Farjaad had come home in spirits so high, that even his mother and sister made a note of it. After leaving Umeed's café just before noon, he had returned to the office physically but mentally? Far from it. He had spent sitting through most of his meeting with his head replaying what happened at her café. The way she stole glances at him from behind her desk, how she squirmed ever so slightly under his gaze, and then, her eyes...

Her eyes.

Farjaad knew he could be wrong about anything in the world, but not about what he had seen in her eyes in that moment. What her eyes had told him. Umeed herself might not have been aware, but her eyes were. And they told him. They told him that she went through the same tussle as him. The same struggle. He knew it.

Yet, he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was.

Or perhaps, he didn't want to.

He wondered if she did.

Lately, Farjaad's thoughts had been wandering more frequently, whether he was at the office or home. He wasn't oblivious to it—he was acutely aware of his inability to control where his mind wandered. How a five-foot-one-inched hurricane had taken charge, relentlessly sweeping his thoughts wherever it pleased, leaving him utterly powerless.

But at least he tried to conceal it. Sometimes, he'd nod along to the presenter, pretending to absorb every word they said. Other times, he'd sit in his cabin, eyes glued to his laptop, feigning focus and at home, he'd flip through his files.

As he sat in the living room, that's exactly what he was doing — except this time, he couldn't even be bothered to open the files or pretend to look at them. The stack of files sat untouched on the teapoy, while his elbow rested lazily on the couch's armrest. His mind, once again, had already departed on its familiar journey back to Pasha's café.

Farjaad felt his heart flutter and stomach flip as he replayed that morning for what seemed like the thousandth time. He rubbed his chin, the image of Umeed's expression when he told her he was concerned for her flashing through his mind. Rendering Umeed Pasha speechless was a thrill that gave him a high like nothing else, and Farjaad had just figured this out about himself.

He let out a silent chuckle as he recalled the messages she had sent him the other night—expressing concern for his well-being and even enlisting Niaz to make him a cup of joshanda through Mimi. As memories flooded in, the events that led up to that moment weren't exempt. For what felt like an embarrassingly high number of times, Farjaad Khan found his mind drifting back to when Umeed Pasha was in his arms. Her face so radiant and glistening.

Calling an accident of that sort a life altering experience would be rather foolish, and would be looked down upon by people. If someone else had told him this a month ago, he would laugh at them, labelling it a mere exaggeration. But Farjaad couldn't deny it anymore. Having Umeed Pasha engulfed in his arms, pressed up against him while her face held the remnants of the water in his hair as if it linked them somehow, felt so intimate. Her lashes fluttering innocently under his gaze, her lips parting as his hold on her shoulders tightened, and and that single droplet tracing its path from her cheek to her lips — all of it haunted him every second of every day.

The kind of haunting he could get used to.

If he thought her presence and words had taken his life by a storm big enough, he was wrong. She wasn't done yet. Something had shifted in him permanently after he had tasted Umeed Pasha's touch.

The feeling of her wrist fitting perfectly in his palm was fresh in his mind. It felt as if his hands were meant solely to wrap around her. The way her fiery self instantly tamed at the act, the way he could feel her breath grow uneven as her pulse quickened beneath his thumb that grazed her wrist, the way her eyes flicked down to his lips —and how she offered no resistance to his advances. Umeed Pasha was a force of nature, yet somehow, around him, she transformed into someone temptingly delicate and flustered. That, at least, was what he liked to believe.

If that was truly the case, Farjaad knew he had already thought of — and perhaps even visualised — a much more interesting and enjoyable way to temporarily silence Umeed Pasha and her endless chatter — something he found increasingly hard to admit he had grown rather fond of.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch as he realized his mind was venturing into uncharted territory, conjuring images he would rather not entertain, especially not while sitting in the living room of his house with work files scattered in front of him, or ideally, not at all. Realizing how much he was letting himself get carried away, Farjaad smiled.

That was when Mimi walked in, busy on the phone, chatting away to someone Farjaad guessed was the jeweller. The mention of the engagement ring made reality come crashing down on the sandcastle of thoughts he'd built over the past hour. His jaw tightened as the face of the man whose name he never cared to remember but who seemed to be on everyone's lips flashed in his mind. By now, the feeling of constricted lungs and a burning chest had become normal for Farjaad Khan Bahadur, often accompanied by a surge of irrational, cranky anger.

That was what prompted him to grab the files in front of him and flip them open. It was utterly ridiculous, wasting his valuable time on such baseless, pointless, irrelevant thoughts. For someone who lived by the clock, it was entirely unlike him. He wasn't going to let anyone disrupt the discipline he had cultivated in his life for years. No one was worth that.

Especially not the tardy, chaotic young girl his sister called her best friend.

Farjaad was halfway through his fifth attempt to get through the file in his hands without being distracted by his thoughts when he noticed Maryam fidgeting on the three-seater across from him, toying with the wedding cards. When he asked what was bothering her, she explained that her best friend wasn't answering her calls. His response was a dismissive piece of advice joined with an eye roll: not to expect much from someone as messy as her best friend and to stay away from her if possible, though he knew full well that Maryam would pay heed to it.

It was during his tenth attempt to read the first page of the darned single-page file when he heard his sister's phone ring. She had instantly answered it addressing the call with the one name he was trying to flush out of his mind. He felt his chest do a backflip at the thought of her on the other side.

Farjaad was worried he was turning into a complete weirdo.

