Now:
I smile plastic as I pose for the hundredth photograph. I can almost hear my mother in my ear, "Chin up Layla. No teeth. We're Hayats. You're running a safe house, not selling used cars."
I loathed the media from the deepest darkest corners of my black little heart, but Hiraeth (My Safe-house) needed all the media attention I could possibly gather. On occasion, it actually helped that I was practically raised under camera flashes and over enthusiastic media personnel.

"Layla, is it true that you don't wear your mother's designs anymore? If not, then what designer are you wearing?" A semi-famous talk-show host shoves her microphone in my face. 

Red carpet talk is funny; 

What are you wearing? 

Oh, I'm wearing Deepak Perwani...The shoes are Jimmy Choos...

Visions of a grown man draped around my neck danced inside my head, and It took supreme effort not to roll my eyes as I would have done years ago. What does my wardrobe have to do with domestic abuse victims?

"I'm really not brand conscious. I wear whatever my sister shoves into my closet. Labels don't define me, or my cause." I smile politely as I move from the red carpet, towards the hotel ballroom. I know I'll have to face Pareeshae's wrath when they quote me in the Sunday paper. My best friend and Co-director of Hiraeth is very serious about PR. 

"Give them what they want Layla. We need the money, and they are simply a means to an end." She had insisted on buying my ridiculously costly outfit for tonight. The knee length black silk undershirt was paired with nude straight pants. The traditionally embroidered long jacket added tasteful color to the ensemble. My hair was stylishly cut and blow-dried to fall dramatically over my left shoulder, light brown highlights made it glisten. My soft brown eyes were tastefully made up to look huge.Four inch heels compensated for my 5 Feet of midgetness. They wanted Sanam Hayat's daughter, and They got her. They is by far, my least favorite pronoun. 

Charity galas were seemingly extravagant, and superfluous, but for an organization like ours, they were a necessary evil. They generated a ton of money for charity causes like mine. All the big fish of Pakistani society came together for photo ops, tasteless food, wardrobe malfunctions, and the occasional scandal. How else are we supposed to make sure we are human anymore? If we don't bid outrageously on crudely made pottery pieces made by handicapped orphans from Sawat?
The glitterati of Karachi city came forward every few months, armed with Birkin Handbags and Armani neckties, to save the less fortunate.

There were talent showcases from orphan homes, and special-needs schools. As a goodwill gesture, they allowed all the registered charities to invite a few "Small Fish" to the big pond. They were seated in a separate section, all the burn victims, polio victims, flood victims, orphans, DNS patients....I always refused the offer on behalf of my own women. We didn't need to remind them of their misfortune quite so bluntly. 

I spotted Pareeshae directing the media towards our showcase wares for the evening. Since we have a lot of refugee women from rural areas of Pakistan they were extremely adept at ethnic handicrafts. Beautifully embroidered shirts, woven jewelry, beaded wall decorations, and chic clutches were a few of many small items we were auctioning today. The crown jewel was a hand woven carpet from one of our acid-burn victims, Shehrazade. Her intricate hand work was a dazzling work of artistic tapestry. We were hoping for it to fetch close to half a million Rupees. 

I waved at her when she spotted me. She nervously looked away before hurrying towards my side. 

"You're late." She poked me, and I shrugged.

"Only fashionably, dahling." I air kissed her like a society bimbo.

"Don't pull accents. You're terrible at them." She hissed under her breath as she dragged me towards our reserved table. "Now, whatever happens tonight, I want you to stay calm, cool and collected. Capiche?" 

I frowned at her, "This isn't my first parade Shay. I know how to keep my cool. I'm a bloody Hayat. That's kind of our thing y'know." She cracks her knuckles nervously, something she hasn't done in years ever since she broke her habit. I'm amused yet surprised by her attitude. My best friend is the most capable partner I could hope to have by my side; it's weird seeing her upset over a society function. Her eyes keep flitting towards the donors settled in the front row. Curious.

"Babe, just promise not to ruin this for us. We need every last penny we can squeeze from these fat pricks." She leans down to emphasize on her words as I blink back, "Just think of Shehrazade, Razia, Amira, Fatima, Mariam, Tehmina...." I tune it out as she lists down the nearly four dozen women under our protection. It's one thing to be conscientious, but Shay's nervousness is getting on my nerves. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will begin the annual auction momentarily..." The gorgeous female host announces from the raised stage. I try to make small talk with a veteran movie star seated at my table. He is running a children's cancer rehab facility, and we exchange notes about our marketing campaigns. I clap politely as each charity's patron is asked to come forward and present their showcase items. Photographers and media personnel are roaming around, probably trying to sniff out scandals, and awkward food photos. I quelled the old urge to stick my tongue out as a camera wielding coyote aimed the lens at me. A long time ago, I would have scowled at them, and raised a middle finger, but those days are past me now. I have learnt what my mother was trying to teach me all this time; Fake it till you make it. 

