'Maybe if I keep my eyes shut, he'll go away,'  The crazed-sleep deprived thought would have made her laugh any other time. This time, it just increased her anxiety. 

He was quiet for so long, that Sofia finally mustered up the courage to peek through her lashes.

Her gaze landed on his scuffed Adidas, traveled up long faded denim-encased legs, past the brown leather jacket fitting his lean frame, and ended up transfixed on his scowling face. He was illuminated only by the lone light bulb flickering in the yard, so his face was a study of shadowy planes and angles. All of them made even more ominous by the almost menacing glitter in his eyes hidden behind a pair of simple black-framed square glasses. He was clean-shaven, with a hint of a shadow darkening his jaw and upper lip. He was either in his late-twenties, or early thirties. The only thing approachable about him was his hair; close-cropped, inky-dark messy curls softening the sharpness. If he ever grew it out, (that and his leather jacket) it could probably earn him membership into an 80's rock band. This wildly wayward and inappropriate thought made Sofia chuckle hysterically, and she had to actually bite her lip to make it stop.

If possible, Adidas' eyebrows drew closer together, his scowl deepening.

"Care to share the joke with me, before I call the police?"

Sofia shook her head frantically.

"Okay. Then I'll just call the police right now," his hand slid into his backpocket, withdrawing a blackberry, "I'm sure they'd love to be personally acquainted with the notorious Kaali Dulhan. How many unsuspecting road-trippers have you scammed so far? Hmm?" 

He was speaking in Urdu, and Sofia was horribly limited in the language. Her six months in Pakistan had been spent (unwillingly) surrounded by her extended family, who mostly conversed with her in English. She'd picked up conversational Sindhi and Punjabi from the servants, but that was the extent of her knowledge. 

Perhaps it was instinct, or just very good luck, that she decided to switch to English. He looked like he'd been to school. Surely he knew the language. And maybe, if she spoke her first language, he might actually believe her story. 

"I'm not Kaali Dulhan. I'm sorry that I broke into your car, but it's only because I'm desperate." 

He sucked in his breath sharply, his eyes widening at her language. By her rough, just-escaped-forced-marriage attire and filthy hands and face (courtesy of rolling underneath his car), it was pretty much a given that he'd assume her to be a lowly rural criminal, or a minor psycho. He wasn't expecting the soft, cultured tones of her voice. 

"What's your name?" he asked, switching to English immediately. Sofia faced a moment of giddy distraction at his wonderful accent; it was crisp, clear, just like her Dad's. Was it very inappropriate to notice that Adidas was hot? Like he could actually model for Adidas, if they ever wanted to show off the athletic boy-band type...

Definitely inappropriate. 

"Sofia Sayed Mughal. And yours?" she asked timidly. 

"I'll ask the questions right now, if you don't mind, Sofia Sayed Mughal," he replied sarcastically, "Starting with the most obvious one: what the hell are you doing here?" 

Of all the crazy explanations, 'Running away from a controlling male relative, and his loser son', was by far the craziest. 

"I...I'm looking for a job," she invented wildly. 

His look of derision nearly froze her. 

"Inside my car?" he drawled awfully. 

She blushed furiously, "Yes. I was wondering if you needed help cleaning the car from the inside.  You see I need the money, to travel away from here..." 

"Are you a little slow?" he asked curiously, his eyes narrowed, "Or just plain crazy?" 

For the first time in her life, someone was accusing Sofia of having half-a-brain, and the experience was so odd that she could do little except gape incredulously at the attractive stranger in front of her. 

"...and what is that?" he nodded to the abandoned antenna at her feet, "bring it to me." 

Sofia wordlessly picked up the metal rod, and offered it to him. 

"Is that...the car antenna?" he asked softly, running his hands over the piece, dusting it clean. His lips pursed dangerously when he realized that she had harmed his precious car. Blazing eyes rested on a shivering Sofia and he almost whispered the next words: "Run away, Sofia. Run away very fast." 

"But I am running away!" she wailed hysterically, dropping to her knees with misery. Six months worth of pent-up helplessness and fear seemed to bubble up at that moment. The stress of bombing a stable full of horses, walking seven hours in the dark, breaking into a strange car and being threatened by this hot, possessive car owner, was all at once too much to bear for the twenty one year-old. Tears streamed down her face, streaking hot and humiliating over her cheeks. 

Adidas looked like he wanted to run away in the opposite direction. Worry creased his face, and exasperated irritation blazed in his eyes. 

"Alright that's enough, girl." he muttered gently, helping her up and into the comfy interior of his car. A second later, a wad of tissues materialized under her nose, and she gratefully dabbed her face and nose with it. When he offered her a paper-cup full of water, she gratefully mumbled thanks while guzzling it down. 

