—  A L A Y A  —

"Aapa,"

I run to the ladies lounge lifting the beautiful lehenga I'm wearing with my hands.

"Please mere baal banaa dein,"
(Please make my hair,)

It isn't heavy or hard to carry at all but acting like a bollywood main lead is my coping mechanism.

And right now I need anything to distract myself from the broken engagement I've not been able to get over in one week.

"Simple sa hairstyle."
(A simple hairstyle.)

Mehmooda aapa looks at me from top to bottom and hopefully mentally curses her brother for breaking up with me.

"Sahi jach rahaa hai tum pe," she gestures towards my lehenga and I give myself a big grin. (It suits you very well.)

Aapa didn't find you pretty, Alaya. She's jealous of the lehenga.

"Aao, baittho."
(Come, sit.)

I sit on the floor, in front of her seat on the charpai and try to blink the tears away.

Marjaane aik hafte se bahe jaa rahe hain, bahe jaa rahe hain. (These little jerks keep flowing and flowing.)

I smile and watch the ladies looking at me.

Fuck yaar.
(Fuck dude.)

I push the tears up and shift the conversation towards Mahnoor aapi.

"Kitni pyaari lag rahi hain aapi!"
(You're looking so pretty!)

I can't wait for her to sign the papers and leave the house.

Ouf, how peaceful it will be, InShaAllah. Poor Nabil bhai will have to bear her for life.

•°●°●•°●°○

"Alishba! Jaldi! Jaldi jaldi banaa do iss se pehle ke baaqi chhaton pe koyi aae."
(Alishba! Quick! Take them quickly before anyone comes up on their rooftops.)

She tsks but takes her phone out.

"Dekha?" I ask, "Mansoobe banaane ka shauq hai, waqt aaye toh mizaaj kharaab kar ke baitth jaati ho."
(See? You're fond of making plans but you spoil your mood when the time to act on them arrives.)

"Jaldi!" She yells, and I quickly swirl in my lehenga. (Quick!)

I plead her to take longer clips and when she gets sick of me and leaves, I take my phone out to make a full reel right at the moment.

How aesthetic, Alaya. Chef's kiss.

Subhan really does have a shit taste. He'll regret this his whole life, InShaAllah.

•°●°○°●•●

I watch Mahnoor aapi signing the Nikkah papers and although I mentally thank God, a sluggish fountain does, nevertheless, make it's way down my cheeks.

I raise my head up wiping the tears away but my eyes land on Subhan's, who's watching me intently.

I didn't know he was going to be here.

Why would he be here?

I see his whole family in the big spacious room, watching Mahnoor aapi repeat the acceptance three times.

I don't intend on leaving but my body makes it's way out past everyone when his look becomes unbearable.

I hear footsteps behind me as I walk to the drawing room and my eyes open up wide when I turn to see him.

"Jaaein! Aap mujh se nahin mil sakte! Kisi ne dekh liya toh kitni baatein haun gi poore gaaon mein—" (Go! You cannot meet me! If anyone sees us the whole village will talk about us—)

"—Alaya, kisi ne nahin dekha humain. Sab nikkah mein mashgool hain." (Alaya, no one saw us. Everyone's busy in the nikkah.)

Of course, he made sure no one saw us. Of course, he's shit scared of his parents. Yet all I can notice is the small effort he's making of speaking in urdu instead of his punjabi.

"Jaaein Subhan," I walk backwards, "mujhe aap se koyi baat nahin karni." (Go Subhan, I don't want to talk to you.)

"Alaya, tum jaanti ho main tum se abbhi bhi—" (Alaya, you know I still—)

"—Aap mujh se abbhi bhi kuchh nahin. Kuchh nahin. Kasam khuda ki baba maar ddaalein ge mujhe agar kisi ne bhi yahaan aap ko mere saath dekh liya toh. Jaaein. Abbhi." (You have nothing for me. Nothing. I swear to God baba will kill me if anyone sees you here with me. Go. Now.)

"Main tum se naa sahi tum toh mujh se mohabbat karti ho naa? Toh kyun nahin maan leti ammi ki shart?" (I might not, but you do still love me, don't you? Then why don't you agree on ammi's terms?)

Mohabbat? I chuckle at his words. (Love?)

"Aap ke ghar mein uss ki ijaazat hai? Yaa woh bhi aap ke ammi abbu se poochh ke karni parti hai?" (Is it even allowed in your house? Or does one need to ask your parents before doing that?)

"Alaya!" I hear an aunt and look towards the door with my heart racing.

"Aap aaj ke baad mere aas paas bhi nazar nahin aane chaahiye. Joh ho chuka, woh ho chuka. Aage jis se aap ki ammi ne mohabbat karne ki ijaazat di uss hi se kijiye ga."

(You should not be seen anywhere near me. What's done, is done. Now only fall in love with whoever your ammi allows you to.)

When he doesn't leave, I get out of the house through the backdoor.

I reach Alishba and enjoy the rest of the ceremony.

•°●°○°●•●°

The music in the background puts me in deep thoughts.

I sit down and watch the Walimah preparations while a painful smile paints my lips. The cause being the mehendi on my hands.

