Forgiving is not easy and forgetting even harder. Placing a boulder stone upon my protesting ruptured splintered heart I ring the doorbell at eight next morning. Thank Allah for my white bearded driver, Chacha Ali Gul. What would I do without him?
Nashwa's Haala Mami blinks through the eyehole and then opens the apartment door for me. "Hana." My name is a statement on her tongue. Does she know I slapped her adopted daughter yesterday? If she does, she does not seek vengeance, yet. With a hand on her swollen belly, eight months expecting, she clears the way for me. "Here so early?"
I have no integrity left so why not?
"I wanted to take Nashwa somewhere with me, if that's fine."
Still standing by the door, she says, "We just sent the boys off to school and Nashwa's Mamu to his job. The kitchen's a mess and I was restless the whole night. The maid won't be coming till nine-thirty."
She doesn't get to the point and I do not happen to have all the time in the world.
"We could wait till then, but afterwards?"
She shrugs. "Once Nashwa completes all her chores, sure."
She turns then towards her bedroom. Haala Mami is a stout woman who like Nashwa takes no crap. She is strict and stern the way you expect a mother of three boys to be who also happens to teach economics to an all-boys college. She took off from this new academic year because of her upcoming child.
Before locking the door, she adds, "If Nashwa wishes to go with you, that is."
So she does know something's off. Uncomfortably, I stand out of place in the middle of the small apartment consisting of a lounge, a kitchen with a round dining table, two bedrooms and a smaller room that functions more like their laundry room. Its door opens and Nashwa walks out, eyes still puffy, curly red hair exploding around her face and mouth wide open in a yawn. She does not cover it with her hand as she narrows her eyes at me. "Am I dreaming?"
"Must be a nightmare then."
She smirks, rolling her hair into a bun in a way I would never handle my own in the fear of pulling it all out. "I have larger wars to fight, darling."
She does not question my presence, just walks over to the kitchen and begins to pile up the dirty plates that need to be washed. I notice the small room she appeared out of is now furnished with a single bed, a bed side table, a mirror on the wall. The stand for ironing clothes is still there and a large shelf with glass doors still holds all of Haala Mami's precious dishware in it. Nashwa must recently have moved in this room, away from the boys now that they are getting older and she couldn't possibly share a room with them and study and have her privacy.
But where is the wave of gratitude in me? For my grand house, and my well decorated room? Nowhere. Because I would rather share a room with three wild brothers always pulling my hair instead of living with my body exposed to all eyes and my entire family's honour on a fish hook.
I clear my throat. "Are you done with your breakfast?"
"I woke up at six."
She's one of those people who need something in their stomach as soon as they wake up. Hanaan's like that too.
"What chores do you need done before your maid comes?"
Nashwa stops with the dirty cups and plates. "Do I sell forgiveness for errands?" She taps her chin. "I don't."
"I am not here to apologize."
She places a hand on her hip. "Pray do say, Hana, are you here for an internship as a maid then?"
My cheeks flush but the boulder stone on my heart holds back my tongue. I pull out Hanaan's tablet from my tote bag and extend it to her. "You knew Hanaan best, especially in these last few months."
She shakes her head. "I'm not reading those, I don't want my conscience to be burdened with the responsibility of looking out for you two."
"Nashwa-"
She starts piling up the dishes again, plates and cups clattering. "I don't have a heart in me, Hana, it died when my mother was killed when I was three. I long ago accepted that and it has helped me live my life a lot more peacefully and carelessly." She dumps the plates and mugs in the sink and I'm horrified- wouldn't Haala Mami be wrathful on her if something broke.
Is she really going to abandon me alone in this?
For a while I just stand there and watch her as she wrestles with the cups and plates, sponging soap on them. The clock overhead ticks by painfully slow, only the rush of water from the tap filling in the silence. It's easy for Nashwa to live with no heart but why then was it such a struggle for my own self to defend my wall? To not care requires not caring too. How do I deal with emotions then? When I am absolutely on the verge of tearing up and grabbing a knife from the utensil stand on the dinner table, ready to stab something, Nashwa turns off the tap and wipes her wet hands onto her kameez.
