My heart is a sea in this moment and the tides are crashing hard. Hana Junaid has always been an innocent, naïve, self-righteous, considerate girl in her life. Well everyone has a turning point.
"Do we know you?" Faria's look is pointed.
Zimal scrutinizes Waheed, fitting a whole tart in her mouth.
His gaze flits between them both before he adjusts his tie. I see. He lacks his confidence. He is the guy Yahya described him to be, decent, middle class, focused student who is now trying to be what he is not really with a motive not ferocious enough. All the better. It makes him an easier prey for my performance tonight.
"I am surprised Hana did not tell you about me, I am a very close friend of hers. Waheed Qayser. In fact, we've been more than friends really." His eyes are trained on me and I could scorch him with my own but I exchange confused glances with my friends for the show.
"Never heard that name," I lie.
He smiles affectionately. "Don't be shy, Hana."
Zimal flicks back her long hair. "She does not know you, mister. You can leave her alone now." Faria does not pick up her spoon to finish the trifle.
"But I do know Hana." He takes a sip from his steaming styrofoam cup. "We've been talking for a really long time now, three or four months?"
I give no reaction.
Faria asks, "How exactly have you been talking to her?"
"— I told you your barbies ain't loyal—"
"Instagram, of course though I would have preferred—"
Faria cuts him, "Hana does not use Instagram."
"You've been played with, mister," Zimal adds. "Or you're making this up to get her attention."
The confidence in his eyes wavers again, I see it flickering like a candle flame. I impress myself with the way I am able to see the shift of expressions on his face, I have never been one who was quick to judge and recognize the true character of people from their very first impression, Nashwa does not bother doing it at all, everyone's fake in her eyes while my Dadi always sees the heart for what it truly is the moment she sees a person. But perhaps, luck is on my side today. My posture straightens in the hope of this.
His eyes flash dangerously on me, like a threat, are you really going to do this?
I let my brows knit together. "Instagram? By my name? Does it also have my pictures?"
At this his jaw ticks. He shifts from one foot to another and sips on his coffee, his eyes narrowing behind the cup on me. He's beginning to doubt himself, excellent.
"It is how I recognized you." He stuffs his free hand into his pocket. "And it is genuine, you really can't call it a fake account, Hana. Maybe I approached you at the wrong time with the wrong company, we can start over if you—"
"Oh hello, mister—" Zimal cries out. "Hana does not use Instagram. Period. Even if she did let's suppose so for a while, she would never talk to boys—"
He smirks now. "Ah, I know that. She's a little windflower isn't she?"
I arch my brow as high as possible. "Excuse me?"
"The starry, fragile windflower—" he speaks soft and slow with a smile "—poised above in airy grace, virgin white, suffused with blushes, shyly droops her lovely face." He raises his cup to me before taking another sip. "You like poetry, don't you? Maya Angelou's Still I Rise and Caged Bird are your favourites. Am I wrong?"
Faria glances between him and me. Zimal's eyes are wide and Nashwa is gagging in my earpiece with a lot of foul cursing.
"I like some poetry myself." His eyes flash again with a mischievous glint. "I was holding onto that piece until we actually met, it holds a sweeter taste to see you flushed like that."
My heart is beating in my ribcage. He is confident. Did I judge too soon?
"—he is smooth! But he wasn't on Instagram. Could it be your angel baby face making him a lover in real time or did he as I fear, come prepared—"
I clear my throat loudly, I need not pretend to be horrified, it is painted all across my face. "You're crossing a line here—"
"Pardon." His eyes are smiling with victory. "I did not mean to offend you at all but I was a bit offended at you refusing to recognise me. I mean, all those elaborate discussions on your favourite TV shows. I'll be a little blunt, your anime does not at all fascinate me but I kept up with it. One must accept the rose along with its thorns and I admire your petals deeply—" his eyes leisurely rake up and down me "—the least you could do to reciprocate that is to value our—"
"—run, Hana. We were wrong about him, run—"
I laugh inwardly. Nashwa can't even see the way he's looking at me, the way he must be looking at me after photoshopping my pictures on nude bodies—
"You didn't mention your background, mister." Faria's eyes have not eased from their perusal. "Are you a literature graduate and if so, what brings you to a more practical crowd like this?" She circles her index finger in the air.
