"Haider, let the Walimah be. I don't want unnecessary stress." I tell Haider as I rub a piece of lemon on my arms.

"It's tomorrow. And you're very much invited."

I roll my eyes, "You married again?"

I look behind me to see him leaning on the bathroom's wall. "I annulled the temporary fix before marrying you."

Temporary fix.

He looks uncertain.

"But how many women have been on that bed?" I ask drawing my eyes towards his bedroom.

He looks behind at the bed.

The awkward silence forces me to talk,

"You know, in my extended family, I've only witnessed two healthy couples, MashaAllah for them. There are thousands of couples with dozens of kids in my village but only two of them are healthy. There's one thing in common in both the couples."

"What?"

"The woman is more aged."

He waits for me to add more to it.

I put the lemons aside and turn the shower's tap on to wash my arms.

"That's it?" he asks.

I turn the tap off, "Yea."

"What was the purpose of this information?"

I shrug as I wipe my arms with a towel.

"Is it just about the age or did the woman have the upper hand? And do you want that?"

"I'm not talking about us. I'm talking about men and their nature."

"How'd you know?"

"I was saying that those two men were mature enough to not take the age difference to their ego. Because most men do. And Haider, I'm not mentally prepared for the Walimah. I hate guests. And being the main character isn't my thing, I'm too shy for it."

He chuckles and kisses my forehead and I leave with the bowl of lemons.

I see the lady he was warning the other day.

Karishma bhabhi walks into the kitchen in a party dress. I almost want to ask her because Harmeen's nowhere near, but she looks like someone with a lot of attitude and I don't want anything to spoil my mood.

She takes a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and I stare at the lady servant.

She keeps on working indifferent to my stare. Her eyes have large obscure dark circles as if she hasn't slept in ages.

There are marks of burns on her neck and chin and several scars on her arms and hands.

She looks tired and my suspicion turns out right when she almost slips, "Araam se!" but catches herself with the help of the countertop. (Be careful!)

She shakes her head and looks at me all alerted as I walk to hold her. She steps back and yells "Nahin, nahin, nahin, abbh nahin ho ga. Maaf kar dein, abbh nahin ho ga."

(No, no, no, it won't happen again. Forgive me, it won't happen again.)

What? "Ji? Aap ttheek hain?"

(Sorry? Are you fine?)

"Nahin, nahin. Nahin." She steals her eyes, "Maazrat." She leaves all atolondrate- atol- anguished.

(No, no, no.) (I apologize.)

I go upstairs repeating three times in my head that I need to ask Harmeen about her.

What if she disappears tomorrow?

I see a maid coming upstairs and I take the chance to ask her about that other maid, but the lunchboxes in her hands grab my attention.

The maid stops when she sees me and turns back.

"Aunty!" I stop her, "Yeh kahaan le ke jaa rahi thi aap?" (Where were you taking this?)

"Yeh.., yeh main.. oopar chhat pe, kabootaron ko ddaalne." (This.., this I.. upstairs on the roof, to put it to the pigeons.)

"Raat ke waqt?" I climb down the two stairs, "lunchboxes mein?" I take one from her hands and open it. (At night?) (In lunchboxes?)

"Achha, tou kabootar saalan khaate hain?"
(Oh ok, so the pigeons eat curry?)

She steals her gaze, not knowing how to cover up.

"Saaf saaf bataaein yeh kis ke liye hai."
(Tell me clearly who this is for.)

She takes a moment before spilling the tea, "Iddat pe baithi hui aurton ke liye hai."
(It's for the women performing iddah.)

"Iddat? Iss ghar mein? Kis ki baat kar rahi hain aap?" (Iddah? In this house? Who are you talking about?)

"Woh... Haider baba..."
(Those... Haider baba...)

Oh my God.

Temporary fix.

"Woh... iss hi ghar mein..? AURTEIN? kitni hain?" I see the two lunch boxes in her hand, "bas yehi yaa aur lunchboxes tayyaar ho rahe hain kitchen mein?"

(They... In this house..? WOMEN? How many are there?) (Is this all or are there more lunchboxes being prepared in the kitchen?)

"Nahin, do, do hi hain."
(No, two, just two of them.)

I frown before going back to my room.

A moment of existential crisis passes by as I realize I'm actually living the life I'm living.

I open the door of my room and dash to my phone to type a random scene of Koh-e-Noor.

Just like yesterday, a bunch of scenes make a whole chapter and I don't realize where the time flies.

My phone dies before I can proofread it and I sigh putting it on battery.

