle involuntarily leaving my mouth. "Go and find out where the heck Faisal is."
She nodded and got up, heading out of the office.
I sat down and turned my laptop on, briefly glancing at the website on the sticky note.
ImagineFans.
***
Anabia
I had studied History, even earned my Masters' degree in the subject. Initially, I got an internship at the British Museum, but I had eventually given it up due to the commute.
And for now, I was a Duty Manager for the very same airline in which my brother was a flight engineer. As a twenty-five-years-old female, it was hard to get people to take me serious as a DM, but I had earned this position with my hard work, and not by kissing backside.
While it was hard for me to see myself having a career as a historian, I was getting more and more convinced to write a historical fiction novel.
"Anabia, loved the latest one!" The sound of my best friend, Hareem Jamshed, rang out in my car, as my phone was connected to the car speakers via Bluetooth.
"I swear, I can create a hundred different romantic fanfictions for the detective! He seems so attractive." I sighed, dreamily. I knew that I sounded like a lovestruck teenager, but honestly, fictional men in books were more attractive to me than any actor or celebrity.
"Write more on him, please! I swear, I wish the author had written more romance scenes...or any, as a matter of fact."
"The book was perfect." I said, defensively. "I just like to dream up new scenarios, relating to romance, I suppose."
"For you, it would have been perfect if it had been set in the Victorian times or something." She giggled.
I laughed as well. "No, the book is perfect as it is."
"I've never seen you obsess about something since you discovered Outlander."
"What can I say, Harry? He is a brilliant author. The way he expresses the darkness of the human emotions is beyond words, no pun intended. You can find fairy tales and happy endings everywhere, but I like how he puts the grim realities of life as fiction."
"And it doesn't hurt that the author himself is bloody hot."
"Oh God, Harry, he's much older than us."
"He's younger than my older brother." She pointed out. "And age is just a number, as long as it's legal and morally acceptable."
"I don't know much about the author. I just know that I love his books."
"Anabia, imagine personally knowing the mind behind those absolutely amazing works of fiction..."
I was heading home after a long and tiring shift, and as I paused at the traffic lights, I glanced towards the planes through the meshed fence around the perimeter. My mother often teased me that my brain had gone up to the stars, along with the planes.
"I gotta go, but keep writing, okay?"
Is writing fanfiction on someone else's work really considered 'writing'? Maybe this is the right time for me to start my own historical fanfiction.
****
After a shower, I came back out into my bedroom, dressed in my grey and navy-blue night suit. Yawning, I approached my bed to grab my phone, which rested on my pillow.
Just as I picked it up, I heard the familiar ping of the notification from ImagineFans.
I smiled and instantly unlocked my phone. Recently, my fanfiction had been number one in the Blood Crimes category, and I had enjoyed the comments of the readers because they had been so sweet in their generous praises.
But this comment made me pause.
**Ray_1234: Do you really believe that the detective would talk that way? He doesn't seem like the romantic type.**
**Ana_B: It's fanfiction. This is how I pictured the detective's romance.**
**Ray_1234: Romance was never even the subject in the book.**
I blinked, frowning. Who cared if that was the theme or not? This user was missing the whole point of a fanfiction.
**Ana_B: Well, this book was about humans, and humans have emotions, and love is one of those emotions. Any book written about humans revolve emotions one way or another, whether it's directly addressed or not.**
**Ray_1234: Touché.**
**Ana_B: This is my favourite book by Rehan Tariq, and I can write endless fanfictions on it, and unless he himself tells me to stop, I will continue writing it. It's my one way of showing appreciation to his work, whether he ever knows this or not.**
**Ray_1234: You never know. Maybe a staff member of his made him aware of these fanfictions, and he reads them and even comments on them.**
**Ana_B: I'm literally laughing right now. That sounds like fanfiction itself- the author reading the fanfiction by one of his biggest fans.**
**Ray_1234: True. That's impossible. Ha ha.**
**Ray_1234: But you write well. You have genuine talent.**
"Anabia!" Mama's voice made me jump so hard that I dropped my phone.
"Mama, you don't have to scream when you're standing right outside my room!" I glanced towards the closed door of my room.
"We don't have maids to bring you food to your room. Come and eat before it gets cold!" Typically, a mother was capable of telling you off and showing concern simultaneously.
I opened the bedroom door and she was standing there, dusting the photo frame of my Masters' graduation photo with her dupatta. She came to call me and found herself another task! Mothers... "Mama. You could have just messaged me or called me."
"Why? Do you think my old bones can't handle the stairs?" She asked, sarcastically. "Come and eat first. You can play with your phone later."
"How did you...?" I widened my eyes.
"My dear, I didn't just give birth to you after hours of labour. I raised you and Saim, and have been with you for a quarter of a century. You think I don't know things about you?" She shook her head. "Come on."
