𝕿hwack!

The tennis racket swung across with brute force, smacking the ball across the court. Azaan returned the serve, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline, sweat dotting his forehead. I reached out and shot the ball back with more force, letting the pent-up energy in me take charge.

I didn't remember a lot about Asfand before middle school, other than he was just there.

Once when we were little, we would have been seven, maybe - our families were in Monaco sharing a yacht. We'd docked, and our parents had decided to lounge at a beachside bar while we played on the shore and I fell off. That was one of my earliest real vivid memory of Asfand before we got to middle school - him diving in, and pulling me up to the surface. "I've got you," he had told me as he dragged me out of the water. He'd carried me back to the shore. Dumped me in Taimoor's arms.

To this day I didn't know why he jumped in. Why he'd bothered. No one else had. Not even my brothers who were supposed to be watching me.

And it just fucking figured that after all this time, he'd look the way that he did somehow. The same, but better in every way. I'd successfully avoided most pictures of him, Taimoor had been notoriously touchy about his friends, and the only times I'd (mistakingly) looked him up over the years, his accounts were private. But all the things that needled me so thoroughly were still there in all their glory.

How was he here? Why was he here? Did Taimoor know? Why now? After all those years of radio-like silence...

Thwack!

"You don't have to kill me Nia," seeing that he wasn't going to win today, Azaan gave up, throwing his hands in the air, tapping the racket on his hip, and jogging towards me.

"You'll be pretty hard to kill with a tennis ball."

He surveyed me. "Not from the way you were hitting it."

"You've lost your touch."

"You would think you'd go easy on your favorite brother," he whistled under his breath, picking up and rolling a towel around his neck.

"That's what you think," grabbing one of the Gatorade bottles, I sucked on the top and drank the liquid down to cool myself off. Sweat trickled down my face. My muscles burned.

Azaan stepped over one of the chairs and spritzed some water into his mouth, sitting beside me. "Don't be like that. Last night was hard for all of us."

"Didn't seem like it," he grimaced at the bite in my tone. "You were having a grand old time. So was our dear old brother, happily stuck to his wife like a magnet."

"Okay, I'm not going to touch that. I'm just trying to say I get it. You miss Taimoor bhai. But he left us..." he wasn't telling me something I didn't already know, but I wilted a little all the same. "He's up in the mountains, a recluse, doing God knows what. Maybe you shouldn't take out your frustration on me?"

"Azaan... I'm really not in the mood for this conversation."

"Nia..."

"Ma'am?" a hesitant voice dragged my attention from the verbal lashing my younger sibling was about to receive. If Azaan had any idea the actual shit going on all over my head, sliming its underbelly, he'd huddle under his bed every morning refusing to come out. I was like a duck. From the surface, I looked unbothered and serene. Floating around and enjoying life.

Underwater, I was working hard to stay afloat.

"Yes, Baila?" I met the steady dark gaze of my personal assistant as she shrank into herself, her shoulders curving in. One of these I'd stop scaring them away. One of these days, they'd stay.

"Your parents have asked for you to join them for dinner," she paused, her lips pursed as she contemplated the best way to proceed with the next sentence. "In formal attire."

A sick feeling of dread curdled up. Once heavily involved, our parents had been in and out of our lives since Azaan was born, leaving us to be raised by our nannies. A text here and there, a random call, or a personal visit if there was an important event. Even then, my mother was always staring longingly out the windows as if she'd rather have been anywhere else while my father made small attempts at conversation before he'd just shake his head in dismay and give up when those attempts weren't met with any level of enthusiasm.

The once revered Mughal pair did not enjoy one another, each other's company, or being in the same room without a third person present to break up the inevitable fight.

Even physically present in the same house, they spent more time wrapped up in their resentment of each other, to the point that it took center stage in our lives - than actually care about the well-being of their kids. Sometimes, I even considered if they even remembered they had children.

We weren't the 'family dinner' type of family. There were no impromptu family dinners of any sort. However, we were a 'crisis resolution' kind of family - when, and there really wasn't an if about this, any of us did something extremely scandalous, they'd show up. Unannounced and unwelcome. Knowing my luck and how everything was turning out for me, my exit last night could be considered something extremely scandalous.

