Now: (Six Years Later)

"Don't you remember anything, Layla?" He asks me, brazenly.

I want to punch him.

How dare he ask me, if I remember?

As if I'm the one who conveniently forgot that I had confessed my feelings for him. As if, I'm the one who made him fall hard for me, and then backed out of it, by being a douche. As if I'm the one who broke his heart, and then blamed it on class differences, of all things!

The nerve of this man!

"Please don't remind me of things I'd rather leave in the past." I replied frostily. "I'm here for business. I'm not here to catch up with you, or laugh at our golden memories over lunch while unicorns and rainbows fly by the window, and glitter shoots out of our--"

His eyebrows raise slightly over this, as he grins, making me pause in mid-rant.

"So you admit it?" He smirks.

"Admit what?"

"That what we shared was golden?"

His smug smile increases the urge to punch him. He really has a gift...the gift of being irritating, just by breathing and talking.

"What we shared, died a long time ago. It could have been cyan, or burgundy, or bloody fuchsia for all I care." My hands tighten over the stem of the wine-glass at our table.

Something about this person makes me so violent, and bitchy, and NOT ME!

I hate this. I hate that he is bringing out the worst in me right now. I am so, so angry at him, that I'm losing control of myself! I always thought I had made peace with his rejection. I thought I had reached a point in my life where scum like Azaan Malik didn't matter to my well-being.

Meeting him today has proved that I am not as strong as I thought. If his mere proximity is messing up my zen-like calmness, then I am afraid what his continued presence in my life is going to do to my peace of mind.

It irritates me so much! his smug, self-satisfied smile, and his heart-stoppingly intense stares that are telling me that he is here on a purpose. A purpose that has nothing to do with business.

How can he be so blase about this? Why isn't he affected like I am? My heart is aching with the pain of a six-year-old rejection, a six-year-old separation that is hitting me like nothing else has. I want him to suffer as I did! How is it fair that I get all the frustration, and all the pain of this broken, screwed-up relationship?

"Your order." The attendant's arrival relieved me.

I watched with narrowed eyes, as Azaan sweetly charmed her into bringing us extra garlic bread to go with the chowder soup he had ordered.

I just pecked at my Alfredo Chicken, unable to stomach it, with Him staring at me constantly.

I noted that his portion mostly consisted of white proteins and fiber greens. Strange.

"My Kick-boxing trainer is a hard-ass." He grin-shrugged charmingly, his knife and fork expertly decimating his steamed fish. "Cutting down on fat these days."

I chewed slowly on my chicken, eyeing his body subtly. He looks...bigger. Still toned, and on the lean side, but I don't remember his shoulders being so wide, or his arms being so--

WHAT THE FLUB IS WRONG WITH ME? NOW I AM OGLING AT THE ENEMY! UGH.

The last thing this man's bloated ego needs is the satisfaction of knowing that he still makes my knees go weak...

"It's okay. You can look." He chuckled deeply, "You won't believe it Night-err Hayat, but I gained like twenty kilos during my year at Caltech. I wasn't eating all that much. I mean there were a lot of halal food issues, and I missed my Ma's food and that kinda killed the appetite, so it didn't make sense that I was gaining weight. But it's just because the regular stuff was kinda rich compared to our food, and I was so busy with my internship that I was missing gym..."

My heart had jumped when he said Night. It's been six years since someone called me Nightlife.

He kept on telling me about a life that I wasn't privy to. Years of his life that I had missed. No wonder Azaan seemed so different. He had done so much. Changed so much...

Gone was the almost-skinny football-loving computer geek with the satanic ear-piercing. This was a taller, bigger, kick-boxer-in-training who was single-handedly running his own start-up company. He seemed a bit more serious. Intense.

His first internship. Then his first solo project as a freelance software developer. Then the education-related app that he sold to Coursera for nearly a million dollars. That's where he got the money to launch his own startup company in Pakistan.

Just the way he spoke about his work, just the way his eyes lit up, and his hand gestures got animated, told me how much he enjoyed it.

I saw in him the same spark that I have whenever I walk through Hiraeth's doors everyday. This feeling of contentment at what I do, and what I have accomplished.

I find myself oddly happy that he found what he was looking for. He broke my heart to get where he is. I am glad to see that the price of my heart was worth it.