"All these-" she motions towards the sink "- need to be washed and properly. Don't make me do them again. Pick up Mamu Jaan's chai cup from the lounge too. This table needs to be cleaned up, bread butter and jam goes in the fridge, put the sugar pot on the shelf, sieve the tea kettle and then wash it, do not let the tea grains go down the drain and do remember to pick up all the small food particles from the sink by hand and put them in the bin. The countertops need to be cleared with this towel and then sweep the floor with that broom there, I don't think you'd know how to use a jharoo and then once you're done, you can go make my bed and put all the clothes dumped on my chair in the laundry basket. Draw my curtains and repeat the entire process in the boys' room. If you can do all this in an hour, I'll be impressed."
Relief washes over me. But also, what does her maid come for after all this?
I extend the tablet again. "There are a lot of the messages, it took me five hours and a lot of puking to go through them all-"
"Do not underestimate my speed and my immunity to digest the most disgusting things, I don't play with street food for no reason."
"Do you have headphones? All of Hanaan's messages are in voice notes because she can't type easily-"
"Of course I have headphones, Hana, who doesn't?" She disappears into her room and comes back with them. While she settles onto the couch and puts each earbud into her ear, she adds "-Oh and while you're at it, do put a cup of chai for me on the stove, I will need my fuel."
Of course. I put down my bag and chadar onto one of the couches and roll up my sleeves, sighing at the kitchen. It's not that I don't clean up, yes Baano is there mostly but every time I ever baked something, I always cleaned up all by myself. But I haven't baked in a really long time. Nor have I cleaned after myself. And this all just seems part of Nashwa venting out on me.
As long as I have someone beside me, especially Nashwa, I can get through this.
I start and I end, slightly exhausted and flop down beside Nashwa whose eyebrows are nearly reaching her hairline now.
"Absolutely mad. This guy is not smooth with flirting at all."
I release my hair from its own bun and let my shoulders relax.
She continues scrolling. "And it's absolutely clear from all of Hanaan's voice notes yet that she's only just interested in discussing Avengers, Ertugrul and X-men. But it's this shithead of a guy who is inserting all these flirty innuendoes in all his replies. He initiated personal conversation by asking her what college she studies in, where she plans on going further, 'oh you're not going to be a lawyer like your father?', it's all clear from the start what he really wanted."
But that's just the easy part that's not for us to worry about, it's when he finds out I go the gym that his comments get absolutely vile.
Nashwa chokes, "Being linear is out of trend your curves are attractive H, don't let your mind make you hate your beautiful body- what the hell, Hanaan should have immediately blocked him!"
I try not to twitch. I did not have breakfast this morning because I couldn't after yesterday's afternoon cake and then midnight cake and then early morning vomiting. Nashwa continues for the next half hour and in the meantime I just sit by her, taking in all her different contortions of her face. She does read through them much more quickly than I did, maybe because it's not herself that this guy is picturing and toying with in his mind. She grows silent and passive when she reaches the last few messages and when she's done with them too, she joins in my numbness party.
"Oh, Hana."
Wow. Can you see how bad it must be to make Nashwa feel sorry for me?
My voice is thick when I speak, "Don't even call me that anymore."
The silence between us is so pitiful, Nashwa and I could be hugging one another any moment in our grief and trial. She gets up and comes back, carrying an old laptop with her and while she powers it on, she sets to work upon Hanaan's tablet.
"I'm resetting the password so we can access the account on our devices too," she says and goes into Hanaan's Gmail inbox which is also signed into. Once done, she opens google on her laptop and types in how to export Instagram chat. In the next few minutes she has entered her own email address onto Hanaan's Instagram's download data form and entered the new password she reset for Hanaan's account. "We'll get a copy of this conversation in case we need it in court or something."
"We can't."
She looks up now. "What?"
"We can't officially report this or take this to court, Nashwa. My photoshopped pictures are on there, I don't want more people to see them or worst, my father to encounter them."