I smile alluringly as I sip delicately from the fresh juice I had requested. They ate it up like the idiots they are, clicking away like mad. Shay will pee her pants in excitement, if I keep up my seduction. 

I perked up when it was our turn. As planned, Pareeshae was supposed to moderate the auctioning from our side, I was supposed to show up at the end to personally hand over the items to winning bidders, and "Say a few words". 

I smiled widely as most of our items went out for more than our projected benchmark. Shay was almost giddy as reached the end of our list, and the crown jewel: Our tapestry. 

"Hiraeth's last item for the day is a stunning piece of craftsmanship folks. Can we have a look at the Persian-styled rug?..." Shay's voice was drowned as the audience gasped and applauded the gorgeous rug. "Each fiber was individually inspected, and picked out of natural silk trees...The sheer thread count is incredible...Can we get a 100K from our guests? Oh there we are, Twelve bidders! can we get 200? YES! amazing! how about we raise it to 300?..."

I was in awe as the bidding reached one million Rupees. This was better than my wildest imagination. I couldn't see the bidders from my seat, but it seemed that two of them were now engaged in a competitive bid war; Donor Number 36 and Number 14. They were both pretty stubborn because neither seemed willing to give up. Shay was shamelessly heckling them to bid even higher. My brows shot up when the price soared above two million Rupees. Holy Jalebi! these people had money to burn!

Eventually, the winner, Donor Number 14, outbid the runners up when the price reached a neat 3 Million mark. I stood up from my seat, and went onstage to immense applause. Camera flashes and stage lights blinded me as I smiled and nodded my head graciously towards the organizers. Shay handed me a piece of hotel stationery with item and bidder list. A couple of volunteers rushed around arranging items for presentation. 

"Remember what I said Layla. Stay cool. Stay sub-zero. In fact, become a bleeping ice-cube if you can." Pareeshae muttered in my ear, before pinching my butt. I managed not to squeal in front hundreds of expectant faces staring at me. I silently promised to spike her diet coke with sugar cubes soon.  

"Assalamualikum (Peace be on you) everyone! On behalf of my organization Hiraeth, and myself, I offer you the deepest gratitude and felicitations on emptying your wallets tonight..." I began my short speech, to a smattering of polite laughter and applause. I knew most of the guests were eager to move onto other important things in life: Food and drinks, so I had to be brief. "I have no idea why women in our culture are treated like oppressed lesser beings, when some of the strongest, fearless leaders in our history have been female. Hiraeth is an old English word of Scottish origins, and it means 'A deep longing for a home that was, or never will be' The women you have helped tonight with your overwhelmingly generous donations, don't have a home of their own yet. But I have faith that they soon will...."

A few of the organizers dramatically wiped away tears as I concluded my speech. It was amazing how far I have come with a project that was meant for fun. I flip open the bidders list and began announcing the winners. It took a while as I shook hands, received air kisses, and posed for yet more photos.

When the last coupon was opened, my breath refused to expel. Shehrezade's rug was won by one Mr. Azaan Malik, for a staggering 3 Million Rupees.

It can't be him...

I double checked the donor number, blinking twice for good measure. The neatly scrawled words stared back at me, 'Donor Number 14: Mr. Azaan Malik'

The Microphone in my hand was cutting into my palm because I was squeezing it too hard. The silence was slowly becoming too awkward, and I saw the MOC slowly inching towards me.
"Ms. Hayat? Is there a problem?"

Uh, yeah Houston, we have a motherfudging problem. We might need a shotgun. And spare bullets...

Shay confidently strode towards the podium where I was currently frozen. Well at least she got her wish. I'm very much sub-zero at the moment...

"Layla is overwhelmed by the amount donated by our next winner! Everyone, please applaud Mr. Azaan Malik for his generous contribution towards a noble cause!" Shay graciously filled my public awkwardness, quite literally saving my ass. "I told you to be cool babe!" She whispered in my ear.

I was no longer paying attention to her. My eyes tracked a smartly suited dark haired man sauntering lazily towards the stage area to collect his rug. He looked so different. Yet so achingly familiar. His eyes never left mine as he drew nearer. One brow quirked humorously as he gave Shay a one-armed hug. I took a cautious step back as he moved towards me. He chuckled deeply at my reaction.

"Come on Hayat! You can at least shake my hand for old times sake?" His infectious grin was playing havoc on my nerves, and it was becoming very difficult to maintain my sub-zero-ness.

I thought my memory of him was exaggerated by girlish infatuation. He couldn't have been That gorgeous...

I was wrong. He looked better than ever. The expensive suit, and smart haircut only served to enhance the boyish charm he always had. He had grown into the man he always dreamed of becoming.

I hated him for it. For becoming this invincible man. Suddenly eight years of heartbreak came crashing down around me. I knew it was mere moments before I officially (Publicly) humiliate myself onstage. I had to get away. Fast.

