The next Sunday was a field of nothing but chaos.
"Saboor! Please iron your Abbu's clothes!"
"Saboor! Pack a good perfume for Uncle!"
"Saboor! Perfume for Uncle, and what for Auntie?"
"Aapi! Where is your brown dupatta!"
"Saboor! Gift-pack this!"
Saboor, Saboor Saboor! Saboor wants to go scream in a pillow!
~
"Assalamu alaykum! Maanna padega bhai, you Luqmans are really punctual! Puraani aadat ab bhi nahin chhooti!" Mazhar came and greeted his guests. From behind her sister, Saboor hastily made sure her dupatta appropriately covered her head and chest, and Aynoor continually looked back and forth to see if her sister was done.
"Bola thaa naa aapi, gaadi mein gift pack kar lein!"
"Haan, aur gaadi mein tumhaara miyaan mujhay tape kaat ke deta, hm?" she half-sneered and whispered. Right then, her parents moved forward and into the drawing room, and they followed in a file like obedient toddlers. As soon as their presence was made felt in the room, the lady of the house, Mrs. Mazhar, came forth and embraced both the girls, and kissed their foreheads.
"How are you girls doing?" she cheerfully asked. A smile came onto Saboor's face. It was rare that she was greeted and treated like that. Especially as she worked in the business sector along with her father, she had seen a lot of sneers and calloused expressions made to her, as well as her father, when they realized that Luqman had brought along his daughter.
But Saboor hadn't held back once. Seeing their faces, she got a chance to straighten up even more, and showed no kindness, even when her father tried to silence her.
"They're experienced!" her father would say.
"Aren't you experienced? Am I not experienced? I've been doing this as long as them, Abbu, don't you dare stop me," she would reply. Most times, her father would stop, agree, and fall silent, but there were times he became equally annoyed; not at them, but at her.
"You're a girl, Saboor! It's not up to you to do all this!"
But the woman's smile was exactly an opposite to what she had usually seen. Even when she sat to have a chat, she sat in between both the girls, holding each of their hands in her own. Aynoor felt awkward, and Saboor could see that on her face, but Saboor felt comforted in her presence.
In the midst of the conversation that the elders led, Mrs. Mazhar whispered to her. "You don't mind that I'm holding your hand, right?" she asked.
Saboor immediately shook her head, but the lady left her hand anyway, leaving a miss of warm touch in her palm.
"Actually, my daughter, Manhaa, is out of country for her bachelor's. I just miss her so terribly, you know how it is. When I told her you're coming over, she was so excited! She said you were her ideal when you were senior, I guess?"
"Manhaa? Oh yes, she was my junior. She's out for architecture, am I right?"
"Yes, yes, all with merit and scholarship!" said the woman, caressing Saboor's shoulder. She had never seen a mother so up close and concerned for her daughter. More than that, she was amused; how could anyone keep her as an ideal? She hadn't been any model in school time, and even now, her clear face was only because she forced herself to give up an hour on skincare each day. She was good at academics, no doubt, but many in her class were. She wasn't as social too...then why?
"Moustafa! Where are you escaping to?" said the lady, as she peered into the corridor. Embarrassed by his mother's stance, Moustafa walked into the drawing room. He had worn a phthalo green hoodie and blue jeans, and a bag hung from his shoulder. He wobbled down the room and shook hands with Saboor's father. Aynoor pulled her dupatta over her head in caution, and stared wide-eyed at Saboor. Her eyes asked, "You know him?"
Saboor shook her head as meekly as she could. She'd never seen this boy.
"Moustafa, bacchay, call up your brother; let's see how far he's reached," said Mazhar, and ushered Moustafa outside.
Innately, it all ran as a question as to who was who. Despite being her father's friend, this was the first time she was meeting Uncle Mazhar's family. It happened quite a few times. Her father didn't have a habit of bringing over his friends for tea or brunches at their house, so she hardly knew a handful of them.
Soon enough, Saboor, Aynoor and their parents were ushered to the dining hall, for lunch was ready. Finally coming out her hazy train of thought, she had a look around the house. Theirs was a regular modern apartment, nothing compared to this cottage-like villa. They had a lot of wooden furniture, including the dining table she sat at. The walls remained a pale off-white, but it didn't mind her. She felt like the entire house was coming in towards her for a kind embrace.
One that she needed.
"Oh, child, are you fasting?" asked Auntie Israa. She had finally found out her name when she heard her mother calling her out, asking her to join them too.
"You're the last to start, Saboor beta," Uncle Mazhar said, pouring a little gravy from a hotpot. She took some rice from another pot, and began eating almost immediately. She looked up for a moment, and saw her mother staring at her, in what she almost considered hatred, and trying to ignore her, she looked down at her plate and continued to eat.
She had a fair idea of what was going to happen once they reached home.
~
Saboor had, against the hostess's protests, picked up her family's plates and kept them back for wash. Knowing that the young lady was not to listen, Israa let her help clearing off the table. Then, dessert was served, and while the men went back to the drawing room for a long conversation, the ladies joined in at the dining table.
