18. You're Thirty!
Must suck to be poor.

Ashar and I bundled up in layers we found in the Costume Design team's closets. We ended up perched on top of the foldable director's chairs after moving silently around the sets as if avoiding waking up the afterlife.

"You could've at least brought food with you," I told Ashar. "I haven't eaten anything all day."

"Sorry, Your Highness," he mocked. "I'll be better prepared next time."

I huffed and hugged myself. I shouldn't have thrown that drink at Sunny's face. Had I drunk it, I wouldn't be feeling so parched.

Had I avoided going anywhere with Roshan, I'd be home right now, enjoying a cup of green tea.

"Why were you here so late anyway?" Ashar asked. "I thought you finished at five or so your mom's assistant claimed."

"Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies."

"Alright Mrs. Joe, as you wish."

I raised an eyebrow. "You know the reference?"

"I'm not illiterate, although I confess I'm not a fan of Dickens," he told me. "Classics are so boring."

"I disagree," I replied. "Have you read A Tale of Two Cities?"

"Or Pride & Prejudice?"

I frowned. "I'm drawing a line here. You can't disrespect Mr. Darcy and Lizzie in front of me."

He raised his hands in defeat. "To each his own."

"What do you read?"

He shrugged. "Anything that catches my interest. I have gone through various phases: memoirs, comics, anime, and even palmistry. That was short-lived though."

"Palmistry?" I asked curiously.

I could read his face in the dark and ended up scooting closer to him with my hands out.

"I—" he started to refuse.

"Read my hand! I wanna know."

He took my right hand in his and brought it close to his face. Only a few rays of light remained available to us sneaking in from wherever.

He met my eyes after a brief minute of studying my palm.

"You lied about being thirsty," he said simply. "You were drinking before I came to get you."

"You can tell that from reading my palm?" I scowled pulling my hand out of his grasp.

"No, I can smell the alcohol on your hands," he said. "What were you up to?"

"None of your beeswax."

"Ano?"

"What's your relationship with Sunny?"

He kept mum pretending not to have heard anything. Something was definitely fishy.

"How do you expect me to keep up with this fake relationship in front of your sisters when I don't know you," I told him. I didn't know why but I wanted to know more about Ashar.

I could barely see his expressions in the dark but felt him shift.

"How about you share one secret about yourself and I'll share one in return, but nothing about Sunny or my parents?"

I was about to protest but thought better of it. Mom's secretary would tell me everything about Ashar's parents and I can easily ask him about Sunny too.

"Fine. You're not allowed to ask me about what happened tonight before you saw me."

I heard a sigh upon hearing my words.

"I'll start," I told him. "But you cannot disclose any of this top secret information to anyone."

"You have my word," he said and saluted.

"Pinky promise." I extended my pinky out and he begrudgingly promised. Maybe I was over analyzing but we held each other's fingers longer than normal. "I don't know which brands I'm wearing half of the time."

"What?"

"I have a mixture of branded and unbranded clothes, shoes, and accessories. I never know which brand I'm wearing, so I just name the first one that comes to my mind." I felt a sudden weight lift from my chest, sharing this important confession.

"So all that Choo Choo shoes and Prada crap was a lie?" he asked in disbelief. "Did you burn Cecily over fake shoes?"

I thought back at the incident and said, "I did not hurt your girlfriend over fake shoes. My dad bought those shoes for me and they're important to me."

I remembered how I had just won an award for one of my short films and Papa wasn't there. He had left for Europe for a business deal and couldn't come back until a day later. I had cried and fought with him over the phone for missing out on such an important day for me.

The shoes were a memoir of his apology that evening when he had come back. Those were to symbolize shattering glass ceilings and making my way to great achievements.

But I didn't know how to put that into words for Ashar.

Fortunately, he didn't ask me to.

"I was nineteen when I took responsibility for Aara and Rosie," he said. "I had three jobs and no plan of going to college. I was at one of Cecily's fashion competitions to support her when I met your dad. We were casually talking and I told him of my situation. He offered me a full ride to the state university if I promised to do my best."

"That's how you know my dad," I said aloud.

Not to mention he has known Cecily for a long time.

"Great man," Ashar said. "He thought I had potential when I thought I was the biggest loser in the world."

"I mean, even with your degree, you were waiting tables at our hotel's restaurant?" How was that possible?

"I wanted to make some extra income for Aara's college savings," he said. He was playing with his fingers. "She took a part time job when I was in college and helped out as much as she could."

I silently took in his words realizing how I never had to worry about money. Maybe when we were making budgets for our short films in Film School, but even then. I definitely didn't worry about money when I was Aara's age.

"You're stupid. You should've just married me back then." I joked. "No money problem ever."

"That'd be illegal."

"How old are you?" I asked suddenly. How could I not know my husband's age?

"Thirty."

"What?" I almost screamed. "You're thirty! My mom married me to an old man. I knew it! I should've ran away from the altar—but thirty?"

"I look that old?" he asked sounding hurt. "I'm twenty four."

I don't know why but I sighed in relief. He was only three years older than me. Then again, he was a temporary husband and age was not an important factor.

"I need to take you for a facial," I said. "Maybe a new set for products for a skincare routine. You use sunscreen daily, right?"

