[aa kise aisiyaan nigaahan mainu takeya,
chaunde hoye wi naa dil ruk sakeya,]

I heard Fajr's azaan and finally went to sit on the dining table.

Fixing the dishwasher all alone was such a task.

The plumber was a scammer. He took money in advance two days ago and didn't come back, with the excuse being that the missing parts of the machine were not available and would be shipped in a few days.

Kaun se missing elements? Plug utra huaa tha peechhe se. Poori machine nikaal ke plug lagaa ke cable fold kar ke waapis ddaali. Bas.

My back is breaking with all the pain, though. At first, I didn't even realise the dishwasher was unplugged. I lived the entire night checking the whole thing. Doing the actual job took no more than an hour.

Plumber ka bacha!

Aaj aaye zaraa, class lagwaati hoon iss ki.

The next time I picked my head up from the table, half of the house members were there.

I told Zain not to trust the plumber and that the dishwasher was fixed and while he stared at me I stumbled up the stairs like a drunkard.

I can't write my diary anymore, see you later, I'm collapsing.

♡♡♡

Um, I woke up in the afternoon.

I feel really sick as I write this.

...

Okay I don't know.

I was sitting on the dining table like everyday and then everyone slowly started getting up but then I was somewhere in my thoughts, thinking of Aadee, of course and...

God knows how it went after that but somehow it all ended up ruined.

And I hate writing fights with mama, let alone this one with phuppo.

Everyone was gone while I sat there eating. Phuppo came out of the kitchen and told me how tomorrow she'd make me cook the food and I don't know, I joked about something and it raised up into a heated conversation and papa intervened and she ended up saying, "apna khoon hota toh aise jawaab naa sunn'ne parrte" and no one has ever said that to me.

I'm so not used to the hatred. Not anymore. I had ended with it years ago.

It was so disturbing, it filled my eyes with tears and I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I ran up like a Bollywood heroine but at that moment, I couldn't even romanticize it.

She received a slap from my father before she could complete the sentence and something about it hurt even more.

The whole house became a chaos and I was sure everyone was worried, but it was the least I could care about.

— H A M Z A —

Ammi gestures me to go to her. I look at Alina and she shakes her head instantly, mouthing, she doesn't like that.

I look around but everyone seems useless until my eyes go to the maid. I gesture her to go up and ammi yells at me.

Trfftt!!

I walk upstairs. Ammi doesn't understand we are not friends anymore.

Where the fuck is Zain when he's needed? He keeps on talking big all the time but when there's an emergency he's never there.

I grimace, not ready to open the door. God knows what one can find.

It creaks open and I whine, super unready for tears.

I hate women so much.

Like okay, you can feel bad, but go punch someone why do you gotta cry?

"Khayaalon mein laakhon baatein
youn toh keh gayaa,
Bola kuchh naa tere saamne,"

I hear her low humming that stops when I walk in through the narrow opening and she sees me.

I close the door behind me, not wanting to let her hear the bullshit drama going on downstairs.

She walks to me and puts a finger on my chest after locking her dewy eyes with mine.

"Hue naa begaane bhi tum ho ke aur ke,
Dekho tum naa mere hi bane.

Afsos hota hai,
Dil bhi yeh rota hai,
Sapne sanjota hai,
Pagla hua. Soche yeh,
Hum the mile, tum se naa jaane kyun
Milon ke,—
you know,"

she goes back to sit on her desk.

"I'm always going to hate you the most?"

Agh, Zaira. I was starting to find you pretty, why do you open your mouth to talk?

"Even if I find worse peop—" she snorts a genuine cute laugh, "that's impossible. But no matter how much time goes by, no matter how many bad people I meet, you're always going to be the worst of them all. Because you have me caged. And you know, I'd try to tell you why I am the way I am, and I don't know maybe in your words try to gain sympathy. But you're so heartless... You just don't care, yaar. And I care a little too much. And what seems too devastating for me is too fun for you. And I wish I was you, how chill would life be? Except Astaghfirullah, God knows what your end is going to be like."

She looks at me with disappointment.

"Khair, Alhamdulillah Alhamdulillah. I just pray no one ever comes too close to you. You're a piece of shit and no one's as strong as I am. Leave my room, Mr. Crappiest Hayat. Oh— no, before you leave let's hear your joke on how this is not my room, and how I would be the crappiest Hayat if only I were a Hayat or whatever shit you can come up with. These jokes are compulsory, aren't they?—"

I push the psycho's earphones in her ears and turn up the volume to the highest.

