"Kyaa?" Nana abbu interrupts and I stop staring at Haider and look to the side. (What?)

I don't know where to look, I just know I can't show even a bit of lack of confidence.

"Ho kaun tum? Yeh kyaa tareeqa hai kisi ke ghar mein ghussne ka?" Nana abbu continues and I feel awkward having all eyes on me. (Who are you? What way is this of coming to someone's house?)

I see mamu Munsif coming out and nano calls me inside as nana abbu gets aggressive.

I'm walking to her when Haider pulls on my hand so hard, my body thwacks on his.

"Kyaa badtameezi hai!" I shout.
(What is this behavior!)

"Mujhse shaadi karo gi?" He repeats.
(Will you marry me?)

"Nahin!" I push him away, "Kyaa hai yeh? Nana abbu, mujhe nahin paata yeh kaun hai, kal shaadi ke hall mein aa gayaa tha, nano— nano se poochhein. Mujhe nahin pataa yeh kyaa ho rahaa hai. Kar kyaa rahe ho tum yeh paagal toh nahin ho gaye? Kisi ke bhi ghar mein ghuss ke aisi baatein karte hain? Police ko phone karein mamu."

(No! What's this? Grandpa, I don't know who he is, he came to the wedding hall yesterday, grandma— ask grandma. I don't know what's happening. What are you doing have you gone mad? How can you enter anyone's house and say such things? Uncle, call the police.)

I thought he was here to kill me, if anything else, maybe to trade me. What's this proposal?

Is he...?

Mamu Muneeb instead calms nana abbu while mamu Munsif comes to sort things with Haider.

I genuinely don't understand who on earth Haider is.

Why are they talking to him calmly?

"Police bulaaein naa mamu, yeh kyaa hai?"
(Call the police, uncle, what's this?)

Haider laughs a genuine laugh and I quickly take my hand out of his grip.

He ignores every problem-solving effort made by mamu and instead just keeps on staring at me.

"Aap koshish bhi kyun kar rahe hain? Police ko kyun nahin bulaate seedha?"

(Why are you even trying? Why don't you straightup call the police?)

"Alaya chup kar ke jaao andar, tum nahin jaanti yeh kaun hai." Mamu speaks to me in a low tone of voice.

(Quietly go inside Alaya, you don't know who he is.)

I glare at Haider before leaving.

"Police ko bulaao?" Haider mocks me and asks mamu. (Call the police?)

Mamu's face has all color drained off it.

I walk inside the room towards nano and close the door.

"Jaan ke roka hum ne tumhain yahaan," Nano says, "innh hi baaton ki wajaah se,"

(We stopped you here intentionally, because of all this.)

Nano keeps on going. She talks a lot. It's a habit of hers. I lose track and my mind glues down to the way he suddenly pulled me to himself.

It was too gentle for me to not look up in his eyes.

He was so careful to not hurt me yet so deftly quick.

I want that confidence.

There's something about confidence that is just so attractive to me.

For one to know what they are doing, and then do it so skillfully.

If right now I go out and admit all of what I did; rescuing that girl, confronting Haider and then remain adamant on being right, then my respect for myself will be so high.

If death, if going in the grave doesn't scare me, then why does this lack of confidence ruin me? How is that fear bigger than the fear of death.

Is it log kyaa kahenge ingrained in my head. (What will people say?)

Does this thought really matter so much? That I don't even get to be what seems right to me?

Or maybe it's the lack of trust in myself.

Because my opinions aren't constant.

I might be finding this to be the right decision right now but my mind might change in seconds.

But isn't that the best thing about me?

That I'm not stubborn to a wrong thought?

If I realise I'm wrong, I admit it.

But at the cost of what?

People mocking me?

See, back to people, log kyaa kahenge. (What will people say?)

But that's how you learn right? Making mistakes.

But this mistake is too big to make.

What if Allah settles this matter and me going out with all that confidence just becomes embarrassing?

What if I go out right now and say it all and the reaction is just disturbing—

It's all these ifs and buts that kill me.

And these Haiders.

I should be ashamed of calling myself Zaira's writer.

Yaar, Alaya, jaanam, you really wrote a Haider. How can you not handle one?

He opens the door, "Kal subbhah, aath baje. Tayyaar rehna." (Tomorrow morning, 8 o'clock. Be ready.)