"It's your turn," he said dodging the question.

"Another secret?" I made faces trying to find something not too revealing but juicy enough. I couldn't remember the last time someone wanted to know something about me. "Okay, so you can't utter this to anybody. I went through intensive therapy after my papa's death."

"That's normal," he said supportively. "Losing a parent is one of the hardest things to overcome."

"Yes," I said in a small voice. "I went through a psycho phase however. I was so deeply hurt and unstable that . . . " I couldn't finish without reliving through the torture I went through. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. "I thought I saw him a couple of times."

His chair screeched and bumped into mine before I felt his presence next to me. Our elbows bumped as he plopped down on his chair. My words made him reduce our distance.

"He's somewhere watching over you," said Ashar. "Trust me, he spoke of you to me one time and it was nothing but pure love. He wanted you to have everything you ever wanted. He said you were both his weakness and strength, that he'd do anything to protect you."

I barely held myself together as the temperature dropped in the room. I dried the corners of my eyes and tried not to let my emotions run loose. Sunny had already ruined my night and spending the night here with Ashar was tapping into my weaknesses.

He gave me time to recover and find my breath.

"There's something you need to know because I know Aara will bring it up sometime." He hesitated. "Can I trust you?"

"No."

"Ano . . . "

"Ash . . . " I reiterated. "Okay, what is it? I won't tell anyone your secrets though I doubt anybody I know will be interested." He was shaking his head at me. "Carry on."

"Hayat Murtaza." He scratched his nose before resuming. "All you need to know is that I was once engaged to a girl named Hayat Murtaza. Because of our family differences and my responsibilities, we couldn't get married. She moved to California to pursue her acting career, and we haven't met ever since."

Here I thought Cecily was the only love interest in his life.

I had never even heard of that girl's name.

"Is it because you have your sisters' responsibility she left you?" I asked curiously. "You're poor too so that doesn't help your case."

"It's my personal matter," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm your wife." I never thought I could pull that card out whenever.

"I don't see you telling me about exes," he retorted.

"One, I've never been engaged," I told him. "Two, most guys liked my parents' bank accounts more than they liked me. My friends too."

"Must suck to be rich."

"Must suck to be poor." I played along. He was looking away from me and it dawned on me that the girl might've been important to him. "Did you love her?"

"Undeniably."

That one word stung for some reason.

Although he sat inches away, I couldn't read his emotions. I didn't know how we came to this.

We were telling drunk stories while being sober.

"Do you still love her?" I couldn't help but ask.

"That's not important," he said sternly.

"Do you stalk her on Facebook?" I nudged him. "She can't be hotter than me. Come on. I'm like . . . priceless, as my name goes." I felt his smile before it even reached his lips. "Besides, I thought Cecily was your girlfriend. What is this Hayat plot twist?"

"Cecily's my confidant, my therapist, my best friend," he explained. I didn't feel much better hearing that. "Hayat was . . . everything plus more."

I was tempted to ask how deep his relationship was with Hayat when I stopped myself. It wasn't my place.

What is my place?

"You want me to find her and reunite you with her so we can drop this charade?" I asked though my heart didn't agree.

"Ano, she's with someone else now and I'm married to you," he said as if explaining to a child. "I've moved on and vice versa. If you'd kindly not dwell on this anymore, I'd appreciate it."

"As you wish."

From the looks of it, I wasn't sure whether he had moved on. Then again, I had never loved someone enough to want to marry him and have that relationship break up because of my responsibilities to my family.

The poor people world was full of tragedies.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I whispered back his words in my head.

Who'd have thought a night stuck inside a studio would unleash an array of secrets? While it snowed outside, we sat in the dark discussing matters personal to the extent of our brains not wanting to share them. But our hearts not listening to our brains.

I almost felt better.

I rested my head on my knees and tried to fall asleep. I felt Ashar move around and lifted my head to find him bring more chairs. He put one in front of me to stretch out my legs and did this same for himself.

Because of the cold, sleeping on the floor was ill fitted.

I shut my eyes and thought about everything we had shared with each other tonight. Perhaps, I had mistreated Ashar continuously, but after knowing all the hard work he had done to be where he was right now, I decided to be a better person towards him.

It's what papa would've wanted.

It's what felt right.

Ashar was trusting me with extremely personal information and I'd do well to remember that.

"Ashar?"

"Hmm," he said sleepily.

"Why didn't you ask my mom for money?" I kept my eyes shut. He would know I was referring to when we finalized this fake relationship deal.

We stayed rooted on our chairs pretending to be on the brink of sleep. I almost thought he had fallen asleep until he came up with an answer.

"I didn't want to put a price tag on you . . . Anmol."

I knew I was going to sleep well after a long time.

* * *

A/N

I missed y'all.

Zinda hoon main . . .

How are you guys in these corona times? It's awful in the US and I live on the east coast in the tri-state area. So we have a lot of people from NJ and New York coming in and leaving.

Everyone staying safe?

How was the chapter?

I know I'm late but I'm finishing up college this semester and need to apply for real world jobs and stuff.

Life pretty much sucks after 18 unless you're filthy rich like Ano.

—-K-K-Kiran