But he grew even more concerned as he pieced together Maryam's side of the conversation. She looked tense, and the moment Farjaad heard her confirm that Umeed wasn't at their house, alarms went off in his head. He set the file aside and turned toward his sister, locking eyes with her, hoping the look would convey his intentions of indulgence regarding this matter.

Now, as he sat in the midst of utter chaos, embracing the one woman toward whom he felt an immeasurable amount of anger and resentment — albeit irrational considering it stemmed out of her association with that man even though he credited it to the mess she creates, he couldn't help but arrive at an important realization.

Long before Maryam ended the call—with whom he later learned was Haya, Umeed's cousin, Farjaad had his hands in his pockets, reaching for his phone. His mind raced with a million different scenarios, each worse than the last, sending him into a paralyzing fear while his mind also simultaneously tried to devise the fastest possible solutions for each of those potential outcomes.

Long before his sister told him that "some things went down in Umeed's house, which led to her leaving without her phone"—details Haya refused to elaborate on, Farjaad was concerned with every last atom of his being. The moment he heard Maryam's words, he rushed out, car keys in hand, not bothering to explain himself.

All that indescribable agitation, dismay, anger, and resentment had disappeared at the mere thought that she might not be at her best. That alone was enough, especially considering the very real possibility of her ending up in some sort of danger. He knew, all too well, that such a situation would damage him in ways he might find very hard to recover from.

It didn't make any sense, really. If anything, it was frightening how all-consuming it felt.

Farjaad sat on the café's kitchen floor, his larger frame cradling her smaller one settled between his legs. He buried his face in her hair, fingers weaving through the strands while his other hand rubbed her back. Yet, his mind was caught in an endless loop of thoughts—how she had ended up here alone at this hour, why her hands were bleeding, where the first aid kit might be, and whether it would suffice or if he needed to call a doctor. He worried if she had eaten or if all she had consumed were cups of chai, and wondered if she ever took the tests that he suggested she take after her fainting episode. The thought of taking her to a hospital crossed his mind, knowing she wouldn't take care of herself for the life of her.

But most of all, Farjaad felt a deep ache in his heart at the sight of this toofan-e-badtameezi in such a vulnerable state, all broken and defenseless. He pondered what or who could have driven someone as strong as her to such a breakdown. His anger resurfaced, but this time he realized it was directed at whoever had caused her pain.

Endless thoughts, all of them centered around her and her well-being.

It didn't matter if she pushed him into a pool or poured water on his documents. It didn't matter that she signed him up for a performance at his sister's wedding — a commitment that haunted his dreams now. It absolutely didn't matter that she had thrown a cup of scalding hot coffee on him during their first official meeting or that she was constantly late whenever they were supposed to meet. It didn't even faze him that she relentlessly challenged his spice tolerance, leading to the worst acidity he had experienced in years.

He couldn't bring himself to care even a little about how she boldly, loudly, and fervently called him out for failing to show up for the people he loved, implying that merely making money for them wasn't enough.

It didn't matter whether she was engaged to a man he didn't like one bit, a man he couldn't even afford the auto fare to meet. It didn't matter that she would be marrying this man in a few months. Not at this moment.

The only thing that mattered was that she was safe and comfortable, whether it came from being in his arms or elsewhere.

Farjaad Khan Bahadur only ever cared about Umeed Pasha's well-being and happiness.

Along with a secret second thing he might have been starting to feel.

The realization of it felt nothing short of glorious.

He felt Umeed slowly stir in his arms, as if emerging from a trance, her movements hesitant as she attempted to break the hug. Farjaad glanced down to see her eyelashes fluttering, her eyes lowered as her hands hovered uncertainly over his arms, seemingly unsure of where to place them. She refused to meet his eyes.

Umeed could feel her heart begin to race, pounding against her chest as she fully took in the scene around her. Reluctant as she was, she knew she had to pull away. But she wasn't sure how to face Farjaad after he had found her in such a vulnerable state.

The one thing Umeed Pasha hated was someone seeing her cry.

Sure, she'd had her dramatic outbursts in front of her family countless times since childhood. But the moments when she missed her mother, when her father's words echoed in her mind, when she reminded herself that she might never receive the validation and love she craved from him, those were different. The moments when she reflected on how her family treated each of the three children so differently, with her often bearing the weight of it, tend to bring tears to her eyes.

Those were the moments she was determined to keep hidden from the world. A side of herself she guarded fiercely.

Haya had definitely seen more than anyone else. She had witnessed Umeed's conniving schemes, her bouts of anger and frustration, even those moments when Umeed would sit with her arms crossed, her eyes red and teary, face full of anger yet refusing to cry. Haya had seen it all. But that tender, almost glass-like vulnerable side of her, that was something Umeed made sure no one was privy to.

It was embarrassing.

It wasn't as if her world had come crashing down, enough to warrant sitting and crying over these things. But sometimes, it did, and she wasn't particularly proud of it. So, Umeed made certain no one witnessed these moments. Sometimes she hid it in the darkness of her room, under blankets at bedtime, sometimes in the backyard of her house after midnight when the house was asleep, or when she closed up her quiet café, alone after an evening when Pasha Sahab made his entry and offered his unsolicited comments, that pricked her heart into bleeding.

People already thought she was incapable & incompetent. No one needed to see her being a snowflake, as well.

She shouldn't be one, in the first place.

Jolting back from Farjaad, Umeed hastily wiped the tears off her face as she scrambled to find the right words. Just as she was about to place her hands on the floor, preparing to get up, Farjaad leaned forward and gently covered her hands with his own. His gaze was intent, a deep frown creasing his brow. Umeed looked up at him, slightly shaking her head.

