A thousand moments that I had taken for granted,
just because I had assumed that there would be a thousand more.

Sunday - 6:12pm

A hundred years would be too less to prepare Ibrahim Yazdani for the situation he was going to encounter in a few seconds and yet, he held his place, head held high as he faced every surprise life threw at him. Every inch of his heart begged him to run, run as far away as possible, but the last shred of sanity pleaded him to stay, and stay he did.

Connection?" Ibrahim, however, would not have expected Ali's statement in a million years, "What kind of connection?"

Ibrahim saw Ali heaved a deep breath as he waited for the waiter to place their order on the table, each second nothing but a burden to Ibrahim's heart which had stopped beating altogether after Ali's declaration.

"Yes, connection. I don't know if it is a coincidence or not, but well, they are somewhat related." Ali said and Ibrahim's eyes narrowed before he shook his head, worry lacing his forehead.

"Family related?" Ibrahim asked with dread filling his guts; the last thing he wanted right now was to encounter some connection between the two women.

God, he would not be able to handle that.

"No, not family related." Ali sipped his coffee while he answered; making Ibrahim exhale a breath he did not know he had been holding, "Related in some other way."

Ali's words did little to ease the growing palpitations of his heart, it only added to the ache that had already scarred it a little too much. God, he already had a little too many regrets and complications in his life - he sure as hell could not bear a new one.

"What way, Ali?" Ibrahim asked, voice louder this time, patience slipping by gradually.

"You know Hemayal's cousin?" He asked as he took another sip; Ibrahim's tea however untouched and turning cold.

"Mehmal?" Ibrahim asked spontaneously, no idea where the conversation was heading.

"Yes, her." Ali said, too slow as he revealed layers of secrets he had known for a while now.

"What happened to her?" Ibrahim asked, impatience the only thing audible in his voice.

"She is Humna's colleague." He disclosed and Ibrahim's eyes widened before a loud sigh left him, leaning slowly back in his seat as the brown lids closed momentarily.

Every inch of him radiated relief.

"This is it?" He asked after a moment, shoulders sagged, as if a huge burden had been lifted from it.

"This is only just the beginning, brother mine." Ali's slow words halted his moments of relief with a soft noise that sure belonged to his heart stopping fractionally, instead pumping danger and threat with each beat.

"Ali, should I be worried?" Ibrahim asked after a moment, the now cold tea still untouched.

"I don't know how much involved you are in this case, but well, I think you should be." Ali's words did little to ease his worry that had come to become permanence in him.

"What more is there?" He asked, bracing himself for the worst, hoping along the way that the damage it would inflict would almost be repairable.

"They live in the same area. Hemayal's family house and Humna's temporary residence are in the same area, even the same street." Ali disclosed the second piece of information, this one unsettling the pieces of puzzle Ibrahim used to think he had already made up in his mind.

The information Ali just provided him did disturb him in ways more than one; knowing that things such as coincidences are little in practical life. In reality, everything happens for a reason; it is just that people are naïve and oblivious to that, instead choosing to believe in their own shares of myths and superstitions.

"That can be a coincidence." He said despite knowing perfectly well that it was not.

"There is no such thing as coincidences; I thought you were a firm believer of that." Ali said with a grin curving his lips, stamping on a thought Ibrahim had already known.

"Well, I still am. It's just that life has a funny way of surprising us." Ibrahim laughed at the end, a humourless laugh that housed pain more than joy.

"Yeah, that it has." Ali agreed without a second thought.

"There are other things?" Ibrahim steered the conversation in the right direction, knowing he would not be able to show patience for a little while long if it kept on dragging at this rate.

"Of course there are other things, Abi." Ali said, now placing the cup back on the table and instead picking the file from it.

Thrusting his fingers between the covers of the file, Ali opened it with little effort, his actions disclosing a few sheet of papers that the file held - papers filled with statistics, bank account transits and receipts.

"What is this?" Ibrahim could not refrain from questioning, eyeing the pile of papers with fear gripping him.

What mess had he gotten himself into?

"Bank account receipts. This is what took a lot of days, it is quite some work." Ali said before handing the files to Ibrahim who hesitated for a moment before grabbing the other corner, his head shaking like a leaf.

"What does it say?" Ibrahim asked a rhetorical question as he studied the bank receipts slowly, dread swallowing him, his eyes going wide as they studied the number written at the end of paper.

65,000Rs.

"Hemayal transferred 65,000Rs to Humna's bank account?" Ibrahim asked, voice a whisper and bewildered, the very ground shaking under his feet as he studied the bank order.