He is providing employment to over a hundred people, and he is creating an almost mentor-like process of fostering digital talent in Pakistan; an area which is severely under-appreciated. His current projects are mostly education and health-service related apps, one of which is being co-sponsored by a UNO division.

He is changing lives in a big way. And I am oddly glad about it. Masochistically glad.

"So, umm...Ahem. Can I...I mean. You're not really going to finish all that chicken are you?" He dimples guiltily, pointing at my plate. I have barely finished a quarter of it.

Just seeing that greedy little smile undid me. It was so familiar, so achingly dear to me once, that I couldn't help the choked whimpered-laugh that escaped me. I quickly gulped down some water to calm myself. The irrational sobs still stuck somewhere at the beginning of my throat.

A lone tear still managed to make its way to my eyes, and I quickly averted my eyes from him, trying to hide it.

"Aww, geez. Are you crying, Nightlife?" He whispered, his smile faded into a look of stunned horror.

That did it.

The way he said Nightlife.

Like he meant it.
Like he used to say, all those years ago.

I started earnestly crying.

My face heated with embarrassment. My sobs were coming out in horrifyingly squeaky wheezes, and I could feel the old couple at the next table glance curiously at our table.

Azaan made a move to stand up, but then sat back down when he realized that it will only draw more attention to us.

"I'm sorry. Okay? I won't ask you to share food again." He leaned forward to whisper, pushing a bowl towards me. "Here, you can have some of my salad."

"I don't want your d-damn salad. I just want to g-go home." I hiccuped, staring at the fancy chandelier above my head, trying my best to control the waterworks. "Just say what you wanted to say, and let me leave."

"I want you to say yes to the joint project. The ethnic craft store, or whatever Pareeshae was hounding me about. I have been planning to invest in unrelated ventures, for a while now, and I don't trust anyone else with my money. I'm sure you'll utilize it--"

"Okay." I sniffed. Nodding more to myself than to him. "Okay. I just said yes."

A minute ago, he had looked ready to argue some more. Now he just looked dumbstruck.

"So...that's it. You agree? You forgive me?"

I laughed derisively, "Is that what this was? a sorry note? Or should I say; a Multi-million Rupee sorry note?"

His stubbled jaw clenched at that; his eyes flitting away in distress, "No. It wasn't. Your cause is something I've always believe in, and you're well aware of that. I just wish I had the resources to help you then, when you started; the type of resources that I have now. It's just...before getting involved here, I thought you'd reject my help because you never...you never forgave me all those years ago. I tried to--"

"Why are you confusing my business decisions with personal choices?" I gritted out. The hurt that flashed in his eyes, was like a shot to my own heart. But it was necessary to hurt him now. It was necessary to make him understand how little he meant to me. To make him empathize with the sting of rejection that I was all too familiar with.

And also, to warn him. To make him stay far, far away from me.

"So you don't forgive me?" Azaan's gruff tone indicated just how much this was bothering him. It surprised me; his agitation. The fact that he was now moodily stabbing at his salad, absently murdering a baby corn. His eye-brows knitted. His cheek devoid of its dimple...

Maybe he isn't as unaffected as he is pretending to be.

"I don't recall your asking for forgiveness." I muttered back, peeking up at him, unsure.

His face looked ravaged. His eyes were filled with a strange longing of sorts. And a deeply rooted determination that I was all too familiar with. He kept opening and shutting his mouth, as if searching for the right things to say, and finding them slipping away from him.

My heart melted just a little bit, at his nervousness. Like a glacier, moving a millimeter. It wasn't much, but it was something...

"Is it too late now to say sorry?" He hummed back.

I blinked at him; my misery forgotten.

Did he just...

"Cause I'm missing more than just your bod-- err--brains? Just trying not to be a superficial douche here..."

Oh, yes he did. He just quoted Justin Bieber.

"I'M LEAVING!" I snapped back, actually pushing my chair back.

"Aww, flub! I'm sorry Nightlife, seriously! I'm so, so sorry. Please don't leave. Please." He sprang up immediately, lining up his kick-boxer body to block my exit. "Seriously. This is the best example of why you should forgive me for the stuff that I--Stuff that happened a long time ago, because I really didn't mean most of it! You should know that I often don't think before I speak! I'm a computer geek, Layla. All of my mess-ups are usually ones that I can delete, or backspace. And I learned it the hard way, that real life doesn't work like that. Contrary to what I just stupidly demonstrated, I have really-really, improved. I truly have. But seeing you after all these years...just talking to you...I want it to be like it used to be. When I made lame jokes at terrible moments, and you still laughed at them. I want to be able to share stuff with you. Talk to you about everything, and nothing; like we used to. I want it all back, and I just didn't know how to say all of this before now."