"—this barbie is smart—"
Waheed laughs, already his looks are unnerving me, his deep laughter echoes in my head now. As pointy as he is, he still possesses a grace that was not there in Taha Muhammad. Taha Muhammad was boyish, rebellious, looked like a trouble maker. This man is a wicked daredevil.
"I'm a lawyer, new in the field but not naïve." He winks at me and I can feel the crown on my head slipping fast. "And Hana here, is training to be a doctor, congratulations on your result, I remember you telling me you were desperately hoping to get a top position on the board, did you get it at last?"
The humidity in the August air is replaced by January chills as Nashwa mutters a shit in my ear and I find Faria's scrutinising eyes on me instead. I find myself staring into accusing eyes, she's smart, she's questioning my intentions, my reactions, my absence at her party—
How can this man keep finding more ways to ruin me?
My entire composure, confidence and collusion all melt down my body. What do I say? Do I accept his Instagram story? How do I answer my friends then? How do I evade the question of the file? How do I reach Ahmad Mamu? What if Faria leaves in anger? What if I'm left alone with him? What if he tries actually touching me with his hands and no more with his eyes—?
"—Hana." Nashwa speaks sharp in my ear. Of course this was all a mistake, to come to the party, to have the audacity to bring Nashwa along, hearing her in my head through one of my Bluetooth wireless earphones that I bought cheap off of daraz.pk for effortless music during my workout sessions. Any time now, this too would be blown over when a harsh wind would push my hair away from my ear and everything will be exposed. He will be angry. He will corner me. He will harass me, he will leak my photos for sure. I can feel my knees light underneath me and hands holding my sugar free drink ready to drop it on the grass below me.
"—Hana! Question everything, you idiot—"
Nashwa's 'idiot' is enough to put some life back into me. I clear my throat. "You know too much about me, I am concerned now. This Instagram profile, give us some more details because I can assure you, I know nothing about it or you."
I haven't spoken much, so again, the light in his eyes flickers. He is still in some doubt. Good, good, this I can hold onto.
"Don't make me do this, Hana." He smiles ruefully. "Own up, I'm sure your friends will not be offended you've found a man for your heart's—"
"Hold up, mister."
This time he does with a clenched jaw and eyes cold with fury, he turns to Zimal agitated at her constant interruption. Well of course she will interrupt him, she hates people talking slow with fancy words no matter how much of a romantic she is. Especially if that someone is talking to someone that is not herself.
I do know my friends well and I've been counting on this the entire night. I steal a glance at Faria, she is watching him as carefully as before, deep in thought. Please God, don't let her overthink this like I do.
"Some of your facts are impressive," Zimal speaks matter-of-factly and Waheed only takes this as an opportunity to smile, bow his head and look back up at her with more arrogance in his eyes. "But some of your facts are outrageously incorrect. Negative marking at that."
Nashwa snorts in my head.
"How so?" Waheed empties his coffee cup, then crushes the styrofoam cup and lets it fall on the grass. Faria follows his movements and the falling cup. I hooray on the inside. If there's one thing Faria despises, it is littering. It is pollution. It is any action that goes against the environment. She is up against Waheed now, I know this for sure although I may have to answer her for my wish for the board position later. But for now, all aces are in my hand.
Zimal clicks her tongue. "You mentioned anime?"
Waheed rolls his eyes. "They were a real pain, no offense, Hana. I preferred Marvel and even Ertugrul, she got me watching that and though I am slow, I am entirely grateful—"
"She doesn't watch anime," Faria snaps. "Neither does she watch Ertugrul or any other movie or show that is not in English, that's all she watches, if she watches which too is only when we pull her along to the cinema, on her own never. She's more focused on education than my vision and that is saying something because I have perfect eyesight."
Waheed is taken aback by her outburst.
