"You know it had to happen one day, right?" Zaif's rough voice keeps coming back to me, and I clutch his abandoned guitar to my chest. 

It's been a few days since Zaif was arrested for un-lawful conduct, and use of undue force. 

After my heartfelt speech at the Bridal Couture Week, Musa didn't waste time getting back at us. His manly pride was hurt at the humiliation he'd received at the hands of a female. And he was making sure we knew that wasn't feeling all that charitable.

His lawyers are even now, challenging the DNA reports of his rape that I presented in court, in defense of Chandi. Musa's defense is that the reports are forged by the hospital, because apparently my family has been donating to that particular hospital's charity fund, and thus this creates a conflict of interest, and other legal jargon that Juju dumbed down for me. 

Daddy dearest is flying back to Pakistan, to get Zaif's sentence (5 years), lightened. Irked at having to pull some old political strings, he all but disowned me after my "Disgraceful stunt" at the BCW. 

Mama went into shock when she heard about Zaif. What with her being already in so much pain after surgery, Maria says that she has gotten worse, health-wise. Barely even getting out of her bed.

Azaan is the only bearable part of my life right now. That and the enormous amount of public support I've managed to get after my gatecrash at the fashion event. The media is having a field day, just playing my videos on loop. They've made me out to be some kind of Robin Hood-esque character for feminine rights. They're calling me "Superwoman", and "Iron Layla". 

HD photos of that day, splashed with my quotes are appearing across blogs, and tabloids. I can't keep track of the number of mixed hate and fan mail I've received since then. 

A radical religious group has declared me to be "A fallen Woman", and has condemned my anti-abuse sentiment. While a number of activist groups have extended invitations of honorary membership towards me. A local film director even approached me for film rights inspired by my life. The script was titled, 'Layla don't need no Majnun', much to Azaan and Shay's hilarity.

This reaction is so typical Pakistani. A melting pot of extremes and moderates. Liberals and Radicals. Political and Apolitical opinions, all screaming about what they think of me.

In this chaos of voices, I can't deny the power that media has. Musa used it to hurt me before, and now I'm fighting back through it too. I've given private interviews, and press conferences explaining my side of the story. 

But then Zaif happened. 

And I have nothing to say anymore. 

What exactly can I say anyways? 

"When he was 17, My brother asked our security guard to shoot his ex-best friend, because that friend used to molest me when I was a kid. And no, there's absolutely no way I can prove what he did to me. But I can assure you that he loves to brag about it when he's drunk. Also, my parents made a deal with the animal's family, that in exchange for some political support, and a hefty sum of money, they won't press charges against my brother. But now, they're obviously tired of playing under the table, and want to fight dirty....True story." 

Yeah. I don't think so. 

This is one place where Musa is clearly the victim, what with his useless right arm, and that fake tortured expression. 

'Lil? Mama's awake now. You wanna go in?' Maria emerges from Mama's recovery room in the private ward we've been secluded in. 

'Yeah.' 

Mama was sketching on a hospital-issued writing pad when I went in. A pair of reading glasses were perched on her nose. Grey roots were showing from beneath the auburn of her hair, and even with the simple hospital clothes and soft lighting, it made her look more graceful than I could ever hope to look with a deadly disease waging war against healthy cells in my body. 

A wave of pity and love washed over me, at the sight of her weak frame. 

"Sit." She absent-mindedly gestured to the sofa next to her bed. 

I ignored her, instead choosing to perch my hip right beside her on the bed. I tentatively reached my arm around her shoulders, and leaned in to peer into her notebook. 

She stiffened at my touch, relaxing after a breath. The charcoal pencil in her hand continued flying across the white emptiness of her canvas notebook. 

She was sketching an off-the shoulder jumpsuit. 

My jumpsuit. 

But she'd added a belt to it. Making it look glamorous in just a few strokes. 

"You should have worn a belt to cinch the silk in. You have the waist to pull it off. See, a belt would have nipped it in, right...here," She mused, without looking at me, gesturing at the sketch. "The yellow really set it off against your skin..." 

"Yeah well, someone well versed in fashion told me that I look my best in yellow." I mildly replied, deciding not to take her criticism to heart. I waited with bated breath for her to comment on the Walk, and my speech. Please say I did the right thing. Please. 

"You should really avoid cursing when you're in public, sweetheart, no matter how much anybody provoked you." She slanted her pencil, shading the crevices of the model's arms and neck. "Swear words are for people who don't have enough words to express themselves." 