I stare at him in the eyes while he looks at me with a soft look, "Bilkul bhi nahin." (Not at all.)

A soft smile creeps up on his face.

"Tayyaar rehna, Alaya," he repeats, checking out my outfit. He then looks at his own salwar kameez. I look down and back to him. (Be ready, Alaya.)

Tea green. The exact same shade.

He smirks before leaving.

•●°○°●•°●°

Mamu and all the men of the house sit down.

Alishba and Muskaan were upstairs in the afternoon and everyone decided there's no benefit in telling them anything.

I fight off the urge to look up at Subhan and figure out what he has to feel about another guy thinking of—even if non seriously— marrying me.

Because I would fight the world for him.

Don't lower your head, don't lower your head any more Alaya!

Abbhi aansoo tap tap gire naa, maine ghar bhaag jaana hai.

(If my tears fall, I'll run home.)

"Sunein," I start, "kal woh aaya toh police complaint kar deni hai. Aur baba ko bataa dein. Khair hai. Kuchh nahin kahein ge."

(Listen, if he comes again tomorrow then file a police complaint. And tell baba everything. It's okay. He won't say anything.)

"Toh phir tum bataa hi do."
(Then tell him.)

"Main nahin."
(Not me.)

Mujhe toh roye baggeir bolna hi nahin aata.
(I don't know how to speak without crying.)

"Abbh aqal aayi tumhain? Aise maamlon mein parrne ko kis ne kahaa tha?" (Have you learnt to reason now? Who told you to get in such matters?)

Momaani ko pataa nahin kyaa masla hai. Aur poori zindagi rakhna hai shaayad. Abbh toh aap ke bete se bhi rishta ttoott gayaa aur kyaa chaahti hain aap mujh se?

(What problem does aunt have with me? Seems like she's going to keep it her whole life. My engagement with your son's broken now, what else do you want?)

"Tumhain pataa bhi hai woh kaise log hain?" Mamu supports her and taunts me too, "Zulfiqar Hussain ka beta hai woh. Politician. Aise logon ki FIR nahin kaatt'te. Woh poore khaandaan ko qatl-o-ghaarat kar dein tab bhi baat baahar nahin jaae gi."

(Do you even know what type of people they are? He's the son of Zulfiqar Ali Hussain. Politician. FIRs against such people are not filed. Even if he kills the whole family, the matter will still not be disclosed.)

Zulfiqar Hussain?

Where have I heard this—

ZULFIQAR ALI HUSSAIN?

The former PM?

I imagine that man.

But everyone in my house loves him. Does he know what his son does for a business? I'm sure he does. The more I think of it, the more terrible I find it.

I frown upon mamu's words.

But that's not how it works anymore.

At least it shouldn't.

In the era of social media, there's much more justice than there has ever been.

People know how to speak up.

And I'm a great person at heart, I know Allah won't give me bad people in life.

He'll do something to help me.

•°••●••°°

I wake up early in the morning and go to the kitchen.

Only to hear a jeep park itself in the garden area.

My eyes shoot up to the clock. 5:40h.

I calm myself and spread butter on my bread.

It must be mamu's.

This whole thing seems to be a dream.

Not just yesterday's nightmare.

This whole vacation thingy to Pakistan.

I don't feel like I'm here.

I'll wake up now and it will all end.

I've pinched myself so many times. I don't wake up but I don't feel present either.

I thought it was jet lag but it's been two months, it can't—

What— the butter knife drops down on the shelf.

"What the fuck," I whip my head back and push Haider away with my elbows.

I turn and push him further away, "Suno. Dafaa ho jaao yahaan se. Sirf iss liye nahin ke tumhaara propos— tumhaara ghar mein ghusne ka tareeqa ghalat tha. Woh maaf kiya bhi jaa sakta hai. Tum insaan hi kharaab ho. Human trafficker se tameez se baat tak karoon main? Mujh se aisi koyi umeed naa rakhna. Police mein complain nahin kar rahe ganeemat samjho."

(Listen. Get lost from here. Not only because your propos— because your way of getting in the house was wrong. That can be forgiven. But you're a terrible human being. To talk to a human trafficker politely? Don't expect any such thing from me. Appreciate that we're not complaining to the police.)

When he laughs at it again, I look behind at the butter knife.

Not a good weapon.

Unless I use it on his eye— agh.

I clench my fingertips at the disturbing visual.

