Umeed was sitting on the single sofa with her legs crossed, the laptop in her hand while she had photoshop open, editing the pictures before posting them on Instagram.
She enjoyed her work, and loved retaining her work to then present it on social media and boost her growth as well as strengthen her portfolio. Being a wedding planner, presentation and aesthetics were important.
Whilst she was reworking through the images, her phone chimed. She reached out for it hummed to the tune of bole chudiyan, and the humming stayed continuous as she unlocked her phone. It was from him..
Hi.
Umeed furrowed her eyebrows. She looked up to her message she had sent in the afternoon.
Hi Farjaad, hope this finds you well.
This is Umeed, Mrs Rubina Hashim shared your contact with me. I trust her consensus and judgements in regards to her recommendations, however I was hoping we could meet for a discussion at your earliest convenience? I think it's better we meet so we can have a clear understanding of each other's visions.
She was quite clear and to the point with her message. It should have made sense if he was typing more, however it just showed him as online.
Umeed waited for a few moments, going back to her final rendered image and airdropping it to her phone to upload.
Once uploaded she scanned her profile. Her instagram was looking arranged with the aesthetics and she scrolled down to make sure everything was in order. Her divisor was three courtesy of the layout of Instagram, and she made sure her picture collections were done in multiples of three.
Her phone buzzed, she looked down at the message.
Tomorrow, English Tea House, 12:00pm
What the hell?
She tried reacting, but only had her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the screen. What kind of demanding communication was this?
Umeed was not one who was frank or overtly joyous, however she had the basic etiquettes to communicate in a gracious manner. This was not mannerly or welcoming. And more than anything, this was giving a very negative image of him, which was not a good thing in Umeed's records.
She exhaled loudly, switching the phone off and placing it on the armrest. This was a worry for tomorrow, not now. For now, she had to finish laying out her pictures and make her profile pretty and appealing.
-
Farjaad walked to the glass sliding door of his balcony, staring out at nothing because of the smog. The weather was not supposed to be like this, but this was the truth of living in Lahore.
Spotify was displayed on the TV screen with the seventies playlist on shuffle.
He knew at the bottom of his heart that he should have been a bit nicer and open, but there was a risk that came with that.
She would have taken him lightly, and there was nothing more he hated than being taken for granted or being treated as a sidekick. He was a man who worked hard and worked well, he had a standard. And he needed to present himself like so otherwise she would have taken him lightly.
And what if she was the one with an attitude? Would Farjaad let someone boss him around and show dismissive behaviour? Never. He was already doing something out of bounds, he was already willing to collaborate with another planner. This was insulting in itself. He thought he did the right thing by being ambiguous.
He huffed, turning around and gasping when he felt the fur against his toes.
"Coco yaar!" He sighed, squatting down and holding his cat in his arms. "Marne waale thay tum." Farjaad mumbled, reaching down to the remote and turning the music and TV off, placing it back onto the table.
He walked towards the corridor to go to his room before he remembered his phone on the sofa. He paced back and held it.
Okay.
He stared at the message. One word. She was replying with the same vagueness. He sighed and clicked on 'add contact'.
"Umeed Pasha." He said out loud, remembering the name and typing it away.
Coco meowed.
"Pata nahi Coco, let's see..."
-
The morning was already in shambles for Umeed, who woke up shivering.
She spent fifteen minutes standing on the sofa and examining the AC, opening it and trying to understand the dynamics of it despite never having seen the inside before. But she was optimistic that she'll work around it. It was in heating mode, so why was cool air coming out?
However, it was ten, and she had to be at the cafe by twelve, and it took half an hour for the water to heat up if she turned the water heater on, which she did not because she was busy examining the AC. So it was safe to say, it was a little shambolic.
But she decided to just turn it off and focus on the day.
What exactly should have been on her itinerary? Should she take her laptop with her? Would he be interested in seeing her past works? Was there something she had to bring with her? She had no clue.
"Kya kar rahi ho." She mumbled to herself, remembering that she was a confident woman who knew what she was doing. Her own presence was more than enough, she was not going for an interview.