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to release a few more curses in private. 

I spend weeks trying to make her proud, and the first words out of her mouth, are criticisms. 

"Why do you always do this?" I finally demanded, stepping away from her bed in anger. 

"Do what?", she asks politely. 

"Act like you're above human sentiments? Pretend not to care about people's opinions? Convince yourself that expressions of feelings are like the plague?" I raised a trembling finger towards her. "You're a fraud Mama! A fraud!" 

"Layla Hayat! Is this a tone you're supposed to take with your mother?" Mama narrowed her eyes at me, and for a second I felt like I was ten years old again. 

"Oh, but you are!" I argued hotly, "You're a fraud! Because you see, you pretend not to care, but you do care! You pretend to pull apart my flaws all the time, but then you're the one who's secretly proud of them. Why? Why do you do this to me? I have waited 25 years for you to tell me that you're proud of me. And when I finally hear you say it, it's on a freaking video, for a freaking kids fashion line! Is that the only way you can express yourself? Do I have to go through your sketchpads and your diaries to discover what you think of me and my choices? I've spent my entire life thinking I was a failure to your legacy. How could you just let me think..." My voice cracked at the end of my tirade, and I was satisfied to see that Mama's head was bowed over her notebook, the pencil hanging limp from her slender fingers. 

"You've always been difficult for me, Layla." She finally rasped out, clasping her hands prayer-like to her face. 

My heart broke a little at her words. Nothing Musa could have said or done to me, would have hurt me this much. It's true what they say about wounds inflicted by people close to us. The deeper the bond, the deeper the wound. 

After seeing that rare, emotional si de of her inside that design room's walls, I had hoped that it would bring her closer to me. In my eagerness to make her proud, I went to ridiculous lengths for that Fashion Walk. Did I not deserve a candid word of encouragement from her? an upfront expression of her real feelings perhaps?

"I cannot deal with how much I've failed you. From the moment you were in my womb, I've failed you." She began expressionlessly, "You probably don't know this, but...I started chain smoking shortly after Maria was born. Just---just too much stress at home, and work. I was smoking two-three packs a day. Even while I was pregnant with you, I would occasionally smoke when the craving became unbearable.  I knew that it was harmful for you. But I was just---I was just angry at your father for-for some reason, and I got deliberately careless. Maybe I wanted to hurt him, by hurting his child. Or maybe I just didn't care enough. I was a monster Layla. I was your first monster." 

I couldn't believe what she was saying. I've never seen Mama indulge in vices of any sort. She abhors substance abuse. And to think that she tried to harm me deliberately...it just seemed ridiculous. 

"I'm not sure if that's what caused it, but you were born almost three months before the due-date. You were a premature baby and the Doctors told me that I was supposed to be mentally prepared to--to lose you. And you were so tiny, Layla! you could've fit in the palm of my hands!" She held out her palm as if to indicate the size. "But you were so perfectly created, darling. I spent hours outside the incubator room, just staring at you. Willing you to live. Because I knew that I'd die inside if you didn't live."

"For the first few weeks, you couldn't even breathe on your own, so they had to continuously pump air into your tiny lungs. Your chest was bruised for months afterwards. Your father blamed me entirely for the situation--not that I blamed him--and we were never quite the same after that..."

"You see, we'd been going through one of the worst phases of our marriage, and when we found out that I was pregnant, then-well, both of us thought that a new baby could be the one to fix us." Mama chuckled humorlessly. "Ha! fix us?! How could you fix something that never was?" 

"I quit smoking altogether, after you, and I vowed to be the most perfect mother ever. I remember falling in love with you, the first time I held you in my arms. The first time I actually touched you." My mother's stoic expression wavered then, her lips trembled, and I saw a solitary tear make its way down her cheek. "You-you were almost a month old by that time. Oh Layla, you were so perfect in my arms! You have always been, so, so perfect." 

I blindly sat back in the chair beside her bed, staring blankly at my mother having a complete meltdown after decades of indifferent coolness. 

"You know that Zaif has his learning disability, and Maria has her own...imperfections, and I love them to death, regardless. But you. You were like a tiny perfect little fairy. My Laylee. You were so perfect. An undeserved gift for me." She halts during her sentences, wiping the moisture from her eyes. "I was supposed to protect you, and I failed. I have as much to blame for your past, as the-the molester himself.  I failed you. Even after vowing to myself that I wouldn't. And then I couldn't bear to be around you, and be reminded of what I'd done to you. Oh my Allah. It killed me, Laylee. The guilt. I wanted to rip my own heart out, and replace your broken one...My perfect Laylee..." 

