I am surprised at the man who searches for his lost item, while he has lost his own soul and does not search for it.

— Imam Ali

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What is human mind but a trap? Never satiated, always greedy, wanting to have more than what's bestowed upon the soul. Is it not nature, if not always then mostly? Is this not how the world functions, with wrecked people, devastatingly dangerous to the point of ready to consume their own flesh? But sadly, never satisfied.

This is how she has always seen things to be, in the havoc of desires losing the true meaning of life, until life is only a process to exist through without actually being felt or lived through. She has seen people in different shades, until the brightest of their shades dulled to the dead of the night, when they've to become wicked when destiny no longer favors them. Then how can she be any different in her struggles? Circumstances can very well make people bitter, if not always then mostly.

She has been another prey of life. Then how can she be blamed for fighting for herself?

Banafsha stares at the wedding ring lying on her open palm, simple and not fancy to her, something she cannot imagine to wear on her finger and carry around proudly. She clasps it tightly and rests her head back on the couch, closing her eyes.

Unlucky guy, whoever he is, was about to be trashed.

The words of the man she met on the airport play in her head over and over again. Unlucky guy? She thinks. Aurang might be unlucky to be stuck in her family affairs, but so is she. She doesn't know the cost of freeing herself from him, but she knows the price he must pay at the hands of her father and brother isn't going to be small; their ruthlessness might devour him.

"Afsha?"

She opens her eyes and turns to see Zoraiz settling beside her on the couch. He places a tray on the center table, having tea and treats, and smiles at her.

"What are you thinking, sis?"

She pushes herself up to sit straighter. "Nothing significant."

"You've been quiet," he points out and she just shrugs, reaching for a tea cup and taking a sip.

"Your apartment is small," she comments, looking around his living room before back at him. "I thought baba must've provided a better place for you. My bathroom at home is bigger than your living room."

Zoraiz's smile falters as he raises up both eyebrows and chuckles sheepishly. "Yeah, well, but I don't mind the place. It's cozy."

"But I do mind it." Banafsha places the cup back on the tables and tucks her legs beneath her, facing him fully now. "It has only two rooms. Could've worked for you when you were living alone-- I don't know how you still adjusted in this confined space though-- but definitely not for both of us."

Zoraiz sighs and picks up his own cup, taking a sip of his tea. "Unfortunately, my budget cannot afford a luxury penthouse for us, sis." He holds out the plate to her. "Pastries?"

She frowns. "Of course you can't afford it, but baba can. I'll ask Mughis lala to arrange a better place for us. He offered to me before coming here that if I need anything, I just need to ask them."

"Suit yourself." Zoraiz places the plate between them on the couch. "I'm not going anywhere from this apartment."

"You aren't?" Banafsha blinks in surprise. "But why?"

"Because I love it."

"This rat-hole?"

Zoraiz disapprovingly looks at her. She notices the muscles of his jaw clench but his voice remains calm when he replies, "Yes, because it's my home."

She roles her eyes. "Come on, people are always moving around, from luxury to luxury. And you're getting homesick for something like this when you can have luxury too?"

He just takes a pastry and bites it, busying himself with eating so as to avoid replying.

"When was the last time you even came home?" Banafsha taunts. "It has been years."

"Are you upset that I couldn't make it to your nikah?"

She scoffs at his question, busying her own self with sipping tea this time.

"I'm sure you didn't even feel my absence," Zoraiz says with a smiles. "Baji (sister) told me you were too occupied hating everyone to even ask of me."

Banafsha glares at him. "And Parisha decided to fill you with hate against me instead? How mighty of her."

"She didn't," Zoraiz refuses. "I only asked her of you."

"You're only defending her because you've always loved her more than me."

"You're both my sisters and I've loved you both evenly. But I'll admit that it has always been her closer to me than you, and you know why, Afsha." He glances away from her, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger. "She always checks on me. Did you even miss me once?"

Banafsha swallows uneasily and licks her lips. "Just because I didn't call often didn't mean I've never missed you."