I followed her downstairs, just as I heard Saim's bedroom door open.
"What's for dinner?" My brother asked, curiously.
"I wish I could cook good memory, since you both seem to lack it. You already asked me when you came home." Mama was on fire with her sarcasm.
"Oh right, aloo gobi." He muttered.
*Aloo gobi: potato and cauliflower dish.
"You better not be thinking of ordering out, after I slaved away in the kitchen, Saim." Mama warned him, and I grinned at my brother.
"I'm glad I'm only going to be here for a little while now." Saim said that jokingly, but he had no idea how much his words hurt Mama.
Although our mother was the one who had encouraged him to move out after marriage, the idea still pained her.
I glared at my insensitive twin brother.
Saim winced, realising his mistake. "Sorry, Mama. I take back my words."
"You'll definitely eat your words when you don't get to eat Mama-made food every day." I wrapped an arm around my mother's shoulders, hoping that she wouldn't break down in tears again.
Saim placed a hand on Mama's cheek, before kissing the top of her head. "It's okay, Mama. I won't let you suffer the torture of living with Anabia alone. Nobody deserves that."
I frowned as he and Mama burst out laughing.
"Oh, my baby." Mama pulled my cheeks, before wrapping an arm around me. "Saim, don't tease her!"
"A-baby-a." Saim, naturally, as a brother felt that it was his responsibility to constantly tease his sister 24/7.
"Saim!" Mama lightly chastised him as he loudly laughed.
This was my sweet little family, and I wouldn't change it for the world.
*
My parents divorced when Saim and I were eight. My father had fallen in love with another woman, and my mother had fallen out of love with him. And although, there were huge fights in the days pre-divorce, by the time the divorce was finalised, both parties were calm and both realised that this had been the right decision, especially for me and Saim. Living in a fighting, tense environment was not good for our young minds.
And, despite the divorce, my parents still got along well, even to this day. And when it came to decisions regarding my life, or Saim's, my parents took joint and unified decisions. For example, Papa was fully involved in Saim's marriage meetings and arrangements.
And despite the fact that both Saim and I suspected that Papa had cheated on Mama, neither of them made it obvious to me and my twin brother.
And now Papa lived with his second wife, Sharmeen, and their two young daughters, Mariyam, who was fifteen and Fiza, who was thirteen. He treated us all right, so Saim and I had no issues, but when I was younger, and when Mariyam was born, I had felt really resentful and had refused to see Papa for a while, until Mama convinced me.
Laila's family was aware of this, but thankfully they did not overreact and cause drama. In fact, they were pretty impressed by how well my parents managed to work together for Saim's wedding planning- something that wasn't quite common in our society.
I was sitting in the living room, flicking through the TV channels one afternoon, when Mama walked in, holding bags of grocery.
"Mama, you should have told me!" I jumped up, ready to help you.
"I did. You were too busy on your laptop." She didn't meet my gaze, which meant she was not impressed with me.
"Mama, I'm so..."
"Saim's wedding is just around the corner. He himself, as the groom, is also running around making preparations, but we really need you to step in as well, Anabia." Mama finally looked at me. "Come out off the fantasy world of yours to realise that your family needs you right now. Your fantasy, your fiction, it's all taking you away from the realities of life. Snap out of it!"
I was startled by her harshness.
"You are not a child, Anabia. You are twenty-five, Ma Sha Allah. Please learn to take care of your responsibilities."
"Sorry, Mama."
Her expressions softened. "Anabia, we live in a world which is harsh and merciless. I want you to be prepared for it, and I don't want for the reality to sneak up on you in an unpleasant surprise attack. I know that you're passionate about your writing, but bring a little reality into your life as well."
I'd always considered myself an escapist, someone who sought shelter from reality through the worlds of fiction and fantasy. But I guess, it wasn't always a harmless thing. It had been preventing me from performing my duties and obligations towards my family.
"Come on, help me put the grocery away." Mama told me.
****
Rehan
"This is the only direct flight to Lahore."
"You know I had night flights." I yawned, adjusting the strap of my laptop bag on my shoulder.
"Quit being a diva; you're going in Business Class. You'll sleep throughout the flight." Faisal's voice came through the earpiece.
"I already had two cups of strong coffee in the lounge. I doubt I'll be sleeping." I found myself heading straight towards the gate.
"Ray, stop complaining all the time." Faisal sounded relaxed, probably because he didn't have to hear my complains face-to-face on a daily basis for the next few days.
As I showed my passport and boarding pass and entered the closed gate area, I began to head to the quieter section of seats at the back, possibly the furthest away from the crowd. The way people were buried in phones and tablets was almost amusing...and kind of sad. I felt old thinking that back in my days, people usually read books or newspapers while waiting.
