[yeh main hoon yaa phir tum hi ho,
man uljha hai iss uljhan mein.]

"Man mast magan, man mast magan, bas tera naam dohraae." I play the tabla on the table and move my head to the beat.

The chunkus repeat, "man mast magan man mast magan bas tera naam dohraae."

"Chaahe bhi toh, bhool naa paae,"

"Man mast magan, man mast magan—"

"Since when is Hamza so fun?" Alina, a member of the chunkus, interrupts all of us after suddenly overthinking.

"Yeh tum dono behnon ka hai naa? Do minute baad overthink karna?"

"Bhai waise bhi cool hain. Zaira ne hi aa ke pataa nahin kyun calm down kiya huaa tha."

I look at Nida through the corner of my eyes and she exclaims how that is also a very Zaira thing. So are these songs. And this craze.

And I laugh to hide how ridiculous this past moment was.

Why would I ever play an imaginary tabla?

It reminds me of the day she played the imaginary drums on her desk and hours later showed me NFAK in the car.

"She calmed me down?" I repeat Nida's previous statement.

"Haan naa, you were so fun to be around and even though you hated Pakistan at least you used to chuckle and smirk and have a mischievous side, now it's just you admiring Zaira's mischiefs."

Everyone makes mocking teasing sounds.

"Bas kar. Awain kuj vi. Woh tou, ab, umr ke saath samajhdaar h—"

"—Bas bhai, samajhdaar ho hi naa jaaein aap."

"Haina? Nahin hona chaahiye. Chalo aik aur sharaarat sahi." I look at the clock striking 11:12PM.

— Z A I R A —

I rushed in the room and counted to realise everyone was there, only I was late, "Sorry sorry sorry, face mask lagaaya hua tha, bees minute lagaa ke rakhna tha aur Aadee ne kuchh minute aur rauk liya, main tou kasmey aane waali thi, alarm bhi lagaaya huaa tha, snooze kar ke b—"

"Itni kasmein naa khaao ghabraa kar,
Jaao hum aitebaar karte hain.
Abbh bhi aa jaao kuchh nahin bigra,
Abbh bhi hum intezaar karte hain"

I stared in his eyes and felt the rest of the house vanishing until a giggle or two from the girls was heard. I sat down on the floor in front of him, the ahl-e-khana continued to disappear into thin air.

I tried to lower my eyes but they stopped on his neck and stole glances of his dimples through the peripheral vision.

Black background, his black button up shirt's black buttons stopping in the middle of his chest. I looked down and the coffee table between us disappeared too.

I gasped and saved the cup of coffee I had just stolen from his room.

I closed my eyes praying he didn't catch the embarrassing moment, at the same time, swirling the spoon to melt the two mini sugar cubes.

What am I doing?

Why would he say that?

Not him stealing Nusrat Sahab's lines and my heart.

Prick.

He stared up at me, still smirking as evil of a smirk as humanly— as evil of a smirk as devilishly possible.

He's such a demon. He knew my heart was melting just the way those sugar cubes were.

I moved my eyes to the tornado in the middle of the cup.

Engulf me, please. Suck me in, I'm not surviving his gaze.

Naamuraad, bemurrawat, behiss, dimaagh se paidal, besharam, naa-fahm ahmaq insaan.

I don't even want to write this anymore, I'm reliving it.

I lived the whole cousins' gathering silently listening to the rest of the people that popped back in the room once I was deeply sucked in the brown tornado swirling in the middle of my cup of coffee.

The brown tornado resembled the color of his eyes AND I still can't stop thinking of him, I want to strangle him.

aaaaghhh!

You don't even know what he did next.

Beast.

I decided to leave the gathering before it ended because it was just not ending, nor was my coffee and I was sick of being stuck in the brown tornado that resembled the color of his eyes.

Did I just repeat that?

And you know, I started wearing desi outfits because the dupatta looked like a better accessory to hide myself from Uzair's immodest gaze, but this naashaaista aungarh insaan ruined it.