"Oh Mama." My face crumpled, and I engulfed her in a hug, letting her weep without stopping. She manically clutched at my shirt, bringing me closer to her.

This was the first time we were talking about what happened to me. After all these years of walking on egg-shells around each other, we were finally addressing the metaphorical elephant in our lives. 

"It wasn't your fault, Mama. You couldn't possibly have known about it. He was so crafty and manipulative like that. There's nothing you could have done." 

"I-I should have warned you earlier! I should have taken more time off work to pay attention to whom you kids hung around with! I should have noticed your odd behavior around elders. I should have..." 

"That's almost blasphemous, Mama. Imagining different alternatives, is like undermining Allah's own plan. Whatever happened, would have happened, no matter how you might imagine otherwise. Because it was destined to be that way. You have got to forgive yourself, and move on. Like I have." I kissed her hair, smoothing the crisp hospital bed sheet under her. "Maybe you couldn't save me, but you could have helped me heal. You could have made me feel more comfortable about my scars. Those were things that actually were in your power. Just like this moment. You have it in your power to tell me what I need to hear from you the most." 

She lifted my hand to her lips, pressing a teary kiss on it. 

"How did you become so wise?" 

"I don't know. Must be some of Daddy's genes." I tried joking, and she laughed weakly. 

"You're so beautiful, my daughter. But more importantly, you have a beautiful heart. I have no idea who you get it from, because your father and I simply don't have that kind of goodness in us..." Mama whispered, pausing to breathe deeply, lifting her dark eyes to my own. "And I'm so proud of you, for that speech you made, that I can hardly find words big enough to justify my feelings. But I'll try anyways, because I owe you that much." 

I couldn't help smiling through the tears at this almost alien-like display of emotions from my Mother. 

"Thank you Mama." I replied softly. "Can't take too much credit for it. The whole team was spectacular. Turns out, you have a pretty loyal squad at hayat's." 

"You're an inspiration to all women out there. Including me." She added happily. "And the whole execution plan was flawless. I never imagined doing such a bold ramp walk. It was poignant and visually stunning. And you were the Queen in that dress, sweetheart. I thought my heart would burst open with pride, when Maria showed me your video..."

 Somehow I'd opened up a dam of expressive compliments... 

"Dad thinks I should apologize for singling Musa out, in that speech. He says he'll never speak to me again if I don't." I sighed. 

"Well in that case, beta, do bear in mind, that I'll never speak to you again, if you do apologize for singling out that cretin. He totally had it coming." Mama sniffed angrily, muttering some choice words about Musa and my Dad under her breath. 

We spoke for hours after that, worrying over Zaif, deciding plans for my projects, and just exchanging meaningless gossip about my time in Hayat's. Then eventually, our talk turned to me. And more importantly; my love-life. 

I got the shock of my life, when Mama seemed to know about Azaan breaking my heart all those years ago. 

"It was pretty obvious that the boy left you hurt. I may not be an expressive mother, but I'm not a clueless one either. I noticed when you were happy with him, and suddenly, when you were not. I put two and two together." She shrugged, "The important question at the moment is; what the hell is he doing here now?" 

Making me crazy, that's what. 

"He says he loves me." 

Mama opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then shut it again. 

"I believe him." I added. "But no matter how much I pretend that I'm past our old fight, I would be lying if I said that I don't want to hurt him a little bit for hurting me then. When I'm with him, it's like he never left. When we're together it's just: the best feeling ever! But then alone with my thoughts, I just feel like I shouldn't forgive him so easily. What he did was pretty awful. He tried to play God with our lives. He just arrogantly assumed that I'd keep waiting for him even after he turned me down. And even now, Mama, he is so chill about it! It's like he knows I won't find anyone better than him! He is- He is just so ughhhh sometimes!!" 

I was fuming by the time I was done ranting about Azaan. Mama raised her eyebrows silently at this. 

"You know why he thought you'd wait for him?" she asked gently. 

"Because I'm a surly, incompatible female, who hardly has other romantic options falling at her feet?" I replied dully. 

"No. Because you're hopelessly in love with the boy." Mama's snort of matter-of-factness made me choke on air. 

"Mama!" I sputtered. 