Why has Haider not come out of the washroom yet?

It's been two hours. I lean from the couch to see the washroom's light off.

Huh?

I put some lotion on my arms and lie down in hopes of sweet dreams.

That is until I really start wondering where he goes.

I get up and look out of the window.

Where was he on the wedding night?

Where is he one night before the walimah?

I look around the gate.

He's nowhere.

I go to the bay window and look down.

The eldest brother and the father are there.

He must be there as well.

I lean to look at the whole patio table.

He's not there.

He must be standing because they are looking at someone.

I don't know, my heart beats in worry.

I don't like men.

I hate men.

I want to go downstairs to make sure he's there but I can't. I don't know what excuse to give.

If he's there he might cover me up, but if not...

I take a shawl out of the closet and wrap it around myself.

It's as cold as it must be in Madrid. This is the first time I'm feeling so cold here. Maybe I'm getting used to the weather.

It's been around two months here.

I get out of the room and go to the terrace to get some air.

No, I'm lying. I go there to take a wider look of the garden.

And also some air.

And to thank Allah miyaan for not letting my surroundings depress me. This is going amazing.

But when does Haider let anything go the way I plan it? He ruined all the dreams I had for my husband.

And he ruins another.

I silently run through the corridor and try to forget the moans.

Allah miyaan pick one and put it in my heart.

A. Should Alaya ignore it and mind her business?

B. Should Alaya knock on the door and catch Haider red handed?

Pito pito colorito dónde vas tú tan bonito nana nana nana nana na. na. na. na.

(Eeny meeny miny moe catch a tiger by the toe nana nana nana nana na. na. na. na.)

I run upstairs towards the terrace.

The guard opens the door for me, and to be honest, I didn't really think of it. I wasn't expecting a guard here.

I walk inside, fidgeting my fingers.

They have a pretty open terrace.

And it's quite clean.

I imagine prostitutes dancing here, then hate my mind for it.

Astaghfirullah Astaghfirullah Astaghfirullah.

I bite my nail as I look in the air.

There are two more guards roaming around the terrace. They see me and get out of my sight.

Good. At least they don't invade my privacy.

Pictures of him enjoying with a girl run in my mind.

All the tweeting that I'm very possessive, I'll do this and that when I get a man. And when I actually own a man, I'm not possessive at all.

The fast heartbeat yells that somewhere in my heart, I am possessive. Maybe even jealous. I don't know.

I'd rather ignore that feeling.

Even if I go and catch them red handed and create a drama, what am I really going to get? Divorce? No. He isn't done with me yet.

Do I record them? To take khula and show proof to baba?

Yaar Alaya paagal hai.

Astaghfirullah. Even though that seems the rightest and easiest, it is wrong.

That might clear baba's doubts on me, but the problem persists. This doesn't snatch his power. I don't want him to harm my family if my family goes against him.

What if I make use of social media? Who wouldn't want to know the dirty secrets of this glamorous household?

Alaya. Stop it. Astaghfirullah.

I watch the city of Islamabad and act as if I had a crown on my head. I wave my hand in the air like a Miss Universe.

The euphoria leaves and I rest my head on my arms above the railing.

Even their roof terrace has a roof. They kept everything for the looks instead of the comfort.

It looks beautiful but you can't lie down and count the stars.

I roam around the terrace and the guards keep moving as far off me as possible.

It feels like they're hiding something. Or maybe not wanting to be near me.

I think a thousand times if it is safe to confront them, fragments of the Punjab Police rape case article run in my head. They are all men at the end.

But I have Haider.

God knows what type of a man Haider is but do I feel more in power than an average Pakistani girl? Yes.

Itni ghairat tou ho gi. (He must have this much decency.) He can't let anything happen to his wife.

Hopefully.

But Haider lied to me. He said he annulled all his marriages before marrying me.

Or maybe he's with a prostitute.

But what's the purpose of mut'ah if he goes to prostitutes anyway?

I sit down on the large sofa and try to figure out what he's doing.

I want to know where he's doing all of this.

Where are the auctions held, how is it done, how can I help it end?

I don't know if to give in or stay away from him. If I give in his job will be done and he'll divorce and marry someone else. I don't know how to win his trust and have him share his secrets.

That's impossible now. He knows since the first day that I'm against what he does.

Human trafficking?

Zindagi mein kabbhi nahin socha tha aise logon se waasta pare ga.

(I never thought I'd ever have to deal with such people.)

Alhamdulillah phir bhi baaizzat reh rahi hoon. Aisa waisa waasta nahin parraa.