We both sit down in peace. I bought all the products she uses and none has the scent this room has.

I'd manipulate her into telling me the secret but she's rightfully emotional right now and she needs this time for herself.

And I'm in too much peace to think of using my brain anywhere other than attaining this calm.

What kind of magic does this exotic fruit mixed with a heating warmth smell have on me?

She starts humming again and I listen to her, awfully annoyed at how this scent is not going to be there once I leave next week.

I have the flights booked.

The next time I open my eyes, it's to watch her painting on the mirror with a lipstick.

Like a psychopath.

I truly, for a second, fear for my life.

I leave the room but the quarreling downstairs makes me roll my eyes and go back.

"Oye, rona dhona band karo buri lag rahi ho."

But she picks up two pens and starts playing the drums to prove she really is a Hayat.

Kin paagalon ke beech aa gayaa hoon main?

Before I pick up my phone to call my manager and tell him to book tomorrow's flights, my eyes spot the passionate oblivion in hers.

She doesn't roll her head as if she were in a disco, or as I imagined her to do. But she watches the desk as if there were real drums in front of her.

Maybe if I zoomed in her eyes I'd see the reflection of drums.

"Duniya humain abbh joh kahe,
Duniya ki rasmon ko tor tor chalein,
Raahein humain abbh joh kahein,
Raahon ki baahon ko chhorr chhorr chalein,"

"Dun—" the happiness expires. It visibly leaves her face. She looks down at her phone and it's off now.

God.

The fuck do I do now?

She doesn't even have a TV in her room.

She looks up at me all disappointed and I pat my pockets, only to find a wallet.

I left my phone in the car.

I thought I could escape tonight but this unexpected drama took place.

She goes to her wardrobe and pulls out a yellow tunic.

I thank God and sit on her desk once the bathroom's door closes.

Once I get out of here, I'm never coming back. Living in this country is impossible. This was the worst decision of my life.

My eyes go to her diary while I mentally scold myself to think twice before taking such steps.

I look at her beautiful handwriting in the beginning.

Zaira Azhar
@zaira.azhar
i know i won't ever lose my diary but if someday my love deceives me and i become too forgetful out of pain, bury it between books in the nearest library with a note in your handwriting. when my love comes back to me and life is colorful again, i'll go on an adventure and look for it. i really need to see whose hands Allah wanted this diary in.

I chuckle and flip the page. Her handwriting is really pretty for someone who writes fast and often.

Who even does these diaries thing anymore?

She's definitely a classical novel character. God pulled her out of a very chaotic book.

The first page is full of her love for Atif Aslam.

I flip the pages at once with my thumb, taking a quick view.

The diary's almost ending. I skip to the last of the pages and look for that night.

My eyes run to the pages to quickly read even a bit if possible.

"Ya khudaaya that is soo—"

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" he's such a tapori, self-obsessed tumhaara bhai hai Nida ki bachi.

I flip two pages.

His eyes are so pretty

I flip back a page.

But he didn't say anything? Why is he so mhfmmm.

I'm done with adjectives. He's Hamza Hayat. Hamza Hayat is the worst adjective on earth. Whenever I feel like giving someone a gaali I'll call him Hamza Hayat.

But the second his eyes met mine I forgot that.

I hear the bathroom door opening and close the diary, but before that, my eyes catch the last two sentences on that page.

And maybe whenever I find someone with a funfilled macrocosm in their eyes, I'm going to call them Hamza Hayat.

Are eyes the entrance to one's soul?

I look at her making her entrance in the room while tying her hair into a ponytail.

"Rassi aur hook le aao naa, maine neeche utarna hai."

My eyes bolt out, "What?"

"Haan, uss din kamra kharaab karte hue dekhi thi. Mujhe pataa hai tumhain ttaangni aati hai, lagaa do please. Mujhe nahin jaana sab ke saamne se."

And she guessed on first try that it was for that? She's a little too innocent for her first guess to be so simple.

"Pait andar karo," I hit her belly before leaving to lighten up her mood.

I hook it in her room and get out of the house from in between the quarreling. Not before giving a thumbs up to my worried ammi, who's more her ammi now.

I watch Ms. Crappiest Hayat looking at the rope a bit confused and I know she won't be able to do it.

"You know you can just jump out of there? The rope is for climbing back."