"Anime?" Zimal laughs and his confidence wavers even more. "Hana's best friend, Ainee, is an anime freak herself but that is where their lines just don't cross and she's devastated that she can't discuss it with her the way she can discuss absolutely everything else. And we know Hana, she talks when she's intrigued by something like a book character or an upcoming college event even if she tries not to express much. We've spent only two years with her but we know her best. Which is why I suggest you scoot over, let us be on our own. If you say so, you might have been talking to someone on Instagram indeed but that someone is not our Hana."
"The aforementioned profile has her pictures. And some of them include you two as well."
"Show us." Faria extends a hand. "If you really claim so, show us."
He stuffs his previously coffee holding hand into his pocket as well. "Why don't you see for yourself? Search the username hana dot j dot here." His eyes meet mine. "You should confess already, the longer you deny, the heavier your crime."
"—smack him, Hana, smack him hard—"
Faria stares at her phone. "Sure enough the account exists, zero posts, zero followers, zero following, no profile picture, no bio." She looks up. "Could be just a fake profile you made."
Zimal looks at her own phone screen as I chew down on my lip. What now? "Maybe or else," she says slowly. "We've been blocked."
Is this it? I hold in my breath? Do they doubt me now? By the look on Waheed's face, he's ready for my showdown. This is not what I came for tonight. It shall not be what I go out with tonight.
I extend my hand out. "Give me your phone." He arches his brows ready to laugh but I cut him through. "This is getting out of hand, someone who has uploaded my pictures, talks much about me, knows personal details about me, I want to have them reported, this is identity theft."
He presses his lips and nods. "You're right—"
"But you're not blocked," I continue. "I need to see with my own eyes to what extent this has been done, show me your phone. Surely as a lawyer, you will not deny me my right to do so?"
"—nail on the head!—"
His mouth curls into a sneer and I catch both my friends looking expectantly at him, chins raised high, they're with me, they are! Waheed pulls out his phone and actually hands it over to me. I am baffled.
"Go ahead." He gestures with his head. "Open Instagram, open my DMs and see for yourself. And be sure to show them all the gorgeous selfies you've sent me, who else could have taken them if not you yourself?"
He is a lawyer, new but not naïve.
Shit, Hana.
With my heart muttering many many prayers, I do as he says with Faria and Zimal breathing down each of my shoulder. I notice there is a lot missing from his conversation, many of his messages that were there on Hanaan's tablet are not in this conversation and I see no mention of the file, he cleaned up his mess before coming over, I should not have taken him lightly. Zimal gasps at the pictures and Faria stiffens besides me, the pictures that hana dot j dot here sent to him.
It's me, in a tank top, hair ruffled, cheeks flustered, a selfie I took after my gym session but did not send to anyone because hey, I liked the way I looked having done something for my weight but I wasn't comfortable showing the world. Most of my selfies are these only, gym clothes displaying more skin than Zimal's dress shows of her neck tonight. And it drowns me in shame.
Other pictures include me in my uniform returning from college, me with my hair wet after a shower, all close ups, me with a pouty frown pointing at a zit on my face, me trying out different filters on Snapchat, smiling at no one but myself in the front camera. These are pictures of me, raw, in the moment, that I took for my own self-contentment, for no one else's eyes and somehow, Hanaan found a way to reach them and send them to him. These are the pictures I wouldn't even send to Ainee because I did not allow myself to be this intimate with her, to give her the power to judge me at my most open, at my most vulnerable, exposed to what I really am, a sight right into my heart where I allow no one, personal space extends far and wide. But here are these pictures, resting on his phone.
"—Hana, what's going on—?"
An exhibition of my most private moments, that is what. I can't bring myself to ask in my head why Hanaan would do all this, was she really so naïve or so fricking desperate?
Faria looks at me now not knowing what to say. Zimal keeps scrolling but then looks up, "Why would Hana message you in voice notes only, she never uses voice notes with us."