(Alhamdulillah for still living with dignity, without having to deal with them in any problematic way.)

I rest on the sofa for a while and wonder how Haider fell for someone like me.

I'm very average.

I heard Subhan's mum being amazed at how Haider's parents wanted me and only me as their daughter-in-law.

And hatred apart, I know Haider has a handsome face, personality and charm.

Me. I'm living a love story.

Weird.

All those Arijit Atif Aslam songs, someone wants to dedicate them to me.

It's something I've asked for all my life but finally getting it feels so insanely fictitious.

Thinking of it all makes me nearly doze off.

I close my ears and rush downstairs.

I open the door of our bedroom and see him praying namaz. His hair wet.

The infamous rock rests beneath his forehead when he goes to sujood.

I unintentionally blink a little extra when he looks at me after doing the taslim normally.

I realise he doesn't follow all the shia customs.

●•○°●•●°○

I lie down on the bed and keep watching him as he finishes his prayer.

"Kahaan the tum?" I ask when he folds the prayer mat. (Where were you?)

He turns the AC's heating system on and takes his kameez off while making up a reply in his head.

"I was with Ruger."

"Kaun?"
(Who?)

"The dog."

"Usse abbhi bhi ghar pe rakhaa hua hai?"
(You still have him at home?)

He looks at me, guilt sparkling in his eyes.

I wait for him to get in bed while I swallow the mint chewing gum I stole from his drawer while in search of a gun.

He pulls his side of the duvet and right after he gets inside, I steal a portion of his chest to use it as a pillow.

I've been very upset with life for a few days but today's incident ended all my complaints. I don't know if he's a test or a punishment, but he isn't my life partner. I know my value. I'm not deserving of such a despicable home. Not deserving of a man who has neither perception of value nor patience. Allah will give me freedom from him, InShaAllah.

It's just a test of my patience.

I raise my head to see why he's silent and he looks down.

Where were you?

Where were you?

Alaya, ask him.

Where were you?

"What's that look?"

I'm shifting away to my pillow to turn my back towards him when he holds my wrists and pins me down.

"Jaana, I asked you something."

He kisses my neck and I spurt out a soft series of ok ok, stop.

He doesn't.

I find that so wrong.

I said stop because I couldn't handle the butterflies, but he isn't a mind reader; what if I were saying it because he's hurting me?

"Haider, you're hurting me." I lie with a heart still beating fast.

He raises his head to observe the scene, "How so?"

shukar.

"I..." he looks down to read my lips, "told you to stop."

His mocking chuckle provokes me to push him away but my fists remain tied in his hold.

"Cute. That's what you read and write in your books? We don't do that here. Keep it fiction."

I want to form words to confront that but all I can form is tears.

In a while, the habit of going against myself to live in the present — and my carefree personality makes me kiss him without a second thought.

No, don't lie. You're not carefree with anyone else.

Will he take this like I accepted his thoughts?

"Sorry. That's vaseline." I quickly inform him after noticing the gooey sensation.

I don't think he cares about my acceptance anyway.

He chuckles. I turn my face away before he kisses me and he looks at me to understand what I really want.

Something only God knows.

Simply put, I'm probably falling in his trap.

Allah miyaan, I'm falling so openly. At least conceal it, Alaya. The trying to resist part is confusing for both of us.

He lets go of one of my wrists and holds the front of my neck up to not let it sink with the kiss.

He notices my gasp at the contact of his hand on the hot skin of my neck and I take that time to move his hand away from my neck. And maybe hold it, I don't know. I don't like him touching my neck.

What if he strangles me?

I push on his chest. "Haider, it's 1AM. The Walimah's in the morning."

"Mhm, I know." he intentionally caresses my neck, "And you know I wanted to do it the right way."

"No. Haider. Please."

Please ki bachi, it's an order, not a request.

"Haider, you promised me."

"No, Alaya. I asked you a question and you cut me to reply with a totally different answer. There were no promises made."

"No. You promised me. Haider, good night. Cut this here."

He rests his head on my neck and my diaphragm movement gets more noticeable to me.

I see the scars on his back and close my eyes. He kisses my wrist and I try to resist when he's leading my hand to his back.

He looks at me and moves away.

I sit up and grab a tissue from the side to cry.

"It's not a good thing to feel so much for others," he says after a while of watching me cry. "You need to be tamed."

And I swear I look so bad when I cry. I don't know how he doesn't immediately go Uh, you aren't that pretty.