But I know she won't jump, she'll climb down the rope. It's only the first floor but women—

"Achha, hatto aage se."

Will she do it? I don't know, she's too much of a scaredy cat for that, but she has surprised us all a lot in a remarkably short span of time.

She looks behind her and I roll my eyes and go start the car. I knew she wouldn't be able to do it. I listen to phuppo's voice and when it doesn't go down, I wonder if she aborted the plan of getting out of the house, but soon hear shuffling near her window and look up to see her trying to stand on it with her face still tilted backwards.

I open the door and slam it before running to her, she lands almost pushing me aside and turns her head to me, "Are you fucking nuts? Peechhe kyaa dekh rahi thi gadhi?"

"Oye kud gayi hoon naa? Shor tou nahin huaa naa? Bas ttheek hai."

"Shor tou nahin huaa ki bachi abbhi haddi ttoott jaati koyi tou? Kudi nahin ho slip huyi ho, shokhi aurat. Aur yeh? Diary le ke kud rahi thi tum? Aqal hai tum mein? Isse pehle phenk ke phir khud nahin ttappak sakti thi?"

I roll the rope and push it into her window.

"Tum se nahin ho ga. Insaanon ki tarha paidal jaana oopar."

She walks to the car silently and I suddenly feel bad for scolding her.

I get in and drive her out.

"Kahaan?" I ask.

She looks up, "uh, aise hi gaire lagaa do naa thori dair."

I inhale, fed up. "Baraae meherbaani, asaan alfaaz."

She rolls her eyes, "ghumaa lo poore shehar mein."

"Haan, tumhaare abbu ka driver lagaa hua hoon naa main?" Yet I drive her all around the town anyway. Because it's upsetting to see her upset.

I pray she sees something on the street and her philosophical mind busies itself but even after half an hour, her mind stays there.

She keeps on staring at the last written page on her diary with a pen ready to write but a mind so knotted with thoughts that she can't decide where to start from.

And she'll probably not write whatever happened. She didn't write our fight the other day.

Once the road's clear, I push her hair back to see if she's wearing earphones.

Obviously not. Her phone's battery died.

I give her my phone with a warning, "Atif ke ilaawa kuchh bhi."

"Atif twaade mame da puttar hai?" Huh? "Atif Aslam."

"Haan wohi, anything apart of that nonsense."

On a normal day she'd make me crash the car for saying that, but today she's too sad to say much.

She plays a song and when I see Atif Aslam's name she instantly holds my phone aside, "Achha achha achha achha achha achha achha."

Ms. Aadeez plays another song and rests her head on the window. After a lot of thinking she tosses the diary and pen in the backseat.

"You know you look ugly when you're sad? It doesn't suit you."

Doesn't work.

I shrug. Would work on Mehwish.

She sighs and rests her head in front of her, over the airbag area, "I just want to get married. I don't want to live here."

"Right." Always fucking marriage.

After a while of silence, I turn down the music's volume.

"You're really getting upset because of phuppo? Phuppo? I thought you were smart enough to not care about what she says. She keeps blabbering about everyone. How does it matter?"

She frowns. "Waqeel sahab shouldn't have slapped her. It's her house, she has more right, she didn't deserve that slap. She was probably somewhere right, I fall too deep in my own emotions sometimes and forget I'm probably misbehaving."

Her sadness is as contagious as her happiness is. I move my attention to driving.

"I understand your situation. You don't get anything I'm saying. Haina? It's so universally small it actually doesn't matter."

Abey yaar.

"Lekin apni zindagi hi kyaa agar khud ki dunya mein naa raho? It might be universally small but individually, it's really big. It doesn't have to be the end of the world for me to be allowed to cry. I am allowed to cry at mini destructions of my world. It's too silly for the whole world but it's calamitous for me. Ouf I feel so lonely when I say that. My feelings only matter to me? How cruel? The whole world won't care if I get ditched in love?"

She takes a long pause and puts me in deep thoughts.

"The love of your life died? Ok so what? She wasn't carrying the sun from east to west. The world's still going to remain the same. Every morning is still going to remain the same. The fragrance in the flowers is still going to remain the same. Nothing's changing. But you? You won't find every morning as beautiful as you once did. The fragrance of flowers won't ever be as special as it once was. And it's so weird? Like she was carrying the sun for you? Mornings won't ever be that bright? She was the perfume in your flowers? Gardens won't make you that happy anymore?"