"Thank you for the generous donation Mr. Malik. Your rug will be delivered within three working days." I whispered mechanically as I handed him his Bidders coupon. The light in his eyes slowly dimmed as he took in my flat expression.

I didn't even wait for the camera guy before descending the stairs and quickly making my way towards my seat. The huge ballroom was suddenly suffocating me.

I can't believe this man had the audacity to show up at a charity gala! And throw around his money on me!
I have no idea when or how Shay found out about it, but it's very obvious that she knew he was here.

I grabbed my clutch from my seat and took out my cellphone with trembling hands as I moved towards the exit. Shay was still busy directing the volunteers, so she couldn't follow me out.

"Babe. I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you! I knew you'd leave the moment you found out about him." She whispered as soon as she picked up my call.

"You're fired." I muttered back, "How could you do this to me? I nearly died onstage! Do you realize I could have spit on his face when he came near? Or kneed him in the family jewels or something..."

"Ouch! Is that what 3 Mill gets you these days?" The deep voice behind me nearly made me fall flat on my face.

I gritted my teeth as I turned to face the boy who broke my heart.
"You." I hissed at him.

He blinked back comically, and jerked a thumb at his own chest. "Me." He pointed towards a uniformed bellboy in the hotel lobby, "Him" his eyes were alive as he winked at a blushing teenaged girl, "Her."

"Stop being cute. It's disgusting!" I snapped at him. "What do you want from me?"

Pareeshae breathlessly arrived at that moment, her wide eyes flitting between the two of us, her phone was still at her ears, and had tracked me with my voice. She expelled a nervous breath as she saw both of us with our limbs intact.

"It's been a long time Peeshay! How's Faris? How're the kids?" His voice sent me back so many years ago, for a second I thought I was back in University.

"You jackass! you know full well, I don't have any kids yet..." Shay griped back.

"So, you mean you're not preggers?" He scratched his hair thoughtfully, "What's up with all the flab then? Still cheating on protein diets?"

Shay gasped and clutched at her flat stomach. My best friend was borderline bulimic. I rolled my eyes when saw how effortlessly Azaan could push her buttons. "You're fine Shay. Azaan is being an Azzhole. Nothing new here."

He laughed at that. "Oh God! I missed you. It's good to know you still remember me after all these years." His eyes twinkled back at me. His smile hadn't changed at all. It was the same infectious, gut wrenching, crooked thing that always reached his eyes.

"When you smile, it's like you're about to open presents at your tenth birthday party." I teased him for the boyish dimple in his left cheek.

"Aww! Damn. I was hoping you'd compare my smile to the Jokers' from Batman." Azaan playfully puffed out his cheek to get rid of his dimple. "I want to be bad-ass. Not adorable."

Everything about him reminded me of another lifetime. All I ever wanted was a memory wipe, but it seemed that I was destined for cruel reminders.

"Shay, I'm leaving now. I'll send back the driver soon for you." I pointedly threw my words towards her. "And by the way, you're still fired."

Shay opened her mouth to argue, but Azaan interrupted her, "It's okay Peeshay. You can join my company if Hayat dumps you. She still owes me dinner and I'll drag you along as my PA."

My blood boiled at his words.
"I don't owe you squat, you presumptuous ass!" A few photographers started coming closer to where we were. These people were trained to sniff out gossip.

Azaan frowned at the intrusion of privacy, and lowered his head to whisper back, "Society patrons are supposed to treat donors to gratitude dinners, Hayat. I may be new to this game, but I can assure you I'm not completely clueless."

My heart pounded in my ears at the very idea of being in his presence again. My palms were so clammy, I could fry an egg on them.

"Dinner is out of the question for us. Pareeshae will give you two buffet tickets for a cafe of your choice. You can enjoy them with your wife." I replied as politely as possible, even though my heart clenched at the fact that he might be married by now.

"Is this where I say that I'm single, and where you pretend that you weren't subtly probing me about my relationship status?" He smirked at my outraged expression, "It's not very subtle Hayat. You seem to be losing your touch."

I breathed in sets of two to calm myself. Thy shalt not slap thy former friend whilst cameras are nearby.

"You can bring your mother instead Mr. Malik, this really is a non issue for me." I stated coolly.

"What if I throw in another Million? Will you have dinner with me then?" To say that his words shocked me, would be an understatement.

I stepped up closer to him than I have been in years. At that point I didn't even care about the camera flashes going off. Shay laid a cautionary hand against my shoulder that I shrugged off. I ignored the fact that his scent made me weak in the knees, and the fact that he was still a foot taller than me in my heels. I surreptitiously stepped on his expensive loafers, making him wince. This will leave a costly scratch. Good.

"You could throw in your first born son, and I still wouldn't have dinner with you." I gritted out under my breath before exiting the lobby.

Author's Note:

Hi there! :D

Thanks a bunch for giving my book a chance. This is  a slightly different kind of work from my previous book, and I have no idea how it'll turn out. Still testing out the waters. 

Don't forget to Vote and Comment! <3