"Mr. Malik wants to know when you're free for a lunch-date." Fahad pops the question on his third visit to my room.

Ever since I started ignoring Azaan's non-business related texts, he has been hounding my employee with ridiculous requests. Last week he wanted to know if my favorite color was still black. I nearly fired Fahad for impertinence when he asked me that one.

It's been a couple of weeks since we finalized our business plans, and officially started our own brand of ethnic crafts, called 'Hunar' (Meaning 'Skill' in Urdu).

Surpassing my expectations, Azaan has been an excellent business partner so far. He makes good suggestions, and has incredible solutions for our inventory related problems. He is respectful, and courteous to our staff whenever he visits, and he has already made friends with most of the old ladies on my pay-roll. Mai regularly (suspiciously) praises him in front of me, and our warden Hanifa, has invited him over for our mess-lunch way too many times for my liking. He is slowly insinuating himself into my life, and the people in it, so seamlessly that it seems like he was always here.

For the first couple of days, I was glad that he was being very politely cheerful about my rejection. I thought he realized the futility of his charm on me. I thought he was ready to give up.

I was wrong.

Pretty soon the flowers started arriving (Two dozen bouquets at a time). Lilies and carnations. My favorite.

I usually tear up the notes he likes to attach to them, but sometimes Shay pinches them, just to read them out loud, and annoy me on his behalf.

"Remember that time I ruined your favorite shawl?

You forgave me a moment later.

Remember that time I ate all the purple mentos to piss you off?

You forgave me a day later.

Remember that time I called drone attacks a necessary evil, and we fought?

You forgave me a week later.

Remember that time I was stupid enough to ruin what we had?

It's been six years, Nightlife. Please forgive me."

Shay 'awws' and 'OMG's herself over them.

They make me cry when she's not around.

And then af few days later, he decided to fill up my office with approximately 5000 colorful helium balloons. Not just any balloons though. They were custom printed with his dimpled grinning face, and the words 'Miss Me Yet?' plastered under it. Everywhere I looked, his dimpled mug was staring at me.

My staff and residents were wildly amused.

I wasn't.

"Actions win wars, sweetheart. Not words; actions." He informed me when I called up to threaten him with a restraining order. "My words in particular, have the combined worth of a tissue paper at the moment, so I'm just trying to show you with actions that I mean business. And that I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You should have thought of this when you decided to fall in love with me..."

"I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU ANYMORE! YOU IDIOT!" I yelled back in exasperation.

"Wrong. You just think that you're not in love with me anymore. I know that you are. How could you not be? I'm extremely lovable." He is grinning through the phone. Ass.

"Stop with the gifts, Azaan. I mean it. I have a reputation at Hiraeth and I don't want you to ruin it."

"I will stop with the flowers in exchange for answers to two questions." He says thoughtfully after a pause.

My eyes narrowed at the request.

"What question?"

"Why aren't you in a relationship yet?"

My throat constricted.

Because you ruined me for all other men. They don't make me laugh like you did. They don't make me feel safe when I'm around them. They don't look at me like I'm more than my family name, or my inheritance. They don't know me, and they don't even want to...not like you wanted to. And worst of all; they don't make me weak just by smiling, or breathing, or existing. I was ruined a long time ago. And it's all your fault.

"Because when you screwed up six years ago; you gave me a truck full of trust issues. I don't want, or need a man in my life anymore, thank you very much."

"Bullshit. Try again. Why aren't you in a relationship yet?" He drawled after a pause.

"I don't owe you any explanations. I just told you the truth. Believe it or not. I don't care." I huffed, "Contrary to what the entire desi community believes; not every 25-year-old woman wants to get married, and bear children to satisfy her emotional needs. Some of us have our careers, passions to fulfill them."

"Bullshit again. We'll keep on trying until I hear what I want to hear." He added cheerfully. "In the meantime, my second question; will you ever unblock me on Facebook? I have some ideas about Hunar that I want to throw around on the project group page. It is easier to connect with everyone on their."

