Hana jumps off the car even before Ahmad Mamu has pulled out his keys. He steps out too and his brain must be very slow, slower than the CPU Zaid owns at his apartment because it takes him three minutes thirty seven seconds — yes, I was counting — to realise I've been waiting for him to open the car door for me.
He blinks at me. "You could have done that yourself."
"I was buying Hana and Nashwa time."
"Aren't you scared you'll be left out?"
I hold my heart. "If I have to fear my place, I don't have a place in the first place."
He blinks at me again. "Welcome to the loners' club."
"More like the loser's club?"
"Your Mamu is no loser."
"He is with those he loves."
The look he gives me makes my empty insides churn. Forlorn tragic eyes seeking sympathy in mine but if I dare offer any, he'll deflect it with his mighty sword of indifference. I'm not Hana therefore I'm going to give him a mighty dose of Hanaan.
He leans back against Chacha Ali Gul's car beside me. The back of my shirt clings to my skin with sticky sweat and I absolutely detest the sensation — we could sit inside the car with the air conditioner blasting cold air at my face but this is all the better. The humidity outside, the thickness of the air and the dust in it — it matches our insides, the suffocating atmosphere of our chests.
Perhaps it will rain.
I open my mouth, he shakes his head. "I refuse to be the first experiment subject in Hana and Hanaan's therapy club."
"You have the right to remain silent."
He gives me a weird look.
"I'm cool, admit it."
His weird look intensifies. He resorts to a sigh. "You're like Nashwa in some ways which scares me because I'm the common blood between you two. But Hana's and Humaira's maturity reassures me you two could just be an anomaly."
I hold my heart again. "How could you? You wound me."
"Dramatic, as always."
"Everyone's an artist and art isn't limited to paints and palettes."
He smiles against all odds. The softest smile on such an exhausted face. "I said that to Hana when she was thirteen. She poured her heart out to me over a double serving of ice cream telling me how you couldn't paint and draw what you had in your mind."
Wind picks up and blows sand into my eyes. Hana. I need not say more at all.
"I told her—" he leans his head towards me. We watch the speeding traffic and blurring headlights whiz past by us; our heartbeats conquer their roar. "Even the finest artists, writers, poets, kingmakers, conspirators struggle with that. Hanaan is no less in that regard." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You're really not."
He's never talked to me like this. He never talked about my CP. We only ever bantered back and forth playfully. How is he standing by me now and talking as though he knows all my pain?
I don't have to question everything. I'll take the love as long as it lasts.
"What happened? Between you and Nashwa?"
He shuffles on his feet. "You want the long version or the short version?"
"Shortest. I don't offer free service."
"My MRI didn't pass the test. Earlier on Hana got me emotional."
"There's a first time for everything."
"I gave into her terrifying words of crashing hard very soon and wanting Nashwa in my last moments of life but not having her there. I had her car keys from earlier so I spent some money. Got that battered broken bruised thing a full refurbishing. New air conditioner, new body, new paint. You wouldn't recognize it."
I laugh uneasily. "Let me guess, she said she didn't want charity?"
"And that the car's name is Laal. How could I have it painted black?"
"Guilty as charged."
He shoots me a nasty look. "You're not being helpful."
"Right." I clear my throat. "But again, you couldn't just buy her a fancy new car?"
"No charity, remember?"
"That's Nashwa for you, alright."
"And I'm her father so it's not charity."
"You haven't been one for years. Now you return back with a shiny car; perhaps she wanted your shining armour instead. You know, like a knight?"
"Tried that too," he murmurs in a low voice. "She screamed at me, threw heavy ceramics and glass ornaments at me. Said she didn't need my pity or protection. I couldn't save her mother, how could I keep her safe?"
"She said that?"
He exhales heavily. "It's been a rough evening for the both of us and now it's a tough night. You should go in and sit with her. She needs you."
"Won't you come in?"
"I prefer not to."
"Where is she?"
"Near the maternity ward."
I blanch at that. "What happened?"