Farjaad's lowered his eyes to the bloodied hands he held, wordlessly urging her to look at them as well. Umeed glanced down at their intertwined fingers, then back up at him, her expression settling back into the stoic, emotionless state where he first found her. Farjaad instantly connected the dots.

Umeed was concealing her true feelings, just as she probably had when it came to his careless comments about her mother's watch.

It seemed, after all, there was someone else who had built walls around themselves too.

Except he did not know why. But there was one thing he was certain about.

"Matlab agar tumhari wajah se agar kisi kay dil ko chot pohonchi hai, koi hurt huwa hai, tou tum kaam aisa karo kay marham bhi tum hi bano. Unhe ehsaas dilaao kay unhe tumharay saamnay unhe yeh theek honay ki acting karnay ki zarurat nahin hai."

Farjaad Khan Bahadur knew exactly what to do, and he had Nighat Khan Bahadur to thank for that.

Before Umeed could react, Farjaad gently gripped her shoulders, helping her up and guiding her to the couch in front. He made sure she was settled before stepping out of the café. Umeed followed his movements quietly, struggling to find the right words or actions. Determined not to make more of a fool of herself than she already had, she sat there, hands folded.

Farjaad returned a few minutes later, carrying a first aid kit and a bottle of water, which Umeed assumed he'd fetched from his car. She sat exactly where he'd left her, hands fidgeting and legs bouncing anxiously. With a sigh, he walked over to the couch and took a seat beside her.

He glanced over at Umeed, noticing her gaze fixed firmly on her lap, avoiding his eyes. Gently, Farjaad extended a hand, his fingers wrapping tenderly around her wrist as he guided it over a bowl he'd grabbed from one of the tables on his way. With care, he poured the water from the bottle, letting it wash over her hand.

"Umeed?" called out Farjaad.

Umeed stared intently at her lap as Farjaad carefully cleaned each of her hands, one by one. He placed the water bottle aside, opening the first aid box.

"Umeed meri taraf dekho?"

A request so soft, yet it seemed inadequate as Umeed refused to move her gaze. Farjaad pressed his lips together, his fingers moving to her chin, lifting her face to meet his eyes. Umeed didn't resist, but her eyes were blank. The sight made Farjaad realize of an ache inside him that he never realized existed.

"Umeed, kya ho gaya hai?" Farjaad asked, before reassuring her. "Tum mujhay bata sakti ho Umeed, tumhein hichkichanay ki zarurat nahin hai. Jo bhi hai, hum theek kar lengay. Me hoon na?"

As Farjaad's words reached her, something shifted within Umeed. She could feel her walls crumble, her vision blurring. Her throat tightened painfully as she tried to swallow back the tears, but her eyes betrayed her resolve as a single, rebellious tear slipped down her cheek.

Farjaad caught the tear immediately, his thumbs gently brushing it away with a kind of practised tenderness. That was it for Umeed's defenses. That was enough to undo her entirely. The walls she had built so carefully around her heart shattered, and a quiet, broken sob escaped her lips. Farjaad's face instantly grew tensed, as he grew alert.

That one gesture of Farjaad brought back all that had happened. Pasha Sahab's searing words, the burden that her engagement was, Sameer's betrayal, the loss of her mother's watch & the new set of deliveries that now laid shattered across her café kitchen.

Everything sucked. Royally.

"Mujhay kuch..." Umeed wheezed, "kuch samajh nahin aa raha."

Farjaad calmly took one of her hands in his, placing it in his lap as he reached for the antiseptic in the first aid box. He shifted on the couch, turning his body to face her fully.

"Saaray kay saaray cups toot gaye, pata hai kitnay mehengay the?" Umeed sobbed. "Menay woh bhi tor diye, ab me kaisay chai-coffee serve karun? Meray saath hi pata nahin yeh sab kyun hota hai? Shayad Pasha Sahab sach hi kehtay-ah!"

Farjaad gently dabbed the medicine-soaked cotton on one of her wounded hands, causing her to hiss in pain. He flinched slightly, then softly blew on her hand to ease the sting. "Hmm?" he murmured, nodding at her, encouraging her to continue.

Umeed pouted. "Sab sach hi kehtay hai. Mujhsay koi kaam nahin hota theek se. Lekin-" She sobbed again. "Lekin iska matlab yeh tou nahin hai na kay log baar baar mujhay yaad dilayein iss baaray mein? Pata hai bhai nahin hota kaam. Mujhay bhi koi shauk nahin hai. Waisay shauk hai kisko kaam karnay ka? Kisi ko nahin, phir bhi kartay hai na?"

Farjaad nodded, as he proceeded with the first aid, trying to make sense of Umeed's blabbering.

"Tou me bhi tou kar rahi hun. Koshish me bhi kar rahi hun na? Itnay mahinon mein kaunsa café aasman chhoo gaya hai kay bas mujh par hi itni saarai expectations lagayi gayi hai. Naam Umeed hai iska matlab hargiz yeh nahin hai kay dusron kay umeedein tale dab jaanay kay liye paida huwi hun. Nahin hun na wonder woman, Umeed Pasha hun me!"

Umeed wiped the tears from her cheeks fiercely with the back of her hand, while Farjaad continued to tend to her wound with focus.