"US ki police. Tumhaari citizenship chheen lein." I look behind him at the door.

(US' police. They'll snatch your citizenship.)

"Mhm. US? Itni research hum pe?"
(Mhm. US? So much research on me?)

Itna sa bhi mera koyi hassi mazaak ka mood nahin hai. (I'm not in a humorous mood at all.)

"Suno. Qatl tumhaara bhi ho sakta hai. Alhamdulillah bohot achhe gharaane se taaluq hai mera. Zyaada se zyaada kuchh arsa jail hi ho gi. Sazaa-e-maut se pehle tou embassy chhurwaa le gi. Self-defense keh ke bhool jaaein ge. Tum jalna jahannum mein."

(Listen. Even you can be killed. I belong to a very good household. At most I'll get a few years of jail. The embassy will have me out before death penalty. It'll be named self-defense and forgotten. While you'll burn in hell.)

"Achha? Spain mein death penalty naa sahi, lekin mere khayaal se self-defense pe qatl ka topic aaj bhi controversial hai. Zamaanat mushqil hai, meri suno, deal karte hain—"

(Really? There might not be death penalty in Spain, but murder in the name of self-defense is still a controversial topic. Bail is difficult, listen to me, we can make a deal—)

"—Mujhe kisi tareeqe ki koyi deal nahin karni tum se! Tum ghar mein kaise ghusse? Tumhain mera mulq kaise! pataa! Kyun stalk kar rahe ho? Kahaa naa shareef gharaane se hoon main? Tum logon ka muttah humaare yahaan nahin hota. Aik dafaa talaaq ki tohmat lag jaae phir dobaara future nahin banta!"

(I don't want to make any sort of deal with you! How did you get in the house? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT! COUNTRY! I! BELONG TO! Why are you stalking me? Didn't I tell you I belong to a noble household? We don't do your muttah here. Once alleged as a divorcee never gets another future.)

"Muttah nahin karna Alaya, nikkah karna hai. Humaisha waala."

(I'm not talking about muttah Alaya, I want a nikkah. The one forever.)

I stare at him.

I look into his dark eyes, "Iss mulq mein naa, hazaaron larkiyaan hain joh tumhaare aise kaamon ke liye khushi khushi raazi haun gi. Mujh se kaeen khubsoorat. Wahaan karo joh karna hai. Yahaan naa mujhe tumhaare business mein interest hai, naa tumhaari sasti shohrat mein, aur naa hi tumhaare paise mein."

(There are thousands of girls in this country that would be happily available for these things. Much prettier than me. Do there whatever you want. Here nor do I have any interest in your business, nor in your cheap fame, nor in your wealth.)

"Tum abbhi araam se chal rahi ho yaa uttha ke le jaaun?"

(Are you coming with me calmly or do I pick you up?)

"Zaraa si bhi sharam hai? Itni beizzati ke baad toh main haseen se haseen bande ko kehti dafaa ho, badtameez sa hai, nahin chaahiye mujhe."

(Do you have any bit of shame? After all this insult I'd reject even the most handsome of the men; 'get lost, mannerless, I don't want you'.)

His grin gets wider and he almost jokes,

"Chup. Yeh baqwaas sense of humor—"
(Shut up. This horrible sense of humor—)

Ouch, Azaan.

"Kahaa naa koyi interest nahin hai? Jaao yahaan se." (I told you I have no interest. Go away.)

He tries to approach until I push his arm away and leave outside.

But he holds me and I instantly yell, "Mamu!" while he pulls me up and I can swear by God I've never been so close to a non-mehram.

I'm going to faint. The weather's already against me. The water here doesn't suit my taste.

I'm afraid of planes. This height and movement is disturbing me.

I pull my face as away as possible but it's so close for me to not go into shock mode.

"You've blabbered enough." He says and I reanalyze my words.

"Kyun main hi mili hoon tumhain?" I say as soon as I'm sat on the front seat of his open top jeep. (Why can't you find someone else?)

He gives me that smile look. There's not a sign of smile anywhere on his face but his eyes demonstrate a relief.

"Allah ne likha hai, uss hi se poochho."
(Allah wrote it, ask Him.)

Anxiety unravels in me and I furiously hit the door open to hurry out of it, "Kyaa drama chal raha hai? Khaani samjha huaa hai? Kahaa naa nahin toh nahin. Mujhe tum se do second baat nahin karni tum umr bhar saath guzaarne ki baat karte ho?"