"Her Haala Mami." He gives me a hard look. "Is giving birth. Nothing's wrong with Nashwa. She's a bit traumatised by the sudden occurrence of this situation. And our scene before that." He looks away from me to look back again. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"You're scared of the maternity ward."
"Am not."
"You're terrified."
He scratches his neck. "I confess to my crime. What's the verdict?"
"Come on." I take his hand and take him to a flower stall. I pick a bouquet of flowers that are not roses and turn to him for the money.
He pays the vendor. "Are those for Nashwa?"
"I don't suppose Haala Mami would accept any from you."
He returns the flowers back to the vendor. "Keep the money." He turns back to me. "Nashwa is allergic to pollen, remember?"
"Does that make her invalid to receive flowers? And feel something in her chest from the idea that follows flowers? Of romance, affection, adoration, appreciation, well wishing? No, it doesn't!" I shake my hands in the air. "The tingles in her heart are worth all the sneezes."
"I'm not taking the risk. She calls the car a charity and my protection to be pity. She'll see this as a murder scheme before I get re-married."
My jaw drops to the gravel underneath our feet. Did he just —?
His neck flushes red all over. "See, this is why I prefer Hana over you."
I poke his side as he carries me away to the entrance. "You're in love!"
"My heart is not capable of such a feeling."
I drag him away to the man selling cotton candy. It's late in the night and these poor souls are struggling to make an income. I want to be helpful, not hurtful, right?
"Five cotton candy sticks."
Mamu eyes me as though I popped open a bottle of wine. "The new baby can't—"
"—the old babies can." I let him pay for me and hand him the sticks. I turn to the popcorn man and buy a big pack for Hana. "You can eat one cotton candy," I tell him as we enter the building and walk the passages, all the doctors and nurses eyeing our dose of diabetes. "But only one. You're depressed and it'll help you but Nashwa and I need more sugar than you. Two for each of us."
"How very considerate of you."
"Sisters before misters."
He chokes on the pink fluff, eyes narrowing on me. Before we reach the corridor, I stop in my tracks. "Mamu..."
"It's okay. I'm okay."
Is he?
His black button down shirt is halfway untucked. His usually gelled hair is sticking up in all directions like a drenched crow. His sleeves are not properly folded; they are rolled up in haste. His shave is growing and I don't think he's wearing any perfume because I catch a slight masculine stench of sweat, yuck! That's very much unlike my Mamu.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You have grey hair in your stubble."
"What am I to stay young for?"
"You mean to ask who?" I wiggle my brows at him and he only sighs. "Don't give up now. It's all about having courage and taking the first step. You did that and because Food Fusion does not have a recipe for love, you failed miserably in your first attempt. Plus you're not Ismat Jehangir or Hana Junaid either. You belong with me and Nashwa instead."
He shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "You are weird, chipmunk."
"I'll take that as a compliment, zebra."
"How so?"
"With your black and white suit ties of course."
He turns to me, eyes sparkling. "What's Hana?"
"Care bear."
"Nashwa?"
"A lioness?"
He shakes his head. "Phoenix. She rises from her ashes."
I wipe away a fake tear. "How affectionate are thou in loving thine daughter."
He laughs out now but turns my smile upside down by ruffling my hair. Not the hair, dude! "Have you ever known Ahmad Aurangzeb to back out of a fight?"
"I don't know him much but I'd be willing to over a double serving of soft serve ice cream." I give it a thought. "One meeting is never enough so we'll have that ice cream multiple times actually. Besides, Nashwa doesn't hold a grudge for long. Even if she does, she gives in quick. Hana slapped her thinking she was the one who advised me to make that account. But the very next day Nashwa came over with Hana to your office and defended her in all her glory."
Mamu's face is horror struck. "Hana slapped Nashwa?"
Oh shit.
"It was nothing." He doesn't look convinced. I swallow. "Look, mate." I change my voice to a whisper. "These are matters of women only. Don't get involved if you value your manhood."
"Your sister dear is indeed morphing into quite a woman."
"She's still our Hana, Baba's mena."
"What happened to care bear?"
"Diversity?" I shrug.