"I hear you took a double major in college, Saboor?" Israa asked.
"Yes, auntie."
"My Muzammil had also done a double major. By the time he was in his final year, I, as his mother, couldn't recognize him, that bad it was for him. You still seem better compared to him."
Saboor silently chuckled. She had seen people like that in her final year too. In fact, she had felt like she would collapse any moment with the number of tests and projects all at once.
"But, shukar alhamdulillah, his work today gives him so much peace and joy, that his haalat all those years ago seems worth it," she continued.
This one seemed intriguing, Saboor thought. "What did he major in?" she asked.
"Computer Science Engineering and Biological Sciences," said his mother, beaming with pride.
"Oh, that means we share a major," she said, unbeknownst to the fact that she spoke aloud, but not in her head.
"Arey waah, which means you'll get along well," Israa chimed. At the prospect of meeting this person, Saboor's hands turned sweaty. Door se hi munaasib.
Right then, breaking the tension, Moustafa entered the dining hall. He immediately came near to his mother's chair.
"Mama," he sighed, "I don't think bhai is coming back in less than four hours."
Israa squinted in question.
"He's still at that site, and the prototype is still not finished. He says it'll take him more than an hour. And you know it takes two hours minimum to come back home."
"Did you tell your father?" she asked.
"Haan, unhonein buss aisay kandhay jhatak diye," he said, imitating his father's shrug.
"Aanay do usay, kaun boltaa hai aisay contract lenay jissay chhutti lenay ki bhi fursat naa milay?" The conversation moved forward with both the ladies discussing how their children almost never have a peaceful meal in the entire week, blah, blah, blah, but Saboor was, once again, disinterested. She stood up and walked away from the table, and stood by the french windows, which opened the way to a veranda. There stood two chair and a circular table, both in bare wood, and on the table was an old cup with a saucer. She grazed the rim of the cup with her fingers, for it was not empty: it contained five white water lilies, gently dancing with the wind.
And when she looked outside, she fell in love.
For it looked like the forest she had always wanted to live in. Complete with a small pond in a walkable distance, the entire scenery was one she had only imagined so far in her head. Until the compound walls and fences, the lawn was neatly mowed and maintained, and a passion fruit creeper lined the edge of the plot. Beyond that, was an untamed forest she wished she could explore. She could see pink flowers peeking from the thick green ceiling, and pale white butterflies prancing about everywhere.
She stood there for as long as she could, taking in the view; who knew if she'd ever come back again. If only there was a possibility, if she could have a house like this...
The Mazhar family was a lucky one indeed.
~
Even as she drove back home with her family, Saboor mentally ran back over and over to Israa auntie's cottage-style villa. There was something very different about that place, and the people as well.
"They had a nice place, no?" Aynoor asked, unbeknownst that Saboor was readily going to talk about it. Their parents were busy napping in the back, tired from all the talking, and perhaps the heavy food had done a good job for a sleep inducer.
"You say nice? I say magnificent! Aynoor, if only I had a house like that..." she spoke.
"You were searching for those Scottish farmhouses, right? What happened?" the other one asked, recalling an incident from a few weeks ago.
"You know it's hard when you don't know a soul over there, and I don't have time to go all the way to Scotland just for paperwork's sake. You can say the deal's over."
"Argh, and I thought I'll go to Scotland for vacations," said Aynoor, sighing.
~
The car horn resounded in the living room, and Moustafa immediately got up from the sofa and ran to the gate. And despite running so fast that he was now panting, the car door was open, and its owner outside, already opening the steel gates.
"You should've waited for a hot minute, bhai, I was coming to open the door."
"It's okay yaar, close the gate now," said the other man. He steered his car forward and straight into the designated parking.
Moustafa noticed that his brother was extremely tired today and decided not to bother him. While he went upstairs for a shower, Moustafa notified his mother of the arrival and made a nice warm coffee for them both. Meanwhile, Israa entered the kitchen, ready to serve her son a hearty dinner.
"Please don't make him sick with your worry, okay mama? Bechaaray itna thak kar aaye hain, shaayad kuch khaaye piye bina hi so jaayein."
"Nahin nahin, jaa kar jagaao usay, khaana khaa kar hi soyega wo. Na theek se naashta kiya, aur na lunch ke liye ghar aaya."
"Mama, jaane dein," Moustafa repeated.
Breaking the argument, the person in question walked into the kitchen, silencing the other two. Mumbling a greeting to his mother, he kissed her forehead, and went on to take his coffee.
"Coffee mat piyo beta, khaana khaa lo," she silently pleaded.
"Theek hai mama, aap ye coffee andar rakh dein. Khaanay ke baad piyounga."
And he walked out of the kitchen.
"Tumhein kya khaana hai?" she asked from the kitchen, loud enough for him to come back again.
