Pushing a piece of khubz with an olive in his mouth, Fayd watched his sister and nephew fight for the last piece of kebab from last night in amusement. How long had it been since he had Arab food or that he saw his sister fight with every other person. Pakistan was his country but the United States was his home– this place, Malik residence, was his home. He chewed on the bread watching his seven years old nephew spew words he learnt from the school. He was amazed at how quick the kids these days learned things. Fayd used to pick and throw stones at people at that age.
His days in Pakistan weren't always gloomy and dull. He did have good days, he did have good people around him but they weren't enough to stop the darkness from creeping up to him. He was yet again held down by the dark realities of people. He was yet again held down by how ruthless people. Then again a boy who was homeschooled all his life wouldn't really know the world until he saw it for himself.
"Samara," He called her. The boy who was holding her fork left it in a shock. His chachu wasn't scary, only his voice was. His nephew retracted in sadness, looking at his phupho who was grinning after almost tasting the victory. Almost being the keyword.
"Give it to Zaroon and get something else for yourself." He bit on the olives. Enough for her to make a face at him.
"Akhi-" Samara stopped when Zaroon dropped his fork accidentally," Fayd bhai, my taste buds refuse to eat unseasoned olives and plain khubus. Sorry." It was nothing new for Samara to see him eat bland food but he had a fetish for simple and Arab food. The simpler the food, the better he was. Their mother used to cook her traditional food only because her middle child loved to eat them.
"Then don't. I don't agree with giving my food to you. Take your phone out and order takeout. I'm sure you've done it plenty of times since last week." He rumbled, tearing another morsel of the bread.
"I'm a lot civilized if you ask me." Samara shrugged her brother's growl off her shoulders as she stood up to take a hold of the home printer that laid in the living room. Fayd exhaled, shaking his head and turning towards his nephew and finding him biting on the pieces of kebabs. He had just woken up an hour ago to the loud yelling of his mother who was trying to bring her kids to the place for breakfast. The woman was very active for her age.
"Chachu?" He looked up from his food. The innocence on Zaroon's face– he wanted to see it till he lived his last day on the face of the earth. He wanted to keep the kid's innocence intact and for that he would fight a war with whomever that became a hurdle.
"Jee?" He pressed on his words, a smile enveloping his mouth.
"How long is your stay?" To say, Fayd was stunned to speak would be an understatement. He could feel the reluctance in his tone as he uttered a few words that were enough to shake his grounds.
"I'm not going anywhere now, chachu ki jaan." He tried to smile at the kid. He adjusted the temples of his glasses as he did so. The kid, however, wasn't convinced like he knew where it was going to end. Like he was going to leave. And the fact that remained, he was. He was leaving New Orleans with Ayat to help her with whatever she wanted. He was leaving and he didn't know how to tell that to go a boy who had been fond of him before even meeting him in person. But he wouldn't be gone for long. This time, it would be half an year at the most.
Zaroon shook his head hesitantly as he took off from his place to go to the school leaving Fayd alone with his breakfast. The bite he chewed wasn't going down his foodpipe and lodged in the back of his mouth. He couldn't swallow one of his favourite food– his regret and remorse was that thick. How many people he had hurt in attempting to pursue his dream job? How many people had he hurt to return with mountains of secrets and regrets? This wasn't what he wanted when he left for Pakistan about thirteen years ago.
He gulped the morsel with the help of water after he heard Ahsan and his wife walking down stairs and running out of the house in hustle with Zaroon. Samara hurled salam at them as they walked out and went back to fancy herself with the printer her father had installed last week on Fayd's return. They thought it was necessary to have a printer because well, an investigator was never off duty. Except that he left his job. Fayd had been crushing under the weight of secrets. A few of his own and a few of others. And the fact no one from his family knew of his accident and coma.
"What are you thinking to do next. You've graduated, I suppose?" Tossing another olive in his mouth, he asked Samara. If he wasn't wrong, Samara graduated her second masters a couple of years ago.
"Bhai-" And from the way she pressed on his name, he could tell it was something he would be better off not knowing, "I'm a professional homebody." Lifting her imaginary collar, she smirked at her older brother and wiggled her eyebrows in anticipation before breaking out in fits of laughter.