His brows remain knitted as we walk to the part of the corridor where Nashwa and Hana sit together silently praying. If I dare ask something Hana has already asked, Nashwa may just set me on fire for making her repeat. So I don't.
Patience. What a tortuous virtue.
I nudge Mamu. He hands Nashwa her cotton candy sticks. She sniffles before looking at me and then takes them from him dejectedly. Without giving it a second thought, she takes a large bite of the sticky blown up pink dyed thread and falls back into her seat, moaning. "Sugar!"
Hana shakes her head. "You don't take any in your chai and yet—"
"—it's a matter of perspective, Hana." She glares at her. "Sugar in chai is poison but sugar in cotton candy, in cakes and brownies, in gulab jamun—"
"— is poison yet still. Sugar is bad."
Nashwa's face scrunches. She opens her mouth then closes it turning back to her cotton candy. Hana's eyes find mine. Uh-oh. Nashwa just held back a comeback. I turn to Mamu. He takes a seat on the other side of Nashwa. I don't want to be left out so I sit on the floor right in front of them all.
"You okay?" Hana asks her.
"Just tired."
She does look tired. She looks flimsy, she looks feeble. Her usual brown bag is missing. She's holding her phone in her hands only. Her hair is a mess which means she came here in a hurry. Her eye bags are dark and eyes swollen. She just started university, she couldn't be staying late for assignments plus she always prioritises sleep over studies. And she's not wearing her mother's golden chain.
My eyes flicker to Mamu. He looks just as miserably broken as her.
I reach for Hana's popcorn, she bats my hand away. Heartbreak. "So, do you guys know the baby's gender?"
Nashwa shakes her head. "It's gonna be a boy. Even Haala Mami says it and though she does not bother elaborating because love isn't so easy to confess, it's because I'm the only daughter she ever wanted and needed."
A ghost of a smile sits on Ahmad Mamu's face. I feel sorry for him.
Nashwa shakes her head, eyes in a different realm. "Don't even ask me what they're gonna name him."
"What will you name him?"
She sighs in exasperation. "Osaid! To match Zaid!"
Hana laughs and so do I.
"I am so done with matching names!" Nashwa reaches for Hana's popcorn and pulls out a fistful despite Hana's struggle. "Hana and Hanaan. Taha and Yahya. Uzair and Huzair. Now Zaid and Osaid. I'm naming all my kids in different languages."
Mamu coughs into his fist. "Isa and Musa would be ideal."
Nashwa doesn't turn to look at him but her nose is a deep red. Hana praises Mamu at the suggestion. I wink back at Nashwa. She grits her teeth but keeps her composure against this suggestion. Before she can spit a comeback at him, Mamu says to Hana.
"You should have gone into the operation theatre, Hana. It would help you overcome your fear of blood and gore."
Nashwa snorts. "She'd faint on the site."
Mamu hums in agreement. "Or scream louder than the woman giving birth."
"She'd come out deranged."
"Haunted for life."
"Never wanting a child."
"Screaming at one's sight."
"Are you two bullying me?" Hana gapes at them in disbelief.
Nashwa still doesn't turn to meet his eyes but I see her cheeks flush.
I narrow my eyes at Mamu. "He's taking revenge."
"What for?"
"That slap." Mamu settles back into his seat, raising his chin high.
Nashwa turns to him now. "Don't," she whispers. "Don't bother."
While Ahmad Mamu's face goes as pale as a ghost, Nashwa drops her head into her hands. "If anything happens to my Haala Mami, anything at all—" she turns to him, eyes blazing with fury. "I will not forgive you. That'll be my second mother you'd have taken away from me."
"I didn't—"
"—I don't care." Her voice is so sharp it cuts even me like a razor blade. "She wasn't due so quick. Those contractions, they weren't normal. She banged on the door, she pleaded to me, she was hysterical for me to come out after I had locked myself in after our episode. I won't carry this on my chest. Be a father for once and carry this for me."
"Nashwa—"
She shakes her head, snatching her hand away from his. Her body tremors all over, it is easy to see she is holding back her tears, her cries, her sobs. She is aching all over for real. For her mother. She turns to her phone, opening an app, readjusting her chadar onto her head. When I stand up, I realise she is reciting the Quran. I see a tear streak down her cheek and onto her screen.