But his words remind me of the lady servant in the kitchen.

Harmeen talks so much, I'll forget this.

I watch him leaned on his elbow.

"Who's that lady servant?"

"Hm?"

"That woman in her late 40s. Dark circles, burns, scars... Who—"

"Kyaa kiya uss ne tumhain? Kuchh kahaa?"
(What did she do to you? Did she say anything?)

"Nahin. Main kitchen mein thi, woh bhi waheen thi apna kaam kar rahi thi, thaki hui lag rahi thi. Zaraa sa khiski tou maine poochha <ttheek hain?> awain maafiyaan maangne lag pari. Ajeeb si hain. Aankhon mein nahin dekhti. Ddarri si rehti hain. Itni si baat pe maafi kaun maangta hai?"

(No. I was in the kitchen, she was also there, working. She looked tired. She slipped a bit so I asked <are you fine?> and she started apologizing for no reason. She's weird. Doesn't make eye contact. Stays frightened. Who apologizes on such little things?)

He nods with a smile but I see his jaw tense.

"Khud hi chali gayi phir kitchen se."
(Then she left the kitchen.)

"Chalo, khair, so jaao. Raat bohot ho gayi hai." (Anyway, go to sleep. It's too late at night.)

I stay up and think of his reaction to this information while he goes to sleep.

●•°●°○○•●

Waking up to an empty room, I walk to the washroom and try to figure out what Haider was thinking of when I was narrating the kitchen incident.

That expression was weird. He's probably slowly starting to get sick of me.

That's good.

When he divorces me I'll immediately go to a hotel.

Should I practice iddah?

I know I'm not getting intimate with him, InShaAllah. Is it necessary?

I'll have to search it up.

I close the door of the washroom and walk to the sink to watch myself in the mirror.

The LED light makes me look prettier.

I look for a button to switch it off, and despite some trouble find it.

My skin looks good.

I open my lips to brush my tongue across my teeth.

The post-vaseline softness reminds me of last night. I remove my fingers from my lips and look at my nails.

I'm so extra.

I kissed him.

It makes me just as anxious as posting on social media does.

I look in the mirror and flip my hair a thousand times.

I could have worked harder and shown him pictures of approachable models.

He did raise my confidence forever.

I could have never thought someone could fall in love with me at first sight.

I look into all my features in detail and remind myself of our first interaction.

Seeing me from so near and then falling in love does make sense.

Thinking about the Walimah held later in the afternoon makes me dizzy.

The brightness in my eyes urgently escapes.

I don't want the Wal—

"You've—"

I scream and flick my head back.

"Alaya, it's me."

He's relaxing in the jacuzzi.

"Tum yahaan kaise!" I look at the door.
(You! Here! How?)

How on earth did I not notice—

"Lekin darwaaza tou band hai!"
(But the door is closed?)

His laughter fills the room and I leave right after realizing what I just did.

He was there before me with the lights off?

With only the dim sunlight coming through the extremely translucent window?

Ya Allah, thank God I didn't pee.

●○•●•○°•●

While Saliha baji's doing my hair and the rest of the girls are chirping and gossiping in my room, I get a call from Haider.

Saliha baji gives me a teasing look.

I click on the volume down button.

Before she takes the bobby pin out of her teeth, my phone rings again and Alishba runs to pick it up and put it on the speaker for everyone to enjoy.

"Hello?" I hear him and roll my eyes.

"Hello?" she asks.

"Alaya, tum hi ho?"
(Alaya, is it you?)

"Yeh sawaal hai? Abbhi bhi sawaal hai yeh?" (Is this a question? Is this still a question?)

While Tania shout-whispers "Abbh tum hi ho, zindagi abbh tum hi ho, chain bhi, mera dard bhi, meri aashiqui"

Ishrat baji shakes her head.

I want to let them have fun but I'm afraid of what he could say.

"Hm? Nahin, awaaz badli badli si lag rahi thi." he wonders to himself.

(Hm? No, your voice sounds a bit different.)

"Galaa kharaab hai." Alishba clears her throat. (I have a sore throat.)

"Raat ke experiments nahin yaad—"
(Don't you remember last night's experiments?)

Ishrat baji hits Tania on the head and Saliha baji chants Astaghfirullah.

"Khairiyat hai? Phone kis liye kiya aap ne."
(Is everything fine? Why did you call?)

Alishba is so bad at this, she has no idea what to say.

"Bas poochhna tha tumhain tayyaari mein kitna waqt lage ga? Kuchh chaahiye ho tou bataa dena." (I just wanted to ask how long it'll take you to get ready. If you want anything then let me know.)