"Of course." Zoraiz grins ironically. "I've been nostalgic too many times and wanted to be home, even at your nikah. But there were always things to keep me here. Although I wouldn't lie, I suppose being here has been better for me than being back at home. I don't think I was needed anyways."

She doesn't answer, soaking in his words, and the ache in them births guilt in her heart. Zoraiz and she have the least age difference than her with her older two siblings. But she hasn't been close to any of them. It was always Parisha closer to their brothers more than her, and maybe they loved her more than her too, no matter if they don't admit it. She feels a twinge of jealousy within her.

But when it comes to her parents, Banafsha has always been the dearest child to her father, despite Mughis being his right hand most of the times. And that's how she has always been doing as she pleases and has been in power over others. Also, she has been more darling to her mother compared to her sister. But despite all this, she cannot help feeling envious of Parisha, as if she still has more than her-- everything she cannot have.

"So," Zoraiz's voice gets her attention, "how's your groom?"

She groans in frustration at his question and reaches for a pastry. "Regular."

Zoraiz arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "And what does it mean?"

"It means I'm not so fond of him to discuss him with you, unless you want to torture me."

"But I heard he's a fine man."

"Really?" Banafsha asks sarcastically. "And in which department exactly?"

"You tell me. Haven't you met him?"

"I tell you that Parisha is filling you with nonsense and you don't listen to her," she huffs. "Now, you tell me when are we moving to a new place?"

Zoraiz hums dismissively. "Whenever you want, you can ask lala to get you a place of your standard." He gets up, taking his tea cup with him and walking towards the open kitchen at the opposite end of the living room. "As for me, I'm not going anywhere from here."

"What?" Banafsha lowers her feet on the floor. "But they won't let me live alone."

"Then you can ask baba to send you a bodyguard too. I'm sure he can arrange something for his shahzadgy (princess)."

"Are you mocking me?" Banafsha asks, irritated.

"God forbid." He stands in front of the sink and puts on the rubber gloves, preparing to do the dishes. "The thing is, Banafsha, that this apartment I've bought with my own money, which I've earned the hard way, and collected cent by cent to be on my own and not depend on my father in any way anymore." He locks gazes with her. "I'm in no way ready to go back to my old ways again."

"Wait," Banafsha stands up, staring at him skeptically, "this is your own apartment, in your name?"

"Yes," he affirms.

"I thought you were studying here, and not working yet."

"I think you've forgotten, but I've already graduated."

"But weren't you doing post-graduation in law?"

"I quit."

Her eyes widen in disbelief. "You quit?"

"I think that's what I said. Baba made me study it, but I realized it wasn't for me."

The casualty of his tone makes her sanity haywire, as if he's discussing weather with her and not his career.

"And you're doing what now?" she demands impatiently.

"Living my life the way I want."

Banafsha pinches the bride of her nose. "Does baba know about it?"

He starts running the tap and nods.

"Is he okay with it?"

He lifts one shoulder with nonchalance. "I guess not."

"Then?"

"Then I think he has given up and let me be, because he cannot do anything about it either." He gestures towards the tray on the table. "Get me those, please."

Banafsha takes the tray to him and places it on the counter, hoping on the stool. "Does baba send you monthly income?" she inquires more, feeling weirded out at her brother's decision of abandoning his career.

"No, I earn my own," he tells her.

"What do you do?"

"Photography."

"Photography?" she repeats, sounding shocked. "You earn by taking photos and selling them."

"Yes."

Suddenly all the photos on the walls stare back at her as her eyes sail around, the colors in brilliant and bewitching contrasts blinding her. They're all beautiful, magnificent even, from nature to moments decorating his place, and a thought occurs to her.

"Did you take all these?"

Zoraiz follows her gaze and then nods. "You like them?"

"I do, but," she looks back at him, "you left your career for this?"

She watches his features stiffen but he smiles nonetheless. "Yes, because it's my passion, Afsha."

"But what about you pursuing your dreams in law?"