It's not easy to stay. For some reason, I can't stay there any longer, watch Ahmad Mamu hold his own miserable existence as he refuses to leave the seat beside Nashwa's. I tell Hana I'm going to the bathroom to perfume the ablution, I'll pray too. I tell her I'll be okay; I can do this much on my own.
Gravity pulls my foot down every time I pick it up to take a step forward. The rumbling in my chest — I try to shake it away — has me short on breath. This is not my fault. This state of Nashwa and Ahmad Mamu. It's not. But for some reason, it feels so. It really feels so.
I reach the women's restrooms. They're empty, even the attendant that sits by the door isn't there. I step in and walk towards the sink. I don't look at myself in the mirror, fumble with the tap and begin performing wudu. I splash too much water around; nearly slip taking my foot up to the basin. One might think I performed the entire ghusl instead seeing the amount of water I have on my clothes but hey, it's a hot night. When I'm done and finally dare to look up at myself hoping some noor would have made my face glow up, all the breath is knocked out of my chest.
I whirl around so fast, I nearly twist my neck. "You."
"Me."
My eyes dart around. The door is closed and it's so far away. "This is a female only restroom."
His smile spreads low. "I hear the voice I've been missing so much after an eternity. I was expecting something more welcoming after 'you'."
My chest rises and falls heavily, my breath rate is rapid, my brain — dysfunctional. Wasn't it so very humid just a minute ago? Why is it so chilly now? Why are shivers crawling down my spine?
He leans against the wall opposite me. Dressed in a black t-shirt and faded jeans, fresh jaw after a shave, his silky hair falls onto his forehead. When he crosses his arms over his chest, his bicep muscles flex and I have to hold onto my breath at those eyes staring at me. So longingly.
The lights in this restroom are dim, it's eerie and if I dare breathe out too hard, I may even see my breath turn to fog.
Get a hold, Hanaan.
"How did you find me?"
"Our hearts are two magnetic pieces—"
"—don't you dare," I hiss.
"Right." He ducks his head. "Sorry. My directness makes you shy. We'll still act just like friends."
He winks. My heart skips a beat.
He looks around the restroom; I look at him more closely. His cheek is swollen, bruised badly and it looks fresh. Did he get into a fight? I don't care. I won't care.
His fingertips touch it lightly. "Your Ahmad Mamu did this."
My eyes widen. "How—?"
"Oh." His eyes are startled. "He didn't tell you yet? I thought that's what you both were talking about when you didn't follow Hana right up."
"Are you stalking us?"
"Us? Just you. That Hana—" he shakes his head. "That's not my Hana. That's not the girl I know so much of. Not the girl I share a bond with. Not the girl whose name is etched all over my heart."
Every fricking part of me — disloyal.
He looks around again. "Must we really talk in here?"
Red alarms. I look around for something to hold onto.
"Can't we go out and sit somewhere? In fresh air preferably?"
I shake my head. "That's your plan, isn't it? Get me away, kidnap me, keep me out till dawn so society suspects rape or infidelity and shuns me?"
"I don't care about society and neither should you." He takes a step close. "I did my research when I found out Hana wasn't my Hana. I came straight here when I heard you were injured. I know about your CP and God I'm impressed how you're still such a phenomenal person, so upbeat."
He's shit talking.
He stops a few feet away. "We're a lot alike, you know. We have potential but people don't see it in us, you and me. We're neglected, we're unloved, we're—"
I laugh at him. "You're so wrong about that. Everyone loves me. Despite everything. Because they know you played me, you tricked me. I was naïve and I was lost but now I know better—"
"— do you?" He shakes his head. "Because I don't. All I know is when I went to your Mamu two years back, fresh out of university, he refused to take me in and mentor me. Said I didn't have the potential or the clarity—"
"—he was right." I look him up and down. "Is all this revenge? Because that just proves his point."
"Revenge?" He laughs nervously. "You and I, God no. We are so much more than that. What we had was pure—" he stops when I snort.