This was so spontaneous and improvised. Her writing is really good, if she had taken more time to think of it, it would have come out much more sense-knocking and poetic.

"It's all about our emotions, Janaab Waada-e-faraamosh. How can you tell me not to show them?"

Teri baahon mein mili
Aisi raahat si mujhe
Ho gayi jaan-e-jahaan
Teri aadat si mujhe
Dekhoon main jab tujhko toh
Tab mera din yeh dhale

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein toh jaaein kahaan?

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein toh jaaein kahaan?

I halt the vehicle in the middle of a quiet park, get out of the car and go to her side.

I open her door and she looks at me all astonished, "Oye kyaa kahaa maine tumhain? Mazaaq kar rahi thi qatl nahin karna mera." She looks around at the hushed site.

I roll my eyes and kneel for her hand. She hesitantly looks up at me while her eyes play around with different shades of blue under the moonlight.

Tsk. "Yaar, to hell with your future husband. It's his mistake he's getting so late. Ditch him."

She giggles and accepts my hand after turning the volume of the music system up.

Dard ka aalam hai hardum
Tere bin o mere humdum
Aankhon mein dikhti hai maayusiyan

I close the door of the car, bring her to the middle of the imaginary stage, and we slay a slow, rhythmical dance. The universal couple steps for our individual moment.

Jahan bhi jaaun tere bin
Bari mushkil se guzre din
Chubhti hain dil ko teri khamoshiyaan
Raaz gehra jo hai tera
Darr hai kaisa tu hai mera

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein to jaaein kahaan?

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein to jaaein kahaan?

I didn't expect her to be so good at it. "Haaye Allah when is Aadee going to do this to me? Oye can you teach me salsa?" she spins.

"Tango." I remind her, "Only if you tell me what this scent is of."

Dhul gaye dil ke saare gham
Khushi se aankhein hain yeh num
Zindagi mein tu meri jab se aa gaya
Dil ka armaan bana hai tu
Meri pehchaan bana hai tu
Saanson mein rooh ban ke tu samaa gaya
Jaan bhi teri, dil bhi tera
Tujh se hai mera sawera o...

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein toh jaaein kahaan?

"You aren't as useless as I thought of you to be, huh?"

"Yeh mera dialogue tha, Allah miyaan second take, iss ne script mess up kar di," she clears her throat, "oye tum itne bhi nikamme nahin ho jitna maine socha tha."

Without a word, we unanimously decide to do extra spins at the end,

Deewana kar raha hai
Tera roop sunehra
Musalsal khal raha hai
Mujhko ab yeh sehra
Bata ab jaaein toh jaaein kahaan?

Bata ab jaaein toh jaaein kahaan?

We end up closer than we've ever been and she looks up, laughing. "This was so fun yaar. Tum waise bohot bohot bohot bure ho lekin tum mein aik cheez ttheek tthaak hai aur woh yeh hai ke tumhain lutf utthaana aata hai. Matlab har waqt rote dhote bezaar hote kisi masle ko pakar ke baith nahin jaate."

Her fragrance is intoxicating, "Tum—"

"Sssh," she silences me to listen to the song, and snaps till she hears her lines,

"Chhat tapp ke aavaangi
Tennu pharr ke javangi
Tujhpe nazar ab lock ho gayi meri"

With a full enjoyment mood, she does a little Bollywood performance on the song.

"Hadd ho gayi decency ki
Gal ho gayi urgency ki
Bohot hui distance teri meri

Kadi te closer aa
Main tere heart nu touch kar laan
Ke jattni peeche nahi hattni
Tu ik din mera hi hona..."

I go sit back in the car and she follows.

I stop the music and take a u-turn.

She rolls down the window.

"Thank you. But that doesn't mean whatever I told you in my room wasn't true. You are an asshole."

"Be careful of whatever you allow that small little mouth to utter, Ms. Hayat. I'm the one in the seat of authority," I push the child lock on and she wonders why there is a child lock on the passenger seat.

♡♡♡

"Yaar, it's genuinely lovely the way you take care of yourself. Your skin is silk soft. Rarely ever does someone take care of themselves the way you do. And I love your—"

Kaafi taareef nahin ho gayi, Hamza?

When the fuck did I start using Urdu in my head.

But the touch of her skin is still there along with the image, properly stuck with glue on the wall of a room in my head.

The day I helped her out with her leg cramps I noticed how properly she lotions every part of her body.