He took a deep breath after saying all this.

I kept staring wide-eyed at him. He was so close to me; looking so vulnerable, and handsome, and earnest, and nostalgic, that it was killing me.

It also reminded me of another night. When I was the vulnerable, earnest one. When I was the one who was brave enough to give him everything I had, my very heart. I gift-wrapped it, painstakingly. I even added a goddamned bow to the fancy wrapping.

And he returned it. Just not whole of it. The heart I got back was bruised, and aching, and imperfectly un-whole.

It had taken me years to mend it. To make it whole in my own way. To keep relying on nobody but myself, and my Allah for help. It hadn't been easy, having that kind of faith.

And now he was here; trying to mess it up once more.

Not again. Not ever again.

"I have to go." I shook my head. Rejecting his offering. I made a move to duck away from him, but his large hand came up to grasp my elbow firmly.

"Layla, please." His voice deepened as he cajoled, his dark eyes begging me for something I just wasn't strong enough to give anymore. "I will spend the rest of my life showing you how sorry I am for that one moment, but you have got to give me a second chance. I asked you to wait for me that night...I just want you to know that you don't have to wait anymore. I want you back, if you'll let me have you. I want it all back."

Not again.

Not. Again. Never. Again.

"How magnanimous of you." I replied woodenly, tugging uselessly at my elbow. "Let me go. Now."

"I can't let you go." He murmured, his grip tightening. And I knew that he wasn't just talking about my arm.

"Well. Try harder." I hissed, "You did it once. I'm sure you can manage it again."

Azaan's grip slackened at that, as if stung by my words. He wordlessly stepped aside as I made a move to leave. I glared sideways at him, and was unsurprised to see that he looked anything but defeated, as he helped me gather my car keys and wallet.

I didn't know whether to feel glad, or disappointed that he let me go again.

He went on to politely escort me to my car, opening doors for me, and generally being cryptically, expressionlessly, vague about his intentions now.

Something about his calmness, is reassuring me.

I have a feeling that he isn't going to give up so easily.

"There's no way I'm giving up so easily." He warned me as I stepped into my car. "You're not getting rid of me, yet."

I bit my tongue, to stop my snort of laughter. Even after six years, I'm attuned to his ways. Even after six years, the security, and reassurance that his mere presence brings to my life, is turning me into a puddle of bad choices.

This. This is why I need him to go away, and stay away.

I can get used to him in a heartbeat. He is like an old drug of choice (Not that I've ever tried any. But I imagine this is how it feels). He is familiar, and warm, and...mine. And so, so dangerous for me.

I watched him in the rear-view mirror as I drove away from the hotel driveway. His tall, well-built frame encased in his fitted grey shirt and jeans. His arms were crossed determinedly over his muscled chest, in that so familiar, just-you-wait-and-see, way.

As his figure grew smaller, and smaller, I thought over our predicament. Our issues.

If I want this project to be a successful business venture, then I have to be around him for the foreseeable future. Talk to him. Meet him. Interact with him. Pretend like he doesn't mean anything to me.

A selfish part of me wants to just throw the offer at his face. I have enough pride and prejudice inside me, to make Jane Austen jealous. Rejecting his offer now would be the easiest thing to do...But not the bravest. And certainly not the rightest.

Just then, my car's smart screen lit up with an incoming call from my assistant.

I pressed the recieve button, breathing deeply to clear away the tears, and confusion from my voice.

"Ma'am we have two situations on hand. I think you need to come in ASAP." Fahad's robotic voice seemed strained.

There were always 'Situations' happening. Fahad would never bother me during a meeting, unless this was an emergency.

"What's going on Fahad?" I asked firmly, making a sharp turn at the gymkhana crossing near the hotel. Hiraeth Home was a good twenty minutes drive away, near the old city area of Bahadurabad in Karachi. I loved the 1200 sq. yard plot we had turned painstakingly into a five-story complex, to accommodate the residents and staff. I always felt like a mother hen whenever I saw it. Or like a Mama bird, who had collected each individual straw to provide a nested shelter for her own.