"Feel better now?" he asked gruffly, eyeing her for more possible criminal behavior. 

"Yeah." 

"Are you American?" he continued curiously, folding his arms defensively over his chest. 

"I live there. I'm not sure what I am really. Have a pretty globalized heritage. Mom's Canadian. Dad was a Pakistani. I was born and raised in Europe. But now I'm a permanent American resident." Sofia explained dully. 

"What brought you here then? family vacation? travel bug? CIA covert-op?" 

"You know. For a guy who hasn't even told me his name, you ask a whole lot of questions." she scowled back at Adidas' impassive face. 

"With all due respect; I'm not the one strolling along the highway, breaking into cars, and pretending to be an Urban She-demon," he drawled sarcastically. 

"Hey! I wasn't pretending to be Kaali Dulhan! It's just a coincidence that I was wearing black when I ran off from--" she broke off mid-sentence, chewing on her lower lip as if stopping herself from revealing too much. 

"Why did you break into my car, Sofia Sayed Mughal? Where did you run away from?"

She lifted her chin defiantly, "Your name first, Adidas." 

He blinked slowly, cocking his head to the left, "What did you just call me?" 

She pointed to his feet. 

"Very observant of you," he smirked. In the lilac pre-dawn light this slight softening of his features transformed his face. Adidas wasn't overly gorgeous by any stretch. His was a lived-in kind of face, the appealing-without-being-too-pretty kind of face. He had an infectious boyish charm where one corner of his mouth lifted more than the other, and his brown eyes twinkled with warmth, kindness and intelligence. Sofia could just imagine him breaking hearts in his teens. She didn't know much about Pakistani male beauty standards, but Adidas seemed to fit the bill pretty well. 

"Let's compromise, shall we?" he offered cautiously, "I give you my name. You tell me where you're from. Why you need help. Okay?" 

"Deal." Sofia agreed smilingly, offering her hand reflexively towards him. 

His eyes narrowed at her offered hand and he shook his head softly. Sofia belatedly realized that she was in Pakistan. Muslims raised with conservative values, typically refrained from interacting with the opposite gender. She hastily tucked her hand back in, her face heating up. 

"No need to be embarrassed," he smiled slightly for the first time, "You're new here. It could happen to anyone."

Even though it was just a regular civil gesture, Sofia's heart melted a little bit. She hadn't met a single male in the past six months, who'd been courteous to her. Maybe her standards of expected gentlemanly behavior had fallen so much, that a random stranger's politeness was making her lightheaded. 

"Although your nick-name for me is much interesting, I confess that my real one might be a bit of a letdown," Adidas continued wryly, "My name is Salaar Salman Sadiq. I currently live in Lahore, but I was born in Karachi and raised in the Middle East. Now...your turn." 

"Oh my. That's quite a tongue twister of a name," Sofia's eyes widened, "Were you like part of a triplet set or something? You seem to have taken more names than just yours. One person can't possibly have all these names..." she broke off at the vaguely threatening glare Salaar was sending her. 

"Start speaking, young lady." he ordered tersely. The gentleman was gone. 

Sofia swallowed nervously before speaking. "Well, I guess I should start from the start, when my Dad passed away a couple of years ago..." 

.............................

Salaar's blood was boiling. 

Damn her family. 

Damn her Uncle. Damn her stupid cousin. Damn their cows and their cattle. Damn their lands and their money. 

Damn her innocence, her naivety. 

That anyone could do this to a guest, to a fatherless girl new to her native country, was just disgusting. 

They'd lured her to Kherian with a bunch of crap about blood-ties, family and heritage. Then they'd realized that as her father's only living heir, Sofia now owned one-third of the vast Mughal lands; lands that had been inherited and ruled over by her ancestors for the past 400 years. His uncle saw her return as a threat to his wealth, so he promptly decided that he'd "merge" the family land through marriage. Sofia would marry his eldest son; Fahd.

Sofia was barely consulted before she was informed of this decision. Up until the huge engagement party her Uncle threw in their honor, she'd thought that the man was actually joking or bluffing. On the day of the engagement, Sofia panicked when she was asked to dress in the traditional bridal garments. Realizing that her polite refusal was falling on her Uncle's deaf ears, she threw a loud, protesting tantrum, threatening to inform the American embassy of their actions. For a smart girl, this was both foolish and dangerous. 

Dear Uncle locked her up in the guest wing to "teach her a lesson on being a woman of his family." 

Spoiler Alert: it wasn't a lesson about being respectful of their choices, and treating them like intelligent human beings. 