-
He stared down at his watch, huffing as he saw the minute hand pass one. It was five minutes past twelve, already a bad impression of her. Farjaad took note of such things, like appearing when you have been given a time.
If someone could not take time seriously, how would they do their jobs seriously? It just did not make sense to him.
He reached for his phone and contacted the only person he could to give his time to, since the real one was nowhere to be seen.
"Hello?"
"Kya haal hai? Abhi tumhari meeting nahi thi?" Yusuf Khan, the owner of a gym franchise and his good friend, answered the phone within seconds, bringing up what Farjaad was going to complain about.
"Yaar pata nahi kahan phasa diya hai khud ko." Farjaad mumbled, glancing down at his watch.
"Wese hairaani ki baat hai Farjaad. Agar mere se koi tumhari qualities poochay to pehli cheez mein kahun ga ke tumhe logon ki input se sakht nafrat hai." Farjaad rolled his eyes, his tongue coming out to move across his bottom lip.
"Wo ayi gi you usse ye baat bataun ga na, chay minute guzar gaye hain, ye kya professionalism hai? This is unacceptable." Whilst he vented, Yusuf had a smile on his face. This was the many things he hated yet embraced about his friend, his obsession with time.
"Farjaad yaar relax karo. Maslay ho jaate hain, koi wajah hoye gi."
"Yusuf listen to me, kasam se if she shows even a hint of unseriousness mene mana kar dena hai. Aur usko bataun ga ke wo Rubina aunty se khud ja kar kahe ke us ne nahi kaam karna mere saat. Mera kaam na kharaab kare."
"Acha tum relax karo, phonch jaye gi, aik tou Rubina aunty ko bhi khush rakhna hai."
"They have been so nice to me, unke saat meri relationship na bigray is ki wajah se."
"Farjaad yaar zyada dramay na karo. Shayd wo tum se bhi zyada professional aur achi hoye, phir tum he majbooran kaam karna pare ga." Farjaad clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes. He loved a supportive and reassuring friend.
"I don't know why I called you." He groaned before bringing the phone down and ending the call.
But Yusuf did raise a question, what if she was actually better than him? Would he let his ego back away and accept it? If this meant that the quality of their work reached a new standard, would Farjaad give in?
-
It was only once she entered the cafe, did Umeed remember that she had absolutely no idea what the man looked like. She hadn't even added his contact, so the WhatsApp was also blank. This was really not going in her favour.
"Good morning ma'am, aap ki reservation hai?" The young lady asked, making Umeed look around. She honestly had no idea.
"Um, Farjaad Khan." Umeed mumbled hopefully, praying that he reserved under his name to save her from calling him. Now it had to be face-to-face.
"Ji ma'am, ayein please." The girl looked up and began walking, Umeed following her.
The more they began walking in, the more Umeed wondered what this man looked like.
She glanced at the elderly man sitting on one end with a plate full of food. Could not be him, she recalled Rubina aunty referring to him as 'bacha', had to be someone younger.
Her eyes then landed on the man who was on his phone, typing away, dressed in a hot pink shirt jeans. They got closer to him, and Umeed was cringing at his combination. It did not suit him at all, some people should avoid experimenting with colours.
She noticed an orange strand in his hair, a mustache, this was not a welcoming man - which made sense with the way he would text. But he didnt seem the type to have a fluctuated ego. If he did, Umeed would crush it within an instant.
Luckily, they walked past him, and Umeed released a sigh of relief.
Now with where they were headed, she saw only one man sitting at the far end. His back was exposed facing them. And her first impression had to be, what a nice back.
By the looks of it, he was wearing a dark blue button up with white pants. An interesting combination. Physically, it fit him well. His hair was set well, he had nice hair.
But she wondered if it suited his face.
The closer they got, the more she observed. Prescription glasses on the table, the keys.
He was facing down on his phone, so she didn't get to see him.
The waitress only smiled and excused herself, it was now Umeed's cue to make her presence known.
"Hi." She said confidently, waiting for him to look up.
And when he did, Umeed was awestruck for a moment.