(What's this drama? Do you think this is Khaani? I told you no, so it's a no. I don't want to talk to you for two seconds, you want me to spend a whole lifetime with you?)

"Alaya," he holds the door, "Chup-chaap andar baittho. Narmi se paish aa rahaa hoon, main apni pe aa gayaa toh—"

(Sit in quietly. I'm being tender to you, if I come to my real demeanor then—

"—Toh? Jise maut se ddarr nahin lagta usse aur kis cheez ki dhamki do ge?" (Then what? With what are you going threaten someone who isn't afraid of death?) I push the door against him and he closes it with a thud.

I unwillingly let a gasp escape.

"Maut toh sab se asaan aur pursukoon raasta hai meri jaan, tum abbhi iss dunya ko jaanti nahin ho."

(Death is the easiest and most peaceful way my love, you don't know this world yet.)

I look at his hands, his eyes, the way he ties the rope against my wrists.

"Inn baaton se ddarne waali nahin hoon main— mere ghar mein shaadi hai! Kyun samajh nahin aa rahaa tumhain main aisi larki nahin hoon yeh waisa khaandaan nahin hai, yahaan sab sukoon se rehte hain, hum tum jaise nahin hain aur naa koyi lena dena rakhna chaahte hain, tumhaare iss do din ke obsession ki wajaah se meri poori zindagi— lekin tumhain farq bhi kyun pare ga? Allah tum logon ko aisi maut de naa, ya Allah, sirf mulq ki baat nahin hai. Mulq ke liye toh tum ho hi bure lekin tumhaare andar insaaniyat bhi nahin hai. Tum se? Tum se main apne bhaiyon ko dosti naa rakhne doon tum mujhse nikkah ki baat karte ho—"

(These words don't scare me— There's a wedding in my house! Why don't you understand I'm not that type of girl, this is not that type of household, everyone lives here peacefully, we are not like you people nor do we want to keep any kinship with you all, this two-day obsession of yours is going to ruin my entire life— but why would you care? May Allah give you all such a painful death, ya Allah, this is not just about the country. You are bad for the country but you don't have humanity either. With you? I wouldn't let my brothers be friends with you, you want to marry me?)

He tapes my mouth and I close my eyes when he pushes his hand in my hair and approaches my face.

He cuts the tape off with his teeth.

This paagal ka bacha.
(This son of an idiot.)

He pushes the clutch all the way and while his hand is on the gear stick, I pull the tape off my mouth.

"Toh tum wohi karne waale ho joh tum chaahte ho?" (So you're going to do whatever you will?)

Accelerator.

"Bohot jaldi samajh aa gayaa aap ko."
(You understood that so quick.)

"Aur tum yeh umeed rakhte ho ke main tumhain passand karoon gi. Innh harkaton se? Pehli baat toh suno, mere qareeb naa aana abbh. Main yahaan koyi. Yehi yeh sab hi toh masle hain. Main khwaab mein bhi tum se shaadi naa karoon. Jis ko insaaniyat ka matlab nahin pataa uss se main shaadi karoon gi?"

(And you expect that I'll like you. With such acts? First of all, listen, don't ever come near me. I'm not a. This, these are the problems. I wouldn't marry you even in my dreams. I'll marry someone who doesn't know the meaning of humanity?

"Naashte mein kyaa passand karti ho?"
(What do you like for breakfast?)

"Tumhain yeh sab mazaak lag rahaa ho ga, tum yaad rakho maine tum se shaadi kar li naa, agle hi din headlines mein tumhaari maut highlight ho gi. Ya khudaaya, main kabbhi zindagi mein baba ke ilaawa kisi ke saath front seat pe nahin baithi, tum mere area mein ho, yahaan sab kyaa sochein ge?"

(You must be finding all of this a joke, just remember that if I marry you, your death will be in the headlines the very next day. Oh God, I haven't ever sat with someone on the front seat other than baba, you're in my area, what will everyone think?)

"Ssh. Ruko."
(Ssh. Wait.)

He takes a ring out of his pocket and pushes it on my ring finger. "Kisi ne kuchh poochha toh keh dena apne mangetar ke saath ghoom rahi ho." (If anyone asks, tell them you're out with your fiancé.)

[pls color the star. ok bye, 😚💗.]