"Aur meray cups bhi toot gaye, investors bhi saaray ek number badtameez log, ek baat nahin ho sakti insay seedhi tareeke se. Har baat par tok detay hai, sun kar lagta hai koi Elon Musk kay level ki invesment ki ho, mushkil se 2 lakh rupaye diye hongay ek ek ne milkay. Baaki menay udhaar liye the meray doston se. Woh bhi waapis dena hai, pata nahin kab aur kaisay? Me kya karungi agar koi aakay mujhsay paisay waapis maang liye tou? Sirf me aur meray Allah jee jantay hai yeh café kaisay chal raha hai."

Farjaad kept nodding, his eyes fixed on her face, fully attentive to her words, even as she jumped from one thought to another with surprising ease.

"Aur woh bhi kaafi nahin tha, isiliye tou meray ooper sab ne milkay Waleed naam ka toofan barpaa kiya huwa hai, kyuuun matlab kyun? Nahin karni na shaadi."

If Farjaad was busy trying to make sense of everything she was ranting about, here came something that caught his attention and comprehended quite immediately.

Umeed did not want to get married to Waleed?

"Lekin aaj..." Umeed's voice cracked, and she broke into uncontrollable sobs at the memory of Pasha Sahab favouring Waleed over her. The sting of it all cut deeper than anything else. Her sobs echoed through the quiet café, her words dissolving into incoherent mumbling and pure gibberish.

She took a shaky breath, her voice faltering, "Aajo Pasha-" She broke into louder sobs "nekah, kyamavlb caféchal..." wiping her face on the sleeves of her dress, "keliyeshaadkarun?" she gasped for air "Nainsaafi hai na yeh tou?"

Farjaad smiled gently, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he nodded at her. He couldn't make sense of the words she was saying, but his mind hit a speed bump with just one thought.

There was a chance that Umeed didn't like Waleed?

But if that was the case, why on earth would she marry him?

Farjaad carefully continued tending to Umeed's bandaged hand, his mind toiling with a thousand thoughts. But then, without warning, Umeed withdrew her right hand from his grip. He watched as she gazed lovingly at her wrist, her eyes welling up again as fresh tears began to fall. Umeed's face turned a deep shade of red, her cheeks stained by each tear that traced its path down her skin. Farjaad couldn't bear to see it.

"Aur..." Umeed huffed, "Aur tou aur... menay apni Ammi ki ghari bhi kho di."

The moment Umeed mentioned the one motif that had always held such significance in their relationship, at least for Farjaad, his thoughts of her possibly not liking Waleed were thrown out of the window. His sole focus now was on finding out if Umeed knew where it had gone.

Farjaad glanced at Umeed expectedly, as he waited for her to continue.

"Jab se Ammi humein chhorh kar chali gayi, yeh ek lauti ghari ne saath diya hai mera. Woh ghari meri Ammi ki aankhri nishaani hai. Baba- Pasha Sahab ne storeroom mein rakhnay kay liye Chachi ko diya tha Ammi kay baaki samaano kay saath. Menay chup kay se chura li thi. Usko kaan kay paas rakh kay, uski tik-tik-tik ki awaaz sunkay sukoon se so jati thi. Woh pehen kay school jati thi. Bohot baari logon ne mazaak uraya yeh bol kay, kay bohot hi koi old fashioned ghari hai."

Farjaad's grip on her left hand tightened, his thumb gently brushing her wrist as he shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if Umeed remembered his words, but regardless, Farjaad surely did.

Umeed chuckled amidst her sobs; "Pehlay tou ghari theek se chalti thi. Saal do saal mein ruk jaati thi lekin, battery badal lene se waapis chalnay lagti thi. Lekin phir waqt kay saath, yeh roz roz ki baat ho gayi. Me ek din dukaan bhi gayi thi, yeh theek karanay lekin unhonay nayi ghari lenay ko kaha. Menay na bol diya tou kaha kay itni bhi kanjoos na ho insaan kay ek nayi ghari na khareed payein. Dusri dukaan gayi tou wahan log hasnay lagay, kyunkay ghari thi hi itni purani... old fashioned, you know."

Ouch.

Umeed's eyes bored into his as she said that and Farjaad felt as if his insides were stabbed with a thousand knives in union.

"Mujhay... Mujhay pata hai kay unhonay baat bilkul sahi ki hai. Woh ghari koi nayi, stylish, mehengi ghari nahin hai."

Farjaad shook his head as if attempting to convince her that those claims were false.

Though he had said the exact words to her earlier.

Once again, Farjaad wanted to kill himself.

"Lekin pata nahin kyun, uss din, woh baat mujhe chubh gayi. Bohot zyada. Mujhay yaad hai, yeh tab huwa jab me University mein thi. Ghar waapis aakay bohot royi thi. Uskay baad se menay ek baat teh ki thi, kabhi kisi dukaan walay ko nahin dena hai meri ghari. Kisi ko yeh mauka nahin dena tha, kay woh meri Ammi ki ghari ki beizzati kar payein. Uss se zyada koi baat hurt nahin kar sakti mujhay, koi bhi chiz nahin."

Farjaad was filled with regret, wishing he could undo it all.

"Aapko pata hai ek pura saal guzaara menay woh ghari theek kiye beghair. Na chalti ghari pehenkay ghoomti thi." Umeed laughed softly, followed by a heavy sigh. "Pata nahin kyun Chachu se bhi kehnay mein sharam aa rahi thi, aur dar ki wajah se me jaa bhi nahin paa rahi thi kisi aur dukaan. Phir meri ghari tab theek huwi jab Sameer waapis..." Umeed trailed off, her eyes drifting into the distance.