I got up and my thigh was numb so I rubbed it for a second or two and got my cup of coffee up and my dupatta became unmanageable and this naasalika said,

"Yeh adaa yeh nazaakat bhara sin,
mera dil tum pe qurbaan lekin,"

My breath genuinely stopped. The silence was very loud and my heart beat on an illegal speed but I remained a statue.

"Yeh adaa yeh nazaakat bharaa sin,
Mera dil tum pe qurbaan lekin,
Kyaa sambhaalo ge tum mere dil ko,"

lub-dub, lub-dub.

dhak, dhak.

"Kyaa sambhaalo ge tum mere dil ko,
Jab yeh aanchal sambhalta nahin hai"

I looked around to find someone to shake me out of it because I was feeling dizzy.

Not talking figuratively at all, sweat was drenching my anarkali suit up, along with the whole of my neck and face.

It all heated up in seconds as if I were at the brink of being pushed into hell.

And falling for him is surely equal to falling in hell, if not worse.

Khair, yeh gaaliyaan, yeh khayalaat uss waqt nahin aaye. Uss waqt mehfil mein kuchh zyaada hi khwaab saa, madhosh-kun maahol tha.

But then they all started mocking and laughing and if I honestly think of the moment, I'm unbelievable. I don't know how I brought a small smile on my lips and rolled my eyes with a moue to save the situation but I did.

I left the room acting upset but gloomy so they don't come behind me.

You know, I still don't understand why I'm getting so hyper.

He read it like a poetry and kind of, different than the stress points on the verses of the songs and I can't say it was as good as the song but it was just so dreamy.

I melt at his urdu,
let's not even think about urdu poetry.

Just, just cut me out of the scene. I need a black hole (or that brown tornado that resembled the color of his eyes) to slurp me away because I was never made to bear so many emotions. This has already made me squeal ten to twenty times on the rooftop. I don't know how else to expulse the big big caucus of feelings stuck at the lid of my chest.

This one's so random I write so professionally, he ruined this page. Maybe I'll tear it off and rewrite it in the morning but right now I need it to stay while I go and listen to Nusrat Sahab.

Good night.

♡♡♡

I ran upstairs to get my wallet and jumped down the stairs before hopping out of the house.

I hummed Behka Na's melody as I made my way around my homeland.

bina bole joh nazar keh jaae,
haule haule dil ko dil se milaae,

There was a restaurant a few lanes away from home. I was solely walking by it but the smell of food was so irresistible.

My mouth started watering.

I almost stepped in but then I saw a bhutta waala across the street and I got distracted and squealing like a squeaky toy, I ran to him instead.

I'M IN PAKISTAN!

THIS!

THIS IS WHAT PAKISTAN IS!

BHUTTE ON THE STREET!

"Bhai aik bhutta baraae-meherbaani,"

He prepared one for me as I looked around and sniffed the smell of the place.

Pakistan!!

I looked up at the sky as the clouds slowly formed rain, gathering in a meeting to decide and make my bhutta moment even more pleasant.

I watched him peel the leaves and throw the corn in the traditional karahi full of black salt.

My mouth watered more and I put a hand on my growling stomach.

Abbhi tou halwa puri khaayi thi, bhai.

Yahaan tou motte hone aaye hain bas.

"Bhai jaldi karein thora,"

The man took it off the karahi instantly and put the corn over a leaf above a newspaper.

He handed it to me and I munched on it while he asked for "20 rupeya".

And I smiled.

With my eyes wide.

At my embarrassing existence.

I looked behind me at the suddenly built queue of people waiting for me to end.

He attended a person on the side while glancing at me so I don't run away.

I put the bhutta down and looked into my wallet, patting both sides of the back of my jeans.

Realizing I left my phone at home.

I picked out a note of 2 dollars and smiled.

"Eh ke ae? Ddaalar? Nahin baji, bees rupeya dein, iss ke liye waqt nahin hai humaare paas."

"Bhees," I changed my urdu accent to a foreigner's, "bhees kiya houta he bhaaia, mujhe ko—"

A hand reached out and handed the bhutta man a twenty rupees note.