I sighed, tapping on my cellphone screen. "There. Just sent you a friend request. "

"Perfect. Now excuse me while I stalk your past five years." he informed me before hanging up.

Then for the next hour, my cellphone kept pinging up with Facebook notifications of him liking every single picture I had ever been tagged in, every news article I had been featured in, every TV interview, every magazine cover I had been a cover story of...

I couldn't control the snort of shocked laughter when I saw that he 'loved' my Birthday date on the Timeline.

On a whim, I decided to text him;

Me: Did you just like my birthday? creep.

M. Azaan Malik: I sure did. I love the fact that you were born. In fact, I ought to send over a thank-you card to your parents. They did humanity a favor when they decided not to opt for birth control...

Me: ....what even O_O

Me: You need psychological treatment.

M. Azaan Malik: I need my Layla back.

I ignored his text. Feeling confused about my feelings.

Typical condition really. Ever since he came back into my life.

On the one hand, I am annoyed that he is slowly creeping out of his business-partner role. And on the other, it makes me anxiously yearn for more...something. Something that I have no business yearning for! I am an independent, goal-oriented young woman, who doesn't need a man to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, just to feel worthy about herself (at least that's what I keep telling myself).

To top it all off, the man is turning my robotically formal employee into a wretched, messenger-boy crushed between a rock and a hard place.

"Mr. Malik wants to know when you're free for a lunch-date." Fahad repeats his question now, interrupting my daily accounts tallying.

"I'll be free when hell freezes over." I snapped back, turning back to the financial proposal Peeshay had just emailed me.

"Are you sure you want me to quote you verbatim?" Fahad intones expressionlessly.

Dear God, the man is like a Windows dialog box.

"Are you sure you don't want to save changes?"

"Are you sure you want to delete all images?"

"Fahad." I gritted. "Can you make him disappear? You've never failed to do anything I've ever asked of you. Surely you have relatives in the mafia business, or the ISI who can make him go away for the next few days?"

Fahad's eyes widen thoughtfully before he replies.

"Well, I do have a third cousin whose wife's brother is friends with the leader of Chotu gang. I can ask him if any henchmen are available for hire..."

I blinked for long moments, hoping that he is kidding, but it doesn't seem likely...the man wouldn't recognize a joke if it knock-knocked him in the face.

"Also, your mother called while you were meeting with the vendors. She wants you to call her back."

Oh crap.

I completely forgot to visit Hayat HQ yesterday, like I had promised her. While Mama's current CEO is handling things really well in her absence, she wants me to step in and make sure things are up and running for the upcoming BCW (Bridal Couture Week). Mama has always ran a close-knit ship. It took a lot of convincing on her board member's part to convince her to hire a CEO from outside the family. It is safe to say that trust issues, is an inherited trait for me...

She had been hoping that by the time I get my Business Degree, I'd be able to fill in the position, that was my birthright. Like a weird, haute couture crown being thrust at an undeserving, unwilling heir to the Hayat Throne.

It was sad really, that among all of her kids, I was the only one qualified for the job, yet also the one, who was most unwilling to take over it. Maria, with all her artistic acumen doesn't have the head for business, and her energies are mostly spent at a local hearing-impaired art-school that she is sponsoring.

I have had long, biting arguments with my mother, where I defended my own choices. She thinks I'm running this NGO, out of some misplaced sense of Privileged Guilt. She thinks (in not so many words) that I'm being an ungrateful brat for turning down a chance to run a real business.

I haven't been placid either. I let her know exactly what I think of her own career. Female objectification, and glorification of consumerism, in a country where more than half of the population is living below poverty line, are just a few of the many arguments I have placed at her door for running a Fashion House.

It took a while for us to get over that particular discussion.

The bottom-line is; we stay out of each others' businesses. Literally.

I swallowed the knot of worry, and fear when I thought about Mama's health. It must have pained her a lot to ask me to step in, and look over Hayat's in her stead. My mother is a very proud woman.