Azaan let out a low whistle and scuttled back, throwing his stuff on the court.

"I'm out. If they ask, I was never here."

Great. Wonderful. "Knew I could always count on you little brother."

Mocking me, he gave a one-fingered salute and skipped away. "You know it!"

༻❂༺

At ten to eight, I followed a carved marble column up with my eyes, trying to make out the designs on the far-away ceiling. Runes or maybe floral wreaths, it was hard to tell, I'd have to ask Daada Jaan. Out of all of us, he was the only one who knew Mughal Manor and all its many mysteries. A couple of dozen meters down in the opposite direction was an opening in the hallway that had different types of columns on one side and another kind on the other. Who in the world had the time to design all of this?

Once I stepped up to the columns, finger-tracing the gilded work, the space opened up to a large courtyard. Enjoying the early evening April breeze, I started to tramp through the gardens on the east side of the manor, taking the long route.

The two men at the entrance nodded, before making way for me to pass through and I stepped into the gloom, heart in my throat.

"Zeenia, come look at this palette for the summer line. Mrs. Zia is waiting for my opinion," my mother didn't glance up from her work as I entered my parents' dining room but lifted a hand to wave me over.

Already exhausted, I went to the sideboard and poured myself an iced tea from the crystal carafe of drinks nestled into the ice bucket alongside a gorgeous bouquet of lilies. Stroking a finger over a petal before, I took my flute to where my mom sat bent over the illustrations on her lap.

"Colors are good," I sipped and looked over her shoulder as she held up the swatches for my inspection. "but there's too much sparkle. Looks too much like what she did last year with the '21st-century princess' theme."

"I disagree. This looks like a newer version of the Valentino collection."

"No, it definitely looks like..."

"I'll tell her how much I liked her sketches," I bit my tongue to stop the sharp retort. "You look tired Shehzi. Are you not sleeping well?"

Resentment burnt in my lungs - Shehzi was a play on the words Shehzadi, something my grandmother had dubbed me after I was born. However, after her passing my mother and father were the only ones who called me that, and I loathed it. "I'm fine."

Her fingers slid beneath one of my dress straps, hiking it higher up my shoulder. "It looks like you've lost weight, too. Maybe we should send you back to that specialist. What was his name?"

"No," I said quickly, slipping away from her hold, my heel pressing into the step behind me. I cleared my throat as she frowned, clearly confused.

"Oh good, you're here," now he was here? And without the clingy wife? Still, dressed in a suit? Was my early exit last night really that big of an issue?

"Why are you here?" giving him my best glare from the back of the dining chair, I bypassed Altamash and delivered an obligatory kiss on my father's cheek. He reached down, patting my cheek absently, his eyes clouded like always. Probably thinking about how he could get away from us this time.

"I live here," bristling internally, my lips curled up in an insincere smile. There was no point in feeling insulted. Altamash talked to everyone as though they were a small child or a dog; he had since we were little. While I might have understood that it was just the way he was, but his preferred method of communication was already breeding resentment among our circles.

That wasn't my problem though. I gave him a bright smile.

"Funny."

"I try," he glanced at me, handsome face completely calm and slightly docile.

A peace offering.

"Before we begin, I'd like to talk to you Zeenia. We believe that it's time for you to come into your own now," my father steepled his hands before his mouth, his voice strangely tranquil. Was he on Xanax? Even with Daada Jaan not present, he was never this tranquil.

"Okay?"

"You must be aware... it would be prudent for you to know...that there have been proposals from several different families. Families that would like to do business with us and expand our... goals," heaving out a loud breath, father spun in his seat and perused the room.

"They're interested in the company? I wasn't aware we were looking for new investors. What does that mean, do I get to spearhead the new project?"

A weighted pause. A strange look passed over his face.

It was the only warning I got.

"They're interested in you. Interested in you as a suitable match."

I said nothing.

Did not so much as twitch, move, or show the slightest inclination to entertain this statement.

"Zeenia, it's time. You're twenty-six years old, and Daada Jaan has requested..."

"Demanded. Mandated. Commanded. Ordered. Pick any of those words, Daada Jaan doesn't request," I shifted in Altamash's direction, the subtlest squaring off my shoulders.