Janaab Waada-e-Faramosh, zindagi mein pehli dafaa kaam aaye ho tum mere. Ouf Allah, shukriya.

He looked at me through his peripheral vision and I almost slapped him.

That's my thing. He's not allowed to look at me through the corner of his eyes!

Shukriya taken back.

I cringed at the fake accent of mine and embarrassed but throwing overconfidence over my shoulder towards him, I turned back to wandering.

I noticed him walking behind me as rain slowly drizzled down on us.

Was this a step towards reconciliation?

yeh adaa yeh nazaakat bharaa sin,

My heart started that illegal speed driving again as his voice from last night echoed in my head.

mera dil tum pe qurbaan lekin,

Kal raat ke baad mujhe laggta nahin hai reconciliation ke khayaal ki bhi koyi jagaah hai humaare beech.

kyaa sambhaalo ge tum mere dil ko—

Stop stop please, main karti hoon kuchh.

We both walked in an awkward silence as I munched on my bhutta and feeling a bit grateful because he saved me from embarrassment, I embarrassed myself even further.

Offering my already munched on bhutta to him.

I realised right after stretching it out how big of a gracelessness that was. It had my chewing marks.

He looked at it carefully and shook his head. I pulled it back to munch on it in anxiety.

Thinking about last night was making me act stupid. I felt heat on my cheeks despite the light drizzling.

kyaa sambhaalo ge tum mere dil ko,
jab yeh—

I quickly fixed my dupatta.

main kyun sambhaaloon iss ka dil bhai,
apne paas rakho apne apne dil sab.

20 rupees doesn't even count for him.

It's the fact that he saw me in trouble, could have left but instead offered to help me out.

He heard your accent!

"You know—" I shut up when I realised I was talking with my mouth full.

Mixing both situations. Living in both moments. Going crazy.

I cleared my throat and tried again,

"I was um, that fake accent was because I was trying to act like a tourist because Pakistanis have a good hospitality and they'd let me go—"

"So you would shamelessly loot a poor man who's earning twenty rupees per bhutta—"

"—No. I'd go back home and bring him twenty rupees."

"How smart."

Aik tou iss ke saamne thora sa nervous kyaa ho jaao, over hi ho jaata hai, "I know." I was about to bounce my hair when I stopped my hands mid way and touched the side of my temple, looking at him with a smile while he almost chuckled at what I was about to do.

Uss ko dekhna band karo, Zaira!

Woh bhi tou mujhe dekh rahaa hai? Tab hi hassa.

We walked around the town and I don't know why he walked with me despite the rain but he opened up in a while.

"Yaaaarrr, yahaan pe afadiyat ka godam—"

"Phir se bolo."

I paused,

"Yahaan pe aik utility store tha, uncle Khalid yaad hain?—"

He thought of it. (By the way, he now has expressions on his face, he has stopped making those disgust faces around me all the time).

"—Hm, wohi bade chaachu ke... dost—? SLANTY WAALE UNCLE!—"

"HAAAN YA ALLAH, SLANTY WAALE UNCLE! CHOCOLEEN WAALE—"

"CHOCOLEEN FOR FUCK'S SAKE I tried to remember its name for years, yaad hi nahin aa rahaa tha aur jiss se bhi poochha pataa hi nahin tha kisi ko—"

"Obviously! Thora ego side pe rakh ke kabhi mujh se poochh liya hota. Sirf tumhain aur mujhe hi tou passand theen.—"

He cut me off super excited and probably redevouring its taste. Chocoleen. The mini chocolate candies from our childhood.

"—We used to bulk buy them so often and finish them in a day yaar kyaa dinn the woh bhi—"

"Nahin jee, main apni chocolates bachaa ke rakhti thi—"

"—Takiyye ke neeche Zaira seriously? Main sab tumhaare kamre se nikalte hi churaa leta tha." He laughed. "Tum agle din bhool bhi jaati thi."