Her belongings, including her ID, passports etc. were all confiscated and burned. She was given 'appropriate' clothes. Her activities were carefully monitored and restricted. The only person on her side was her aunt. Unfortunately, the lady was sensitive and cowardly, offering no more than sympathetic tears, and advice that usually persuaded Sofia to gently give in and accept her Uncle's decisions, rather than oppose his irrational demands. 

"I never knew why my Dad hated his brother so much...not until I experienced his dictatorship first-hand. Apparently, my Aunt fell in love with a man from a rival land-owner family, back in her teenage. They wanted to marry. The other family was willing to bury the hatchet for the kids' sake, but Tayajee point-blank refused. It is the heritage law here that the daughter's share goes to her husband's family upon marriage. And Tayajee would rather have his sister dead then see his precious family land go to a rival clan." Sofia admitted ruefully from the backseat of his car. 

Halfway through her incredulous tale, Salaar had had the presence of mind to insist that they travel away from the Dhaaba. As he drove away from the place, he insisted on finding out more details from her. It was perhaps foolish of her to trust him so implicitly, barely minutes after meeting him, but in her situation, she hardly had the luxury of choice. He ground his teeth whenever he was reminded that assholes like her Uncle were roaming the earth, when they should be shot and strung from trees.

"But he didn't actually kill her, did he?" he prompted when Sofia sleepily drowsed midway through the story. 

"Oh No. No he didn't. But he might as well have, "she yawned, "He married her off to the Quran." 

"I'm sorry what?" Salaar blurted incredulously his eyebrows shot up in disbelief, his stunned gaze finding hers in the rear-view mirror. 

"The Quran. Your...our Holy Book." she explained slowly, "The one that was sent to Prophet Muhammad. It has 30 chapters, 6236 verses and--" 

"I know what the Quran is! Jeez!" Salaar swore under his breath, "What I want to know is, what kind of fuckwit thinks a woman can marry it?" 

"I thought you'd know about it. It's a common practice in certain families of this region. It's called Haq Bakshish. The woman can no longer marry a man after Haq. She is expected to remain in the family, learn the verses from Quran, stay at home isolated. Her life is no longer hers. It belongs to God. As an added bonus, her land remains in the family." 

"But that's bullshit!" he barked, "Nothing in the religion condones this practice. It's complete fabricated fertilizer." 

"Yeah well, tell that to the uneducated country bumpkins," Sofia mumbled sleepily snuggling against the car door, "they follow all these ridiculous patriarchal rules, made up by rich, old men, to enslave the weak and ignorant." 

He was quiet afterwards, letting Sofia doze off. It confused and infuriated him, pondering the future of this young girl; a future she had trustingly laid at his feet. She looked incredibly like an overgrown child, curled up on the backseat, her wrist made an uncomfortable cradle for her chin as she slept fitfully. Her cheeks looked sunken in, and pale, as if she had lost weight she used to have, long thick lashes fluttered with her restless nap. God only knew the last time she had rested peacefully. In that moment, something very much like paternal protectiveness overcame Salaar. He was father to a 2-year old girl, and he shuddered imagining Noor in a similar position. Maybe it was fate that had driven him to stop for tea and a smoke at this particular dhaaba, maybe fate wanted him to save her. 

Just then his phone lit up with an incoming call. The disembodied female bluetooth voice announced that Zarlish was calling him; most likely to check up on him. He had the tendency to doze off during long drives, and his wife called up every other hour, to make sure he was alert and awake. Sofia didn't even budge at the ringtone. Salaar pressed the call button on his dashboard screen, and his wife's soft voice filled the car, "What's your status, Captain?" 

"About two hours from Karachi. I was thinking of stopping by my Aunt's place for breakfast, before visiting the site." he hesitated for a bit, debating whether or not to tell Zarry about Sofia. It seemed too big of a thing to explain over the phone. Though soft-hearted, Zarry was prone to be overprotective about his being around other females. If she knew about Sofia's situation, she'd likely move heaven and earth to help the poor girl, but Salaar wasn't sure how to tell his wife that he'd picked up a strange, stranded female from the highway (good Samaritan act notwithstanding). Since he was planning on dumping Sofia at the nearest police station, he figured it wouldn't hurt to keep shut about this incident, until he could relate the story in person. 

"Call me when you reach Kulsoom Khala's place," Zarry instructed him tiredly, "Ebad has kept me up all night. Your kid has the most uncanny ability to be hungry, sleepy, and poopy at all times. So just leave me a text, in case I'm too tired to answer." 