"Samara, ya himar! Sudhar jao." Their mother yelled from inside the kitchen almost choking Fayd on his food. Adjusting the bridge of his glasses on his nose, he laughed, curbing the edge of the table for support– tears of laughter almost coming out from his eyes.
"When did you go from guriya to himar? This is remarkable." He laughed. He laughed so much at his sister's expense and she just let him. She let him laugh at her because it was the first time in nine days that she saw him laugh. She had only seen him smile because he only smiled at people. Growing up, Samara never got to feel the love from him. He was so closed off even as a kid and then the incident robbed her second elder brother off her. He wasn't there with her on her sixth birthday and after.
"Since the year I decided to turn twenty one and refused to marry her nephew." She rolled her eyes dramatically, slumping on the couch and lining traces on the curves of the furniture.
"Who?"
"Sameer al-begairat." And in a second, another fit of laughter took control over. Samara sunk deeper into the couch to save herself from the embarassment.
"I heard your fiance is much better than that kameena and don't worry Sameer is not the person to take flights for a woman." He suggested.
You are of that kind- a voice in the back of his head taunted him and he cared less.
"I know. Thankfully." She replied, quite stuffing-ly.
The words he had mustered for a reply were hindered when the warm liquid oozed out of his nostrils and spluttered harshly against the dining table. His eyes going wide as he stared at the drops. Nevertheless, his instincts were quick to respond and he picked up a handful of tissues to wipe the surface. Leaning his head and looking at the ceiling, he really hoped for the bleeding to stop, however, he could feel the blood bubbling up at the other end of his nostrils, threatening to pour out.
His mother could never see him bleed because in his last therapy session, he admitted that his nose no longer bled and that he was feeling peaceful. Funny, how he lied about both things without leaving a trace to a psychologist who could actually read people's mind. He lied so effortlessly that not even a professional with a degree could catch his lie. The young boy that was brought into the clinic for therapy was anything but honest. He would ramble, he would lie, he would say he had no recollection of what happened and no one was able to identify that the boy was fooling them. Otherwise, his therapist would have sent him to a rehab.
Removing his glasses and placing on the dining, he got up, "I'll be back in a while, alright?" He ran towards the door and disappeared before Samara could even tear her eyes off the phone. The moment his feet hit the porch, he could feel the coldness creeping in his body and his pace died down, reducing to slow walking while reaching the gate, he stood near the entrance, facing up.
He hadn't bled after Adil caught him bleeding. His nostrils burnt and he could taste the reek of the blood in his mouth since he had his mouth clamped shut. Fayd pushed himself away from the wall and tried to take a stroll to the nearby lake. Taking steps and breathing fresh air had always helped to stop nosebleeds but as he went ahead with it, the tissue in his left nostril was now drenched so much that it started to pull out on its own. The stress was very much tangible and he was running closer to it.
His slow steps turned into long strides. His long strides, then, turned into a jog and before he knew he broke out in a run so he wouldn't get ahead of himself. So he would be able to curb his temper and chain his thoughts. So he could be strong enough to help her out. After that night at Salaar's place, he hadn't met her although he knew she was still in New Orleans. They didn't talk about sorting out. They didn't talk about their so called deal. They didn't talk about them. He had confessed to her that night in a very subtle way. He had done what Sayrah feared the most to her. He had done everything to disappoint every woman that swore to love his thick skin.
He ran and ran until his lungs gave up. He ran until he could no longer see anything. He ran until his knees collapsed and landed him onto the land. The nosebleed, only then, stopped, "How do I always run into you?" A voice wondered when he was dusting his t-shirt off once he got back on his feet.
He looked to his left to find Ayat and bibi jaan approaching him. His nose flared and thankfully he had gotten rid of the bloodied tissue already. He wouldn't have liked bibi jaan make a scene out of it in the middle of nowhere.
"Where else do you expect me to be?" He deadpanned.
"I don't know. Helping someone hide their reality?" Her taunt was thick and heavy. Her taunt rolled into his heart. Her taunt made him realize the true purpose of his life– to love her even if she hated him.