Observant eyes, nice lips, a beautifully sculptured nose, a noticeable stubble. He was a beautiful man, Umeed had to admit.
And Farjaad, he was a little confused initially.
A gorgeous woman, long wavy black strands hanging loose, a baby pink top over a shirt, white pants, a soft smile, the most captivating eyes. Why was this woman saying hi to him?
And then he calculated the situation, and he realised who this was. And all of a sudden that fascination turned into proficient thinking.
"Aap late ho gayin, but that's fine. Maybe I mistyped the time for this." Was the first thing that came out of his mouth.
Umeed had to blink a few times to take in what he just said. This is how he was going to introduce himself?
"Raaste mein accident hua tha aage waali gaari ka, it took time." She said with uncertainty, pulling the chair and sitting down. This was quite an anticlimactic meeting. She was still in disbelief that the first thing he said to her was a remark about her being late.
"Anyway, if you want to order something please do" He said just as another waiter came up to them.
Umeed was not impressed by his attitude. This made sense with his way of communicating over text, but he was going to be such a bum in real life? She did not think it would be to such an extent.
Secondly, she was starving. She was in too much of a rush to have breakfast. And she knew this place served pancakes. But the man in front of her had already made assumptions, she did not want to fuel him more by enjoying a meal through his supposed precious time.
"Chai please." She smiled at the waiter, who nodded and turned to Farjaad.
"Black coffee please." Umeed puckered her lips and looked down on the table, coffee suited a bitter man like him. She was not a fan of coffee.
She didn't try to be observant, but couldn't help but take note of everything. And if this was a randomer, then she would not eye him like she did. But Umeed was very attentive about who she was involved with. So if she was going to be associated with a man, she wanted to see what kind of man he was by scrutinising everything that was in front of her.
And immediately her eyes landed on the prescription frames placed on the table, all black, Tom Ford. Next to them, car keys, Lexus to be exact. The hand that was next to the placed accessories was bare. He was single - or at least unmarried.
She glanced up to be met with his eyes, dark, secretive and not sharing anything. This was unusual. Umeed always felt that a lot can be given about a person through their eyes, yet his eyes felt like they were judging her.
And Umeed was very taken aback by that gaze. A gaze that she had not felt since over a year and a half when she left Karachi and moved with hopes of a better life and the ability to breathe freely. This was the gaze that made her feel belittled, inferior, unworthy.
She took back what she felt about his eyes not giving anything, his eyes were speaking all of a sudden, speaking a language she tried so hard to unlearn and forget.
But unlucky for him, she had lived her whole life understanding this language, this exact dialect, and how to deal with people like him. And the advantage she had was that there was no reason to control herself this time.
Kamal Pasha was her father, this man was a stranger. The tolerance she had developed was only due to her undying love for her father. She was not going to show even half the remorse to a mere stranger, especially one that looked like was thinking of himself as someone superior.
"Anyway, aap ko pata hi hoye ga what Mrs Hashim wants, so let's skip the formalities and get to the point." He folded his arm.
He'd argue that this was not him trying to be snarky, and he was actually attempting to get the conversation somewhere. But deep down, he was very well trying to set a precedent about himself as well as their relationship: serious, precise and straightforward.
"Well, assuming that you have already seen my work, aap ko pata hoye ga what kind of work I do. Make your conclusions then." Umeed countered, already warming herself to him. They only shared a few words, but now she knew exactly the type of man he was, and how she should speak to him.
Umeed had planned the conversation to be a lot of pleasant, maybe a self introduction, maybe a question about how they got into their careers, heck, even a smile would have made her feel some sort of warmth towards their meeting. But dare this man move a muscle on his face.
"Your work." He raised his eyebrows, as if he was spoken to in some foreign language.
This was indeed a last minute lightbulb moment for her, where she sat in the car panicking, noticing the blocked road, already having a feeling that this was the first time in months she had been late to a commitment.
So she rang the lovely Mrs Rubina Hashim and asked all questions that needed to be asked regarding him; what his work was like, what he would mainly cater to, pictures of his past projects, questions regarding his personal portfolio.