"My dreams lie here, in art and photography. That's what I like to do."

"But it's petty compared to what you were doing before. You could've been more successful in that field than this."

Zoraiz exhales audibly, as if tired of arguing with her. "Yes, but I don't dream big, I dream happy. And for me happy is not petty, but more successful and rather bigger than simply dreaming big but not happy."

Banafsha blinks in puzzlement again, unable to grasp completely his meaning. "Okay, I appreciate your struggle for independence, but until you're fully stable, we can ask baba to buy us a better place here."

Zoraiz gives her a surrendered look. "As I said, you can ask him for yourself, but I stay here."

"Don't be so stubborn, Zoraiz. I'm not asking you to sell this apartment-- you keep it. We just go to live at a bigger place."

"I'm not taking a single penny from baba."

Banafsha frowns in frustration at his persistence. "Why not?"

"Because that money is bloody, and I've spent enough of it on myself already. But not anymore," he finally let it out.

"Excuse me?" she goes stunned at his statement.

Zoraiz turns off the tap and removes the gloves, placing his palms on the counter and leaning closer to his sister. "What? You don't know corruption is a sin?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the public money we're all feeding upon. I'm sorry I'm a sinner but still have my conscience intact to differentiate between right and wrong. I'm not blind to our wrongdoings." He straightens back. "I fear God; I cannot answer on anyone's behalf to Him, but I pray that He guides us."

If her jaw could drop and hit the floor, it would've. It isn't her brother but someone else speaking to her from his mouth, or maybe she's hallucinating; he was never like this. She quickly jumps off the stool and shakes her head at him.

"Zoraiz, what have you been up to? Have you been sitting in the company of preachers or something?"

He just rubs his eyes and walks around the counter and past her towards a coat rack in one corner. "You don't understand."

"You just call your own family, your father, corrupted!" Banafsha snaps. "Even I don't like their ways and politics, but we earn that money, not steal it."

"There are more things unseen to you than seen, sis. You need to step out of your comfy bubble to experience life."

"Don't go philosophical on me."

"Forgive me for speaking the truth then."

She crosses her arms. "Did the scholars brainwash you against extravagance because we're more blessed than some others?"

"What are you even saying?"

"I'm saying you need to improve your company of friends, Zoraiz. Did they make you abandoned your career? Don't use your father's money and quit instead?"

He just puts on his coat. "Do I look like a child to just follow anyone who offers to walk me along?"

"Apologies, but your twisted ideas are giving me this impression."

"Ironically it seems to me those are your twisted morals instead." He opens the door and looks at her over her shoulder. "I don't blame you though. It's easier to follow the flock then stand against the wind-- requires less effort and bravery, but unfortunately has petty reward. How so regular, like more than half of the world."

"Zoraiz," she hisses. "I've zero interest in your scholarly theories. Ain't gonna be one like those preachers of yours."

"Sure." He nods towards the door. "Lock it. I might be home late, but call me if you need me."

And he closes the door, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room dumbfounded. The last thing she remembers about Zoraiz was him being reckless and rebellious, more invested in having 'fun' than talking about having morals. When did he even learn the meaning of the word?

Banafsha continues to stare at the spot he had been standing on a few moments ago. The reason why he has started to drift away from his family starts to sink in bit by bit: he view them as the villains in the story now. The thought doesn't sit well with her. What is it that's unseen to her but he can see?

Her brother has changed, and she is curious to find why.

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Thoughts on Zoraiz?

'Baji' is the term for older sister (or female) just like 'lala' is for older brother (or male).

I'm struggling to choose a pet name for Mikael's cat. How does Buruj sounds for a cat? It means star/constellations. If no, feel free to drop me your suggestions and I'll credit you if I use it and if it could relate to the plot. I'm looking for something meaningful.

Also, I'm stuck with college and hospital rotations and my time spent home is mostly sleeping. The updates on this book have been slower than how I usually go with my writing schedule. I hope you guy bear with me and stay around.

Keep sharing your love. And until again, take care.

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