"Well. Firstly, the warden let a-err-man sleep over near the shed area last night."

I frowned. "Why would she do that?" Hiraeth is a no-man zone. Aside from the few visiting staff that we hire, as guards or drivers. Most of the women at the home are traditional, tribal women, accustomed to purdah-observing, which means that they usually hide even their faces from men. So, I try to limit male presence inside the complex, in order to make them feel more at home.

"He claims to be an outcast from his family. They beat him up, nearly to death-something that I can vouch for, because he looked terrible. And this is before they made sure that his old employer at a government school wouldn't hire him."

"Ya Allah! What exactly did the guy do?"

"Well. He just...existed, Ma'am. Because-err-it would seem, that he is a--ahem--a trans-gendered person," Fahad seemed very uncomfortable even saying the term in front of me. "She-err-He comes from a respectable family, and community, so obviously they kicked him out when they realized what he was."

"Obviously." I muttered to myself. This is exactly what respectable families are supposed to do. Throw their trash away. Hide it where it won't ever dare to turn up again. Disassociate themselves with sub-human filth like trans, and homosexuals.

I have long since developed a certain immunity towards society's double standards. It doesn't anger, or surprise me anymore. I have also stopped trying to change other people's mindsets. It is kind of a lost cause at this point. I have realized the best shot I have of changing the world, is by keep on doing what I am doing. Eventually, someday, it is going to change the world in a bigger way...

At this point; I am numb. I am desensitized towards a lot of things, after the horrors I have seen. This is routine for me...

Well...A transgender is kind of a first...but we've had a gay person take shelter for a couple of nights before. I try not to discriminate over who is asking me for help. If they're human, and hurt, I usually take them in for a while until they can stand on their own feet. Permanent residence though is still restricted to women, due to limited resources.

"What's the other situation then?" I asked warily.

"An unconscious 14-year old, female, of Siraiki origin, it seems. She was found a few feet away from the guard's post, early in the morning. She had been bleeding then, and it was too late to save her--"

My heart clenched fearfully at his words. More pain. Awesome.

I sighed thinking about the funeral arrangements I'd have to make later.

"Inna Lillahe Wa Inna Ilahe Rajioon. Did you contact Edhi (welfare organization) for the morgue use, then?"

"She is still alive Ma'am." Fahad interjected. "I meant to say that it was too late to save her babies. They died before Mai (Resident Nurse/Mid-wife) could deliver them safely."

I uttered another prayer wordlessly. My protective instincts kicked into action immediately.

"Did you get her admitted to a hospital? Mai isn't qualified to handle a twin miscarriage!" I rattled off orders, not even a little bit shocked by the girls' age. A lot of girls living here have escaped abusive husbands, and child marriages. Many of them become mothers, when they were mere children themselves.

"She is stable now Ma'am, but she won't stop crying. She keeps holding onto-onto her--err--babies. She gets hysterical whenever we try to take them away from her. Only Mai can get close enough at this point, without freaking her out..."

My fingers clenched at the steering wheel, as I pushed the gas peddle.

"Just tell her to hold on. It'll be over soon...No pain lasts forever."

Author's Note:

Hi!! Salam!

What did you guys think of this chapter? :D eeeppp!!! I am so excited about the future!!!

So even though I'm saving the dedications for after the books ends, I will make an exception this time.

This one is dedicated to a very special reader, as a belated birthday gift.

peanutbutter_choc You're the one who gave me gifts! You absolutely adorable person, you! You're not only the best kind of reader, and supporter, but you're also one of the most big-hearted, funniest, not-boring-at-all friends that I have made on wattpad. :) <3 You're irreplaceable, you know that right?

I want you all to simply take a moment, and appreciate the stunning works of art she has created for me here! This beautiful cover in the description above, and the squee-worthy Quote-Art below! I have two more covers that I will attach on the next two chapters successively, so y'all can fangirl over them too! (I want to say that I'm the only one she makes covers for, buuuuut that's not true, because she has just started her own cutesie cover book, which you should definitely check out!!)

AREN'T THEY GORGEOUS??? <3 :'D

Don't forget to Vote and Comment!

Love.

-E.