"Main bhoolti nahin thi. Mujhe maaloom tha tum meri chocoleens chori karte ho—"

"Jhootti." He narrowed his eyes for a slight moment.

"Mujhe woh kuchh khaas passand bhi nahin thi, Hamza."

His laughter slowed down and I realized I had taken his name.

"Ghar mein sirf humain passand theen woh, Zaira."

"Haan lekin mujhe woh tum se zyaada nahin passand theen."

He got bewildered for a second and I quickly rephrased my words,

"MATLAB MUJHE WOH CHOCOLATE ITNI PASSAND NAHIN THI JITNI TUMHAIN PASSAND THI."

kyaa sambhaalo ge tum mere dil ko
jab yeh aanchal sambhalta nahin hai

I am never wearing an aanchal ever again!!

The! awkward! silence!

Why would you not word it out properly Zaira!

I inhaled after a while, "I was a good friend, I used to buy three packs just so you could get two of them. Taaya abbu taayi ammi zyaada chocolates khaane nahin dete the naa."

Bachpan se dosti ke liye sacrifices phir bhi zindagi mein aik achha dost nahin kamaaya.

I raised my head and had the rain drops touch my face.

He chuckled.

Just a while ago he refused to have halwa puri on the breakfast table because it disrupted his diet but I'm sure if anyone gave him chocoleens he'd let go of this body fitness without a second thought.

Unfortunately, Khalid uncle moved to another country many years ago and we cannot see Mr. Gubbaara as Mr. Gubbaara again.

"Tum kitne golu molu the naa bachpan mein?" I pictured him. "Who would have imagined you to turn out this way?—"

"—This way as in, so handsome, fit, dashing—"

"—Khushfehmiyaan."

"Instagram kholo, explore page pe baggeir scroll kiye kam az kam aik post naa aayi tou naam badal dena."

He was just saying but I opened Instagram anyway.

Atif Aslam hi aaye ga. I don't stalk or like posts of Mr. ex-golumolu.

I hid away my phone instantly and he didn't look into my screen but his smug smile of acknowledgement was so annoying.

"One childhood picture can ruin your whole career, itna smirk karne ki zaroorat nahin hai."

"Nuh. I was cute."

"Achha, even in the one where the golu-molu recently showered four year old Ham— one-pack baby is running around the house naked in a half-tied pamper?"

The micro expression of cringe was clear on his face even though he covered it up in a nanosecond. "One pack?"

"Haan, inn six packs ki jagaah woh baraa sa one-pack tummy."

He started fuming in anger and even though he tried to hide it, I witnessed the smoke coming out of his blazing red ears.

"Yea, it's still better than that chocoleen picture where your whole tiny little face is smeared with chocolate."

I stopped in my tracks and stared at him.

He slowed down and stared back.

I ran towards the house and up the porch stairs while he yelled at me to not even dare touch that album.

I laughed and sped up.

Yeh hota hai asli badla.

Ruining his room was nothing.

This is what he deserves for troubling me all his life, and especially last night.

I screamed my heart out while running through the living room and jumping up the stairs.

I closed the door of the storeroom, breathing heavily. Paanchh manaazil aur woh bhi uss basketball player se taiz charrhna.

Aik bhi manzil aur hoti tou aaj tou death hi ho jaani thi, by God.

He banged his hand on the door and I clapped before hopping towards the albums.

"Poori zindagi andar tou nahin rehna. Tum baahar niklo dekhta hoon main tumhain—"

"Achha? Lagaa lo shart. Competitive spirit bohot hai mujh mein. Anaemia ke saath paanchh manaazil charrh sakti hoon, tumhaare abbu ke dil mein utar sakti hoon, give up—"

"Sahi hai," he gave up, "I might quit right now but only be—"

"—cause I have better things to do na na na," I looked through the albums as I repeated his usual concluding message after every single quarrel on the groupchat.

There was silence for a while and I'd have thought he had left had I not had this ability to feel discomfort whenever he's around.

"Beyonce ki bachi agar meri koyi bhi aisi waisi tasveer baahar nikli tou tum dekhna."