And she even found his website, his works, his style. Rubina was kind enough to give her time and send pictures of what he previously did for them. So one way or the other, Umeed found a way to use it to her advantage.
"Haan. I tried my best to search for your work and courtesy of Mrs Hashim I got to see it. I believe it is a standard prerequisite to have some research done. Aur aap ko mujhe bohot professional lagte hain, so it's fair to assume you would have done your research." She smirked, sitting back on the chair. "You have, right?"
And for the first time in who knows how long, Farjaad found himself taken aback.
This was never a case for him, he was always on top of his game, he always came prepared. But this was not the preparation he was expecting. This was not the type of person he was expecting. He did not underestimate people as such, but he overestimated himself a lot. And the very second, he felt like he was caught in a trap.
"Actually I have been busy with some other things, I did not get the time." He cleared his throat. "But I don't suppose I am missing out on much, with all due respect. Wo hi rang barange parday aur phool hoyein ge, I can envision it."
Again, not the intention to be snarky and rude, but rather straightforward and honest.
There was a reason he stayed away from weddings in the first place, but maybe demising their outlay was not the smartest of the things.
"Ab samajh aaya ke Rubina aunty ne aap par bhaosa kyun nahi kiya." Umeed was not even whispering when making that statement, but loud and clear.
"Excuse me?" He furrowed his eyebrows, sitting up. Umeed bit her lip to hide the victorious smile, she made a jolt, he was offended. But he was being truthful.
"You clearly need some help agar aap ke liye wedding decor sirf phool aur parday hain. It's a grand event, it requires lots of thorough research and understanding." Umeed stopped mid-sentence as the waitress placed the cup of tea in front of her. "Thank you. Aur ye kaafi logon ke liye aik bara din hota hai, sentiment ko bhi consider karna parta hai." She said as a matter-of-factly.
Umeed was against weddings wholeheartedly when it came to herself, but had to admit that it meant a lot to people. That was clear evidence.
"Sentiment." He chuckled. "Miss Umeed if you rely on sentiment phir aap kabhi bhi apne clients ko khush nahi kar payein gi. You need to make it so good that they forget about what they had planned." It was his way of thinking.
Not once did he consider what his clients felt. He would just ask what they did not want. The rest was up to him - to make something so good that everyone forgot about anything else.
"Itna hi pata hai tou phir khud kar lein." She was losing her patience, but her tone remained sweet. "Aur ye koi party nahi hai jo bas achi lagni chahye, this is a big day for many people. Unka input important hota hai." She realised there was no point in teaching him. "Anyway, aap batayin aap ne kese karna hai ye."
"I don't work with others" He added just as she was about to bring the cup of tea up to her lips, and Umeed froze.
His eyes were shooting daggers at her, she could feel them. But this statement was an interesting one for her, because she shared the exact same feelings.
Farjaad saw how the cup that was so close to her lips descended back down. For some odd reason, his eyes stayed on her lips for a few extra seconds, before they went back up to glare at her.
"Neither do I." She pointed out. "In fact I am completely against it, mujhe nahi acha lagta logon ke input lena. I like doing my work my way Mr Farjaad."
It was not just what she said, but also the manner in which she said it, the way her eyes spoke what she said.
There was authority, there was determination. All of a sudden Farjaad felt the atmosphere turn, he was being fed the same poison he was serving, and this once he did not know how to respond to it.
"But I was asked by someone who put faith in me and my work, and rightfully so because I take my work very seriously. Agar aap ko itna ki masla hai to khud jaa kar mana kar dein. Mein yahan mar nahi rahi, I just consider my client's opinion. Not just mine." She was as clear as she got, making sure he heard her clearly...
Farjaad, after a very long time, felt like he was not prepared for this. He could see through her eyes that she meant it, that she did not come to play about, that she was indeed serious about her work. He felt challenged.
Whereas Umeed?
She came with the intention to say no to him.
Everything was in favour. He was not cooperative or understanding, he presented himself to be a pain in the ass, their minds were not on the same wavelength.
Yet she just announced to him that she was not going to back away.
Did her ego just force her into making the greatest mistake of her professional career?