Ushered light escaped the bounds of the windows, rattling tight that one, indigo evening. Sewn golden streams on the sunset like a declining industry, dipped on the clouds of rosiness, and stream of truth lingered on her face.

She watched outside the window, her nose close to the coolness of glass, her hands pressed against it, as she wavered her keen eyes at this beautiful display her Rabb Who was showing her in His magnitude of a creation; His Sky. Above this earthly-bound airy atmosphere that sprayed colors in all sorts of days, timings, and twinkled at night, were His other Six Heavens.

Above the total Seven Heavens was the Arsh of her Master, Allah. And, down below, in the first sky, she was watching the birds flap around the sunset, and the trees of Islamabad's waver the branches along with the wind. Down here, yet she felt He was watching. Yet she believed He had His plans sorted out for her. Thus, even when her heart would cringe at the words her brother said to her last night, no matter how painful it seemed, no matter how heated her tears felt; where was she to hold onto hope but from Allah?

Who else did she have to relay her trust in but Allah?

And as a whisper of concerns flood out of her mouth, calling onto Him, her forehead pressed against the glass harder- Zara heard a honk of a car outside, and her eyes snapped open. The guestroom on the second floor given to her, Nani, and Eshaal to share, in her Uncle's mansion (which Zara noted fretfully, how her Uncle was gold in hospitality despite not even turning up to meet them the next day); from this height of the window, she could see the stoned pathway lengthening down between two patches of large yards, ending by a fancy gate that was being pulled open by a guard.

A taxi drove towards the mansion's car porch, and Zara's heart skipped a beat. Turning around, grabbing her dupatta and tying it around her face while tucking the end under her chin, she skipped over the tasseled-cushions on the floor, and scurried to the corridor. Descending down the stairs in ushered breaths, nearly bumping into Salih bhai, who in good-timings leaned sideways, Zara spoke out a quick apology then continued her way down the swirling, marble stairs.

The main oak, wide doors were opened wide down the main hallway, and when Zara jumped down from the last step- she saw a young man, his shining, brown hair a bit long, and his brown beard a bit heavier from the past few days' and his eyes equally glimmered at her down- and Zara stood speechlessly, seeing him standing all healthy and firm, despite the casted arm. Her sense of the heart beated in a million digits of relief, and gratitude she jumped forward, enveloping him into a hug, a light laugh escaping her lips.

"Alhumdulillah! Alhum-"

"Ah! Zara... my arm, careful-"

Zara broke away quickly with a quick gasp, her hands holding his arms tightly. "Oh Allah, sorry! Are you- is it alright?" Her concerned gaze propped onto his casted arm, and Dawood, despite himself smiled softly.

"Better now," He whispered.

Zara looked up, and sighed out of relief. "I am so happy, you are back better and standing, oh Dawood, everything has been so-"

Both shared in their happiness, Dawood equally glowing. "I know, it wasn't easy for me either, and-"

"Asalamualaykum, Zara's husband, I presume?"

Zara pulled back her hands, standing away and Dawood erected himself quickly- both their sights meeting with a stern-looking, short-heighten man whose graying hair was greased down. His queer, grey-eyes looking just as intensely back at the two of them.

"Er- yes, sir," Dawood shot Zara a raised brow, as she spoke up quite heftily- clearing her throat amid.

"My uh- Uncle Junaid, Dawood... remember?"

"Ah- yes, the one who in Musa's story, kept a black-ribboned scroll in his office, right?" Dawood asked- but was immediately elbowed by Zara on his healthy arm- and he let out a hiss, sending an apologetic look towards Uncle Junaid.

"I apologize, Uncle ji, for coming in like this... you see, my wife, Nani, and her friend Eshaal were left here due to my stay in the hospital, but now that I am better, I can take them off your shoulders, and we will be leaving in some time-"

"I really have no trouble," Junaid cut Dawood off, curtly. His pole was thudded on the marble floor, Dawood and Zara shared looks. "The thing is, however," Junaid took a step forward. "You all may stay here as long as you like, but..."

The 'but' in such sentences were always spine-tickling.

