Eight years later.

Murat came inside. Closing the door of his apartment, he hung his car keys in the key holder and walked in. He whiffed in the smell of something getting cooked in the kitchen. Taking off his coat and hanging it over the edge of the sofa, he walked further in, to the kitchen.

His eyes twinkled seeing his younger brother, Moosa, cooking something. "Welcome, Murat. Would you please like to have a seat." Moosa spoke in a professional way.

Murat nodded, smiling. "Khairiyat? Aaj tum kesay kitchen may khana pakanay aa gye. Maira matlab fridge may sab kuch parra to ha."

He shrugged. "Bas aaj dil kiya tumhare liye kuch pakanay ko. Tum thak gaye ho gay."

"Aw! That's so sweet." Murat laughed placing a hand over his heart. "Wesay pakaya kya ha?" He craned his neck.

"Tadaa. Garam garam pasta." Moosa brought the plate to the small dining table which was enough for these two.

Murat excitedly took a bite and chewed the food for a while. Moosa stood in front of his brother, his hands tied on his back as he waited for his judge to announce the result.

"Hmm. The food is actually good. You are approved. Congratulations." Murat put the spoon down and started clapping. Moosa joined along, laughing his heart out.

Even if Murat was 26 and Moosa was 22, they still acted like children, just being them, when no one was around to judge.

Murat had his dream job for which he had dreamt through all his teen years. He had a nice living. He had arranged an apartment for him and had even called his younger brother there to live with him in the apartment and complete his studies. Moosa was studying literature here in Islamabad, what he had always loved, and studied with passion. He wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a teacher, an English teacher. It would be so fun to teach young college students. Near Moosa, it was one of the best jobs.

Murat always supported him. As an elder brother, he was always there for him, to guide him, to show him the difference between good or bad. After Dada, Murat was the one advising him.

***

It was the last ashra of Ramadan. Moosa and Murat both had them off and now decided to go back to their home to spend Eid with their family.

Phone rang. "Gee Ami Assalam-o-Alaykum."

It was his lovely mother, Safia.

"Walaikum Assalam. Kidhar ha maira chota shehzada."

"Bas ussi ka khayal rakha karain. May to beech may aata hi nahi."

"Aisi baat nahi. Tumhe pata to ha mujhe uski kitni fikar hoti ha. Dada k baad wo bohat chup chup rehnay laga tha."

"Janta hn. Aur aap fikar na karain may uss ka poora khayal rakhta hun." Murat calmed his worried Mother. "Aur aap sabr karain. May bulla k lata hun usse."

"Nai ruko. Tum say kuch baat karni ha."

"Gee. Bolain." Murat said through the phone.

"Bas ab tum dono aa jao wapis. Apny bhorray maa baap ko akela chorr diya ha yahan Gujranwala may."

"Aap fikar na karain. Q na aisa ho k aap hi hamari taraf aa jayein. Hamesha k liye hamaray pass."

There were a few shuffles on the phone, then she asked. "Kya matlab?"

"Matlab ye k. May yahan par aik ghar khareedne ka soch raha hun. Jahan aap, Abba, may aur Moosa khushi khushi reh sakain."

"Aray baita. Tumne pehly hi itna kuch kiya ha hamaray liye. Ab aur kitna karo gay."

"Mama mujhe karnay dain. Mat rokein. Muje maloom ha apne aur Abba nay bohat qurbania day kar ham dono ko barra kiya ha. May kaise kuch na karon aap k liye." He spoke.

"Par baita tum kesay manage karo gay?"

"Mama kuch savings hain meray pass. Kuch bank say loan lay lon ga aur phir instalments daita rahun ga. InSha'Allah ho jaye ga manage. Bas aap dua karain."

By now, Safia was in tears but she didn't show it to Murat. She was so proud of him. She was proud that he was a successful architect and also did a part-time job. Her heart always prayed for her both children's successful future.

***

It was Eid. Meethi Eid.

They were home, both Murat and Moosa to celebrate Eid.

After offering Eid Namaz in Eid-gah. They went to the graveyard. Suleiman placed the flowers garland over the grave as Moosa and Murat spread rose petals on the grave.

All stepped back to pray fateha.

Moosa raised his hands too. "Assalam-o-Alaikum, Dada. Eid Mubarak. It is probably the first Eid that I will spend without your Eidi. I always pray wherever you are, Allah Taa'la Keeps you happy. Grants you higher ranks in Jannah. And whoever yet has to leave, May Allah Makes it easy for them. May Allah Forgives us all. Amen."

Practice makes a man perfect, Dada's words echoed in his ears. Ever since these words had stuck with him. Whatever he did, Dada's words always guided him, proved to be a lamp in the dark paths of life.

Moosa spread his hands over his face and blew the dua on him and all way up in the graveyard.

This dunya is nothing but a beautiful lie, Dada had quoted from Quran Pak once. He remembered. It was one of the afternoons of summer when they were sitting in the shade of a tree in a garden near the railway track.

It was from the time when the virus was over. When the world was free. When everyone could go out. When finely bazaars were open and his father could go back to his shop. When his mother was no more ill and cooked him biryani every Sunday. When his school was finally opened and he could meet his friends.

He remembered, once in the evening, he came home. He was huffing and seemed to be angry. Dada who was going out to Masjid for Maghrib prayer stopped him and asked him the reason. Moosa told him the whole story that how he had gotten into a fight with a friend and how he had crashed him down to the ground in anger. Moosa knew he shouldn't have done it.

On Dada's advice, he went back to him after a few days and apologized for what he had done. To his surprise, he was forgiven and that made him so much at peace.

Moosa felt a hand on his shoulder that brought him out of his memories. It was Murat's hand.

"Ghar chalain? Mama nashtay par intazaar kar rahi hon gi."

Moosa nodded before whispering an "Allah Hafiz", looking at the stone of grave one last time.

Moosa turned on his feet and walked out of the graveyard.

The End