♡♡♡

He looked so worried at the dining table. I smirked at him as I climbed down the stairs.

"Haroon!"

Mr. Smirker's eyes flew up towards me.

He looked towards my —hidden behind the back— hands and I loved how scared he got thanks to just one silly picture.

Which I didn't even find.

But of course we were going to take full advantage of all that running up the stairs and locking ourselves in for hours.

"Main keh rahi thi," I climbed down the stairs taking all the time in the world.

One foot at a time. Every step after making a circle in the air. Stretch the calves. Pout and look around innocently.

Once downstairs, having built the suspense enough, I continued, "Ke—"

"—Mood nahin rahaa sunn'ne ka."

Haroon is so badtameez.

"Ke raat ko movie night rakhte hain. Sab ke saath."

I looked at Mr. Loser but he didn't get any hint.

Haroon and Alina, both gasped, "HAAN, KAB SE MOVIE NIGHT NAHIN KI AUR SAB KE SAATH TOH—"

"—Haan, aur kuchh bachpan ki photographs bhi scan ki hain maine," I fanned my face with the photograph in hand, the back of it facing him.

"Zaira, please," he got up, "mujhe woh photograph de do," he calmly spoke walking to me and gesturing me to give it to him.

All serious, normal, as if we were strangers. Full on gentleman.

Kitna maasoom ban jaata hai yeh apne mufaad ke liye.

I looked at the photograph and it was a normal picture of me smiling with red eyes, which indicated I cried before. All of my childhood photographs are the same.

It still brought me chills and goosebumps.

I would never ever ever even if I get a billion dollars, never ever would I ever want to go back to relive even a second of my childhood.

I pulled it up when he tried to outsmart me and snatch it.

He looked up and attempted once more but I impressed myself again by pulling it back.

I walked back, changing my direction by ninety degrees and leading him to the living room.

"I could give it to you on one condition,"

"Conditions ki bachi tum mujhe seedha haath mein pakraao gi, ruko tum."

"Nahin. Apologize for trying to belittle— OYE TUMHAIN FAIR KHELNA NAHIN AATA?"

I ran outside until he yanked my hand and I took the sofa's support behind me to not fall.

Rishta saa hai yeh jurne lagaa joh,
Chaahoon kabhi naa yeh ttootte,

We both felt the baseless awkwardness caused by the song playing on the TV.

"Jaao TV band kar ke aao." He said while having me trapped between the sofa and him.

"Main chhotti bachi nazar aa rahi hoon tumhain?"

He looked towards the dining table, "Woh dekho tumhaari mama dekh rahi hain,"

I kept on looking in his eyes, slowly moving them to check on mama but he only did it to take advantage of my split attention; I stretched my hand away.

Ajeeb badtameez, I try to move away but he holds me intact.

The senseless stupid song kept playing in the background and although it was awkward, it rose a hope within me. Allah kare iss ko mujh se zyaada ajeeb mehsoos ho.

Yet the intimate song in the moment was more disturbing to me. I saw a cushion and tried to hit him and run but he stared at me with a grimace, holding my waist, "Really?"

"Oye," I looked down, almost using both hands to put him away, "hands off me. You cannot touch me like—"

"Yeh woman card kaheen aur khelna. Photo do dafaa ho, koyi shauq nahin hai mujhe,"

"Nahin doon gi, nahin doon gi, nahin doon gi, ab tou yeh social media pe viral ho gi."

"Tumhaara tou baap bhi de ga—"

I gasped and put a hand on my lips, "Papa,"

He looked behind all freaked out, subconsciously stepping back.

I ran as fast as possible and reached the porch, where he grabbed my arm, it slipped away because I moisturize it properly. Hehe.

He toughened up his grip, careless of how rough it felt, "Aakhri dafaa maang rahaa hoon, insaan ban ke de do," I heard him near my ear.

Maybe he thinks I can reach as low as him, but Zaira Azhar would never use such defamation tactics just for fun. I'm not him.

Hamza Hayat, the gaali.