"-do not expect anything from my family more than this. We have our own rules and regulations and like to stick to them. If you have any financial need, we may so help, but not a penny more than what we decree... also," Junaid this time, deepened his gaze into Zara's- sending her to hold Dawood's hand tightly. "-I don't know with what expectation you have come here for, Zara, but what I do know, is that you being my brother's daughter, I respect you. Other than that, I do not have any right to explain to you anything. Best stay as a guest, and be treated as one. I ignored your personal statement last night at the table, to keep your dignity in check, despite you haven't checked mine, nor saw who was in the room around us- you do not know me so well, and thus, can not judge me with however, whatever you felt. There are three sides to a story, my niece, one is what your father might've told you, the other is my own point of view, and the third is the truth.

"The truth however, is tucked in the past... I'm afraid you're preying yourself on a treachorous path to find out what, and that is why I am inclined to say all of this. Zara, I neither despise you nor Musa, but what I do have however, are my walls. And these are my limits. So keep your limits in check."

Junaid did not sway a moment longer for Zara's response, and turned around walking away with his pole. Zara watched after him with plumage of red spilling on her face, and an escape of guilt pricked her insides with a peppering of aching curiosity and hindrance. She needed to know why her Uncle was so.... so... like this?!

"Sometimes, I feel we're given such relationships to test us," Dawood spoke out of nowhere, his voice low while his bedazzled gaze looked around the architecture of the hall they were standing in, "-and other times, I feel we might just be a big test on them as well. Let's see who wins, who passes the test of the other's heavy load of an attitude."

Zara blinked up at him, realizing his words hit home.

A soft smile crept onto her lips, knowing full well where he was getting at. This is what made Zara fall in love with Dawood on that summer-afternoon when her Khala's daughter grouped them all together for an Eid afternoon around the bonfire, her Nani was there as well- Dawood was giving a light message to all of their relatives, including the women around the room being covered head-to-toe, and his words were always on a light-note yet heavy on the heart.

Dawood stole the first glance from Zara, and before they could even know it, Nani Samira being quicker than the rabbit in the turtle and rabbit story (meaning, she was not lazy to rest by the tree bark she just sparked for it) settled the matter with Dawood's parents all those two years ago.

Sometimes, destinies are meant to be tied at the very evening you did not realize, even when in the morning you did not feel like going to the gathering. But hey, Zara was destined to, poked out of her comfort zone, and here she was standing beside this man; and allowing me, of course, to write this couple officially named Zawood.

"You amuse me a lot," Zara said, smiling lightly. "How are you able to take out the positivity even in another's stony words?"

"Hmm... how am I supposed to know?" Dawood shrugged, grinning stupidly. "You're the writer, aren't you? Words are your field, habibti. Mine are these beautiful designs around me- your Uncle went all out in building this house, I must say."

Zara chuckled lightly, holding his arm as the two of them walked upstairs.

"So..." Dawood spoke up, as they ascended the stairs together slowly. "You met Musa?"

Zara's smile dropped- exactly what she was weary to answer, but she did, however. "Yes."

Dawood's brows furrowed, intensely observing the look on her face. "This was not what I was expecting. You're not happy... is everything alright?"

"No, no, everything is alright, okay fine, who am I kidding- Musa's just not alright- Dawood he's not the boy that I wrote."

"Of course, he won't be the boy you wrote, Zara," Dawood said, his brows arched. "He'll be what- he's four years younger than you... so yes, 20/21 years old. And, he's a grown man by now, probably, doesn't go staring at sunflowers (you girls always write such goody boys, like you don't really know them) , a teenage look to him- I hope he prays though."

"I doubt that," Zara said, heftily- her eyes darting on her feet. "He's- he's changed, Dawood. Not- not the age wala change, the actual change- spiritually, mentally, emotionally- everything. The very ground of his life, has been taken away and I don't know what has he become anymore."

Before Dawood could even respond, his eyes fell on a certain young man's at the landing of the stairs. Eyes that were cool, stone-grey, and his mouth stood rigid. Zara too, lifted her head- and her face contorted into a surprise, reserved, and guilt all into one.

"Dawood- Musa." Zara jutted her hand from Dawood to Musa stiffly, before gesturing- "Musa, Dawood- my husband."