Before Waheed can answer Zimal presses the buttons on the side of his sleek phone and turns the volume up. She plays a voice note and I hear Hanaan's chirpy voice around us only it stabs me in the chest now: it's sooo not easy losing weight when I laaav food. And I don't even go to food, it comes to meee!
Another brutal stab. Those are my words, the words I spoke to Dadi once but Hanaan must have heard. She never could let go of me, could she?
Zimal and Faria exchange glances and Waheed scratches his neck.
"That—" Faria stares pointedly at Waheed. "Does not sound like Hana at all."
"The voice, the up and downs of words, the entire tone." Zimal's eyes are wide. "You should have turned around saying sorry wrong person the moment you heard Hana speak because these two voices are not the same. You have definitely been played at but you continued playing us, what sort of lawyer are you?" She scrunches her nose at him.
Bingo! I exhale the breath I was holding. The doubt on his face all along, the reason he was shocked when I told him I didn't recognize him. My voice and Hanaan's voice do not match. Of course I speak with added maturity of being who I am as an over thinker and as an elder sister while she is happy, merry and chirpy, overly exaggerates and expresses her feelings, excited about whatever she speaks, always bright like sunshine.
He snatches his phone from my hand making sure his hands touch as much skin of mine as possible. I pull my hand away as though burned and now I can properly scorch him under my gaze for everything, everything.
"See there," I speak haughtily. "You touched me now." His eyes widen. "You dared to touch me at the buffet too, when I was reaching out for a spoon but I let go thinking it was an accident and you were just a stranger." My voice is raspy and my chest rises and falls rapidly because who am I kidding, lying is no easy thing and this could all go wrong anytime but this makes me seem all the more angry at him, the perfect show of expressions. Luck is by my side. "If you don't leave me alone now, I'll call my Mamu, I didn't come here alone, I'll put a show of your harassment both physically and mentally through this Instagram fiasco. And yes, I will have that account looked into by proper authorities, you should too."
"—damn, Master Nashwa is proud—"
He pulls his suit tighter across his chest, adjusting his tie, eyes wildly looking around for anything to grasp at and hold against me. "How exactly then do you explain the selfies—"
"Anyone could have accessed my Snapchat account—"
"Someone close," Zimal mutters under her breath and I falter. "Someone close to you could have done it, Hana. Someone who knows enough about you, someone who could have access to your phone and could easily get their hands on your snapchat, someone who despises you to do something that would put you in a position like this, one you would never allow yourself in, that is totally against your character, someone we all already know."
All of us are looking at her and in the distance, people roar with laughter to the comedian. The laughter is a mockery on the situation we four are standing in.
Faria catches on before I do. "No way, Zimal, it can't be, not to this extent."
Zimal arches a brow, her face saying, you know I'm right.
Faria lets out a breath and looks at me, eyes uncertain. She shakes her head.
Zimal hisses and turns to me. "Hana, it has to be her!"
"—is there something I'm missing out on—?"
I'm asking myself the same question. "Who?"
"Damn it, Hana!" Zimal shrieks. "Nashwa of course!"
The air in my lungs is sucked out. Nashwa draws in a breath.
Faria holds the bridge of her nose while Zimal carries on with heat in her voice. "It makes absolute sense. She has always envied you for your perfect grades, for being the teachers' favourite, she gave you nasty looks from across the class room whenever you answered or raised your hand and she always stole Ainee for pair up projects to distance you from her and she always left you out when teaming up in sports even if she had to choose the lousiest girl in class."
"—bitch, no—"
Faria continues shaking her head while Waheed watches on. "She was aggressive yes, gave me a bruised ribcage after every game of basketball but Nashwa isn't like that—"
"Exactly!" Zimal points at Faria, passion burning in her voice. "She's aggressive, she's reckless, she's rude, she's rough, she's absolutely unfeminine."
"—make her shut up Hana—"
"No wonder she envies Hana for being so polite, so graceful, so roses and poetry all over, she thought she only had a chance with a guy this dashing—" Zimal points at Waheed who does not bother smirking in his curiosity to hear more "—as Hana and not herself, wild as her chaotic hair."