"What? I saw it years ago, honey. And I can see it now. You're in love with him. And the smug bastard knows it." She chuckled, closing her eyes tiredly as she laid back on the prop of her pillow. "He also knows that you will forgive him, in your own good time. Because that's the curse of being a woman in love. We can forgive our men for the most heinous of crimes." A shadow of hurt crossed her eyes. 

"You never forgave Dad for the second wife." I pointed out. 

"You have no idea how much I forgave him before that, Layla. I have... Again and again..." She bites her lips indecisively, as if she doesn't want to say more. 

"What qualifies as forgivable sins?" I whispered. 

"I'll tell you what should be unforgivable. His faithlessness. If the boy cheated on you, then he will do it again. And again. He was never yours to forgive, in that case. He was never yours..." She burst out passionately, and understanding dawned on me. 

"Did Dad...before the second wife...?" 

Mama turned her face away from me, refusing to answer my query. 

"I don't want to talk about it with you. A child should always be able to respect her father, no matter what." 

I couldn't believe Mama's life-choices, right then. 

"How could you still stay married to him, after all that? How could you even bear to keep his name after that?" 

"I was selfish. And weak, Laylee. Perhaps it was cowardly of me, but I couldn't bear to be a single mother. After years of working in the social field, you know better than I, just how cruel our society is to, divorced, single women. You see, I was a woman running a business alone, in a male-dominated world full of scavengers who love to prey on people in my position. I took the easy way out...taking your Father's name as a cloak of protection against all the filth in this world." 

The irony was incredible. Here I was working to empower women, and my own mother, an incredibly successful, talented, educated, career-oriented female was confessing to bowing to society's expectations of femininity. 

"It's so ironic. isn't it? My obsession with my career. I assumed that the higher up I climbed, the more untouchable I'd become. In fact, I wanted to reach a point where I'd no longer need anyone." She seems old and exhausted when she sighs, "Turns out; being untouchable isn't all that amazing. Look at me. 54 and dying. Married yet lonely."

I shook my head in disbelief. 

"So what? I should just forgive him, because at least he didn't cheat on me? And because I don't want to die alone?" 

"NO!" Mama almost yanked the IV out of her hand, with the force of her denial. "No. Honey. You're not weak like me. Times are not the same anymore, that much you've taught me. So, you shouldn't be with someone, just because you have to. You should be with them, if you want to. If you desire to with all your heart. Not because you have no other choice. But because other choices just don't matter to you, when you're with him." 

I couldn't help remembering all those times, I needed Azaan. And I realized that I could have done without him. Had done without him. But I simply didn't want to do without him...

"You're more beautiful, stronger than I ever gave you credit for."  

"I don't like girls. Just one of them..." 

"I'll wait for you. I'll wait forever for you."

"I'm so in love with you, it's stupid." 

"You know Laylee. The man who deserves to have you, is the one who thinks he doesn't." Mama nodded sagely, tapping her fore-finger against her temple, something she does, whenever she wants me to remember her quotable quotes. 

"That could be any jackass out there!" I laughed at that, impulsively burrowing my head against her neck. 

"I have a feeling you don't fall in love with just any jackass..." 

We were quiet for a while after that. Her fingers stroked the hair at my temple, and I breathed in Mama's signature scent, Chanel No. 5, almost masked by the sharp anti-septic odor of the hospital gown she was wearing. 

"Laylee?"

"Yeah?" 

"Once I'm done with my treatment, I'm going to change something big in my life." 

"Are you going to get a nose-job?" I joked, ducking to avoid her retaliatory smack. 

"No. Not a nose job." Mama smiled contentedly at me. "I'm going to get a divorce." 

"Sounds like a plan to me." 

.....................

Author's Note: 

Hi!

Okay, so I know you didn't have Azzy here, but this is sort of a transition-ish chapter, and I felt that the exchange between mother and daughter was too pivotal, to not explore in a proper chapter, AND it was becoming too detailed to simply fit in anywhere else...

Why am I even explaining myself?

I'm the boss here. And you get what you get. Huehue. 

jk. 

The boss are my friends here who have just incredibly talented lil' minds! 

If you can view the amazing sketch that Meu_Rae made for me. Yep. That's Layla slaying at the fashion walk! 

*Squeals* Amazing na? 

Now take a look at some close up pictures of the drawing: 

Also, check out these amazing covers that xxDianneWillsxx made for this book: 

Le wild Emma Watson appears <3 

VOTE AND COMMENT GUYS!  Your NON-SILENT support is valued, and appreciated. :) 

See you sooner than soon. 

;)

Promise. 

-E.