Farjaad placed his free hand on her shoulder, a silent reassurance.

He was there for her, and she didn't have to hold anything in.

"Sameer ne theek ki thi Ammi ki ghari."

Umeed's voice cracked as she spoke. "Woh naya naya Canada se aaya huwa tha, aur ek din Pasha Sahab ki ghari kharab ho gayi thi. Tou woh usnay theek kar kay di, kyunkay woh part time job karta tha Canada mein kisi electronic store mein. Pasha Sahab baray khush the, kehtay rahay kay unka beta itna nakara nahin hai jitna sab usay samajhtay hai. Ek ghari theek karnay par uski tareefon kay pul baandh rahay the... Khair phir menay ek din usay pakar li, uskay entrance walay tution master ko bhagaatay huwe, aur dhamki diya kay agar usnay meri ghari nahin theek ki tou me Pasha Sahab se shikayat lagaungi."

Farjaad couldn't help but give a half-smile, his mind picturing the drama queen in action.

"Tab se Sameer hi theek karta aaya hai. Iss baat ko do saal ho gaye lekin uss din kay baad menay kabhi usay dhamki nahin thi, na usnay na kaha. Mujhay laga shayad isliye kyunkay Ammi ki ghari hai, shayad uskay andar bhi jazbaat hongay uss ghari ko lekar. Lekin..." Umeed tried to muffle her cries. "Lekin... aaj usi ne Ammi ki ghari kho di. Meri ghari kho di usnay."

The smile on his face vanished as quickly as it had appeared when he realized Sameer was bearing the consequences of his little heist — and worse, putting Umeed through so much pain. Sure, his intentions had been pure, even though he knew stealing her watch wasn't right. But that day at her house, it had been an impulsive move, driven by the guilt that had been weighing on him.

Now he had even more to feel guilty about.

He mentally smacked himself.

Great work Farjaad.

"Uss se larh kar aayi hun." Umeed sighed. "Aisa lag raha hai jaisay menay larhnay kay alawa zindagi mein aur kuch kiya hi nahin. Subah uthnay se lekar raat ko sonay tak bas kisi na kisi se larhti rehti hun. Subah ghar par larhai hoti hai tou dopeher ko investors se. Uskay baad koi customer aata badtameez, kehta hai usnay mujhay shopping par le jaana hai-"

"Kya!?"

Farjaad's concerned counter-question went unanswered as Umeed continued ranting; "-aur phir uss se bhi larhayi karo, mukka maaro, khud ka haath tudwao."

Farjaad looked horrified. He truly was.

Here he couldn't bear to see a cut on her hand, and she was out there punching people, hurting herself in the process. Truly a force of nature, Umeed Pasha.

"I'm exhausted... I'm tiiireeed," Umeed said, dragging out the last word. "Aur ab tou-" Fresh, warm tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill over. "Ab tou Ammi ki ghari bhi nahin rahi. Me kya karungi? Mujhay samajh nahin aa raha kuch, me bohot... bohot thaki huwi hun. Ammi ki ghari kay beghair kaisay guzara hoga mera?" She buried her face in her bandaged hand, overwhelmed with misery.

Farjaad shook his head, his hands reaching for her chin again, gently tilting her face to face him. Yes, he had bigger, grander, better plans for Umeed, for her mother's watch, and for his apology. But he couldn't bear to see her in such anguish. Even though this was a newfound revelation, his resolve was growing stronger with each passing moment.

It didn't matter that he'd intended to clear things with her the very next day, or that he dreaded her reaction to the little theft he'd committed. All that mattered now was calming her, reassuring her, and above all, seeing her at peace.

"Umeed..."

Farjaad gently cupped her face, prompting Umeed's gaze down to where his hands rested against her cheeks. Rather than being startled, she felt the comfort of it all coming back. She lifted her eyes back to meet his, only to find him looking at her intently. Her lips parted involuntarily at the intensity, and it didn't escape Farjaad's notice. He mirrored her, suddenly at a loss, struggling to recall what he was about to tell her.

"Bhateeji?"

The sudden voice cut through the tension, making both Umeed and Farjaad turn their heads. Standing in the doorway of the café was Hilal Pasha, a frown etched on his face as he looked between the two of them. Umeed felt herself snap back to reality, as she looked at Farjaad and his hands still cupping her face. Farjaad seemed just as caught off guard, perhaps a little more disoriented than Umeed. They pulled apart instantly as Hilal Pasha strode in like he owned the place.

As Farjaad grabbed the first aid box, clearly ready to exit the scene, Umeed walked towards her Chachu with an exasperated sigh.

"Here we go again," were the only words playing in her mind.

~

"Ow!"

Sameer winced as he was shoved off the bench in the backyard. Turning around, he found Haya standing there, looking angrier than ever. "What the hell?" he protested, as Haya stomped and sat beside him.

"Sameer tumharay andar sharam naam ki chiz hai?" Haya accused, her eyes spitting fire.

Sameer retored; "Menay kya kiya hai? Mujh par kyun bhadak rahi ho?"

"Kya kiya hai? Tum hi nay shikayat lagayi thi na Umeed ki Pasha Sahab ko? Tum aisa kaisay kar saktay ho yaar?"

Sameer defended himself. "Mera yakeen karo, that wasn't me!"