I laugh at last night's memories. Ruqayya aapa forgot about our breakup and asked me where I wanted Subhan's name.

Itne mansoobe banaae the maine aapi ki shaadi ke liye. Sab zaaya jaa rahe hain. Iss se behtar toh yehi tha ke Subhan aur meri baat hi naa tay hoti.

(I made so many plans for aapi's wedding. They're all going to waste. It would've been better if Subhan and I hadn't gotten [verbally] engaged.)

Kam az kam yeh rona dhona toh naa hota, (At least there wouldn't be all this crying.) I shake my head and raise my head up to see the camera capturing my tears.

My heart beats in worry.

I feel like gesturing the cameraman to not to film me but even if I do that's going to be a part of the wedding movie and watching that is going to be awkward anyway.

I notice the groom's sisters sitting on the couch next to mine and realise he's probably trying to shoot them.

I silently leave the screen and busy myself in the catering area, making sure everyone's happy with it.

I see Salma aapa shooting a tik tok on Ik Pal and awkwardly smile at it, finding it very weird in our family.

[You don't need to memorize anyone's name. It's an event and there are thousands of guests and relatives. The important ones will be mentioned later on.]

I'm not even sure who Salma aapa is but she's really gorgeous and I guess she's Mubashira phuppo's relative but she's much nicer.

I focus my eyes on her plump lips and busy myself into wondering how she got botox in such a conservative family.

"Alaya, aao naa!" (Alaya, come here!)

I get shaken out of my thoughts and shake my head but she takes my hand and brings me to the well illuminated area.

"Chehra kyun lattkaaya huaa hai? Alaya meri jaan bhool jaao uss Subhan ke bache ko. Tum toh itni pyaari ho, tumhain koyi bhi mil jaae. Abbhi toh bohot waqt hai tumhaari shaadi mein, tumhain uss se bohot achha rishta mil jaae ga."

(Why are you sulky? Alaya my love forget that Subhan's ass. You're so pretty, you'll get anyone. There's so much time for you to get married, you'll get a much better match.)

"InShaAllah," I nod, although wanting to deny that I was upset because of him.

"I swear to God, agar mera bhai hota naa, abbhi tum meri bhaabhi hoti." (if i had a brother you'd be my sister-in-law now.)

I giggle.

"Shabbash, hasso thora, mood light karo,"

(Bravo, laugh a bit, lighten up your mood.)

Laung Da Lashkara (song)

She asks me to dance with her and not going to lie, I suddenly start contemplating why I can't leave Subhan's topic the heck alone and fraction it out of this life.

I feel like dancing my heart out but baba.

Why did my parents not give me the freedom to decide for myself? Why do I have to look quiet to seem modest and marriageable?

Right now I feel like pushing all the shyness away and living in the moment carelessly. I want to forget everything and make this trip to Pakistan memorable but—

I understand if I was given freedom I would have turned out a big sinner. Dancing is considered bad and very thankfully so.

Or I would have not been in control of myself.

I give her a smile and walk towards the couches planning to message Alishba.

Where the hell are they all?

I'm left with the guests all alone with only Ishrat baji.

I open WhatsApp but my plans immediately leave my mind and just like everyone in the wedding hall, my survival instincts take over when a gunshot is heard.

I lose my sight for a second and my heart starts crawling around my ribs, spinning, ready to fall in my stomach if a slight bit more of terror is displayed.

A man shoots at the cameras before yelling, "KIS GASHTI KE BACHE NE BHAGAAYA USS RANDI KO?"

(WHICH SON OF A WHORE HELPED THAT SLUT RUN AWAY?)

I look straight towards the door and see men with glocks and riffles walking into the hall.

My heart falls.

This is terrifying.

This is not happening to me.

It must be a nightmare.

I lose my breath when another gunshot is heard.

All the good times of my life roll through my eyes as I inhale with a laa ilaaha ilallaahu muhammad-ur rasoolullah.

But one of the good times includes the first smile from Subhan.

Subhan.

I'm sick of it.

I walk towards the man with the glock.

Agar aaj likha hai tou aaj hi sahi. Qismat se koyi nahin bhaag sakta. (If it's written for today, then today it is. No one can run away from fate.)

I take the two steps up to reach him and confess, "Maine." (I did.)

I capture the last fire flame in his eyes that slowly burns away as a small relief takes over.

"Maine madad ki uss ki."
(I helped her.)

He keeps staring and I genuinely don't know where the courage in me comes from.

I'm scared of lizards.

Maybe the sudden passion of dying to get rid of the underconfidence and people pleasing makes me do it.

I keep staring back, unafraid.

Despite those thick eyelashes that spit attributes of jahaalat. (...attributes of ignorance.)

He steps towards me but instead of taking a step back I put a hand up.

And even though he raises his gun up to my forehead, he does pause at the distance.

No doubt confidence does wonders.

"Uss masoom larki ki bhaagne mein madad maine ki. Bachi hai woh. Kyaa jahaalat hai yeh? Allah ko munh nahin dikhaana? Uss se iss umr mein—"

(I helped that innocent girl run away. She's a child. What illiteracy is this? Do you not have to show Allah your face. In that age, you're having her—)

"—Bhai iss kutt—"
(—Brother, this bitch—)

The leader shows a hand to his companion.