In the next few days, her doctor will confirm the diagnosis of the cold spot they had discovered in her breasts during a routine biopsy. There's a chance of the tumor being cancerous. At this moment, I don't know how I'll deal with anything as big as this...

No matter our disagreements, I do love Mama, and this impending confirmation is killing me from the inside.

I have been praying so much for her. Even more than I usually pray for my girls.

I am aware that not all prayers work. God knows I am aware. But some of them do come true...

Remember those 'situations' from a few weeks ago?

Well, we managed to find the Trans-guy (Asim), employment as a cafeteria cook, at an NGO that my friend Ghazala runs for burn victims rehabilitation. He lives in a tiny, run-down room attached to the main building over there...but it could have been the Ritz Carlton, if you judge by the way he was crying and thanking me for the small favor I did him.

There's something that nothing in the world can replace as the most valuable thing you can give another human being. It's called respect. Sometimes, it should be given, even when it's not earned. Sometimes it serves to increase the worth of the giver, rather than the receiver.

Anyways...

The 14-year old from Bahawalpur is one of the prayers I'm still working on. She is horribly unwell, and mentally distressed. She calls herself "Chandi" which means silver in Urdu. Her own grasp of the Urdu language is broken, at best. She belongs to a Siraiki tribe from Northern Punjab, and hails from the city of Bahawalpur. This much I could understand through the hesitant translation that one of our older residents, Shama had tried to do for me.

Chandi ran from her home when she was two months into her pregnancy. It's because her husband's family, suspected that the child wasn't his.

"They were right. The child wasn't his. It was of her husband's boss. The astounding part is that, her husband was well aware of this fact, because he's the one who willingly rented her out to the landlord boss, like a common harlot." Shama explained to me, looking over at the tiny, dark-eyed girl, pitifully. "Her husband is nearly twice her age, and works for one of the biggest land-owners in the area. She isn't naming his name now, but it would seem that the boss is someone very influential in those parts. He is practically hailed as a god over there. The lecher has a penchant for younger girls..."

Subsequently, when Chandi's mother-in-law found out about the illegitimate pregnancy, she chose to ignore her own son's role in the scenario, and began starving the poor girl instead; locking her up inside dingy toilets for days on end. She'd beat her up, in hopes that Chandi would lose her child (Children to be specific).

"I just wanted someone to play with." She whispers brokenly once she woke up from the sedatives we had to give her, after she lost her babies. Her hands keep returning to her now-flat-stomach, as if she is missing the weight she painstakingly carried for six months. "If I had to live with..live with those monsters...then I wanted to have someone to play with. They were my babies. My friends. I ran away for them. I didn't go to my parents' village, because I know he'd find me there. Him...and his lord (boss). I failed though, because I still lost them. I am a bad mother. I lost them!!"

It is incredible, a mother's love. Incredible that she is able to love something borne out of hatred, dishonor, and humiliation. Incredible that she suffers wordlessly for herself, but for them, her inner lioness awakens, and motivates her to do a lot of insanely brave things...like escaping to an unknown city, hundreds of miles away, like living under bridges and deserted houses for months, like stealing scraps of food for survival. Like fighting off a drunk policeman's overtures, and eventually landing up wounded in front of hiraeth...Remarkable.

Right now, our on-site therapists, and caretakers are trying their best to get her out of depression, but it seems like she still needs more time to get over her loss.

'Azaan Malik Calling' flashed on my phone screen, jerking me out of my reverie. I sighed.

He is like a flu virus, this man...annoying, and tenacious.

"What?" I snapped after pressing the answer button.

"Assalamualikum." His deep voice boomed out cheerfully.

I growled out a reply.

"How are we this morning? Bearish? or Bullish?" He asked sweetly.

"I'd say stab-you-in-you-throat-ish." I muttered.

"I was talking about the stock market."

"I wasn't. What do you want now Azaan? tired of harassing my assistant yet? Want to grovel at my feet some more? Want to throw some more money at me? Twitter requests? Instagram? Snapchat? Lunch, Dinner, Breakfast invitations? What?" My temper shoots through the roof, whenever he is around me! I hate that! I hate that I behave this way towards him, and then end up agonizing guiltily over every word, for days on end.