"Exactly, it surprised me too." Ali, totally oblivious to Ibrahim's condition, said, eyes scanning Ibrahim's expressions with an air of accomplishment.

"How do they even know each other? And why the hell did she give her money?" Ibrahim whispered, the shock nor easy neither small to get over with in a matter of few seconds.

"Well, I can't answer you that. I thought you would know that." Ali shrugged his shoulders, lips pressed as he observed Ibrahim's expressions.

"I don't know, Ali, I don't know what is happening here at all." Ibrahim's face had paled a little, losing its colour to their surrounding which was warm.

Placing the file back on the table with every fibre of him emitting sheer exhaustion, he sensed lines of thought and worry mark his forehead. Even the thought of his wife having any sort of relationship with the woman he had kidnapped was too absurd to process, to even consider in the proximity of his chaotic mind. Hemayal was not supposed to know Humna, this was not supposed to end like this.

His wife was not supposed to have any relation with the woman he kidnapped.

His wife was not supposed to know of any of his wrongdoings.

His wife was supposed to remain oblivious of this all.

Hemayal was a stranger to him but a stranger he had deep relations with - the last thing he wanted was his horrible actions coming out in open. Humna knowing Hemayal was a danger - Hemayal could know these things anytime now, and if she does, everything will go down.

"No, God, no. Please, no." He begged; voice a whisper as he dropped his head slowly, lines of pain and worry intensifying.

"Abi, are you okay?" Ali leaned forward as he eyed Ibrahim's pale face, worried expressions and sweating brows.

"When?" Ibrahim suddenly asked, straightening in his place suddenly as he hurriedly picked the file from the table again.

"When did the transaction happen?" Ibrahim asked, more to himself than to the man who sat in front of him, much worried right now to pay any attention to the world that moved swiftly around him.

Right now, at this moment, nothing made sense. No piece of information thrown in his direction made even a little sense and he found it hard to keep up with all. Hemayal's relation with Humna; the transfer of money - nothing stimulated any receptors of understanding and sanity in him, and he found every nerve fibre of his bursting.

Picking the file from the table, he studied it again, this time looking for a thing other than the sum of money - this time looking for the date on which transaction was made.

"Monday, 18th September." He whispered, head raising slowly from the file and looking far ahead, at the vastness of nothing, trying hard to understand the numbers, completely ignorant of his surroundings and position.

Nothing else mattered except the understanding of the entire situation - no thought was more significant than going to the root of the problem.

And it was then when a thought struck him, one that knocked the very breath out of him for a split second, rendering his mind completely blank for a moment.

"No." He almost pleaded, hoping for his triggering thoughts and messy mind to gain control, but he had lost his sanity long ago, and with that, his authority over his brain too.

"What?" Ali asked after Ibrahim had again opened the file to look for something, to be sure, and when he did, another layer of paleness found refuge on his handsome features.

"18th September. Monday. A day after the accident." Ibrahim whispered, but this time, it was loud enough for the oblivious man in front of him.

"Your mother's accident?" Ali asked, not keeping up with Ibrahim's racing mind but definitely still somewhere in the picture.

"No, my accident." Ibrahim shook his head, too stunned to make a move.

"You had an accident?" Ali asked, brows creasing and Ibrahim nodded.

"Yes, I had. Almost a week before Ammu's accident." At the time, Ibrahim was talking more to himself than to his friend, struggling to find the last, final piece of puzzle that would put everything in order, but to his luck, he found none.

All he encountered was his present situation worsening even more with each tick of the clock.

"With Hemayal?" Ali asked and Ibrahim laughed despite the irony of the situation.

"No, not with her. With Humna." Ibrahim answered, not knowing how life was playing games with him, a game so perfectly set and executed.

"How do you even know these women?" Ali exasperated after a moment, clearly annoyed by now for being kept in the dark of the entire situation.

"Why can't I know them?" Ibrahim asked instead, successful in raising his mood a little, and his guards too.

"They just look...so unlike you. Humna is a designer and Hemayal a psychiatrist - not people you would want anything to do with." Ali shrugged his shoulders, making Ibrahim chuckle a bit.

"There is a lot to people than mere jobs, Ali." Ibrahim answered while laughing, the planes of his cheeks sliding up as he did, adding aristocracy to the refined features of his.

"I know, I know, but seriously, how do you know them?" Ali asked again and Ibrahim only worked with a small smile this time.

"I just happen to know Humna, by chance." Ibrahim paused before he constructed words in his mind for the next introduction, "And Hemayal is a relative."