"How pure? As pure as what's lurking in those toilets behind you?"
He looks over his shoulder. When he meets my eye again, something in their midst has darkened. He takes several steps towards me and I take several to my side. The door is still so far away but I grab a mop and hold it in front of me.
His smile drips with pity. "Would that mop really do your bidding when your own hands and feet can't?"
I raise it at him. "I've lived this far."
"At what cost?"
My composure wavers, my heart threatens to plunge into depression again. I tighten my knuckles around the mop, praying to Allah my hands do not fail me tonight.
He's only a few steps away. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. My heartbeat defeats the fastest heart rate as it goes over infinity which makes me the opposite of a failure and a Guinness world record holder, right?
But oh shit. Choloroform.
I throw him a pathetic laugh. "Whatever you aim to accomplish, it won't work."
"Funny." He's at arm's length. "Your sister said the same thing to me."
My breathing hastens —
The door slams open and I hear a gasp. Within seconds I see Hana at the door and then I see her in Waheed's arms in a choke hold. Her eyes are wide and he holds the handkerchief inches away from her nose.
He laughs menacingly now, making all the blood in my veins go cold.
Why, Hana? Why do you always come after me?
"Waheed bloody Qayser," she hisses in his hold, struggling against him but he holds her firm, presses her back into his front.
"I'm listening, janeman. You want to play with tongues, now?" His eyes meet mine, mouth close to Hana's ear. "I was counting on this exact moment. Of course you're the ugly duckling. How do you think I found you on Instagram anyway? I'd seen this virgin doll in her Mamu's car so many times to know she's the real prize."
He rubs his nose against her cheek. "How heartbroken would he be now? Or rather by dawn, when she comes back home all filthy?"
Hana elbows him but he firms his choke hold on her. A cry escapes from my throat to see her struggle, to see her neck reddening under his hold. Black holes appear in my vision. My sight breaks into mosaic art. It is difficult to draw in air— I cannot bloody have a nervous breakdown now!
Breathe, Hanaan.
"You know," he whispers near Hana's ear again; she cringes visibly. Her personal space, his hand on her chest— all my fault. "I'll take you both, why not? But nah. Don't want much hassle. Just some lonely time with a beauty and then dessert afterwards to see Ahmad Aurangzeb lose terribly in court tomorrow morning."
Hana spits. "You really can't fight a case yourself."
"A lone wolf stands no chance but a pack crushes all. Your Mamu should have known better. All his accomplices gone now, he'll be torn apart soon."
Hana breaths heavily under his hold. "You think you're part of some pack?"
"I'm an advocate for the Lashari Clan."
Hana laughs back. "Funny how they only use you to cause collateral damage. I didn't see you at the big meeting at my Mamu's office while even young Yahya was there."
Waheed's hand clamps tight upon her mouth. Hana's eyes widen, she struggles for oxygen. "Say something now, bitch."
He closes his mouth towards Hana's cheek and when she screams against his hand, I clench my jaw tight and lash out with the mop in my hand. Everything happens in a haze. Waheed groans loudly, Hana screams viciously; we hear the clang of metal as the mop drops to the floor. Hana crosses the distance, picks up the mop and takes a stand before me. I realise with horror, Waheed is holding a sensitive part of his body.
My eyes waver to Hana. Did she just kick—?
"That's my sister!" I spit at him.
He laughs amidst grimacing. "Oh, I know that well." His eyes are no longer masked. "What a dumb bitch. Should've run out when you had the chance."
Hana brandishes the mop before her. "And let you go so easily?"
"So you do want to play with tongues?"
"How did you find my sister here?"
He shrugs. "Didn't take much to follow Ahmad. Took his sweet time at his brother in law's apartment after I left there. Was he reconciling with his daughter? Funny he carries you around in his car, not her? Or does he sell you to his clients?"
He was at Nashwa's apartment? A shiver renders all feelings in my fingertips.
Hana's hold firms on the mop. "Watch your mouth."
"I'm watching yours." His eyes glint. "So soft and yet so firm. I watched those pictures all day and all night. In fact, I put some in your father's office bag today. They'll slip out tomorrow when he's at court in front of everyone. I'll record it for you."