"Your assistant is scarily harassment-proof. Like, are you sure he isn't a cyborg? I'm planning on developing one of those in the future, and I want to study Fahad as a specimen." He mused lightly, not taking offense at my words, as usual. It's like he is made of insult-repellent rubber; they just roll off of him!

"I'm hanging up in two seconds, I don't have time for this nonsense." I warned him.

"It's 10 pm on a Friday, Hayat. Take a chill pill. Relax. Send Fahad back into his charging pod. You two work way too hard."

"Hanging up."

"Calm down, Madam President. I come bearing gifts." He laughed his deep, masculine laugh, making my stomach flutter.

"What sort of gift?" I inquired suspiciously.

"You'll have to visit my offices for that. They're not too far away. You know Harbor Front right? We're just across the street from Engro."

"Not a chance." I replied acidly, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have three organizations to run."

I hung up in the middle of his protest.

A moment later, my phone beeped.

*Azaan Malik sent you a picture message*

I ignored it, turning back to my work.

The phone beeped once again.

My eyes kept straying to the lit up phone screen. Distracted.

After ten minutes, I gave up on pretending to work, and clicked on the image, knowing full well, I was going to regret it...

...and nearly had a heart attack.

It was a selfie.

Of the shirtless variety.

Yep. I am talking smooth tanned skin, and well defined pectorals. I am talking biceps, and triceps, and I-lift-heavy-things-for-fun type selfie.

The only thing stopping it from becoming a douchebag gym level selfie was the beautiful animal sitting on him.

An adorable, black shorthair kitten was snuggled up against his neck, and both cat and owner were pouting wide-eyed at me. Heads tilted, large dark eyed staring beseechingly at me.

Me: "WTF? Did you just send me a shirtless selfie? "

M. Azaan Malik: "Oh yeah. Did it work?"

Me: "In getting you blocked from my friend-list again? Totally."

M. Azaan Malik: "Did it work in changing your mind? Will you come over now?"

Me: "Nope. I am sending this to the Express Tribune. Have fun explaining it to your mother."

M. Azaan Malik: "Go ahead. :D I'm sure the female population will thank you for it. Hot guy with a cat. I'm positively doable in that picture, and you know it. ;)"

I stifled my snort of laughter at his utter lack of humility.

Me: "Cringing so hard right now."

M. Azaan Malik: "Please come over tomorrow, Hayat. Please. I really want to show you something!"

I noticed that he stopped calling me Nightlife since that day in the restaurant. I hated myself for missing that. A heavy sigh escaped me.

Me: "I'm not ready yet, Azaan. I am not ready for whatever you think is happening between us. I don't want to be your friend anymore. I want us to be professional, and courteous, but beyond that, I don't want to see you, or hang out with you like nothing happened. I am not strong enough for that. Just let me be."

M. Azaan Malik: "FYI. I don't want to be your friend either. I tried it once, and I didn't like it all that much."

I stared at the screen, unblinking. I couldn't explain the wave of desolation coursing through me. So this is how it ends?...again? How could I ever have thought that he was interested in me again?...He just wanted to get close to me once more, so he can watch me get hurt again....

M. Azaan Malik: "I want to be so much more than that."

My heart sped up at this cheesiness. Stupid organ. My throat was suddenly too dry.

M. Azaan Malik: "This isn't college. We're not adolescents anymore. More importantly; I am not a confused little piece of shit anymore. I know what I want, and I won't rest until I convince you that you want it too."

Me: "And what would that be?"

M. Azaan Malik: "I'll let you figure it out on your own. :)"

M. Azaan Malik: "Go home, Layla. Get some rest. I'll bother your employees later."

I shut off my phone in agitation, returning to my spreadsheets. After another half hour staring blindly at the data cells, I shut off my laptop, and began wrapping up the work.