"Buss jo hai wahi garam kar dein," he replied, and went to the sofa. Taking the remote from the tea table, he switched on the television and sat down watching, but within a few minutes, his eyes had closed.
"Oh, look! He fell asleep. I told you, mama!"
"My poor child...let it be now, let him remain asleep-"
But Muzammil ringing phone had made a vow, along with every other thing in the world, to not let him fall asleep. Groaning in sheer annoyance, he picked up the phone and put it his ear, but as soon as the sweet, youthful voice registered in his head, he began feeling better.
"Assalamu alaykum bhai!"
"Walaykum assalam," he replied in a groggy voice.
"Oh no, were you sleeping? I shouldn't have called."
"Nahin, nahin, I just woke up, in fact I'm glad you called. Switch to the video call, let me see your face..."
From behind Muzammil, his mother gave a soft smile. Her young man had grown to be so responsible and caring, she realized. Her mind travelled back to the time when Manhaa had just graduated high school. Knowing well her parents wouldn't allow her so far from home, even at her dream college, Muzammil had selflessly catered to her wishes. Paying the semester's fees, going through the admission and visa process, and even finding a family which was ready to take her in, was all difficult, and more so since it was all in secret. But for his sister, the youngest of his family, he had selflessly emptied his dreams and pockets.
Israa went forth and kissed her son's hair. He had been more than she asked for in a son, and the kindest of men too.
As the family conversation ran online, Manhaa too unpacked her snacks in the café and ate.
"Mama, did Saboor aapi come today?" she asked, remembering all of a sudden.
"Oh yes, she did," replied Moustafa, critically casting a glance at the screen.
"And when I saw her, I wondered, how did you of all people ended up befriending her? she hardly speaks, and you..."
"Moustafa..." his elder brother chided and Manhaa whined on the other side.
"Whatever it is, Saboor is such a nice girl. Well-mannered, quiet-natured..."
"I told you, mama! That's exactly why I like her so much," exclaimed Manhaa, clapping hands, for her mother was on the same page as her.
"It's usual for mama," Moustafa mumbled. "Every time she sees a well-mannered girl, she says she's very nice, this and that. Kya karna hai itni saari acchhi ladkiyoun ka aapnay?"
At this, her two other kids nodded as well. Everyone knew of their mother's soft nature, and many even came forth to take advantage of it. Israa squinted her eyes, but didn't back down.
"Saboor is truly a gem for a child. Aur ye acchhi ladkiyoun ke saath mujhay kya karna hai mujhay acchhay se pataa hai," she said, winking at Manhaa as she said the second half. Manhaa hid her giggles, while her brothers looked about in confusion.
~
"Tell ammi I'll make dinner," Saboor said, getting up from the desk after a good three hours. The only breaks she had taken were for the Asr and Maghrib prayers.
"What are you making?" Aynoor's eyes lit up in anticipation. This was her indirect method to place an order.
"Farmaaiye, what do you want?"
"Umm..."
"You have five seconds."
"Okay, okay. White sauce penne pasta?"
"Phir se?" Saboor made a face. She had asked for the same dish last weekend as well.
"Aapi, now don't question me again. You know last time Abbu called me to the office and by the time I was back the pasta was all cold and rubbery...ew!"
Saboor walked off to the kitchen to make the pasta her sister had demanded not-so directly. Returning to her house had silenced her even more, and all she wanted was to cuddle up into a ball in her room. and watch something. But their. mother had come and told them,
"Main na kuch banaungi, na khaaungi. Tum donoun ko jo banaakar khaana hai kha lo. Aur haan, kitchen bhi saaf kar lena."
Which meant that Saboor was to cook dinner tonight. She put the pot filled with water on the store and proceeded to make the sauce. She wasn't messing up the recipe, she didn't even burn anything yet, then why did she feel bad? As though something was about to go wrong?
~
"Mazhar, hear me out," said Israa, lathering her arms with lotion. Her husband come out, wiping his face with a towel.
"Speak now, come on," said he when he saw her hesitant mouth refusing to open.
"Don't you think Saboor is a nice girl?" she asked, as she kept the bottle of lotion aside.
Mazhar nodded, but didn't catch the ball. "That she is..."
"I don't know where you are trying to take this," he muttered.
"I think..." She looked away towards the window for a moment.
"I think, I like her for Muzammil."
"For Muzammil?" Mazhar's ears perked up.
"Yes, Mazhar, she seems like the perfect girl to me. She has the same silent nature as him, they've done almost the same education, I just...she feels just right."
Mazhar had a smile on his face.
"Don't you think it's too early?" he asked.
"Too early? On the contrary, it seems pretty late. My son is thirty-one already. He doesn't speak about it, doesn't mean that I won't marry him off!"
"I don't mean it that way... you've only met Saboor once. And I don't mean bad, but it would be good to wait for a while, meet them again, and then decide."
"Theek hai phir. But I've told you my choice," She said, a grin on her face. Mazhar went back to his daily news bulletin.