"Uss ki taqdeer likhi jaa chuki thi. Bikau thi, bech diya. Do crore ka nuqsaan abbh tum—!" (Her fate was written. She was purchasable, hence was sold. Will you pay for the loss of 2 crores—!)

"—Bachi hai woh!"
(She's a child!)

"Humaare maamle mein ghussne ki sazaa maaloom hai tumhain?" He clenches his jaw. (Do you know the punishment for intruding in our matters?)

"Uss ne khud mujh se madad maangi, mujhe joh sahi lagaa maine kiya."

(She asked for my help, I did what felt right.)

"Tumhaari iss madad ka anjaam maaloom nahin tumhain?"

(Do you know the consequences of this help of yours?)

I think of that 2021 Sialkot incident. How the people burnt that innocent man in a case of blasphemy and then took selfies with him while his body burnt. How berehem (merciless) the people of this country are.

I look at him, clenching my teeth, "Mujhe farq nahin parrta. Doobaara mauqa mila toh doobaara madad karoon gi." I shamelessly utter, triggering both of them. (I don't care. If I get a chance to help her again, I will.)

"Eh—" he grunts, grasping my arm and pulling me closer.

I take a difficult breath in but don't even flinch to run away.

"Iss jahaalat ke khilaaf hone pe hazaar dafaa marna pare, hazaaron dafaa zindagi qurbaan."

(If on being against this ignorance I have to sacrifice my life a thousand times, I'll sacrifice it a thousand times.)

laa ilaaha ilallaah, laa ilaaha ilallaah.

The gun touches my forehead but Allah suddenly gives me so much strength and hatred for the man in front of me.

He displays the 22 remaining bullets in the magazine before pushing them back up into the glock with a thud.

"Asli gun hai," he says, probably wondering why I'm not scared, and I imagine the day of qayamat. (It's a real gun.)

"Allahu Akbar." I tilt my head, adamantly. A gesture for him to fire. (God is great.)

"Alaya!" I hear Ishrat baji and the small cries of children behind me but the rest of the hall remains silent and so do I. Still and silent. Staring with a heart full of hatred towards him and his people.

"Alaya," she repeats, "baqwaas nahin karo. Yeh kuchh nahin jaanti. Pehli dafaa aayi hai Pakistan iss ko kuchh nahin maaloom jhoott bol rahi hai. Alaya munh band rakho! Kyun jhoott bola tum ne? Poora waqt yeh humaare saath hi thi kisi larki ko nahin dekha, yahaan koyi nahin aaya."

(Alaya don't blabber nonsense. She doesn't know anything. She has come to Pakistan for the first time and isn't aware of anything, she's lying. Alaya shut your mouth! Why are you lying? She was with us the whole time and we didn't see any girl, no one came here.)

He looks behind me with a small psychotic smile and I look at the gun. My heart beats at an unsteady pace and I so want to snatch the gun but his hand seems rough. He'll easily pull the trigger if even a feather in this hall is moved.

Does this rebellion against the unjust enter the martyr category?

Who knew today was the last time I was getting to see a morning?

Who knew last year this time, that I've only got one exact year to live?

Ya khudaaya, agla manzar malik-ul-maut hai. (Oh God, the next sight is of the angel of death.) Am I ready for it? Astaghfirullah for all the sins, from big to small, intentional to unintentional.

One of his men suddenly breaks the silence, "Maal toh yeh saali bhi sahi hai, Haider bhai iss hi ko—" (She's a good enough item too, Haider brother, let's—)

I open my eyes and look at him, Haider, pointing the gun at his companion's direction, commanding, "Nahin." (No.)

He pulls his gun to himself and checks me out.

After a while I get out of the survival mode and fix the dupatta on my neck, where his gaze had stopped.

His eyes meet mine in disappointment and I feel like collapsing on the floor when the traumatic experience finally settles in, but I stay firm.

He turns to the man, gesturing him to open the main door of the hall but the man looks at him in shock and tries to convince him something. Something Haider stops him from uttering.

While the other man goes and opens the door, Haider looks back at me with... uncertainty? regret? shame? and something else.

I look down at his black shalwar kameez before taking small unsteady breaths and lowering my eyes even further till my white dress.

I feel like holding around anything, anything that can save my knees from getting so weak and release my chest from feeling so tight.

But I look back up.

Itna confidence dikhaa liya toh thora aur sahi. (Since I've already shown some confidence, why not show some more?)

I bore my eyes in his until the three jeeps behind him full of goons appear in my sight and I almost lose it.

Is he calling his goons in?

I thought he was leaving...

A moment of terror flashes in front of my eyes and I look at Haider to try to understand his expressions.

But he's faster than the blinking of my eyes.

He throws a bundle of rupees at the petrified cameraman and steps back. A small smile crawls to his face as he watches me.

His gaze roams around the hall as he yells, "Shaadi Mubaarak!" (Congratulations for the Wedding!)

I watch him turn around and leave.

The moment his jeep leaves the driveway I swoon.

[thank you for voting, 😚.]