For some reason it feels like that wasn't what he wanted to say.

Tania helps Alishba through gestures, "Gajrey kahaan hain?"

(Where are the flower garlands?)

"Ji?"
(Sorry?)

"Gajrey. Aap ko nahin pataa? Chaar shaadiyaan huyi hain, maine har kisi ki shaadi mein gajra pehna hai. Apni ko chaar din ho gaye, aap aik din gajrey nahin laaye. Kitni sharam ki baat hai." Alishba does it better than I thought she could.

(Garlands. You don't know? There have been four weddings, I've worn flower garlands in all of them. It's been four days to ours, but you haven't brought a single garland yet. How shameful is that.)

"Alaya kyaa ho gayaa hai? Abbhi kal toh laaya tha." Haider lies.

(Alaya what's wrong? I brought them to you yesterday.)

He's caught her. I relax.

Alishba looks at Tania, wide-eyed.

Tania shrugs and gives me glares for not telling them.

"Blue sunflower naa? Uss hi ke gajrey laane ko kahaa tha naa tum ne?"

(Blue sunflower right? That's the flower garlands you wanted, isn't it?)

The fuck?

Their bewilderment and my poker face make eye contact.

Saliha baji lifts my eyelid to apply the eyeliner and I whine, "Nahin lagaaya karein naa. Zaroori hai koyi? Mujh se nahin utartaa, oopar se aap itna deep lagaati hain."

(Don't put the eyeliner on me. It isn't necessary. I can't take it off, moreover you put it so deep.)

"Tou? Kyaa samjhoon main? Jis ne phone utthaaya woh meethi si awaaz waali Alaya thi yaa yeh behadd takleefde chikchik karne waali awaaz Alaya ki hai."

(So? What should I believe? The one with the sweet voice that picked up the phone was Alaya or this immensely pricking voice is Alaya's.)

I roll my eyes as they gasp and Saliha baji hits me on my head. "Shaklein nahin banaaya karo." (Stop making faces.)

●○•°●●••●

"I don't wanna go." I push the door closed.

"Let me come in?" He speaks softly from the other side.

"Say I've collapsed."

"Alaya," he chuckles, "it's okay."

And he's right. I mean nothing is okay but it's better than before. Not being baba's target relieves me a lot.

I didn't even know I had a phuppo before the day when baba accused me of it all. Mama didn't know baba had a sister either.

They announced a fake death to the village and removed her name and traces from history with the mask of "it hurts bari ammi."

I hate thinking of that. I hate having learnt that. I hate that day. I hate that memory. Today is better. Any day is better than that day.

It's okay Alaya, you got this.

He opens the door once I stop leaning on it.

"I don't know how to comfort. You'll just have to believe me it's nothing. I understand it's making you anxious, but I promise you won't have to say a word to strangers. It's just going to be some pictures and smiling—"

"—I don't want pictures."

"It's going to take five minutes."

"But they're going to last forever. That's the problem."

His eyes take interest in my dress and I walk to the mirror to check myself one last time.

"You're not wearing it on your head?"

"Hm? The dupatta? No." (The veil? No.) And I want to taunt him for not having a good fashion sense because I do that to Alishba all the time despite her having more knowledge.

But he's not Alishba. I get friendly with anyone. He's making all my strengths become weaknesses.

I smooth the dupatta on my shoulder, run a hand through my straightened open braided hair and practice my smile one last time.

Haider laughs and I breathe in. So so so fucking not ready.

When he grips the back of my neck and looks in my eyes with an indescribably unique emotion, I get ready in lesser than a second and take his hand to leave downstairs.

"Ruko," He stops and takes the beautiful brooch off his suit. (Wait.)

"Kyun? Achha lag rahaa tha."
(Why? It was looking good.)

"Nah, chubh rahaa tha."
(No, it was pinching.)

As we head towards the stairs I forget about the people and the cameras and keep on thinking about the way he looked at me.

My nails go up between my teeth and I think of how Haider has me here for his pleasure.

And his family knows that.

And they probably think I'm with him for his wealth.

I still remember the face his mother made when she saw me for the first time.

This infatuation is robbing me of all my dignity. He didn't kill me that day. He had a gun and gave up on the chance for what?

I'll never forget how momaani said "eddi vi sonhi koyi ni, munda paagal hoye aa ae" and how I was the timepass of my first crush and how I still like Subhan and how validating Subhan's liking towards me was.