"Hana, we have to put a stop to this-"
"Which is why I came here to take you with me. The only person I can confide in now and seek help from is Ahmad Mamu."
She grows cold. "You want him to slap me too?"
"Did you deserve that slap?"
Her chest shakes with a dry laugh. "Oh, Hana. You could have let me finish that sentence for you but I think you had a lot more than this one reason-" she waves the tablet in the air "- to take out your frustration on me."
"You don't have a heart you say, I buried my ability to trust yesterday."
"What's this with your Ahmad Mamu then?"
"A compromise. Just like I am making one now against my own self, sitting in front of you. If suicide could have ended all this, I would have done it a long time ago but this guy here, Waheed, he doesn't want that file for some assignment or some other case which is somehow minorly linked with this old case of my father's, its plain clear he's making Hanaan a fool, there are higher stakes involved here that could potentially hurt my father, his career and the people he tries to protect. And if some day, this Waheed guy accidentally drops these vile pictures of me in court, it would have the same effect on my father as losing valuable information he was hoping to win the case with." I take a deep breath. "I will not let any of that happen."
Nashwa's smile is sweet. "Because you care too much?"
"Because this is my family. What would you know of that?"
She draws in a breath. "Oh, you have buried yourself deep last night, I still don't like you but you'll need all this-" she points a finger up and down me "-bravado and audacity to be able to show this madness to your Mamu and fight your way through it."
"So you're not coming?"
She's turning on screen recording on Hanaan's tablet and slowly scrolling down the conversation from the start to end. "I'm collecting evidence for now but you can go grab my chadar from my room."
I return with it and the doorbell rings. It's Nashwa's maid and as Nashwa gives her stern instructions, I wait by the door before we can go.
"Agar phir kal kee tarah dandi maar kay safai kee, iss baar waqai tankhwah nahi job katay gee!" I watch Nashwa's hot eyes, I don't think I could ever talk to Baano (no Baano is too sweet) or to anyone like that but should I begin to? To be a survivor just like her?
She flicks back a loose strand of her hair as she hoods her chadar above her head, a key ring in her finger. She closes the apartment door behind her and we head down. She takes me to the car park and unlocks a small Suzuki Alto. It's Haala Mami's red car.
"Don't look around, love," she remarks, opening the door to the driver's seat. "Chacha Ali Gul left while you were gagging at that soggy food you picked up from the sink. Your father needed him."
"But you can't drive!"
"Of course, I can, I'm a woman of many talents, Hana."
"Nashwa." I may be ready to go the extra hundred miles over my honour and pride but I will not be going on a death ride with Nashwa.
She rolls her eyes and pulls out a small card from her rainbow sock that she's wearing under her joggers. She shows it to me and I find her staring back at me from the driver's license. "The morning I turned eighteen, Haala Mami dragged me to the driver's license office and got me tested and approved before she even gave Mamu and the boys their breakfast. Happy Birthday, Nashwa!"
That makes absolute sense when it's Haala Mami involved. She must have done it mostly so Nashwa could manage the small errands she had to run for herself. And Nashwa only turned eighteen this June, during our exams. I am yet to until November.
"Now get in. You buried your trust, remember."
She's right and so I do and even before she can turn in the keys, I strap myself tight in my seat. "Ahmad Mamu will kill us both."
"Oh that he will, he's been seeing too much of me lately." Suprisingly, Nashwa is a smooth driver until of course, she over takes a loaded truck and runs past two red lights muttering an oops, did I miss that?
"Last time was when you donated blood for Hanaan day before yesterday?"
She nods. "He was there pretending not to be paying attention when the nurse was asking questions so when she asked, do you smoke, I said, I'll take one if you're offering, and Hana, you should have seen the way he choked on his chai!"
I cannot hold back my laugh. "No, you didn't-"
She looks right on a one a way road before turning right too. I recite the first kalimah in my heart. Death can find me here easy. "And when the nurse was putting in the needle in my arm for the main donation, I asked her if I could do it myself, you should have seen the horror on his face."