"Yaar, college ke baaher time hi nahin milta," she whines, "abbhi fruits wagera shuroo kiye. Banda kyaa khaana hai pe dehaan rakhe yaa zindagi jiye? Lekin phir self-care, hair-care, skin-care..." she says while cramming down a packet of Lays.

Lol.

Why is she sitting so far away? If she were any other girl, I'd pull her to my lap. What is this long distance... friendship?

Is it a friendship?

"Hum aap ke hain kaun—" my heart skips a beat, "dekhi hai tum ne?"

Oh, I thought she could hear my thoughts.

"Huh? nahin."

"Uss mein Madhuri ke baal yaar, top-tier inspiration. After that, I stopped with eating pizza every night. Khaaskar woh Mitwa waala gaana. Abbh aakhirkaar bohot khubsoorat hain, zero complaints Allah miyaan, lekin kuchh zyaada hi ghungraale nikal aaye." She laughs wholeheartedly even though there was no funny.

"Ok bas, limit mein hasso."

"Tum log itne mogambo types ho naa. Limit mein hasso huh? Keh tou tum aise rahe ho jaise nashe ki baat kar rahe ho? Aur agar nasha bhi kar rahi hoti tou tumhain baap bann'ne ki zaroorat nahin hai. Gaari main nahin, tum chalaa rahe ho."

Yehi tou masla hai.

♡♡♡

"May I ask you something, Ms. Zaira Azhar?" I interrupt her intellectual thoughts.

"Haan. Pehli dafaa naam sahi se liya hai. Aur nahin, agar sawaal yeh hai ke maine apni kunniyat kyun badli tou nahin."

"Tumhaara... iss ghar ki sab auraton ka shaadi se kyaa obsession hai—?"

"—Haaye Allah, it's one of the signs of my intellectualism," she prepares herself for a long talk but then gives up, "Yaar innh Lays ka hi soch lo. Yeh teenon packets joh abbhi maine khaaye, yeh kitni dour se ban ke aate hain? Aur kitna waqt innh ko banaane mein lagaa ho ga naa? Aur ingredients jab ikatthe kiye haun ge? Agh it overwhelms me so much."

She munches down on a few more chips.

"Matlab, jitni bhi dour se aaye hain, bas mere liye aaye hain. Jitna bhi waqt innhain banaane mein lagaa hai, sirf iss liye lagaa hai ke main innhain maze se khaa sakoon, aur jitni bhi alag jagaah se jitne bhi time mein jis jis ne bhi innh ingredients ko ugaane mein apna apna hissa diya hai, sirf iss liye diya hai ke main innh ka lutf uttha sakoon—"

"—I was asking about something else but carry on,"

"Yehi tou, yeh toh abbhi aik Lays ke packet ki baat ho rahi hai, woh joh paida hi huaa hai sirf mere liye uss ka soch ke hush-hush nahin hoon tou kyaa hoon?"

??

"Aur InShaAllah jab poori qaainat usse mujh se milaane ki saazish kare gi, uss waqt ka intezaar besabri se kaise naa karoon?"

♡♡♡

Uska Hi Banana plays and she skips the song, "Allah, kabbhi tou koyi yeh gaana gaaye mere liye. Full Arijit type feels ke saath."

I click back on the song while she watches me.

She screams her favorite part,

"Uss ka hoon uss mein hoon uss se hoon
Uss hi ka rehne de
Main toh pyaasa hoon hai
Dariya woh zariya woh jeene ka mere

Mujhe ghar de gali de shehar de
Uss hi ke naam ke
Kadam yeh chalein yaa rukein
abbh uss hi ke waaste

Dil mujhe de agar, dard de uss ka par
Uss ki ho woh hassi goonje joh mera ghar!"

and skips the song.

"Tumhaare saath feels nahin aa rahi. Achhe gaane harr waqt nahin sunn'ne chaahiye banda bezaar ho jaata hai. Agli baar sunoon gi apne mehboob ke saath sunoon gi InShaAllah."

"Mehboob kaun? Ahmed, Mehboob, kitne hain tumhaare?" I ask.

Ms. Beyoncé rolls her eyes, "tum dimaagh se paidal ho," she watches my eyes through her peripheral vision.

"No, be honest, how many boyfriends have you had."

She laughs and it's a very small, five seconds laugh but she looks so pretty.

[gayaa pair ishqe de wich rakheya,
naa gal mere bas di rahi...]