Nobody in his friend's circle knew of his marriage and he wished to tell no one either - the announcement of a marriage he felt little chances of succeeding in the future was senseless and stupid; and he happened to be neither.

"Well, thank you for such an elaborate answer." Ali glared at his friend who only laughed an unashamed laughter.

"You are welcome." Ibrahim replied before calling the waiter and placing an order for a fresh tea - the old one was cold now.

"I mean, I did wonder for a second how you even knew them. I mean none of them live in the city permanently." Ali said and Ibrahim stopped for a second before shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, I have not lived much in the city either." Ibrahim replied before a thought struck him, confusing him momentarily, "I thought Humna resided permanently in the city?"

"I don't know, but she has not been in the city for almost a week now so I thought she does not stay here permanently." Ali shrugged his shoulders this time, not knowing the havoc that erupted inside Ibrahim with his words, his nerve ending setting on fire as he stared at his friend with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ibrahim asked, bewildered to his very core.

"What?" Ali asked, astonished at the degree of bewilderment and confusion Ibrahim's voice held - for the second time during the entire conversation.

Ibrahim silenced for a complete moment of shock and vulnerability - what the hell was happening?

"What did you just say?" Ibrahim asked, eyes wide and heart in throat.

"That how you know the women?" Ali asked, brows creasing up in absolute confusion.

"No." Ibrahim paused, a desperate one that intensified the weight on his heart, "After that."

"That Humna has not been in the city for a week?" Ali asked and Ibrahim's insides clenched - again.

"How do you know that?" Ibrahim asked, voice terrified as he released the words stuck in his throat with difficulty.

"I looked into it, Abi." Ali said, still the same level of confused as a moment ago.

"Are you sure?" He asked, this time a little hopeful, considering the fact that all of this might just be a huge misunderstanding.

Ibrahim knew the information was false - it had to be false. No other way could anything make sense; no other way would he be able to justify his actions and make sense out of them; no other way would he be able to function steadily.

"Yes, I'm sure." Ali paused before he began to explain, "You asked for the information on Saturday and when I began the research on Sunday, I found out that she had left the city. I have been keeping tabs on her ever since but she hadn't returned yet."

Ali explained and Ibrahim felt his world tilt, quake and shatter - with a sound that blew him to pieces; with intensity that tore through him and with pain that broke his heart into two. Nothing made sense anymore; no amount of sanity helped him understand the blows he kept on facing. Every single inch of him physically felt wounded and bewildered; every single thread of his heart ached.

"This is not possible, Ali. This is just not possible." Ibrahim asked, knowing that denial was his only support at the moment, his only anchor to lean on.

"Why?" Ali asked, making Ibrahim shake his head with more ferocity.

"Because I met her on Monday night." Ibrahim had no intention of revealing his secrets but the shockwaves that kept passing through him made it difficult to function properly.

Hemayal knew Humna - this had proved to be enough of a jolt for him, enough to make his world tilt just a little but this new revelation of Ali had literally made his world come crashing down. If Humna was not in the city on Monday evening, then who the hell was kidnapped?

"Abi, I don't think that is possible. The odds of her being in the city are quite thin. In fact, I have solid proof of her being outside the city." Ali shook his head, confused as he thought profoundly, "I think you met someone else and thought of her as Humna."

Ali voiced Ibrahim's thoughts, making his insides clench furiously as he struggled for dear breath. What was happening around him was something that made no sense to him at all. The revelations of Ali had had him stunned to such a degree that no part of his brain functioned to devise a logical conclusion to all the mess - no part was saved from the waves of shock.

The woman he had accident with was the same woman who was kidnapped - that much he was sure of. Besides that, nothing was clear - everything a haze of memories and emotions. If the car belonged to Humna, she must have been the one he had an accident with, and she also must be the person who was kidnapped. Why the hell was Ali stating otherwise then?

"I think you are mistaken, Ali." Ibrahim took in a deep breath before replying, gathering his senses on time, "The woman I met on Monday night was Humna, I'm sure of that. She was the one I had an accident with, she was the one who owned the car and she was the one I..."

Ibrahim stopped on time, hardly believing that in this state of emotions, he had accidentally let slip of his darkest secret, his ultimate regret. Ali was a police officer, an honest one despite going out of the way to help his friends - and Ibrahim knew for a fact that it won't be easy for him if Ali even got a hint of his doings. The police officer would never let his friend get away with kidnapping.

"You what, Abi?" Ali raised an eyebrow, making Ibrahim's heart drop in his abdomen before he coughed slightly.