"Zeenia..." he looked at me, something akin to sympathy in his eyes as he watched our father seal my fate.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" my fingers dug into the fabric of my dress. It was to do that or punch my brother in his infuriatingly square jaw. No matter how satisfying it would be, I couldn't risk injuring my hand. "I'm a fucking bargaining piece? And what do I get, a lifetime of misery?"

"Zeenia, language!"

"Why?"

"Because you're a Mughal."

I balked and then glared back.

I hadn't asked to be born into this family. I hadn't asked for the consequences I'd lived with my entire life. "So I'm going to be punished for having Mughal blood in my veins?"

"Stop being dramatic, Zeenia. It's not like the world's ending!" I hated how patronizing my brother sounded right now.

"You don't get to tell me that."

"Zeenia," father had one hand on his forehead and was frowning in a way I really didn't like. "Listen to him."

Like hell. I loved my family. I did. But I could never forget that they were focused on power and ambition before all else. They always had been. It was how we were raised, after all. My mother, on the other hand, stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, seeming to be totally checked out of the conversation. Or argument, more accurately.

"It's tradition. You know that. You have to be married at some point-"

I turned to my father, cutting Altamash off. "I can't believe you'd do this to me," pushing my chair back, I threw my napkin on the table. "How could you of all people be party to this? You don't know what it's like-"

My father pushed slowly to his feet, "I don't know what it's like to... what exactly? Sacrifice for the Mughal name? Marry a stranger for the sake of the greater good?" neither one of us looked at my mother but we could feel her flinch. "I'm not asking anything of you that I haven't already done myself."

"I didn't ask for this," I finally managed. "This isn't the 20th or the 19th century-"

"Don't be a child. We don't work that way. You're not special. None of us asked for this," Altamash snapped. "You were always going to be married off in a power match. You know this."

Of course, my brother would never let a little thing like my happiness get in the way of this bottom line. Our grandfather had taught him too well. He taught all of us too well. Honestly, it was a minor miracle that I'd avoided it to this point. A knot formed in my throat.

Bend or be broken.

"Excuse me," they could all go to hell. Married my foot. Hunger and exhaustion gnawed at my bones, but I would not relent. Giving up my silence would result in punishment far worse than an empty stomach and weak muscles. Straightening my spine, I walked out of the dining room.

༻❂༺

The manor was eerily silent. Too silent. Almost as if all my family had fallen into an enchanted slumber. Ironically enough, it was close to midnight and the entire hallway was empty. Slipping past the doorway I exited my apartments, slinking over the dirty asphalt and briskly made my way to the car in my Giuseppe Zanotti heels. Luckily for me, Daada Jaan had built a warren of passageways through the manor walls for 'stealthy escapes'. God knows why he'd need a 'stealthy escape' but I wasn't complaining. One of the passageways came out behind the stables, though it was blocked now by a new installation. Another led from the ballroom to the kitchens. And one ran all the way from my apartments to the backyard.

Half an hour later I was at the 'Rocky' club's back door, successfully avoiding the front littered with entertainment journalists looking for a quick buck. A well-placed picture of a socialite could get them a hefty settlement and hush money. It wasn't anything new. Just the standard secrecy, the glitz, glamour, cameras, flashlights, and whispers.

Tonight, I just wanted all of it gone.

"What a surprise," Sam said. "Want a hit?"

I shrugged not in the mood to be picky. He'd been the main bartender for a while, and since I was a regular, he knew me pretty well. And by saying Sam knew me, I meant that he knew my moods and what kind of drink I preferred. He knew when I was wired, or just plain pissed at the world. And I was pissed. Everyone I was related to would go to the ends of the earth to hold onto the power they had. It didn't matter that I didn't want this responsibility. That I hadn't chosen this.

It didn't matter anyway.

What were my other options? Run? The idea was laughable.

There was no way out of this life.

Trapped. Alone.

I lifted my chin, blinking past the burning in my eyes. As much as it hurt to admit it, as much as the pain sawed my insides, no tears ever fell. They couldn't. Never in public.

An Antonio Banderas wannabe in a black silk shirt, the server for the night, approached me, placing a basket full of fried chicken and fries on the mahogany surface. "Compliments of the bartender," he said nodding at Sam's retreating back.