Dawood's brows furrowed as he observed the look on this very Musa that loved sajdahs and sunflowers. For a while neither responded, Musa equally observing Dawood, and the two of them just two there, one over the other in ascension.

However, Musa took the step to break this stuffy silence, as he made the casual effort to smile- which really was weightless of a smile.

"Wonderful," He said, his fingers rubbing at his chin. "I did not even get a nikkah invitation... but no worries," Musa shrugged, turning around already. "We don't get everything we want in life... now do we? Food for thought."

~~~

"You want to go to Belgium?" Junaid opened and closed his fine-tip pen, staring down at the sheets that were propped around his dark-bound desk. The serious-clicking lock filtering the room, and the ragged carpet oozed charcoal-rose scents into the air.

The room, with twilight filtering the curtains, and Musa stood before his uncle- looking around this room as if it was just yesterday he came into it, snooping around for the scroll.

Ai, he never did get the scroll, did he? And how did he even remember this, he did not even register that fact- it happens that even the least sought for memories could come back to you, propping intensities.

Also, for the fact that ever since that day, all those ten years ago, Musa did not dare resolve to bring himself to his uncle's office room- thanks for the wonderful 'get out of my office, lad!' Call.

But if the world was deliberately pushing the past onto him, Musa was going to the world a big, bad favor and force himself to his feet and stand before his uncle in the office room that littered, constricted files, cash-flows sheets, tugging wooden fake-chocolate shaped pen-cup. The only thing of Uncle Junaid's property that held something amusing about it.

Musa wondered who had given this chocolate-shaped wooden pen-holder to his uncle anyways, but was snapped from his curiousity when Uncle asked him.

"Er- yes, Uncle, I filled in the form, and would like your permission before I send it." Musa said, heavily- his hands folded behind him like some agent reporting for duty.

"Right, then," Junaid brought his glasses down to the bridge of his nose- scanning a scrutinizing gaze down Musa. "Why abroad? There are amazing universities in our own country. Give me a validate reason and I might just consider it." He tapped the end of the table, the other hand propped on his mouth as his gaze were solid on Musa's deterring ones.

"I don't think that if I study here I would learn anything resolving, Uncle," Musa said, slowly, frowning a bit on the carpet. "I never made the move to ask you with my personal preference. I went to schools you wanted me to. I went to take those subjects you wanted me to. Now, I just-"

"And, I gave you many things of your own preference, if not education, Musa," Uncle Junaid cut him off- and Musa bit back his tongue, his ears reddening. Junaid continued, heaving a sigh. "But that is just not the case, Musa, you had given your applications to one of the best universities in Islamabad, explain why that hasn't come yet?"

"I - I cancelled it." Blurted-out-truth.

Musa squeezed his eyes shut, and was expecting a blow-over him. But to his utter surprise, Junaid did not do nor say anything.

"You may leave my office," Junaid gestured his hand airily- when Musa snapped his eyes open, deliberately succumbed to relief.

"Is that a yes, or..." Musa took an obedient step back- eyeing his Uncle intensely as Junaid opened up a few drawers, and rummaged through some files.

"It is asking for time to think over..." Junaid pull his gaze away from what he brought out of the drawer, and Musa's eyes squinted when Junaid added swiftly. "-for the both of us."

It was only when Musa turned away and closed the door behind him, that Junaid pulled out a yellowish, dampened scroll with a black-knit ribbon around it dusted and stripped, placing it in the middle of the table over his important files- Junaid's eyes looked intensely at this scroll, the way no other official file would.

The scroll meant something.

His hand tugged at the ribbon, about to unscroll it.

Some memories are meant to be unrolled.

Asalamualaykum,
Dawood is back...
Also, a slip of confirmation to how Dawood and Zara met :3

And....... a bit more of annoying Musa :(

But hey, life is like this... we get weird ppl on our 'have to meet list' so if you don't how to cope with such people- learn from Mr. Dawood Ali!

More's yet to come, so keep your heads up for the next update - I am havng exams pressure nowadays, so... probably it might take long gaps between some updates (especially if I'm lacking inspiration or, if the upcoming chapter might be heavy) but however, InshaAllah I'll be able to keep writing :)

~ e . a