"She was the one I asked information of." Ibrahim was quick to recover, coming up with a statement he knew Ali would buy.

And he did.

"Oh." Ali only managed a small nod and a smile before continuing, "Ibrahim, I do not know what you are so worried about or what is the reason behind these questions , but I hope you did nothing wrong?"

Ibrahim smiled, despite the tearing in his insides at Ali's words, knowing that he was exploiting his friend and his status, knowing that what he did was utterly, terribly wrong.

"No, Ali, nothing." Ibrahim replied with a smile, one that Ali bought without a second thought.

"Well, in that case, everything can be solved. You don't worry, okay?" Ali's words hinted at farewell and in one way or another, it made Ibrahim glad.

Loneliness is the only solution to troubled mind and disorganized thoughts - life had taught him this lesson more than once. A man who does not enjoy his time in solitude can never face life like a man who looks forward to it. Loneliness has healing powers and not every man was blessed with it.

Fortunately, Ibrahim was.

"Yes, yes. I know." Ibrahim nodded, ending the conversation which had given him nothing but worry and heartaches.

"Abi, I have some pending work. I need to go now." Ali said, an apologetic smile covering his face as he collected his belongings from the table, placing the money on the table after insistence.

"Fine, we will meet some time else." Ibrahim said, following Ali who had stood up after his words.

The two childhood friend shook hands, one heading out of the shop while the other again fell back on the seat just as the waiter placed another tea in front of him on the table. Closing eyes, he tipped his head back against the edge of the chair, exhaustion evident on his face.

He contemplated while another cup of tea turned cold.

|¤¤¤|

7:21pm

The magnificent Yazdani House sprang into view, its lights and splendour filling his heart with a little ease. Home always brings comfort, a little hope to the otherwise defeated state, a ray of sunshine in the pitch darkness of life. This time, too, its view brought with itself sheer contentment and optimism, a thought that in the end, everything will be magnificently fine.

For Ibrahim, a person who had spent most of his life away from home in the cold gushes of abroad, he knew what home meant and what it offered, he knew that after everything, home is where a person comes to, knew that after you are buried deep beneath the layers of human being's atrocities, it is your home that digs you out.

Parking in the long driveway of the house, he brought his car to a halt behind his father's parked car, killing the engine with a single turn of the key and exited it afterwards, his steps slow and thoughtful. Every step he took reminded him of the troublesome conversation he just had with his friend, a conversation that disturbed every tune his heart had been singing too.

Nothing was clear and this reminder knocked at the door of his mind repeatedly, making his jaws clench every single time. For a man who did not believe in greys, the situation in hand was one troubling one. Black and white were merging, fusing to form a colour he hardly believed in, spiralling into situation he did not know how to deal with.

Black and white - that is what he had always thought life as. People were good or bad, they were other kind or merciless, there was no other answer, no other explanation. Behind every action a man commits, there is always logical reasoning. Even in irrational behaviours, people always find ways to steer them towards rationality. Logics always prevailed man's actions - at least that is what he had thought up till now.

However, despite the storms that blew in his throat, he walked. After taking some steps of a turtle, he entered the interior of the house, eyes roaming around to gain a sign of his family for no voice rose anywhere. Walking further inside, Ibrahim turned his direction towards the kitchen and stopped in the threshold, eyes coming to rest on his mother who stood with the maid.

Ammu seemed busy, probably advising the newly hired maid of something he could not quite hear. Right now, he needed her gentle words and beautiful way of sympathizing but he knew he would only end up disturbing her. For someone who had just battled for dear life, this was the last thing he wanted to give her.

Choosing not to drag their attention in his direction, he took a slow step back before his eyes left them and he turned his back to them without making a noise, his feet now taking him to the lounge he had previously left.

Stopping once again at the threshold, he witnessed the sight of Mustafa sitting on one of the leather sofas, busy scrolling through his mobile phone as he placed his feet on the table ahead - full view of a man spending last days of his holiday. Walking inside, Ibrahim took in the sight of the room that was every inch a mess before falling beside Mustafa on the sofa, eyes closing momentarily as warm air filled his lungs.

"Ahh, welcome." Mustafa raised his head from the phone, turning it around to watch the sight of his younger brother depicting a sight of a man who had been exhausted for a long time now.

With eyes closed and lashes fanning out against the refined cheeks, he added warmth to the cold night that unfolded with ease of a conqueror, his dark stubble adding class and elegance to his handsome features. The thin lips pressed in a line, however, conveyed messages of the troubles that were taking place in his soul at the very moment.