"Sameer jhoot nahin. Menay dekha tha kaisay tum chor ki tarah nazar chura kay bhaag rahay the. Aur Umeed se bhi larhai ki hai na tumnay?" asked Haya. "Kyun kar rahay ho yaar aisay, woh bechari waisay bhi itni mushkil mein hai tum kyun aag mein ghee daltay ho?"

Sameer turned his head to look at her. "Haya." He called out calmly. "First of all, Umeed ki shikayat menay nahin lagayi thi. Waleed ne lagayi thi. Umeed ki vim wali chai pi kar baahir nikaltay hi uski tabiyat kharab ho gayi thi. Umeed ne kuch chizein lenay mujhay baahir bhej diya tha café se nikalnay pehlay, rastay mein menay dekha Waleed ko phone mein baat kartay huwe."

"Pasha Sahab se."

"Baba se."

The two said in unison.

"Tou bewaqoof," Haya smacked Sameer's arm. "Tumnay Umeed se kaha kyun nahin yeh baat? Wait kar rahay the tum kay Pasha Sahab usko sunayengay aur tum baith kay mazay se dekhogay? Buri baat hai yaar. Aur yeh Waleed, kitna barha meesna hai, tabiyat kharab hai lekin sadak par kharay baat kar rahay the?"

"Vim flavoured Chai se zyada kuch nahin hota, bathroom jaao, stomach clean tou aadmi bhi theek." Sameer explained, making Haya grimace. "Usnay barha charhakay bola hai Pasha Sahab ko."

Haya looked furious."Tou Sameer tum phir bhi Umeed ko bata saktay the yeh baat. Tum kis khushi mein khamosh the? Aur ab bhi jaanay se pehlay Umeed ki larhai huwi thi na tumsay? Kyun kartay ho tum yeh? Behen hai yaar woh tumhari, kuch tou khayal kar lo."

"Me khayal kar lun? Me?" Sameer retorted, his voice laced with irritation. "Tumhein pata bhi hai kya kehkay gayi hai woh? Aur larhai menay nahin, usnay shuru ki thi. Apni ghari lenay aayi thi, ab jo ghari meray paas hai hi nahin uska pooch kar mujh par barasnay ka kya fayda? Menay bhi keh diya usay, kay nahin hai ghari meray paas, ghuma di menay, do whatever you want about it."

"Tumnay uski ghari ghuma di!?" Haya's voice rose in pure horror, and Sameer quickly gestured for her to lower it, the words echoing sharply in the night air.

Sameer clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Nahin yaar, bas gussay mein keh diya usay. Tang karnay kay liye."

"Woh kya koi kam tang thi apnay Baba se jo betay ne bhi shirkat kar di?" Haya asked, shooting him a disapproving glare.

Sameer protested, frustration evident in his tone. "You don't know the things she said, Haya!"

"Tou kya banta nahin tha uska kehna?" Haya was unimpressed. "Tumnay ek tou uski shikayat laga di, aur phir woh ghari bhi kho di jo woh apnay jaan se bhi zyada aziz samajhti hai. Shukar karo tumhari gardan nahin torhi usnay."

Sameer threw his hands up. "Oh My God I did not do any of this!"

"Kya farq parhta hai Sameer? Uskay hisaab se tum hi ne kiya hai na yeh sab? Ab agar tumhein pehle se Waleed ki baat ka pata tha, toh usay batana chahiye tha. Galat kiya tumne."

"Pehlay mujhay bhi yahin laga." Sameer admitted, letting out a heavy sigh. "Lekin phir jo usnay aakay mujh par waar kiya, uskay baad aisa lag raha hai kay theek hi kiya. Yahin deserve karti hai woh. Accha huwa Baba ne daant di. Even better, that she lost the watch."

Haya was disappointed. "Sameer, woh tumhari apni behen hai. Tum jaantay ho uss ghari ka uski zindagi mein kya ehmiyat hai. Aur tou aur woh ghari tum dono ki Ammi ki hai. Tumhein phir bhi lagta hai kay yeh sab accha huwa?"

Sameer shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Maybe she needs to learn a lesson. Yeh har baat par meray ooper pounce karna bhi tou galat baat hai."

Haya shook her head, her expressions stoic. "Sameer woh bachpan se lekar ab tak tamaam lessons seekh chuki hai iss ghar mein rehkar. Kabhi Pasha Sahab se tou kabhi Ammi se. Usay tumhari zarurat nahin hai kay tumhari harkaton se woh kuch seekhein. Agar kisi ko seekhna hai tou woh tumhein hai, apni barhi behen se. Yeh jo das saal tum yahan nahin the, menay dekha hai Umeed ne kaisay guzaari hai, kaisay usay larhna parha apni har chiz kay liye. Maana kay kabhi kabhi gussa karti hai lekin yeh baat mujhay bhi pata hai, aur tumhein bhi pata hai kay woh jo karti hai, jaisa bhi karti hai, uskay iraadein nek hotay hai."

Sameer raised his eyebrows, as if in doubt.

Haya continued, her voice softening. "Theek hai, theek hai. pata hai kabhi kabhi iraadein itnay nek nahin hotay lekin tum iss baat ko nahin jutla saktay kay uskay khurafat se humara bhi bhala huwa hai."

Sameer couldn't help but reminisce about how Umeed was the one who had taken it upon herself to push for his engagement to Haya, how she was the one who came up with a plan to keep him grounded when Pasha Sahab had considered sending him away again. It was Umeed who had suggested the idea of securing admission in the Fine Arts program he had always dreamed of, knowing it would prove to Pasha Sahab that his son could do something for himself in life. That, in turn, forced Pasha Sahab to keep Sameer in Pakistan, ultimately safeguarding both his future and his relationship with Haya.