All I can do is shake my head. "You torture him well and it serves him right."
She grows quiet and I feel the sudden urge to tell her not to worry, I won't mention her part in this infidelity of Hanaan's but then I don't say these words. She's still a snake and hiss anytime she may. We reach Ahmad Mamu's office after an hour of being stuck in traffic. He doesn't hold a small office like my father makes do with in the government provided one but then again, that's partly because of the different sort of cases they deal in. Partly also because Ahmad Mamu is a man who likes his materialistic world. He's built a posh office for his private cases and affairs and in this tall sky scraper building as we enter and take the elevator up to the eighteenth floor, I am reminded about what we came here for and my lower lip suffers the anxiety of it.
"You do all the talking, Hana," Nashwa says. "I will not be saying a word."
That makes me feel even better, not at all nervous and edgy, totally cool and calm. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Like Hanaan would mutter because some Jake guy in some favourite detective show of hers would do so too.
The elevator opens and we step out into a lobby that leads to two different offices and we head towards one, buzzing on a bell. Ahmad Mamu's peon asks for our identities on the speaker and I cannot bring myself to say my name.
"It's his darling niece, Hana," Nashwa answers for me.
The gate opens and on the speaker the peon replies, "His darling niece, Hana, can come in." The joke pricks me in a way it wouldn't on a random day. How dare he?
As we walk past him in the wooden floored lobby with glowing yellow LED bulbs and the interior specially designed by an expensive architect friend of my Mamu, Nashwa narrows her eyes at the peon, "How cheap!" He looks taken aback but she does not throw him a second glare.
Ahmad Mamu's office is a small lavish suite, with a conference room, a private office room where he works, a smaller room where he has a treadmill and some weights and also a mattress for crashing overnight. There's a small kitchen where the peon prepares beverages and heats up food and a lobby lined with sofas and chairs for people to wait for him as he takes his sweet time to call them in and grace them with a tiny moment of his time. Also, in the kitchen I know he has a stand for ironing his suit jackets before he heads out for any court session. To put it lightly, my Mamu is a man who enjoys his money's pleasures. But Nashwa and I are entirely grateful for his centrally air conditioned private office because of course Nashwa's red Alto did not have a working air conditioner and my side of the window was stuck shut. She would not let me utter a word against her Laal even though she many times herself referred to it as khatara.
Whatever floats her boat. As long as she's in on this with me.
We find Ahmad Mamu in the conference room where the projector screen shows a document, he stares at it talking with two younger men with him. He himself is seated in the power seat, white button down shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black tie loose around his collar and elbows resting on the arm set with his signature Rolex watch sitting on his right wrist, one leg over the other. One of the young man, dressed in a light blue button down shirt and navy jeans sits beside him, holding a pen and working on a notepad, while the other, in a more rougher outfit and dishevelled hair dressed in a grey collared t-shirt and black jeans underneath, sits with his legs confidently propped on the large oval table. He also wears black framed glasses and is smacking his jaws loudly on a chewing gum.
Ahmad Mamu clearly looks pissed and Nashwa whistles besides me while we wait outside, not yet entering in. "Looks like I've got competition."
I look back to the young man with his feet propped on my Mamu's desk. She really does have competition. And a tough one at that.
"We should wait till they're done-"
"Don't be ridiculous, Hana." She grabs my hand and leads me in. "They look too young to be his associates, maybe they could help us in this ordeal-"
She's two inches shorter than me and I am grateful for my weight now as I pull her back in the lobby. "Are you out of your mind? I don't want the whole world involved in this and you're seeing this as the perfect opportunity to get back at me?"
Nashwa snatches her hand away from me. "Will you drop the act? All my actions are not centred on making your life hell, Hana-"
Someone clears their throat and we turn to see the peon looking at us. He flashes a pearly white smile before gesturing behind us and when we turn, Ahmad Mamu and the two young men look back at us. I could call them boys too, they don't look much older than Nashwa and me.
I straighten. Well, this is embarrassing.