I have no blood in me left to go cold. All this. My fault.
Hana smiles. "My photoshopped pictures?"
He smirks. "Who could tell?"
Hana's grin only widens. "So you're also a graphic designer, now?"
"I do all my work thoroughly. Those pictures took me a lot of time. Probably because I was enjoying my time with them."
I could vomit all over. I should have overeaten and not starved myself for Dadi's BBQ rice so I could vomit all over this disgusting man. He takes a step near, many.
Why doesn't Hana do anything?
Waheed is only two steps away, he reaches by Hana's side to grab at me. Hana hits his arm hard with the mop. Within seconds he snatches it with his other hand. Hana bends low and when she stands back up, Waheed howls, falling many steps back holding his lower leg.
Is that blood?
I look at Hana's hand. Blood drips down the paper cutter in her hand.
"I told you," she breathes out. "I am so much more."
He grits his teeth, eyes still laughing menacingly. "What about little Hana? Is she anything more than her CP?"
"She has her own name, identity." Hana readjusts the paper cutter in her hand holding it like a dagger. "You never got a chance to meet the real her. Cartoons and movies? So interesting. She didn't ever confide in you about her CP. It was all about the feeling. Never about you."
He is standing now. "Why don't you let her speak instead?"
She turns to me. "Tell him yourself—"
Waheed lunges at Hana and she screams. He goes for her hand holding the paper cutter and it falls out. He grabs her by the hair but Hana swings her leg against his feet so he loses his balance and falls hard. I reach for the paper cutter, takes me a few seconds to grab it but after that, I don't waste a second. I lunge at him, digging it completely, all six inches, into his shoulder.
He screams. I stab.
This is me. Hurtful Hanaan. In all my glory.
The paper cutter is out and inside his flesh again. I stab him once, twice, thrice, so many times until my arm is moving on its own accord and for once I'm grateful for the lack of control.
He lied to me all along. He hurt my sister. He hurt me.
I want to hurt him.
"YOU BASTARD!" I throw myself at him again but Hana catches me. She wrestles the cutter away from my hand and pulls me into her chest.
He hurt me. He hurt my sister. He—
I push Hana away and stomp my foot into his face. He groans. I kick him once more relishing in the crack that sounds afterwards.
Did I break his nose? It was too perfectly straight anyways.
One kill. Just one kill.
Hana rips me away. The door slams open all the way; Doctor Amima bursts in, her lab coat flapping behind her. She lowers her phone into her pocket, bends onto her knees by Waheed's body and plunges a needle into his arm. She nods at Hana who pulls me out just as two male janitors enter the restroom with a stretcher, handcuffs dangling over them.
I look over my shoulder to see Doctor Amima lock Waheed's hands behind him despite the shoulder injury. The janitors pick him up .
Hana lowers me onto a seat outside in the corridor. She looks at me, I look back at her. Both of us are breathing hard, chests shuddering at the same time. I reach forward and touch the corner of her mouth. My fingers draw blood. I notice now, my hands are entirely stained with Waheed's blood.
Hana catches my wrist before I can wipe my hands off my shirt. She shakes her head. "Mamu can't know. Nashwa isn't ready either."
"He was at her apartment, Hana."
She nods. "I heard him."
But if that's why Ahmad Mamu and Nashwa had a scene why didn't Mamu mention him? Why didn't he give me eyes full of hatred? Is that why Nashwa lashed out at him? When he tried protecting her against Waheed— why didn't he hold me accountable?
I look into Hana's eyes. "Is everything my fault?"
She has a bad habit of not lying to me when I want her to. Like when she finally gave in about Anna Sofia two years ago. Like right now, when she's not saying a word.
"Lie to me."
She shakes her head this time. "It's not all your fault."
Everything in me breaks.
"You heard him, Hanaan. He'd seen me with Mamu already then he sought you on Instagram. He was always inclined to hurt him, this Lashari clan gave him the perfect chance to. He just chose the wrong means to do that."
"But Mamu is hurt."