"You okay, Abi?" Mustafa asked, pulling Ibrahim slowly out of the reverie he had unintentionally fallen in.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." Ibrahim opened his eyes but kept his present state which happened to be leaning against the sofa with head tipped back, eyes gazing up at the roof with certain shades of hollowness resting in them.

"We won." Mustafa added after a while, voice cheerful all of a sudden, making Ibrahim crease his brown is confusion.

"What?" Ibrahim asked, mind still lost somewhere between the complexities of the reality he had just encountered.

"The match." Mustafa exclaimed, making Ibrahim turn his head towards him, eyes squinted.

"What match?" Ibrahim's senses had still not come back to him; his mind was still numb despite the warmth that embraced the room.

"Cricket match, Abi. What is wrong with you?" Mustafa exasperated, making all the thoughts come rushing back to him and he breathed loudly after what felt like eternity.

"Oh, that. Congratulations." Ibrahim asked, smiling now as he seated upwards and straightened his spine.

He was in his home - safe from the harsh gushes of reality - and he cleared his mind of the mist that had seemed to become permanence now. Shaking his head visibly, he purified his contaminated thoughts and focused on the present, forgetting about the women who had made his life a hell lot more complicated.

"Well, yes. It was quite a match, though. You should have seen it." Mustafa said, making Ibrahim shrug his shoulders with a lopsided smile.

"I'll watch the highlights." Ibrahim said.

"Where's everyone? This much silence in the house does not settle well with me at all." Ibrahim joked, the previous conversation and truths now blocking out for a moment.

"Everyone is in their rooms, getting ready." Mustafa informed, now leaning back against the sofa in a relaxed state.

"Ammu was in the kitchen." Ibrahim said, turning his head around to look at his brother.

"She is not Safaa, Abi. She does not take an hour to get ready." Mustafa shrugged his shoulders and Ibrahim nodded as he smiled.

"I should go get fresh too." Ibrahim said before his attention once again shifted to the room.

"What is this mess, really? It is like a tornado hit the room." Ibrahim scrunched up his nose as he eyed the room, standing up from the couch as he did.

"We watched photo albums, cricket match and had popcorns. This is what it is." Mustafa shrugged his shoulders, grinning and Ibrahim only shook his head before walking towards the door, all intentions of heading back to his room and taking a relaxing, long bath.

But he had only just reached the central table when his eyes landed on something - a photo album placed on the table, spread wide open as few faces stared back at him. Eyes going wide and limbs going numb, he watched a single photo with frozen lids and dazed mind. His heart skipped more than one beat as a familiar pair of eyes stared at him, a face so known to him gazed back.

A woman seemed to be staring up at him, her small smile infectious, her medium-length hair all the shades of brown. With a genuine smile that reached her eyes and made the cheekbones swell in perfect sophistication, she held Ibrahim Yazdani in her gaze effortlessly.

"Who...who is this?" Ibrahim had no energy left in him to pick up the album, to turn around and directly ask his brother who had definitely observed his halt.

The woman he had the accident with.

The woman he saw in the workshop.

The woman he kidnapped.

"Who is this woman, Mustafa?" His voice rose, so did the unflinching dread in his gut and horror in his heart.

This woman had haunted him for days now - her scars and injuries, her voice, her pleads, her feistiness, her everything. Every night since that cursed one, he had woken up with unfathomable regret and pain in his heart, every day he had been reminded of his bitter words and unrelenting hold on her slender neck.

The moments of their encounters had remained with him, one way or another, in these past five days; sometimes filling him with crushing regret, sometimes with hollow pain and sometimes with selfish satisfaction.

And now, after having a troublesome conversation with Ali that revolved solely around her, she entered his home too - which he thought was his safe haven, which he thought would offer him some comfort. Staring up at him with what looked like mockery, she challenged to follow him to the grave and in that particular moment, Ibrahim Yazdani felt dread like never before.

"You don't know her, Abi? Her?" Mustafa's humorous voice made him slowly turn his head around, movements slow but meaningful, every second a pain tearing at his heart.

"Who is she, Mustafa?" He repeated, his heart sinking as he waited for an answer.

And when the answer finally came, it tore his world away while breath escaped him, throwing him in cold waters with extreme pain latching at what used to be his heart.

"She is Hemayal, Abi. Your wife."

|¤¤¤|

Hello, guys.

Ibrahim knows. What do you think is going to happen?

I hope there are no more confusions left. If there are, leave it here and I'll clear it up.

Till next time,
Salam!