Tasting the small bites, sadness bloomed through me. How fitting that the one person on the planet who knew me was a freaking bartender on the other side of the city. At least now I could eat without having my anyone's eyes on me, counting my calories. As I headed toward the empty booth in the back, a figure standing at the bar caught my eye. And apparently, I caught his. Someone near the front of the bar, where the tables were so tightly packed that the bodies blended together.

I froze.

I knew then that it was him. Blood surged around my body, full of that electric energy that sparked in me the moment I laid eyes on him. It was the same as when I saw him at the inaugural ball - even stronger this time.

Seriously? Was he stalking me now?

Our gazes collided, and it became a stare-off to see who would give in first. As if on their own account, my eyes traveled down to his neck and his chest. The five o'clock shadow dusting his sharpened features, the shoulders, arms, and legs that had filled out... at six-foot-one it was to be expected. He had been an athlete before, a tennis and polo player but now? He was a specimen now. Brown hair with a slight curl was arranged artfully in a way that was just fucked-up enough to look like he was not trying.

He stared back, bringing with him the full awareness of a grown man at ease in his body. His mouth ticked up into a smile as he slid off the stool, picked up his coke, and strode toward me. Even now, after midnight, he still looked like utter perfection. Not a hair out of place. His dress shirt still remarkably crisp and wrinkle-free. He'd rolled up his sleeves, which had me checking out his forearms with prominent veins roping up the muscles.

So I did what I could in the situation. I walked outside.

Predictably Asfand was hot on my heels. I felt his presence behind me like a shadow. As we stepped out, then faced each other, every thought evaporated. The late night bathed him in silver rays as he stood tall, his face unreadable but handsome as ever - rich brown hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes dark and warm as the earth.

"You should go back inside," he reprimanded. "It's cold."

"If it's so cold, maybe you should go inside."

He stepped toward me, standing behind my shoulder, and leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my ear, placing his jacket over my shoulders and an unprecedented shudder trickled down my spine. Surprised by the action, I felt his gaze run over my face before he cleared his throat and took a step back.

I wasn't used to feeling like this around Asfand.

He had always been there, and we laughed until we cried on multiple occasions. But the way he was acting tonight was... different. My center of gravity got thrown off with that one small gesture of chivalry, and I avoided his gaze and straightened myself to my full height. I was forced to acknowledge it now, just how very much he was a man in comparison to the boy I knew.

Maybe he too was aware of the thirteen years that stretched between us, struggling to compound the reality of today with the yearning for the past.

I pretended he wasn't there while I reached for the small black velvet box and grabbed my pick of weed for the night. Still behind me, he gave a dark chuckle once he got a good look at the contents.

"You have no regard for your life," he stated then took a seat across from me. "What's changed? You weren't like this."

"How would you know?" I was bored, angry, and restless. It was Friday and I was stuck on the sidewalk, reliving my past with a man who seemed to like reminding me of a version of me that no longer existed. I broke down my bud and packed it, placing the head of the bong to my lips, I lit the bowl and took a hit. The thick smoke instantly relaxed me.

"I just didn't think-"

Throwing my head back, I closed my eyes, held my breath then released it into the starless night. "Where are all of the stars? Since when did the sky start to look like this?"

Asfand didn't miss a step. "Since pollution became a thing?"

"You shouldn't be here."

"It's a public place Zeenia, last I checked no one..."

"I meant outside. You shouldn't be outside, here with me."

"Why not?"

Because if anyone figured out who he was, who I was, there would be hell to pay. Zeenia Mughal caught outside a club with a mysterious man? Worse, Zeenia Mughal and Asfandyar Affandi were seen to be cozying up outside a nightclub, how long has this affair been going on? I could see the smoke blowing out of my father's ears, and the death glares being shot by my brother. Not to mention Seher's smug face and Daada Jaan's disappointment. Feeling an incoming headache, my fingers worked to unravel the tight ponytail I'd wrangled my hair into. I let it loose, and it cloaked me, hiding my expression.

"Because it's not proper."