And, as if someone had heard my thoughts, my gaze landed on someone reading a book. And not just any book, but my book. I could see the cover of the book, but I couldn't see the reader as he or she was hidden behind a middle-aged woman.
She. I realised when I saw the aqua-blue nail polish of the reader, as well as the silver bangles and a floral silver ring on the middle finger.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is a boarding announcement..." The voice in the PA prepared us for the imminent boarding of our flight, and before any further words were said, people began to stand up, as if there was a marathon race going on.
I looked around, stunned by how people seemed to be rushing, almost as if to save their lives, dragging their numerous hand luggage behind.
I got up as well, grabbing my laptop bag, and my gaze went back to where I'd seen the reader of my book. All I could see was that middle aged woman again, now standing up while trying to sort together her hand luggage.
Shrugging I headed towards the priority queue, which seemed to be quite long.
I was exhausted. I had been up at six in the morning, and hadn't slept a wink since, but I knew that the cups of coffee probably murdered any chance of a good shut-eye.
As I waited, listening to the various arguments of passengers with the staff regarding too much hand luggage, I glanced towards the economy class queues, casually.
To my surprise, I found the reader absorbed in my book again. This time I caught a clearer glimpse of her, with her hair in two long braids with a fringe. She wore blue jeans, a long red shirt and a denim jacket that matched her jeans. She had no care regarding the noise around her; she just kept reading as if she was sitting in a quiet library, rather than standing in a queue. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties, and although I knew that I had a wide variety of readers, it seemed strange that a girl who seemed so full of life would read a dark book like mine.
Stop being a judgmental prick. I told myself, shaking my head, lightly.
"Shehzadi, agar aapki khwahish ho, to aagaye kadam badhayaingi aap?" The now-familiar middle-aged woman behind her said to her loudly.
*"Princess, if you wish, would you please take a step forward?"
"Mama, for Allah's sake." The reader glanced at her, her cheeks turning pink.
"We're boarding a flight. We're not having reading time!" Her mother sighed. "We have a long flight. You can read all you want."
"Mama, that lady at the front will argue about hand luggage forever. I need to finish this part. It's my favourite." The reader shrugged and returned her gaze to her book.
I couldn't help smiling in amusement as I returned my gaze to the front.
The two lines got closer together as we approached the jetty where the final boarding passes were being checked before we walked to the aircraft.
"Sir, your boarding pass?" Finally, I was at the front.
I held out my boarding pass, giving a polite smile to the member of staff checking my boarding pass. As the lady scanned my boarding pass, I glanced over my shoulder.
Finally, the reader had put my book away- much to her mother's relief, clearly- and was now rummaging through her bag, searching desperately for something.
"Your boarding pass is with me." Her mother said to her from behind. "And this is exactly why."
An uncontrollably loud chuckled escaped my mouth, catching the attention of the reader.
She looked up, a little irritated, searching for the perpetrator who had dared to laugh at her. Finally, her gaze landed on me, and I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide my grin.
Her eyes widened, and she gasped out loud, attracting the attention of the others around her. She placed her fingers over her mouth, her silver bangles clacking together. "You?!"
I turned to walk down the jetty before I gathered any attention on myself, but the smile remained on my face.
****
Anabia
I am dreaming.
Yes. Duh. I'm dreaming.
I wanted to chase him down the jetty, but that was definitely something that would have gotten the attention of the security and the police, rather than the man in question.
"Well, you missed the book signing." Saim had noticed him as well, and now he looked completely amused.
"Did you see him too?" I whispered, unable to speak any louder. "Or am I dreaming?"
Fortunately, Mama was too busy presenting our boarding passes to the staff.
"You mean the Rehan Tariq? Yes, Anabia. Yes, I saw him." My brother was clearly having the time of his life.
I blinked at him, and he had to grab my arm and led me through, because my mind seemed to have gone numb.
"What happened?" Mama looked at us, puzzled. "Why does she look so pale, Saim? Allah! Anabia, are you feeling unwell?"
"Oh, her heart is definitely feeling unusual." Saim nodded.
"Her heart?" My poor naïve mother panicked.
"Mama, he is just being Saim. Ignore him." I composed myself, as I glanced towards the business class jetty.
I closed my eyes, as my heart skipped a beat, trying to relieve the moment I'd laid eyes on him. He was taller than I'd pictured, with neatly cropped dark brown hair and a light beard. His eyes were dark, but had been bright with the amusement that was also reflected in his smile.
I'd told Hareem that I didn't know much about the author, only his books. But the truth was that how could I not be attracted to him, knowing that he wrote the beautiful works of fiction that I was in love with? The truth was that my heart didn't just skip a beat because I'd seen how handsome he was; it had started pounding harder because it had just come in breathing space of the person who had made me live in beautiful worlds of fictions that had gotten me through some difficult times.
He's here. On the same plane as me.
It sounds like something out of a fictional world.
****
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