He couldn't help but reminisce about the day before he left at the age of ten when he cried in her arms. Umeed had held him close, despite having just endured Pasha Sahab's wrath for trying to advocate against sending her little brother away.

But nothing was the same anymore, was it?

Umeed had fought to keep him in the country because, at the heart of it, it was about Haya's happiness, wasn't it? The twelve-year-old Umeed who had lulled him to sleep the night before he left, the one who fought the world for him, the one who never shared her chai with anyone but would occasionally let him take a sip, now existed only in his memories. Right?

"Me tou kehti hun, tum meri zindagi ka sabsay bura hissa ho."

"Lekin woh tou mera bhala nahin chahti na?" Sameer voiced out loud, catching Haya off guard.

"Kya?"

Sameer fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt, the memories of their fight replaying in his mind. "You have no idea, usnay mujhay kya kya kaha hai jaanay se pehlay. Even generally, jab bhi usay gussa aata hai tou kaisay mujhay yaad dilati hai kay menay kaisay humaray baap kay saaray paisay ura di. Aisa nahin hai kay usay nahin pata, me bilkul nahin jaana chahta tha Canada, out of everyone she knows it more than anyone."

"Me samajhti hun Sameer, lekin tum bhi tou gussa dilatay ho na usay? Bewajah chugli kartay ho na uski? Aur jo chhe mahinay pehlay huwa, woh kaisay bhul saktay ho tum?" asked Haya.

Sameer's body stiffened at the mention; "Haya agar uss din me woh na kiya hota tou aaj Umeed ki jagah tumhari sagai huwi hoti Waleed kay saath. I don't understand how you are so calm about this, tumhein gussa nahin aata uss par?"

Haya placed her hand gently on Sameer's shoulder, caressing him. "Gussa aata Sameer agar aisa huwa hota. Lekin humein bhi tou samajhna chahiye na? Umeed ki puri zindagi ki baat thi. Uskay liye hum larh paatay Pasha Sahab se? Nahin na, hum nahin hai brave uski tarah, tou jab woh khud kay liye kuch kar rahi hai, me kaisay keh dun usay kay 'Umeed aisay na karo kyun kay agar tumharay baad me iss mod par aa gayi tou me tumhari tarah khud kay liye larh nahin paungi.' Me kaisay gussa rehti uss par zyada der? Yeh tou galat hai na?"

"I don't know Haya. Lekin jab se me waapis aaya hun... it's not the same. And her attitude doesn't help either. Har waqt gussa, har waqt larhai, baat baat par paison ki baat aati hai, baba ki baat aati hai, aur ab ghari ki baat bhi aa gayi." Sameer said, his tone a lot softer than he started with.

Haya wondered; "Waisay yeh ghari gayi kidhar agar tumnay nahin kho di tou?"

"Pata nahin. Usnay kaha kay usnay tumsay kahi thi ghari mujhay dene ko, repair karwanay kay liye. Gusse mein menay bhi keh diya kay mujhsay kho gayi ghari aur ab kabhi nahin milni."

"Waisay haan, kuch din pehlay Umeed ne mujhsay kaha tha, kay uskay bag se ghari nikaal kar tumhein denay ko. Lekin me woh baat bhul hi gayi. Lekin Sameer kay bacchay tumnay uss se aisa kyun kaha kay ab ghari kabhi nahin milni?"

"Kaha tou, gussa aa gaya tha. Usay tapti huwi dekhna chahta tha. Tumhein pata bhi hai usnay kya kya kaha hai? Kaha kay me uss ghari ko chhoonay kay laayak nahin hun, kaha kay usko Pasha Sahab kay saamnay zaleel hotay huwe dekh kar mujhay maza aaya hai. Usnay kaha kay uski zindagi mein jitnay bhi problems hai, meri wajah se hai. Kaha kay me kabhi uska saga nahin ban paya. Aur tou aur Umeed ne yeh bhi kaha kay..." Sameer sucked in a deep breath, smiling sadly. "Me uski zindagi ka sabsay bura hissa hun."

"Sameer," Haya whispered, her hold on his arm tightening, the other hand intertwining with his, caressing him. "Umeed ne yeh bilkul theek nahin kiya, se samajhti hun kay tum hurt ho, lekin mera yakeen karo uska yeh sab kehnay ka woh matlab bilkul nahin tha. Ab tumnay bhi uss se kaha tha na kay tumnay uski ghari kho di, aur Waleed wali baat bhi tou tumnay chhupayi thi. Gussay mein kahi hogi yaar, aur jo chhe mahinay pehlay tumnay kiya tha uskay baad tou..."

"Haya tum uski side le rahi ho?"

