( Chapter 6 )

Salaar was snug in his cozy bed, enjoying a sound sleep when he was suddenly woken up by the sound of giggling coming from downstairs. Still half-asleep, he lazily picked up his nightgown from the side of the bed and draped it over his broad shoulders. His messy hair added to his handsome, rugged appearance. After slipping his feet into his slippers, he strolled leisurely towards the noise.

Downstairs, his entire family had gathered around his parents to welcome them back from abroad, where they had gone for his father's medical check-up.

"Oh, my son Salaar, I missed you so much," his mother exclaimed, looking stunning in a western outfit that highlighted her shoulder-length hair and soft, neutral makeup. Despite her age, she looked much younger, as if time had been kind to her. She opened her arms for an embrace.

"Welcome, Mom. I missed you too," Salaar replied, managing a small smile as he hugged his mother. It was the first time he'd shown such emotion since returning from Cambridge.

"Sons are usually like this, always preferring moms," his father observed, looking protective yet frail. Salaar, distressed by his father's vulnerability, put his arms around him as well.

"Dad, I missed you a lot," Salaar said, clinging to him. Only a few had ever seen this more affectionate side of him.

"How do you feel now?" he asked, still holding his father close.

"Wow, my parents are always ready to show their affection to the younger one and forget about the eldest," Taimur said with a hint of humor as he entered the room, placing his briefcase on a side table. He hugged his parents one by one.

Salaar and Taimur were nearly identical, but there were subtle differences. Taimur had black eyes like their father, while Salaar had inherited their mother's hazel eyes.

"Now we have nothing for you, son. Your place is taken," their mother teased after cuddling Taimur. Mrs. Warda Malik, though modern in appearance, was a typical mother who loved her children immensely and always worried about their well-being.

"And may I know, your highness, who dared to take my place?" Taimur asked in a playful tone.

"Son! This is the curse of nature; the old ones are overthrown by the new," Faizan proclaimed with a considerable air.

"He's talking about Musa-your son," Warda clarified.

"What did you think they were referring to? You became a father, and your son has occupied both of our places. His rank is much higher than ours now. We are doomed, man," Salaar added dramatically, sitting down next to Taimur.

"Stop teasing us; everyone has their own place," Warda concluded the banter, turning to her daughter-in-law. "Nazli, how have you been all these days?" she asked formally.

"Fine, aunty. Everything's the same as before," Nazli replied with little interest, barely engaging in the conversation.

Warda, though a loving mother and spouse, grew distant when it came to her daughters-in-law. Nazli had never tried to bridge the gap between them either. Nazli, a beautiful woman slightly older than Salaar, had smooth, silk-like skin and long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore jeans, a sporty shirt, and a bandana around her neck. Despite being a mother to a thirteen-year-old son, she still looked youthful.

"Okay, children, I am exhausted now. You all carry on. I am going to rest," Faizan said lightly as he stood up. Warda accompanied her husband.

"I'll also take my leave; I'm running late for campus," Salaar said, departing while Nazli remained absorbed in her new branded cell phone.

---

"Zarmeena, please go through my assignment and check for errors."

"Zarmeena, Salim is stalking me. Only you can deal with him with your gang."

"Zarmeena, can you guide me for my presentation?"

"Zarmeena, my grades are very low. The teacher threatened to call my parents. What should I do?"

Everyone seemed to need something from Zarmeena, but was there anything Zarmeena herself wanted? "I want... PEACE!" Zarmeena suddenly screamed in frustration. Her outburst shocked both her brother and mother.

"Hey, what's the matter? Why are you howling like an animal? Do you want me to fix you with my slipper?" Zareena, already holding a slipper in her right hand, asked furiously.

"Amma, my assessments are coming up, and no one is giving me a moment of peace. I can't focus. If this continues, I won't be able to keep up... I'll fail," Zarmeena said, her voice trembling with near-tears. Zareena's motherly instincts kicked in immediately.

"Oh, my child, I'm sorry. You're right. But you know this boy is a money sucker," she said, glancing at Ahmed.

"Does money grow on trees so I can pick some for you?" she continued, now directing the slipper towards Ahmed. It flew at him before he could react. "Amma!" Ahmed cried out, dodging the slipper.

"Amma, you truly are a farmer, talking about things growing on trees. I'm telling you, stressing about her is pointless. She'll be the topper even if she takes the exams in her sleep. Now please, just give me the money. The teacher will nag me again if I don't bring the register this time," Ahmed pleaded.

"Oh, Ahmed, I'll give you the money, but please stop it. You're giving me a headache," Zarmeena said, holding her head in both hands.

"I'm just fed up with your undue generosity. Keep your money safe for your semester fees. I'll deal with this money monster," Zareena said, annoyed. "Where is this burning smell coming from?" she suddenly exclaimed, sniffing the air.

"Oh no, I forgot the food on the stove!" Zareena cried out, rushing towards the kitchen, with Ahmed and Zarmeena following close behind, secretly hoping the food was completely burnt so they wouldn't have to eat it.

"You two fighting like guinea pigs distracted me," she continued to nag as she checked the burnt food.

"Amma, please... I am not eating this," Zarmeena objected.

"Correct. Even I won't eat it, Amma. Last time I ate burnt food, I was up all night with indigestion," Ahmed added, siding with his sister.

"Are you my children or a complaint hotline? Do I look like a complaint register to you? Always whining-I'm done with your 24/7 complaints," Zareena scolded them. "I've wasted my whole life on you two, and you can't even eat food with a slight burnt aroma."

Now fully embracing her role as a traditional Desi mother, she threatened them. "This is final: if you leave your food this time, I will never cook again."

Both Zarmeena and Ahmed exchanged looks of despair, realizing they were trapped.