"Kiss the kids for me, babe. And I'm sorry you have to deal with this alone. I promise I'll be back sooner than you think," he murmured apologetically, "I hope Bilal is sleeping okay..." 

Zarlish made it a point to never complain about Bilal, so he wasn't surprised when she quickly said, "He's sleeping just fine. Like an angel. Yesterday, he saved Ebad from crawling off the high chair." A reluctant tender smile made its way to Salaar's face when he heard about his firstborn's brotherly feats. As a special needs child, Bilal was never far from his mind, whenever Salaar had to leave on extended business trips. 

After Zarlish hung up, Sofia stirred in the backseat, and he heard a sleepy mumble; "Your girlfriend sounds nice. I always wanted to learn your language...so pretty." 

Salaar's eyebrows cocked at that, "Wife, actually. How come you never picked up Urdu? your father didn't speak it at home?" 

"Nope. He pretty much hid his Pakistani side from me and Mum. And I'm sorry I thought she was your girlfriend. Fuzzy on the local values..." 

"No problem," he answered shortly, refusing to elaborate. Sofia felt a little cheated; he knew every humiliating intimate detail about her family drama, but he'd never volunteered anything about himself. Then she was angry at herself for expecting more from him than he had already done. Against his better judgement and against his street smart intuition, this man had forgiven her for trying to break into his car; not only this, but he had taken it upon himself to see her to a safe location. Which reminded her; he'd never said where he was taking her. Irrational fear prickled at her neck for the next hour. 

He has a wife, Fia. A family. He wouldn't screw you over. If he wanted to; he'd have done it already. 

"Can you get me to the American Consulate in Karachi?" she finally asked him softly.

"No. That's a four-hour journey, even after we've crossed into Karachi, which is still 3 hours away. I'm not taking you there. I don't have the time or energy." 

The panic she'd been suppressing, flared up wildly. 

"W-where are you taking me then?"

"The first police station I find along the road between here and Karachi so y--." 

"NO!" Sofia acted on instinct, reaching across the front seat, and yanking at the steering wheel. Salaar whipped around to yell at her to get back to her seat, and the resulting confusion veered the car off-road, thrusting it straight into the yellow-reflector-fences built along the highway. The shock of impact threw Salaar against the seat-belt, and a second later he was groaning in muffled pain as the safety airbag punched him in his face and torso. 

On impact, Sofia had hit the driver's seat pretty hard, but after making sure that her essential organs were working, she ignored the throbbing pain in her nose and jaw, deftly unsnapping herself out from the safety belt, and descending from the car. Sofia was intimately familiar with the deep ties her uncle had with the local police. Anything would be better than landing in her family's clutches again. If she had to injure Salaar to escape that horrible fate; she'd break his nose in a heartbeat. If she had to walk for days until she reached the US consulate: She. Would. Fucking. Steal. His. Adidas. And. Start. Walking. 

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Salaar roared from behind her. 

Sofia sneaked a peek over her shoulder, and was shocked to discover that the exploding airbag had cracked his glasses, and most assuredly broken his nose. He kept pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the blood-flow, but it didn't seem to be working. A twinge of guilt assaulted her, but she imagined Fahd's and her Uncle's pudgy sneering faces, and that horrifying visual gave her the heartless strength to ignore Salaar and keep walking away from his wrecked car. 

"YOU GET BACK HERE, WOMAN!" 

"NO!" Fia yelled back, "I'M NOT GOING TO SOME SLEAZY POLICE STATION SO YOU CAN FOIST ME TO AUTHORITIES, WHO'LL DELIVER ME LIKE A PACKAGED GIFT TO MY UNCLE!" 

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I AM TRYING TO HELP YOU!" 

Sofia whipped around to face him then, her eyes blazing with frustration, "You're not trying to help me. You're trying to get rid of me! With as little effort as possible. I'd rather spare you the trouble right now. So thank you for your help so far. I'm good without it." 

"Spare me?SPARE ME?" Salaar sputtered with anger, "after crashing my car and busting my nose, you want to spare me the trouble?" 

"Send me a bill when I'm back in America," she hissed back. 

Maybe it was old-fashioned chivalry, or maybe it was the visual of his own daughter replaced with Sofia's face, but he just couldn't let this girl walk away from him alone. It was almost impossible to see past the teeth clenching fury he was experiencing, but he chalked up her behavior to extreme stress and desperation. Anyone could become crazy after being cooped up in hell for so long. It's a good thing she was made up of some very tough stuff, otherwise a weaker person might have given up after days of the kind of abuse she had escaped. 

"Sofia. Please come back. I apologize if I scared you." he called out after her, following her obstinately marching figure, "I didn't realize you'd be so afraid of police stations...if you'd just explained your reservations instead of surprising me at the wheel, we could have worked something out. Just please, stop." 