"—oh she's full of bullshit, you better smack her for me —"
Zimal draws in a breath. "You said she was always around at your place, every other weekend right? This sums it all up. She could easily grab your phone, get the pictures she needed, what a cunning fox, I knew she was trouble all along."
Faria doesn't speak and I gather from her face she's falling into Zimal's words, it does make sense.
"—she's quiet now, did you smack her Hana?—"
Zimal gives me a pitiful look. "One cousin you have and such a deceitful fraud she is, I bet she wanted the love your Mamu gives you all for herself because she isn't the least bit desirable on her own, she wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone with this—"
"—Hana!—"
There is disbelief in Nashwa's voice but a part of me is also falling for Zimal's words. Waheed clears his throat. "Nashwa?"
She seethes in my ear. "—how dare that bastard take my name, deny it Hana, tell them it's someone else, you know me for who I am—"
"Nashwa Ahmad." Zimal raises her chin high, an air of pride around her.
"—Hana, God forbid, if you do not deny it—"
"Nashwa," I echo. There is silence in my ear and cold, cruel remorse in my chest.
Something is stirring behind Waheed's eyes and after a moment of silence, he readjusts his suit buttons before stepping back. "Well ladies, forgive me for the inconvenience today, I was played as bad as Hana here was, she looks clearly traumatised by this revelation as do I." He takes another step back. "I'll leave you in peace and I will have this Nashwa Ahmad exposed, don't you worry." His gaze is on me as he says his last words before turning away.
Nashwa is seething in my air and Zimal and Faria are holding my arm each, telling me words of comfort and in all these voices, I hear nothing but my own voice chiding at me for allowing this to happen. How could I do this to Nashwa?
"—you're the fricking worst, Hana, loyalty be damned, you should have defended me when that barbie bitch of yours spoke such—" she roars animalistically and I hear a clatter "—be damned, Hana, be damned!" Are those tears in her voice?
And she's gone just like that.
What have I done...
A large sea wave crashes over my heart anyhow. I mistake it for relief. He's off my tail now, those pictures are useless to blackmail me with when I'm already on bad terms with him, my integrity, my parents' honour is safe now, I'm in the clear, I can finally breath!
I close my eyes and allow myself to calm down. Zimal, Faria and I sit down on the grass and as they whisper to one another, I allow myself to have some peace of mind. Waheed's got nothing on Nashwa, he couldn't bother her and perhaps Taha Muhammad will settle for whatever my Mamu is willing to give him and have this mess sorted before it gets worse. The cool breeze is back as midnight is about to strike. When the comedy is over and the crowd has scattered, music blaring again and ice cream being served, Faria, Zimal and I stand by the pool and discuss Waheed all over. I still don't speak much, how can I? They begin recounting other experiences they've heard of cybercrime. Zimal remarks how she's sorry for Waheed, he got tangled with Nashwa the sly fox and Faria agrees he's got a charm to which they both giggle. I catch sight of Yahya again who nodded at me a while back from across the party.
Of course, in this turmoil, I allow myself a cup of ice cream and I will definitely regret it later, it's all the calories in my stress that find their way into my body and then accumulate as fat, this stress eating is exactly what I must avoid but as Hanaan told Waheed: food finds me.
I stand facing the pool, watching its stillness. We are now at the centre of the party, the youths behind us, the elders in front of us across the pool. I am taking a spoon of cold pistachio ice cream to my mouth, mind still numb from the recent events when a shock so turbulent courses through my entire skeleton, I find my body leaping forwards and my face meeting the previously tranquil surface of the water in the pool.
Time freezes.
Cold water seeps into my clothes, stealing all the warmth from my skin, touching me under my clothes and filling me up where there's a void in my heart, threatening to explode my lungs finding no more space in them and pooling into my stomach, tangy chlorinated water. I thrash against the water, pulling me down, the light becoming distant, darkness swallowing me in it, my fingers clawing at nothingness and my chest getting heavier and heavier with each second, all my senses numbing.
It is midnight.