(she's not that pretty, the guy has gone crazy)

"Hands up, Alaya."

"Huh?" I look at Haider.

"Hands down."

I stop biting my nails and look at the guests.

I indifferently mouth fuck it to him and he smirks before moving his eyes towards the public.

He takes my hand off his arm and takes it in his to lead me downstairs as I murmur, "Utro, utro jaldi, mujhse nahin itni dair spotlight mein rehne hota—"

(Get down, get down quick, I can't remain in the spotlight for so long—)

He pauses and pulls me to his stair while looking in my eyes and fixing the hair near my temple, "Aahista, gracefully, sale nahin lagi hui—" (Slowly, gracefully, there's no sale—)

"Nahin hai grace. Kahaan se laaun? Grace waali se shaadi karni chaahiye thi."

(I don't have grace. Where do I bring it from? You should have married someone with grace.)

Dil kho gayaa
Ho gayaa kisi ka

Ab raasta mil gayaa,

Khushi ka...

He stares at me, "Kyaa masla hai? Kyun bhaagne ki jaldi hai? Peechhe se bull nahin aa rahaa—" (What's the problem? What's the hurry for? There's no bull coming for us.)

"—Sab dekh rahe hain utro."
(Everyone's watching, get down.)

Aankhon mein hai khwaab sa,
Kisi ka..
Ab raasta mil gayaa,

Khushi ka..

"Tou? Humara time hai." His finger adjusts a nothing on my neck. It just makes me uncomfortable in this packed room. "Humare liye aaye hain sab. Joh bhi pace ho, humaari marzi. Unhain bardaasht karni pare gi."

(So? It's our time.) (They are all here for us. Whatever the pace, it depends on us. They'll have to bear it.)

"Khatam karo naa yaar please—"
(End it yaar please—)

"—Stop whining. And calm your heart."

Rishta nayaa rabba,
Dil choo rahaa hai,
Kheenche mujhe koyi dore, teri ore..

I shut up and breathe, letting him speak. Otherwise we'll remain on top of the stairs the whole day.

"Chin up."

I tilt my head and give him a fake smile after pushing my chin up.

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

He nods, impressed.

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

I hate wearing designer clothes, this feels so extra.

He helps me climb down the stairs and I'm really thankful because the amount of people here...

Khulti fizaaein, khulti ghataaein,
Sar pe nayaa hai aasman,
Chaaron dishaaein, hass ke bulaaein,
Yun sab hue hain meherbaan..

My knees would have gone weak if I had to deal with this crowd all alone.

Humain toh yahi rabba,
Kasam se pataa hai,
Dil pe nahin, koyi zor, koyi zor

He looks at me and I smile with my teeth clenched. Our parents greet and meet us and discomfort is clear on baba's face. He hates the atmosphere.

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

"Ma'am, ma'am phir se last stair pe aik picture de dein, yeh waali blur aa rahi hai."

(Ma'am, ma'am please give us another picture on the last stair, this one's blur.)

Ik te baba rola paaye aa ae, aprun ae photographer jaan ni chhadd'de.

I shake my head, "Mujh se nahin hota. Khair hai nahin aayi ttheek toh. Haider ki—"

agli dafaa sahi kheench lena.

(I can't do this. It's okay if they don't come out alright. For Haider—) (you can snap them better next time.)

I halt in the middle of the sentence and almost put the nail back up in between my teeth.

Ik heer thi aur tha aik raanjha,
Kehte hain mere gaaon mein,

Sachaa ho dil tou,
Sau mushkilen haun,
Jhukta naseeba paaun mein,

Haider gestures me to lead the way and I go to the throne chairs.

Aanchal tera rabba,

Falak bann gayaa hai,
Ab iss ka nahin, koyi ore, koyi chhore..

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

We sit down and I look at myself in the mirror placed at a 45° angle on his side.

Dil kho gayaa
Ho gayaa kisi ka

I do look like a pretty main character.

Ab raasta mil gayaa,
Khushi ka..

I look so fucking good, oh my God. Where's Saliha baji?

Aankhon mein hai khwaab sa,
Kisi ka..

Everything seems more enjoyable. It feels like I now possess the rights to be happy.

Ab raasta mil gayaa,
Khushi ka..

Haider sees my bright smile and I know by now he must think I'm mentally ill.

Rishta nayaa rabba,
Dil choo rahaa hai,
Kheenche mujhe koyi dore, teri ore..

I mouth the lyrics to him.

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..

Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore, haaye rabba
Teri ore, teri ore, teri ore..