She laughs nervously. "Nashwa is going to give him some pain, give her credit for keeping people in their place. But she'll come around, I know it. Sooner than we expect."
"I hope so."
"I wasn't lying." She takes my hand. "Not everything is your fault."
The angry red marks around her neck and her face say otherwise.
"He touched you."
Her voice is grave. "I knew the risk when I followed you in. I saw him in the parking lot earlier when I looked back to see why you hadn't stepped out of the car yet. Sorry I couldn't reach you earlier, I wanted to get Doctor Amima first."
"Her phone..."
She nods, eyes glistening with tears. "Filmed every bit of it. Why else do you think I was stalling so much? We have his confessions now. Pictures, Lashari Clan, everything. This is the end of him, Hanaan, the very end."
I laugh numbly in her arms but my laugh is haunted. I understand now why Hana was so freaked out about Taha Muhammad. Waheed or no Waheed, no one ever knows what the next morning might bring. I shake it off. In becoming caring like Hana, I don't have to become an over thinker too. The balance would be disturbed.
Doctor Amima comes back out and we watch the men carry the stretcher away to Allah knows where.
Hana calls Yahya but it appears Taha picked up. She tries not to banter with him, tells him our location and that she has Waheed for him. She tells him she has proof and footage, that he and Yahya should take it from Doctor Amima. She tells him yes she's fine and I will be too. She tells him to mind his limits or she may as well start thinking of him as a caring elder brother. Whatever he replies to that makes her cheeks tinge pink as she turns her face away.
Mentos. It is my only hope now.
She tells him not to tell Ahmad Mamu about any of this because that is what Waheed wanted in the first place. To rile up our Mamu. She calls Baano and asks her to take out the photos from Baba's bag and put them in a folder for evidence later, to make sure Dadi does not see them.
Hana takes my hand and we follow Doctor Amima to her private office. Doctor Amima helps us both tidy ourselves. She offers Hana liquid foundation to cover the bruises on her neck, not just antiseptic. She leads me to a mirror on the wall and brushes my hair. She smiles at me in the mirror and delicately wipes my face with a wet tissue.
She's always affectionate with me.
"Didn't know you could be such a badass, chipmunk."
I look at her rust-pink attire today. How is she so pretty?
"My Mamu calls me chipmunk too."
She bites back her grin. "Look like he and I have a similar mind-set."
I look around us. Her handbag is Gucci. There's a lipstick on the ledge by the mirror that reads MAC. A Chanel perfume accompanies it. Louis Vuitton sunglasses don't go unnoticed either. All her shoes are expensive, I do know that even though I've only seen her running shoes so far. When she gets up and fishes out a chapstick from her handbag and offers it to Hana, I'm not surprised it reads Dior.
"Keep it," Doctor Amima adds. "It's almost finished. You were spectacular today, Hana. You've always been."
Hana looks at me dumbfounded. I do the math in my head real quick. Nashwa likes branded things too but her only obstacle is her pocket money that runs out too quick. If I can convince her to reconcile with Ahmad Mamu just enough to accept big fat allowances from him to match Doctor Amima's aesthetic and compete with Zimal, she might actually agree to this union too.
Despite all the numbness in my chest, I turn to Doctor Amima because Allah knows I could do with some fancy food.
"Will you marry my Ahmad Mamu?" I try clasping my hands together, takes me some time to do so, gives her enough time to comprehend my words. "Pretty please?"
She blinks at me and then she laughs. And then she ruffles my hair just like Ahmad Mamu. "He's the one who needs to be convinced, not me."
Hana's face is painted all over with shock. Mine not so much.
"After all," she adds. "He knows my dirty past better than anyone and yet he respects me anyhow."
I flash her my cheekiest smile. "If I can take Waheed head on like that, I can make my Mamu say qubool hai too. Just you wait and watch."
She laughs and Hana does too and it feels good. It feels so good for once to not hurt the ones I truly love. This moment I hold onto so the fear and insecurity in my heart know no place at all.
Happiness comes from giving. Hope comes from living.
I wish to live. And live with grace.
i'm a total softie on Ahmad Aurangzeb. dunno about the rest of you. 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.