How do I handle him now? When he is being so blatant about what he wants? I wish I could somehow go back to a Pre-Azaan-Malik time in my life, when everything in my life was easy, and orderly, and sensible.

Truth is that he is reminding me of something I have feared for a while now. He is reminding me of the fact that nobody in the world affects me like he does. For years after falling apart, my sister, my best friend, were all adamant on me moving on with someone else. They wanted me to be open towards other prospective partners.

"You'll find someone better, Layla."

"You'll fall so madly in love with someone, that you won't remember him."

"He won't matter to you anymore."

These ideas are kinda bullshit, because it never happened. I never forgot him, or got over him. And not for a lack of trying.

I have met, and even considered several men in the past few years. Trainers I worked with. Executives that I met up with for donations. Respectable, successful, dashing men, that my Mama subtly introduced me to, at her many events...and I felt nothing.

I tried so hard to fall for this one guy, I got really close to during a training session for Hiraeth. Hussain was smart, handsome, sweet....and so utterly boring.

I knew he'd be a good partner. But I also knew that I couldn't spend my life with someone, while I didn't have my whole heart to give them. And so I decided to wait some more. To heal up. Perhaps wait until I find someone who'd make me forget that I ever met Azaan Malik.

I never found that person.

Because guess what? People aren't meant to be replaced. They are meant to live on in our memories, as trophies of old events. As reminders of what they once meant to us.

My landline phone screeched shrilly at that moment; pulling me out of my pensive mood.

"Assalamualikum." I answered, twisting around to stare at the Analog wall-clock in my office.

11:47 PM.

Why would anyone call here so late? This is way past office hours.

"Miss Hayat. My name is Ghiyas Alvi, and I'm an attorney representing the National League Party."

My blood ran cold at the name of the political party. The man at the other end sounded brusque. Business-like.

I breathed out evenly, without replying.

"You have something that belongs to my clients."

"I think you need to be less vague." I swallowed, trying not to let old nightmares overwhelm me.

"Very well then. I'll be blunt. You have a woman that belongs to us." his tone was deadpan. "She is going by the name Chandi at present. 15-year-old female. Siraiki..."

"What does she mean to your...clients?"

"She is the wife of one of Musa Shah's most dedicated employees. I'm assuming you're familiar with Mr. Shah. He is the VP of our party..."

Fear turned to seething anger at his choice of words, and at the mention of his name.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir. But did you just imply that your clients own a human being? I wasn't aware that slave trade is legal in Pakistan. But then again, as a lawyer I suppose you'd know better."

I heard a sharp intake of breath, before the tone of his voice changed completely.

"Consider this a warning, Bitch. We will use legal grounds of abduction of minors against you if you don't peacefully hand over the woman to us. And that's the most civilized part of what we will do to you."

A vision of Chandi's dull, vacant eyes, and bruised up body flashed across my eyes, and I could feel something snap inside of me.

"You will have her back when I'm dead." I hissed before disconnecting the phone.

My head pounded with the surrealism of it.

Musa Shah is the landlord who impregnated his employee's young wife.

Two decades later, the monster is still managing to make life miserable for the people I love.

I'm not an innocent little idiot anymore, though. This time, I will fight back. I will scream until he backs off. I will raise hell if I have to...

I picked up my phone, and dialed the number of someone I can trust with my own life, and with my girls' lives. Someone who will fight this with me, like this is their own fight.

"Hello? Layla?"

"I need your help."

Author's Note:

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!!!

Thank you for being so, so patient, and allowing me to get over my crazy weeks, in peace! (Kinda). you guys are golden, yo. :*

Anyhoo. This is largely unedited, so corrections are welcome!

Let me know what you thought of it, please? :)

Ohh. One more thing: I changed the 8-years to 6 years, for the "Separation", because the years were messing up my plot (and possible future story plots).

Stay strong and beautiful. Pray for the women who face injustice everyday in the name of honor, and tribal culture.

Yours.

-E.

PS: Cover in description, courtesy Peanut. <3