"Hana, I have told you not to come here, if you need me, I will come to you."
I can see Nashwa directing the intensity of her hot gaze at him now.
"Mamu-"
"Come in." He turns with his hands stuffed in his pockets and leads us all back into the conference room. He slaps a hand on the switchboard and immediately, golden yellow lights flood in the previously dimly lit room. I take a seat next to his power seat and Nashwa takes a seat beside me, dropping her car keys in front of us on the desk. Ahmad Mamu's eyes fall on it and immediately the peon enters, "Sahab, security called. Your guest parked their car in between two parking spaces."
The two boys cover their faces with a hand and Ahmad Mamu raises both his brows at us.
Nashwa's nose is red. "I deny the accusation. I parked perfectly well."
The peon interrupts, "They said they'll have it lifted in the next two minutes if it is not properly parked."
Nashwa grits her teeth and throws the key at him. "Get it done, will you!"
I don't meet Ahmad Mamu's eyes as he quietly watches on. Once the peon is gone, an awkward silence falls onto the room. The boy from earlier who had his feet up on the desk scratches his ear and I notice the two of them are now standing at the far end of the table, away from us. If Waheed was here I'm sure he would have wheeled in his own chair in the middle of mine and Nashwa's and then proceeded to flash us a dirty smile. I shudder. How is he now in my thoughts?
"Yahya, Taha, we will resume in a while-"
"Actually," Nashwa interrupts. "Maybe they could be of use. Hana, why don't you start?"
I glare at her. Is this why she's here? To publicly antagonize me?
"Hana." Mamu places a hand at his chin. "Will you explain what your friend here is so eager for you to share."
Nashwa opens her mouth again and I nudge her. Where did all her cool and calm composure go now? But my nudge does no good and she turns to the boys. "You can introduce yourselves."
The one who was working with the pen looks taken aback but the one who had his feet up looks amused. The pen guy clears his throat and says, "I'm Yahya Afaaq, I graduated as a lawyer this year." He's well-built and tall, I wouldn't say muscly or bulky but he's not as slim and stick-like as the guy next to him. His hair is also slightly wavy, thick and brown contrasting to his amused companion's whose hair is dark and complements his grey-black eyes. The companion introduces himself next, placing a hand on his heart, "If you've forgotten your pin code and want me to reset your phone, Taha Muhammad at your service."
I notice the contrast between them. Yahya is broader, Taha slender. Yahya's eyes are soft and dreamy while Taha's are piercing as well as sleepy.
Nashwa snorts. "Everyone knows how to manually factory reset a phone. Pakistani boys like to press two buttons and consider themselves hackers."
Taha shurgs casually. "Well, people don't find students of IT to be of much use."
"But this is perfect," she adds. "Do you know how to hack laptops and Instagram-"
"That will be enough, Nashwa." Mamu speaks slowly and the light in her eyes goes out immediately just as my heart skips many beats. She settles back into her chair and Taha and Yahya sit down too exchanging glances between them. Mamu turns to me expectantly. He takes a tissue from the centre of the table and extends it to me. "Your lip's bleeding, you're clearly anxious about something."
Don't cry, Hana. Just don't cry.
The peon returns just as I am about to open my mouth.
"I've parked your khatara-" he flinches under my Mamu's gaze and then asks, "Can I get your guests something to drink, Sahab?"
Mamu turns towards Yahya and Taha, the former says coffee and Taha goes for Pepsi at which Mamu shakes his head. He tells the peon to bring in two juices from the fridge as well at which Nashwa interrupts him again.
"I will have chai, if you please."
Mamu blinks at her. "It's a hot day."
"You can turn up the air conditioner then."
He holds in his vexation, then asks, "How much sugar?"
"None."