And I'd really give it after getting the vengeance, i.e. enjoying his pain for a while, but now it's on my self-respect. How weak does he think I am?

I was moving away when my hair got stuck somewhere, "Kutte ke bache,"

"Haww!" he let go of me, and I saw his hand on his mouth as he looked behind me. I turned and he snatched the photograph while Allah snatched the earth below my feet.

Taaya abbu.

Taaya abbu, papa, chaachu, Zain.

Kutte ke bache.

No.

Nooo.

I shook my head and opened my mouth to justify but there was no use.

I lowered my eyes, unable to look into taaya abbu's, "Sorry,"

I glared at his son who covered his grin with the photograph, and silently walked inside with my eyes squeezed, stumbling on a step and I wanted to mash it with my feet with all the anger I had in me but they were right behind me.

I saved myself and ran inside up till my room.

I'm never going to talk to Janaab waada-e-faramosh.

He's so awful.

Allah miyaan, main kabbhi kisi ko gaali nahin doon gi, please taaya abbu ke dimaagh se woh scene delete kar dein.

♡♡♡

With shaking legs, I finally reached the dining table.

There was not a single bone in me finding this funny. I wanted to cut out Mr. Ass' mouth and put it on a grinding stone so he never grins again.

I felt the urge to listen to Atif Aslam once again and gain more courage but that would anger taaya abbu more.

After sitting for a while and hearing silence from him, I munched on my food quicker.

But it came before I could finish and run, "Poora mohalla dekh rahaa tha, kyaa tamasha lagaaya huaa tha yeh? Bache ho ab tum dono?" he scolded us both and I felt a bit relieved.

"Ae Zaira te hai hi... Mere kolun khwarn lagi hai," Phuppo started and I mentally whitened my eyeballs, "pehle nahin rahi poori family ikatthi? Pehle toh kabbhi kuchh aisa nahin huaa. Zaira ke hote hue ghar mein sukoon reh hi nahin sakta. Abbhi aap ko meri baaton ka ehsaas nahin ho rahaa lekin jab Maryam aur baaqi bachon pe iss ki ki sangat ke asraat aane lagein ge ussle yaad kare mere alfaaz."

♡♡♡

At night when I got out of the washroom, I saw his blanket on my bed.

I thought he'd be upset. Taaya abbu scolded him more than me.

Oh. Oh god, no.

My eyes opened wide and I looked below my bed. I pulled out the trunk I placed there in the evening.

My diaries and my writings were intact. How else could he have harmed me?

He'd been in my room. I was sure he did something.

Because he must have seen the photograph by now and he must be thinking the real photograph is with me.

I looked into everything in the room but gave up after a while, tired.

I got back into bed and grabbed my earphones from the sidetable as I searched for my phone.

Where is it?

Haaye yaar kahaan rakh diya?

Kahaan ho!

Oh.

Oh no.

NO.

The 1600+ audios.

I don't remember how I fell asleep but I did.

Zero jokes, I probably passed out. Because I don't remember anything at all after that.

— H A M Z A —

"Hamza?"

"Hm?"

She waits for me to do something but I just flirt with her eyes,

"I'll get going." She gives up with a sigh and turns to the door.

When I don't move, she gives me a playful push, "Of course, you can get going, but I'd suggest taking your belongings with you as you go."

Kainat gives me a dazed look of bewilderment and I step away, inducing a gasp. She runs to pick up her undergarment.

"Just to avoid hassles, nothing personal. I'm also not very fond of collecting such items," I rub the back of my neck, "you know."

She elbows my stomach as I bid her a bye and close the door.

My feet stop in my tracks.

I open the door and scan the floor again until my eyes spot it.

Zaira leaning over Zain as they stand behind a man working in his cubicle.

I notice how Zaira's fully conscious of my gaze on her but doesn't look at me once.

I close the door and get back to work.

[jaag ke kattde aan raatan,
ginn ke kattde aan din,
tu te nai aaya, par aiyaan
ae judaaiyan tere bin...]