Haya tilted her head, her exhaustion evident. "Sameer me uss se bhi baat karungi, lekin tumhein bhi samajhnay ki zarurat hai kay yeh baar baar uski chugli karnay se aur usay uksaanay se tum dono ka rishta nahin sambhal jayega-"

"Wohi baat hai na yaar! Uska attitude hi itna kharab hai, kitna bhi gussa aaye koi apnay sagay bhai se aisi baatein karti hai? Har baat par itna intense honay ki zarurat nahin hai, she is just... just too much to take. Aisi attitude ho tou hum kya koi bhi usay tolerate nahin kar payega. Agar mera uskay saath koi rishta nahin hai tou ismein galti uski hai. No one can handle her. Baba ne shayad sahi kaha tha, akeli reh jayegi woh-"

"Sameer she's too much to handle iska hargiz yeh matlab nahin hai kay woh pyaar deserve nahin karti." Haya was quick to counter, her tone firm and absolute resolute. "Woh 'too much' hai isiliye aaj hum engaged hai, woh 'too much' hai isiliye tum Pakistan mein ho, agar woh 'too much' hai tou apnon kay liye hai, khud kay liye hai." She pulled her hands away from his as she continued; "Tum tou yahan the nahin, lekin me thi. Aur menay dekha hai, kaisay usnay akelay saari larhaiyan larhi. Kabhi apnay liye tou kabhi meray liye. Kabhi Abbu kay liye tou kabhi Aghu jaan kay liye. Lekin uskay liye kabhi kisi aur nay kuch nahin kiya, humesha se usnay akelay apni baat rakhi, aur uska jo bhi nataij raha, woh bhi usnay khud hi handle ki."

Sameer was taken aback at how fiercely defensive Haya was of Umeed.

"Aur ek puri zindagi larh kay guzaarnay kay baad tum yeh bilkul mat kehna kay Umeed akeli reh jayegi. Jaisay me aur tum ek dusray ko deserve kartay hai, pyaar deserve kartay hai, Umeed bhi karti hai. Balkay humsay zyada hi karti hai. Woh bilkul yeh deserve karti hai kay koi uskay liye bhi larhay duniya se, koi uss se kahay ki 'itna bhaag daud na karo, I'll handle it,' koi uski kabhi na band honay wali baatein bina kisi thakaan kay sunein, koi uski himakaton se, uskay pagalpan se, uss sebohot zyada pyaar karein. Mera bas ek hi dua hai kay Umeed ko aisa koi milein, usay araam milein iss jhanjhat se aur woh humesha khush rahay. Aur agar tumhein lagta hai kay tumhari behen yeh sab deserve nahin karti, tou tum ek intihai na-shukray insaan ho."

Sameer sat there, speechless, as Haya's words hit him like a wave. He had always seen Umeed through the lens of his frustrations, but hearing Haya defend Umeed so passionately made him realize how much he had overlooked. The depth of Umeed's personal struggles, the weight she had carried alone, and the love she had poured into everything around her—it was all so much more than he had ever given her credit for. He still could not fathom it completely, but it was a start.

"Haya-Sameer, kahan ho?"

The duo turned, startled, to see Hilal Pasha standing at the top of the courtyard steps.

"Jee Abbu? Aa gayi Umeed?" asked Haya, her voice holding a tinge of hope.

Hilal nodded; "Aur nahin tou kya?" he said, almost as if it were obvious. "Tum jaao usay dekho."

"Aur Pasha Sahab?"

"Unsay me baat karta hun, tum log fikar na karo. Kaunsa pehli baar huwa hai yeh?" Hilal said, waving his hand dismissively as he gestured for Haya to go to Umeed before turning to walk inside.

Haya shot Sameer a knowing glance, but he could only manage a strained attempt at a smile. The impact of her words was such that it was still ringing in his mind. With a gentle pat on his back, she rushed up the courtyard stairs, impatient to comfort her cousin.

Umeed hurried inside her room and collapsed onto her bed, her mind racing. Her Chachu had been oddly silent about the scene at the café, almost too quiet. Neither during their routine conversation about what had gone down at the house while he was away, nor even on the ride back home, had he said a word about the scene he'd walked in on. It was strange, yet somewhat consoling. She figured it would've been an awkward conversation, so perhaps it was better this way.

Moreover, it really did feel like she herself had a lot to figure out herself. What would she even tell him? Did she, herself know what was happening their in that café? Was he aware?

Farjaad.

How had he arrived just in time? What had he been doing? And why had she let him do whatever he was doing? Umeed rolled onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow as she replayed her emotional outburst. She had made a complete fool of herself, but from whatever she could recall, somehow, he hadn't made her feel that way. Instead, he had listened to her attentively.

Turning her head, she rested her cheek against the pillow, her gaze drifting to her left hand, which lay at her side. Farjaad had bandaged her hands artfully, and the sensation of his hands on hers was fresh in her memory. Umeed didn't know what he had been planning before they were interrupted, but she was certain she had been completely lost in whatever it was.

That thought scared her.

Too many thoughts, too little mental energy left.

Umeed knew it was best not to punish her mind with her usual chronic overthinking, especially since it had already worked overtime that day. She decided to let the thoughts fade into the background. Closing her eyes, she took a long, steady breath, trying to rest, until a buzz on her phone disturbed her.

She lifted her head to glance at the phone lying on Haya's bed — the one she'd left behind in her hurry before leaving. Umeed crawled across the bed, stretching her hand out in an attempt to grab the phone without having to get up.

After two minutes of hard labour, the phone was finally in her hands. She switched it on, her eyes immediately catching a text, a message that was enough to steal her sleep, despite the exhaustion of the ordeal she'd endured throughout the day.

┃ Sonay se pehlay kuch khaa lena please.

Umeed stared at the notification, her mouth agape in surprise. Before she could fully process it, another message popped up.

┃ Tomorrow 5 pm, my office.

┃ Good night Umeed, sleep well.

______________________________________

If you're reading this chapter and even remotely liked it, take a moment to thank my psychologist, who discussed and made a timetable to help me get this chapter done in my last session, and whose validation I am seeking by completing this task.

Not edited, not proofread (It's low-key crap).