He tries not to show his surprise as he tells the peon, two chai both without sugar and one juice for Hana. Nashwa arches a brow at him but he does not bother to meet her eye. The similarities between them are endless, if both would dare to try and work it out between them. We wait for the drinks to arrive and when I don't touch my glass, Mamu presses me on it, telling me he will not hear any of it until I have had my glass full. While Taha slurps on his empty can of Pepsi not tearing his inquisitive eyes away from me and Nashwa, Nashwa challenges him by slurping on her own chai and we all find ourselves in a very awkward situation but this awkwardness helps ease my nerves. Perhaps Mamu was right to make me drink the juice, I did sit there in front of him on an empty stomach and if he found out about that he would have been furious.
I finish my glass and then say, "When I tell you this, you have to promise me you will not tell my parents, Dadi or anyone or ever even mention it to Hanaan. You will not judge Hanaan in anyway, at all."
"Who's Hanaan?" Taha asks, wiggling his brows. Yahya gives him a sharp look.
I've heard this teasing a lot. On first impression, people think Hanaan's a boy.
"My sister," I say quietly. "My little sister who has cerebral palsy that affects her movements and coordination. She has always adored me and looked up at me." My words taste bitter in my own mouth, did Hanaan really make this account out of love or was she so envious of me because of all the things I could do and she couldn't and because of our last few fights and arguments that she wanted to destroy me too, like Nashwa?
"I see, she looked up at you because she was short or-"
"Taha, would you mind listening in quietly-" Yahya scolds him.
"You lawyers say it yourself, question everything-"
"This may not even be our concern-"
"You can go if you're not curious what two little girls have come to cry about to your Mr Ahmad Almighty-"
"Respect your elders—"
"You and I, we're twin brothers, Yoyo!" Taha glances over at my Mamu and then at Yahya again. "As for him, I do not worship him like you do and he knows it too." He rattles his empty Pepsi can in dismay and then looks back at us. "I have a feeling I am the man these girls will require at the end of the day."
"Hold on," Nashwa intervenes. "You sound too confident-"
"Before you suspect me to be up to something," Taha interrupts her too. "It wasn't difficult to pick what your problem was when you mentioned you needed hacking." His gaze turns to me. "Let me guess," he speaks leisurely, "Some jealous friend leaked your photos online or something and you need them removed? Or some online affair you started as a time pass and now it's gotten too serious from the other side-"
Mamu straightens but I beat him to it.
"I didn't do anything, stop saying so!"
Silence fills up the room and all eyes are on me. My chest rises and falls heavily beneath my chadar that cloaks me and I can tell I'm already on the verge of crying. They are already judging me for the worst, when I tell them that the account is under my name, would they even believe the truth? The pictures sent to Waheed privately are all my selfies, it just frames me even better. Would they think I'm trying to get away by putting the blame on my CP sister?
No pre-hand assumptions, Hana. No thinking it too much.
If Ahmad Mamu truly loves me, he will see through it all. Drawing in a large breath, I start talking, from the very beginning: Waheed messaging Hanaan and her accepting his message request to talk about Avengers. How it progressed from there. How Hanaan made a friend of him because the only two pictures of him on his profile show a clean shaved boy who looks around my age. How he started complimenting her - me- on the pictures, how he asked for more pictures, how he subtly mentioned looking into an old case for personal studies to strengthen his university assignments, how he needed it for a minor detail, how our father would never hand it over and how he began threatening her with my Photoshopped pictures. How he has now given me twenty four hours only that end in the next two hours. How I am absolutely terrified because these are my pictures. He could use them to blackmail my father and I could not let him be hurt. Or allow him to be defeated by the actions of his own daughter, my sister.
Once I'm done, Mamu's stubbled jaw is clenched tight. Yahya holds his own chin in his hand, two fingers over his mouth, taken aback by the situation but Taha sits back chill in his seat, scratching his own lightly stubbled jaw.
"What is the full name of this boy you said?" he asks, a glint in his eyes.
I hadn't mentioned the full name before so I do now. "Waheed Qayser."
The plastic ballpoint in Mamu's hands snaps into two, Yahya falls back into his seat slamming a hand onto the desk but Taha Muhammad throws back his head and laughs.
He laughs.
there you go! this is by far (from all the chapters i've written and you have yet to read) my most fave of all. hope you enjoyed it too :D 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.