"I think you left that train way behind..." the weed must have gotten me high fast because I burst out laughing. The edges of his mouth quirked up. "Fuck, you're a lightweight," he muttered, a slight smile still on his face. "Since when were you so hell-bent on ruining your lungs?"

"I'm not and it doesn't," behind the curtain of hair, I frowned. It didn't right? "And we're not doing the whole concerned thing right now."

"Concerned thing?"

"You know, the part where you suddenly care?"

"What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing."

Asfand leaned back, his gaze leaving me and scanning the area around us. "What are you trying to forget?"

"I'm not trying to forget anything."

"You're deflecting," Asfand glanced my way, his gaze dancing up my face, then to the sky. "Why'd you change the subject?"

"The considerate thing to do would be to roll with said change in subject."

Another brief smile. "What happened Zeenia?"

"Ah, where have you been the last eight months?" I shot back. "My brother got engaged in private, ended up in a horrible lab accident, got viciously injured in said accident, and while recovering from that accident, lost his fiancée, got kicked out of his own house..."

I peered his way, our eyes meeting too briefly before he glanced ahead. "You can talk more about it," he said. "If you want. I'll listen."

A lump formed in my throat, and I kept my eyes ahead.

"Have you seen him?" I muttered looking at his again, trying to push past his calm facade. He lowered his gaze and looked the other way. He'd been to see Taimoor. I knew it was true, it was written on his face. And if the pain on his face was any indication, it was much worse than I'd thought.

"Two days before I came here."

Taimoor had met with Asfand, let him see him, but hadn't even bothered to reply to my text. I leaned back, my throat dry, the knowledge hitting me harder than a blow.

"The world's empty. There's no beauty, no hope, no love, nothing. We're all husks of our former selves, going about our days like robots. One day, our batteries will run out. And just like it's destined, we'll fold our hands over our chests and wait for someone to lower us into our graves," something in my chest tightened like it was trying to suffocate me. It was probably my insecurities. Those bitches loved to taunt me. "That's it. No one will ever know or more importantly, no one would care, that Zeenia Mughal ever existed."

"Is that why you're trying to find the stars?" he asked in perhaps the softest voice I'd ever heard. A lake beneath the stars, still and quiet. "Are you searching for beauty or dreaming of the future with your eyes wide open?"

I did not believe in dreams, I'd long expelled myself of such frivolity, but somehow I had convinced myself I'd have a happy ending. Stupid me. I'd forgotten that the Mughals didn't get happy endings. Not my grandparents, not my parents, not even Altamash despite what he thought. Sitting here with him, there were a million things I could have said, but instead, I went with the truth.

"I don't know," why was I spilling my guts like this? As we stared at each other, I could feel it, a loss of balance that had nothing to do with the fuzziness in my brain. The air crackled with potential something. Maybe it was the closeness that came from our past friendship. Maybe it was the austere intensity of having him so close, having more of his attention and conversation than I ever had before. Maybe it was nothing at all.

Unnerved, I grabbed my stuff and got up to make my way to the car.

"You're not driving yourself home Zeenia."

"I forgot the part where you could tell me what I could or couldn't do."

He didn't answer me, just grabbed the keys from my hand and scooped me up. The world tilted violently and I clutched at his arms. My eyes went to the small tattoo on the back of his hand. I'd been trying to get a good look at it for a better part of our conversation but just couldn't make out the shape in the dark.

"I'm going to fall..." the world went blurry for a second. I also felt like I was going to throw up. The damn fried chicken was letting itself known.

"Don't worry, I've got you."

I've got you...

Somewhere, far from the bothersome grandfather, parents, and coterie of people out for me, there was a field of flowers, a pretty dress, a first dance, and a view of the sea at night.

I've got you...

I pictured a handsome man who might partner with me for that dance, an amorphous creation glued together by my subconscious using the fairytales and movies I'd grown up watching, which I'd preserved, safe in the back of my mind that contained every precious thought I was allowed to own. Every precious thought that wasn't controlled by the Mughal family crest.

Swaying in his arms, I allowed myself to dream.

I feel like Asfand is stalking her... 😂😂😂 But no, he really isn't. It's a small place, people run into people all the time! How was the second chapter? Our poor heroine is trapped in her gilded cage.

What will Zeenia do?

***