With a loud gasp of air I break through the water surface and exhale for the breath of my life. It takes me a moment to come back to my senses and when I do I wish I had not fought for my life at all. Shocked faces covering their mouths peer at me from one side of the pool, all the half bald men and botox faced women that is. The other side of the pool is snickering and hooting, cameras flashing, wolf whistling, boys and girls even applauding, the younger more villainous crowd. I find my Mamu's stricken face staring at me from the distance, eyes wide, the same as Faria's and Zimal's even while Barrister Fozaan's son and his friends continue catcalling me, telling me darling, come out now and give us a show. In the distance by the tree I match eyes with a cold calm and content face. He raises his wine glass to me. Waheed bloody Qayser.
I watch in disbelief as he turns and hands a uniformed waiter a few notes from his wallet. He turns again to me and pressing two fingers to his lips, blows a kiss at me. I watch him go while people around me watch my body float in the water. How will I step out, all wet and dripping, clothes clinging tight to my chest and my hips and my thighs that are curved as they are? I should have listened to my mother, I should never have come here. Why did he have to do this to me when we had pointed all fingers at Nashwa? And why isn't my Mamu doing anything at all?
I don't know who orders a waiter to go grab a towel, I think it is Yahya but it is my Mamu who helps me out of the pool, all eyes at the party feasting on my figure. I don't know how I make it back to my room back to my house without having to answer my mother first on my wet and drowned figure, all I do know is that I have never felt so alone in my life, so rendered helpless, so publicly made a show of. I have never felt so humiliated in my life before.
And it is all thanks to my younger sister, Hanaan. What did I not do for you Hanaan? Back at home, back in my room, showered and completely drained from the wreck I have become in just four days, I do not have in me the integrity that I so desperately wanted to save, to look myself in the eyes in my mirror. All this for what? It kills me that I cannot thrash out at anything at this ungodly hour of the night, that I cannot scream and cry out in the fear of disturbing my Dadi or waking my mother and then having them question me. It kills me that I cannot just hold Hanaan by her collar and ask her why of all reasons she has brought me to this shame in my life.
I cry, it's what I have been doing these four days, if not by my eyes than by my heart. I cry, pacing my room, holding my head in my hands, biting my sobs. I cry, holding my knees to my chest, sitting on my mattress, watching Hanaan's empty one, muffling my wails in my arms when the pain hits too strong.
And when the night has gone by another two hours but the ache in my chest does not subside, I turn on my laptop, pull out the memory card I took out from Hanaan's tablet without letting Nashwa see and insert it into my laptop, I need answers, I need closure, I need to know why my sister would want to destroy me despite all the babysitting I had been doing for her, even with this wall up, still helping her take her spoon to her mouth, writing down something for her when she was memorising her lectures but needed a little side note, taking her to the toilet when she was in a hurry and could not make it by herself because it would take her time, all this I still did for her even though I was angry at her, I was no longer having heart to heart talks with her, even though we were distanced and had mutually agreed on it two years ago.
I can still hear the boys hooting, girls sneering in triumph, older men tracing the outline of my body as I stepped out of the pool. I can still hear Waheed's poetry in my head and I do not think I can ever ever heal from these scars that are now carved into my soul.
The memory card is detected. A prompt shows up on my screen. I choose the option to display files and immediately find a folder with my name in capitals: HANA
Is this where she saved all those selfies of me? I click on it but instead of pictures, I find six audio files labelled Voice Recording 01 to 06. I contemplate listening to them. Do I want to hear her voice after everything? Do I even want her to wake up from her coma and come back and live with me after all this?
The answer is clear in my mind: I don't. I really actually fricking don't want to ever see her or listen to her or remember her again. But the thirst in me for why is so great, I pull out my earphones, this time, wired earphones and not the earpiece I lost in the swimming pool when I drowned. I insert it into my laptop, settle back into my pillows and comforter and as the night outside grows dismal, I listen to what my sister could possibly have to say after all this catastrophe.
I press play.
and that is the end of part one! hope i did not disappoint :) to all those who have been reading, commenting and voting, every bit of your support means the world to me <3 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁 .