Morning came by with a sharp whiff of Ahmad Aurangzeb's luxury cologne wafting through the entire apartment complex with him nowhere to be found. It would not come off as a surprise if he deemed bathing with water to be something for peasants only and bathed every day in perfumed milk instead. He's crazy like that and so is his daughter who put my sister and her own cousin-brothers to clean up breakfast so she could get ready to go see baby Nashmia at the hospital.
It's awfully early, only nine am but Nashwa is brighter than the sun could ever be.
I watch as Nashwa arranges a beautiful display of coloured roses in a vase. Impatient as I am, I don't hold back. "Did Taha Muhammad send these?"
Nashwa's fingers halt upon the yellow petals. "Why would he send them to me?"
"Hana thinks so."
"Hana is so blind."
"So there's nothing going on between you two?"
Nashwa puffs her cheeks to fake a belch. "God forbid it. I have better tastes and higher standards in men, thank you. Besides, he did not even give me a chance to consider it."
"How so?"
She sits by me on the sofa, leisurely putting her feet in my lap. "The very first day we met him and gave him your username and password, he found my Instagram in your block list and messaged me the same night via his own Instagram account. He wanted to know the tale behind Hana and Hanaan."
"Why was he interested in our back story?"
"As a lawyer's daughter, I did question his intentions and it came off clear that the guy was baffled thanks to the entire conversation he had read. He was traumatised and he couldn't believe Hana still stood up for you in my father dearest's office. So I told him about your CP, how you and Hana were childhood sisters joined by the same heart and soul until I pushed through and set everything on fire."
"Nashwa..."
She shakes her head. "It's the bitter truth, Hanaan. I did always envy Hana rather than make my own place. And you did send those pictures of her to Waheed, if you're owning up to your mistake, let me do so too. Hana may forgive but we can never forget."
I swallow the spikes away. She's right. I will forever be ashamed for doing what I did and that's how I will never ever fall into such a trap again.
She shrugs. "Anyhow, he was silent for a very long time. I had told him about your CP and how Hana helped with everything but then you both got distanced when I unleashed the Anna Sofia secret. When finally he did reply, he surprised me."
"What did he say?"
"He said Hana must be one of a kind. One that loves so limitlessly."
I try to keep my heart rate steady.
Nashwa flips back her hair. "I of course am not such an optimist and wanted to make sure he did not try anything with me just because I'm Ahmad Aurangzeb's daughter. I told Taha Muhammad that's not so beautiful at all. Hana should know her limits otherwise people will keep hurting her and take advantage of her nonstop."
"What was his reply?"
"He's an idiot that somehow still has brains. Hana's idiot, to be precise." She rolls her eyes. "He told me it's not the people who love that should be taught limits but rather those who hurt others or take advantage of their kindness that should be put into place. The world is terrible already with so many cruel people. We can't afford the rare softer ones to become stone cold as well."
Something flutters in my chest. Oh, Hana.
Nashwa's eyes glimmer wickedly as she looks into mine. "I knew it then this guy is smitten over Hana but Hana dearest did not grace him a second look. She had heart eyes for his dreamy brother only. Poor guy had to say crude things to grab her attention away. And when he did grab it, he sputtered so many stupid things, his heart must be fluttering wild every time Hana laid eyes on him."
"All this time Taha was crude with her?"
"Yeah well, imagine how boring Hana and Yahya would be together. Our Hana was just as rash when it came to hitting back though. I'm sure at some point she must have given him a good scolding else he'd be around more often teasing her at any given moment."
"She thought you were interested in him."
Nashwa shrugs. "He's cool, I'll admit that but his heart is besotted on Hana. Plus, I've got higher standards, remember?"
"MIT worthy?"
"There is more to Nashwa than the eye can see and I'm not giving away my secrets so easily."
Right, as if there's a secret to begin with. It was written all over Noman's face.
Something starts formulating in my head. "Nashwa."
"I grant you permission to speak."
"You said you wanted to snatch a place for yourself."
She sighs. "Where does Nashwa go when you say Hana and Hanaan?"
"You're wrong about that."
"I know. There is no Hana and Hanaan without a Nashwa. The Nashwa. Me Nashwa."
"I have logic to support that."
"Don't hit me up with some crazy maths."
"You know I hate math just as much as you."
"Go on then."
I inhale deeply before letting my breath out. "Your initials are NA right?" She hums. "If you reverse them, they become AN." She hums again, brows knitting together. "If you add that AN to Hana—"
Nashwa shrieks. "Don't you dare complete that—"
"—it becomes—"
She puts both her fingers into her ears. "NO!"
"—Hanaan." I grin from ear to ear. "We were meant to be."
She punches me hard on my arm. "I told you, no crazy maths!" She falls back into her seat as I groan in pain, an annoyed smile playing across her lips. "Who named us? I demand an answer."
"My Dada Jaan. He named all three of us."
"I thought only Ismat Jehangir did this sort of cheesy crafty thing."
"Possibly took it from Mister Jehangir himself."
"Is she opening registrations for her next apprentice?"
I bestow her my glare. "I'm her legacy! You can't snatch that away from me."
"I can compete." She gives me a pointed look. "If I'm better, it's mine."
"You're a witch but you can try. You'll fail miserably. There's no competition to Hanaan Junaid and you know it."
"True." Nashwa twirls a strand of hair around her finger. "I can't be Hanaan when I'm the Majestic Psychic Nashwa Ahmad myself. Future notorious Crime Investigator also. A woman of many many talents."
I cross my arms. "Let's strike a deal. The first one of us to earn fifty thousand rupees wins this apprenticeship."
Nashwa snorts. "Easy. I'll go wash someone's car just now or do their dishes or their housework and have the money in a month already."
"I thought you had standards."
"It's all about the money."
"You're crazy."
"Was there ever any doubt?"
I settle back onto the couch with her. Having CP comes with its perks. I don't have to do the dishes or clean the table or do anything at all which the boys and Hana are doing. Just as Hana appears from the kitchen, the boys tailing after her, the doorbell rings.
Before anyone can comprehend, the twins make a dash for it, screaming to their highest pitches 'NASHMIA RETURNS'. It's only when Zaid and Hana scramble after them, it hits me. Haala Mami can't be back so soon after giving birth last night even if she's Desi Wonder Woman. Whoever it is on the door is not a welcome visitor.
As I trudge ever so slowly towards the door, the twins have already unlocked it and Hana swoops them behind her so Zaid can hold them back by their collars. The doorbell rings again. Nashwa is by my side holding a very large, heavy ornate vase. Haala Mami will lose her calm when she finds out nothing precious remains in her house. When the person on the other side calls out, I see Zaid's shoulders loosen.
He turns to Nashwa. "It's the milkman."
All of us let out the breath we were holding. Nashwa goes back into the kitchen to fetch a jug. Hana opens the door.
Who invited Satan?
I see the first glimmer of silver, catching light from the bulb overhead that we forgot to switch off last night. As the hand raising it lowers, all my senses alert to high awareness but time does not slow down. Even if I leap forward I will not be able to reach Hana's shoulder in time—
Perhaps my cerebral palsy is a blessing after all. My foot twists, I fall forward, arms reaching towards the milkman. Hana backs away a few steps, the twins let out a shrill cry. The milkman loses balance and falls backward. Zaid does not waste a second and hits his head hard with the vase. It doesn't break but the milkman's eyes roll to the back of his head. For good measure, Zaid hits him again until he goes limp for sure.
At least one vase survived.
"That's not our milkman!" Uzair's face is red all over.
"It's his evil twin!" Huzair's mouth is an O.
Zaid rolls his eyes. "It's him but he must have been bought."
I'm still on the floor, breathless, when Nashwa returns. She stops in her tracks at the unconscious man, a hand reaching for her heart. "Ya Allah!" She looks about. "Is he dead?"
Zaid prods at the man with his foot. "I didn't hit him that hard."
"You're lucky," she takes the twins into her arms. "I have a lawyer for a father in case you did murder him. I could negotiate the fee for you. We don't give free service."
"Perhaps your lawyer father is the reason why he's here."
Nashwa glares back at him just as Noman walks up the staircase. Still dressed in his navy shirt and flannel pyjamas, he looks cute with absolutely no facial hair and two very tight dimples popping on each side of his face. I direct the heat of my gaze onto Hana. Why couldn't she choose a man with some decent sense of dressing? But Hana is not looking at me.
Noman turns to the unconscious man as well. "I heard a commotion. Is everything okay?" His eyes are wide.
Zaid nods. "All under control."
But how can everything be under control when a certain idiot jogs up the staircase stealing my sister's breath right away. And how can the universe ever be under control when for once he's actually dressed well. Swoon worthy well.
Clad in a royal blue button down shirt, sleeves buttoned to his wrist where a black strapped smart watch sits, Taha Muhammad is a sight for sore eyes. His grey pants are creased and his heavy joggers underneath are brand new and clean. A black bag slings low on his back and a lanyard with his university ID hangs around his collar. His black framed glasses compliment his eyes that are lost somewhere so very far away; makes me wonder where. For once his hair looks combed, slightly damp at the moment, tips reaching down to his forehead — it must be drizzling. His gait is not lanky as usual. Today he stands stoic and tall, jaw set tightly, no stupid smile or Pepsi can in sight.
He stops short on a step, hawk eyes assessing the situation around him. He catches me on the floor and his face turns passive as he crosses the distance between us in two long strides, a hand reaching under my head just as it falls back.
He crouches by me. "Got you." And then he adds, "Oompa Loompa."
The twins gasp. Nashwa let's out a small scream. Noman curses ever so indiscreetly. Taha Muhammad slings off his bag and passes a set of handcuffs to Noman before tucking the bag underneath my head. As Noman handcuffs the milkman to a strong pipe nearby, Taha unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up his skeletal arms. "The day I decide to dress up and wash my face for once, you bleed all over for me?"
Anything for Hana. I wink at him and he narrows his eyes at me.
He assesses my lower abdomen where I got stabbed just a while ago.
Ah yes, it's been hurting like a female dog all along.
His silver-black eyes flit to Hana's who looks like she's seen a ghost. She couldn't keep her attention on his good looks? "Towels. Or clean cloth. We need a lot of it."
She nods, eyes still trained on the blood on my shirt. When she returns, Taha takes them from her. His eyes are still analysing the knife when he speaks to me. "Does it hurt?"
"Not more than a lover's heart."
"Excellent." His face is stern and focused. "That means your sensations are perfectly functioning. I'm going to pull this knife out carefully, I have basic first-aid training; you can trust me but it'll hurt a lot more."
"I've been through worse pain."
"But you can never get used to it, can you?"
A momentary softness takes over his stone cold eyes. It's hard to believe this is the same Taha Muhammad who stood at our porch yesterday, smiling like an idiot trying to casually flirt with my sister. This Taha is serious.
He pulls out the knife and I let out an ear piercing cry digging all my nails into his arm. He holds my leg down so I don't worsen the wound. Without wasting a second, he presses a clean towel onto the gash where warmth begins to pool across my tummy as blood finds ease to flow. Mama, where are you? Taha's long and slender fingers gently lift my shirt up and again he presses the towel with enough pressure I feel it but not enough to cause more pain.
Oh it hurts.
He casts a look around, focusing back on me. "Noman and I will take Hanaan to the hospital. Everyone else go inside and lock the door. You do not open it unless I call you to say it's clear."
"You know my name?"
Taha discards the crimson towel and picks a fresh one. "I know everything."
Hana shakes her head. "I'm not leaving Hanaan—"
"—I'm not giving you a choice." Taha picks the towel up to assess my injury, pressing onto it again, unsatisfied. "This was one man. I doubt another would follow because the court proceedings start in less than half an hour but you never know."
"That doesn't change—"
His steely eyes collide against hers. "Someone needs to stay with Nashwa—"
"—I'm coming too."
Taha clenches his jaw. "I did not bring a limousine or drive a bus here that could carry you all and Hanaan will need her space. Nashwa and the boys stay behind. An elder, more responsible person does so too. Hana, that's you."
She shakes her head again. "I'm younger than Nashwa actually and she can handle herself—"
"—would you really take the risk?"
Their eyes are locked, both staring just as daringly into the other, put into such a difficult situation by none other than fate. Before Hana can break down into tears because she can't argue her point, I groan out in pain.
Nashwa finds her voice. "Don't make her choose between us, don't you dare. I'll go back in, lock the doors, grab all the knives, keep the boys close to me. But take Hana with you. Every time these two part it does not end well."
Taha exhales heavily. He glances at the handcuffed unconscious milkman. Finally, he nods. "Go in, I'll send someone after me. But you do not open that door unless you get a call from me." He fishes out his phone from his pocket and hands it to Nashwa, one hand still pressed firmly on my wound. "Put your number in."
"Your landline number," Noman does not hold back. "For all we know, he could be the creep sending you those red roses—"
"Nomi, boy." Taha looks up at him. "I'm not that pervert and now's not the time. You've got more muscle than me—"
"—as if you've got any at all—"
"—so you'll be carrying my Oompa Loompa down the stairs. The elevator is not working and I'm in no mood to stain my new clothes. Hana will follow right by you, don't try any funny tricks with either of them. Meanwhile, I'll get my car to the entrance."
Hehe. He's jelly.
He takes his phone back from Nashwa. She glances one last time at me before going inside and closing the door after her. Taha Muhammad takes my hand in his. He places it over the folded towel cloth and presses onto it. "You keep a firm hold there and press just as much as I say. Nomi boy will pick you up now but only you can hold your wound steady as he carries you. That okay?"
I nod, unable to resist his instructions.
He's like a dream brother. I can already imagine myself calling him bhaiya. He'd bring me skittles everyday.
Hana crouches down by me. "Why, Hanaan?" Her voice shakes, her teeth gritted. "Why must you always be the one to get injured?"
I smile at her through the pain. "You take my fair share of emotional turmoil, Hana. This is the least I can do for you."
I bite back the groan of pain. I can't hurt her with it.
She shakes her head, eyes full of pain and fury both. Taha reaches into his bag and pulls out a large chocolate bar. He hands it to Hana. "You're losing colour. You need the sugar."
Smooth.
She laughs out in frustration, taking it from him. "Trust me, everything is tilting around me, I can't see a thing."
If that's the case, I pity her because Taha Muhammad in his dominancy looks like a very fine thing.
She bites through the bar. "How the hell am I supposed to keep my weight in check and not consume so much sugar to keep from fainting at the sight of blood? Only Allah knows!"
As Noman takes over, Taha stands up to his full height. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, eyes still so lonely and cold. "Delicate flaws compliment beauty."
I coo out loud, my eyelids heavy. It's like he's saying qubool hai but in a different language already.
She tinges pink all over. He glances at the door making sure it's locked and Nashwa and the boys are in. He looks one last time at me, pulling out his car keys from his pocket. He slings his bag over his shoulder and skipping two steps at a time, disappears down the staircase.
Aww, Hana will miss him in these few minutes.
Noman begins carrying me carefully. Hana stays a step above us. We find Taha's car right at the entrance and as we step under the open sky, tiny raindrops flick against my face, making me close my eyes and let out a little laugh.
Rain rain, go away come again another day. Taha Hana want to play. Rain rain, go away.
Taha opens the door of the backseat. Hana climbs in first. Noman lowers me towards her and she takes me into her arms, pressing onto my wound for me. Noman takes the shotgun seat. Taha gets into the driver's. The car skids on gravel as Taha Muhammad does not mind the speed limits, swiftly swerving the car onto the main road and overtaking other cars.
Wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. Taha makes Hana go pink pink pink, pink pink pink—
"You doing okay?" Hana checks on me.
I give her a thumbs up, showing her all my teeth. Thank God she's not psychic like Nashwa.
She turns back to the guy sitting in the seat in front of her. Taha Muhammad's shoulders are set tensely. One hand on the steering while, he uses the other to reach to the dashboard pulling out a Bluetooth earpiece. He puts it in, calls someone via his phone and waits for them to pick up. When the call isn't received, he slams a hand against the steering wheel. "Damn it, Yahya, pick up!"
If you're angry and you know it stomp your feet! If you're angry at your sibling even though you really love them, if you're angry and you know it stomp your feet!
He tries a different number. "Qasim?"
Taha's piercing eyes collide against Hana's in the rear view mirror as he continues tapping his fingers against the steering.
I love you. You love me. We are a happy family—
Taha presses on the car horn. Oops. He can't be psychic but he must be a genius.
"Where are you? ... Is he under proper supervision? ... I have company... yes there was an attack as anticipated ... he's in surgery? ... I need you to head back to an address I'm sending, the culprit is there, have him arrested by your trusted police mates and get his confession, it'll help."
Who beat me to surgery?
Taha swerves the car into another lane and just as quick into another.
It sucks to be a loser.
"Yes I know Yahya isn't picking up, God forbid if I find him healthy and well I will kill him myself ... no don't head towards court go to the address I'm sending the kids are alone." His eyes are desperately wide as he swerves the car again. "If all goes well, I'll see you in a while, mate. Khuda Hafiz." The call ends and Taha takes off his earpiece.
Hana doesn't waste a second. "What happened to Ahmad Mamu?"
Oh. He was a good man albeit one who could not balance between two nieces. He might be missed.
"I never said anything—"
"—he's the one in surgery, isn't he? That's why you wanted someone to stay with Nashwa."
Taha's helpless eyes meet Hana's in the rear view mirror again. It's not easy to pry into this private moment of theirs, both struggling against fate for their loved ones.
Well no one ever said it was going to be easy. #Sedlyfe
Taha takes a deep breath. "That's why I came straight to you. He called me just before he blacked out saying his car had crashed and that it may not be the only trap set for him."
"He called you while he was hurt?"
Taha struggles to focus on the road. "Qasim reached him in time. Just pray that his head injury from that night he lost his wife hasn't deteriorated to the point of no return with this new one. All will be fine, Hana. There is khair in all of Allah's plans."
Oh Ma Sha Allah, what a halaal boi.
Hana's hold has loosened upon my wound. I press my own hand on top of hers. Rain continues to beat down on the car. Hana is looking anywhere but at my wound or the rear view mirror where starlit eyes keep checking on her because she's losing colour fast. He could say something charming and make her pink but he's not even trying.
Pfft. Hana worries too much. Ahmad Aurangzeb is not going down so easily, not when he just got the redemption he needed from his daughter so he could marry his beautiful Miss Amima.
Maybe he even did this for her attention.
Fishy.
When we finally reach the hospital, Noman jumps out to get a stretcher and paramedics for me. Taha tells him to go find Doctor Amima Fareed specifically.
He gets out of the car then and it doesn't take long for Hana to feel suffocated too, she lowers my head gently and gets out then. Both of them stand by the window near my head and I reach over despite my wound to roll it down.
Pain. So much pain.
And yet, no pain no gain.
All the lightness in my head dissipates. Suddenly a low deep ache settles in my heart for them. Tall and surprisingly dominant Taha and my shivering trembling Hana.
Rain picks up pace. Grey clouds gather above their heads. The air around is so very chill. Taha runs a hand through his damp hair, ruffling it up. Hana wraps her chadar tighter across herself. Rain patters all around us.
"You're unnerved," she whispers.
"Just a little bit." He glances down at her before looking away.
"Thank you."
"I really couldn't have known. Thank Allah if you must for sending me on time."
She smiles sadly. "Yes but thank you for taking over so swiftly. Thank you for not disclosing Mamu's condition to Nashwa immediately. Thank you for directing Qasim to Nashwa's apartment and not to court."
"It's our personal goal. To dispense justice. The three musketeers."
"You, Yahya and Qasim?"
He jerks a shoulder, hands tucked into his pockets, rain drenching him. "Sort of. Once we're all married, I suppose our girls could join in too."
Hana takes her moment, looking at him as though trying to absorb the very essence of him. "Is he alone there?"
"He is and he's—"
"—engaged, I know."
Taha laughs, a big smile goofing its way up his mouth. "I was going to say he's unprepared for what's about to hit him but yeah, he's engaged against all odds."
"What does that mean?"
Taha bites back his Cheshire cat smile. "That it's a love marriage not an arranged marriage. It may not seem so but among the two of us, Yahya is the more I'll-do-what-I-want type while I live on the principles of keeping my Amma Jaan always pleased with me."
Hana wraps her arms around herself, vulnerability painted all across her face. "I'm sorry for taunting you on that. Saying that your mother neglected you."
"Don't worry. I'm my Amma's chaand ka tukra. She reminds me that every night before tucking me to sleep so all is well."
"You looked very cold then."
His eyes darken, graveness taking over. "We're all a bit fragile, aren't we? You were cruel to me and I didn't like that. But I wasn't being easy with you either. I apologize for my disrespect too. I really did just want to help you out of your turmoil. Didn't exactly know how to do so with my technical issues involved."
Hana tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean to ask you about Yahya's engagement earlier. I meant to ask why he's unprepared."
Taha draws in a sharp breath, looking away at the hospital building. His forlorn eyes are just as dark as the sky above us, grey and heavy with torments. His entire face is contorted with anxiousness.
When he speaks, his voice is strained. "Yahya just graduated, Hana. Hell, he hasn't even been through his convocation yet and should be interning somewhere, running between serving chai and making photocopies but look where he is. At Ahmad Aurangzeb's court case. And all by himself."
"You really hung out at my Mamu's office because you didn't trust him and wanted to keep Yahya safe?"
"Oh, I trust him alright but I had my reservations earlier. Plus the free AC and infinite Pepsi supply eased those troubles away."
Hana withholds from rolling her eyes but there is fondness splotched all across her cheeks.
"Yahya ..." he trails off, at a loss of words. "Yahya isn't so thoughtful or careful as he appears to be. He watches horror movies all night while I can't even in broad daylight. He drinks black coffee with no milk, no sugar and yet everyone calls me psychotic instead. He gets himself into these big controversial cases all the time, ever since he started law school. Just helping around lawyers or tagging behind them. He's the reckless one between the two of us and it wasn't supposed to be so."
Hana's voice is a soft whisper. "What was it supposed to be like?"
He smiles at the far distance, so very heartbroken. "Abba and Amma disclosed my birth facts to me when I turned eighteen. I didn't take it easy, ran off one day to get into some hospital's archives and when I got caught, Abba was very offended, kept going on and on about how I should have confided in him rather than going off by myself."
Clouds rumble as though expressing their sorrows.
He shakes his head, memories clashing behind his dark eyes. "Yahya stood up for me then and defended me relentlessly until Abba couldn't hold a point against me. We schemed that night. I'd become a private investigator and Yahya a lawyer and we'll uncover my past together. Now however I'm always glued to his side for his safety."
Rain conjures the tears his eyes won't.
"Maybe that's why he does it." Hana looks at his shoulder only. "All the daring stunts. So you don't ever leave his side."
Frustration drips from his voice. "We'll have to separate someday. I won't risk him in my own case. I'll find my real family. I'll have to settle elsewhere."
"You sure your Amma will be able to survive that?"
He shuts his eyes tight, pain written all across his face.
"You have a loving family, Taha Muhammad. Don't let go of what you have for something you don't. By all means, dig out the truth but don't sever the ties you forge. Especially with the family that keeps you not because they're obligated to but because they truly adore you. Regardless of your birth certificate."
A slow grin creeps upon his lips. "Admit it. All this time you thought I was the one sending those coloured roses to Nashwa and you were losing sleep over it."
Hana is flustered all over. "How was I supposed to know some Noman already exists?"
He grins back at her, all the lunacy attached. "How could you really when your head was so wrapped up around me—"
She glares at him, clearing her throat loudly. "Your technical issues are getting out of hand again."
"Hardly." He grins at her stupidly. "They're wrapped up in my heart, you see."
"I thought they were in your head?"
"Same thing, same thing."
Someone get me an inhaler. We all bloody know it's not the same thing.
Under the rain, as he foolishly smiles down at her and Hana bites back her relentless concern, we hear a commotion. Paramedics hurry towards us and Noman runs along with them, a stretcher in between. Both my sister and her lunatic idiot, look at one another in urgency as though their time is running out.
"Go to your brother," she whispers to him.
"I can't just leave you alone here."
"You saw my moves in that video, took Waheed right down. I can take care of myself."
"I trust you to be perfectly capable of that but the world, not so much."
Jeez. Someone get them married. There's too much love in the air and I have an open wound, I cannot afford to get infected.
"Your brother needs you," she tells him. "And if I know Ahmad Aurangzeb any at all, I know he has a better backup plan than putting your young brother at risk. But go stand by him still. This audacity of his, he's promising you he'll stand by you no matter how rough your case."
He tilts his head, eyes so very wide in wonder. The car door opens for me and careful hands pull me out. They put me on a stretcher and begin to carry me away. Hana still stands facing Taha Muhammad and he looks at her as though he wants to say something but is choking on it.
Hana places a hand to her chest, taking a few steps back. "Fee Amanillah, Taha Muhammad."
The entire expanse of stars burns in his eyes. He puts his own hand to his heart and then nods at her, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. "It's been a pleasure, Hana Junaid."
What all he does not say is written on his face and it aches me so much how they must part this way. If all ends well today, Waheed is punished, Mamu's court case settled, there may no longer remain a reason for the two of them to ever meet again.
In this moment of true pain, from my bleeding wound and my aching heart, I muster the strength to utter a prayer.
Oh Allah, if these two are meant to be, then only, let these feelings flourish in their hearts. Reunite them as one under the best circumstances only. But if they are not destined well for one another then eliminate these feelings before this affection consumes them whole and burns all the best parts of them. Grant them mercy.
Darkness takes over my vision just as Doctor Amima's face appears above mine. "You really can't stay away from me, can you, chipmunk?"
"Me and my Mamu both."
Hana's strained laugh is a melody to my ears. Doctor Amima recites the first kalima for me and I find myself repeating after her. Pain and darkness wait until I am done and then they take me into their welcoming embrace.
...
Life comes to me, life escapes me. I struggle against the hold of many. Everything hurts. Everything hurts.
...
When light comes back to me calloused fingers stroke my cheek. Love fills up the crevices in me. It's like my existence is being cherished, my presence craved and my well-being prayed for. Chapped lips press against my forehead and then onto my nose. I inhale deeply, the scent of home. I don't dare open my eyes in case the moment is too short to last but the man that loves me more than any tickles my side until my eyes are wide open and I am laughing at his wide smile.
"Baba."
He grins back, peering at me from behind his glasses. "Baba ka jugnoo."
This time I don't huff my cheeks in annoyance. I don't protest for the boyish nickname and I don't correct him for the masculine grammar. How can I when every worry in the world has vanished and there is only me and my Baba and rainbows and unicorns dancing and singing in pink clouds nearby. I smile back at him cheekily.
"I saved your mena's life."
His fingers continue stroking my cheek. "So I heard."
Everything in my heart has eased. The last time he looked at me, his eyes weren't so warm. He was holding back, he was a little cold because of what I had done to Hana. But now he's back to me. The love has increased many times fold.
"I'm so glad you both sorted things out between you," he whispers, taking my hand in his. "If we elders made you sit down and cleared it all up, your hearts wouldn't be as clean as they are now."
"Hana," I murmur. "She loves limitlessly."
"And you?"
"I'm learning from her. To feel the pain of those around me and do my best to ease it for them. If not that, then at least not worsen it by my own unkindness."
"Tell me, you're not saying that in terms of your cerebral palsy?"
His eyes are broken but he doesn't look at me like I'm some tragedy. He never ever did. He only ever looks at me like someone looks at their new born baby. Wonder and astonishment and pride only. I hope to Allah it stays this way.
"My CP didn't hurt Hana. My lack of kindness did. I will never let that happen again."
His lips find my forehead again and once more I take in the scent of him. The scent of safety. Love. Redemption.
"I am proud of you, Hanaan Junaid."
A barrier lifts. My heart floods with love. Love for myself.
"But I need you to side by me, jugnoo, because I did impulsively buy a camel for Eid and now Ismat Jehangir has disowned me. And also your mother, even Hana. I'm so very lonely."
I laugh out loud and wrap my arms around him. We'll be fine. We'll all be fine. Even if Ismat Jehangir is a little cross.
this story could go on and on but can you believe we have one more chapter (super epic) and then an epilogue left only? also, fair warning: i didn't have in me the heart to write an epilogue plus epilogues are usually slow because everything is wrapped up, its less showing, more telling. so don't be disappointed by it although i have as per my reputation, played with your feelings in it as well :P
for those who aren't happy with Taha Hana, just trust me a bit more, will you?
yours truly, 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.