"You know what, I'm out of this. Happy entertaining yourself." He didn't dare to take a look at the old woman who was looking at him with hopeful eyes. She didn't know what happened between them. Bibi jaan didn't know what he did to Ayat and what she said to her. She didn't know they fell in a love that wouldn't be treasured by the world.
"Are you here for a run?" Bibi jaan asked the moment he stopped in front of her to say salam. The woman smiled at the sight of him while pondering over why his face had paled so much in two weeks.
"Running is his forte. Of course, he is."
He would have slit her throat if she wasn't the woman he loved for mocking and disrespecting him. He would have slit her throat if she was a man. However, he couldn't help ducking his head abashed and appalled. Would he have imagined it going this way? No. Never. Noticing the tension between them, bibi jaan excused herself saying her legs hurt and that she was going to sit on a bench leaving the two of them deal with their tension.
The tension they felt was looming over their head like thick puff of cloud obscuring the morning sun. Fayd sucked in a breath, watching bibi jaan walk away from them and he inched closer to her– his steps heavy and his eyes piercing into hers. Ayat didn't cower and held his gaze as though she was ready for whatever between them to be over. She wanted the end. She wanted the end to move on and for that, she would wield swords even at him.
"Kya karne ki koshish kar rahi ho, Ayat?" His eyes and tone dark, he gripped her elbows to keep her from recoiling. She gazed at his hands before retracting it to paste on him.
"Kuch nahi." She blanked out. Never for once had she tried to come out of his hold. Her legs would give up from the storm he was wrecking inside her if she pulled out of his hold.
"You should go back to Pakistan." His eyes softened and so did his tone. The pain he was giving her was very much visible even though she was hell bent on hiding it from him.
Fayd and Ayat– two people in love and love tended to fool around. Fayd hadn't been specific with answers and Ayat hadn't asked for one although he owed her a thousand. He knew too much to let her go. He knew way too much to stick with her. The agonizing love would end only when they were buried under the ground. He loved her with all her secrets. She loved him with all his scars. Yet, love wasn't invincible as they claimed. For, love had the tendency to lose.
"I'm not going back." His fingers drew patterns near her elbows, easing her tension but stopped when the words came out of her mouth. He hadn't had a moment of realization until a minute later.
"Don't fool around, Ayat. This is not your world." He grounded his teeth together. New Orleans was not where she belonged. She could never belong to the world he belonged in. This world– his world was prone to cuts, scars and damages and he couldn't let her be a part of it.
"I'm not going back until I know what Asher is upto and where he is." The name of that man. The name of her first love and first betrayer. The name that she used to chant like a prayer felt acid on her tongue. She had to pull her mind together and see ahead of what she was feeling for him.
Nevertheless, Fayd didn't get how she knew about Asher's staged death. He didn't know how she got her hands on the clue and aimed at him in the moments of his weakness. He wouldn't have told her otherwise. He would have never told her how Asher hid away from the world for years. The reason. Unknown.
"How did you find out that Asher is alive?" Their conversation was taking a turn. This was not about them anymore. This was about the man who she loved. This was about the man she was engaged to. This was about the man she was betrothed to even before they fell in love.
"I guessed. I've been receiving texts from a restricted number and I was able to see the familiarity between the text I am receiving to the texts Asher used to send." How was going to make him understand that she knew Asher like she knew her way in business. They grew up together to not know of it. The first text that she received from the restricted number was when she was packing for New Orleans. The text gradually increased as time went by and the last text she received was a night ago.
"And you're telling me now?" The soft eyes hardened at her and he wanted to run away from her. The anger that was surfacing was safe to neither of them.
"I didn't think we were sharing secrets. Besides, I would be damned if I opened my mouth about this to anyone." She shrugged out of his hold, putting a considerable space between them. The proximity, the burning feelings, the tingles and butterflies, his hands on her arms– she knew she would lose herself if she stayed under his breath.
"You just told me." He chortled, watching her wipe his touch off her hands and it stung him. Seeing his love removing his touch from her skin was like a slap.
"You're different-" She stopped the moment he hissed and looked at him, "In both good and bad ways."
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❝Le dubegi tujhe
Mujhse behtar ki talash.❞