Sofia slowed down her walk, looking warily at him over her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, as if she were afraid of letting go. Salaar felt like she'd punched him in the stomach with that hopeless, accusing stare of hers. Dark circles bruised her pale skin. She looked ancient, as if her experiences had aged her over the past months; fatigue, hunger, and abuse made her look almost broken. He felt irrational rage at everyone who'd ever hurt this girl, made her desperate enough to risk her life to escape...

"Just come back. I know someone who lives nearby. If I call her now, she can send us a car within the hour. We can stay at her place until morning. You can rest and eat safely there. She has private security around her home. We can decide later how to get you to the consulate. I swear I won't take you to the police unless you want me to." Salaar swiped at his bloody nose, removing his useless glasses and stowing them inside his jacket. He looked steadily at her, as if to reassure her. 'I'm not lying,' he wanted to say. 'I know you don't have any reason to, but you can trust me." 

She was silent and still for so long, Salaar thought she'd fallen asleep on her feet.

And then she nodded. A brief, nervous nod. 'I believe you," she was saying, 'don't make me regret it.' 

.............

Sofia had snippets of foggy sleepy memory from that morning. 

Salaar making a quick phonecall as he paced by the wrecked car.

Salaar lying on the ground, to stem the blood-flow from his nose. 

A sleek black Lexus arriving minutes later, complete with a chauffeur, and a handy mechanic. Salaar had some words with the mechanic, before steering her inside the car, and slumping exhausted into the shotgun seat. 

She didn't remember the drive, but she remembered waking up inside the biggest, prettiest pre-colonial architectural wonder she'd ever seen. It wasn't quite as vast as her family's estate, but the sprawling gardens, and immense red-stone structure of this place awed her. 

"This is...a home?" she wondered out loud. 

"Welcome to My Castle," Salaar smirked wryly as Sofia stepped out of the car to gape open-mouthed at the palatial-esque ivy-covered stone arches at the entrance. An ancient, studded wooden door swung open, and revealed a graceful old lady standing underneath a grand chandelier. 

"You own a castle?" Fia whispered to Salaar, unable to tear her gaze from a marble fountain she could see beyond the gates. 

"No. This place is named: My Castle." 

"But that's nuts," she mused, mentally calculating the age of the place. It looked more like a museum, than a home. 

"Not as nuts as the owner. I must warn you, my aunt is a bit...eccentric." Salaar added under his breath. He plastered a polite smile on his face as he reached the old lady standing at the door. 

"Salaar Salman!" the old lady boomed out, "Either my optometrist is a blithering idiot who has given me wrong corrective lenses my entire life, or your lady wife looks decidedly different from the last time I saw her. What did you do to yourself dear? Botox? Collagen treatments? Body transplants?" 

"She isn't my wife, Kulsoom Khala, I found her wandering lost near the Highway--" 

"ASTAGHFIRULLAH BOY! NO NEPHEW OF MINE HAS EVER HAD THE AUDACITY TO WAVE HIS EXTRAMARITALS IN FRONT OF MY OWN NOSE! YOUR MOTHER SHOULD HAVE SMOTHERED YOU AS A BABY. THE NERVE...WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" 

"Not an affair. Found her lost. She's barely an adult herself. She needed my help. Gave her a ride, because I have a heart. That's all I have to say for myself," Salaar rattled off without missing a beat, as if he just hadn't been yelled at by a woman half his height, and thrice his age. 

"Hmmph. Is that so, girl?" Kulsoom Khala narrowed her beady eyes to scan Sofia from head to toe. 

"Yes, Ma'am." She nodded her head. 

"How did you get lost, girl? Are you some kind of an idiot?" Kulsoom Khala barked at Sofia, and Salaar had to admire the girl's grit, because she barely flinched at the blunt curiosity. His aunt was at an interesting age in her life; a special kind of magic number where she spoke her mind without remorse or tact. If you didn't have the stamina to match her wit, she'd steamroll over you, and dance over your grave.

"No, I'm not an idiot," Sofia muttered shortly, "this is the second time in my life, anyone has ever doubted my intelligence. Courtesy must run in the family..." she glared at Salaar sideways, who seemed to be low-key enjoying her humiliation. 

"I was going to take her to a police station, but she-ahem-reminded me how unwise that plan would be. So I thought to myself that I needed someone to help take care of her. From someone who makes it a point, to stick her nose into other people's business." Salaar waved his unoccupied hand towards his aunt, as he mopped up his face from the other. 

"Are you implying that I'm a meddler?" Kulsoom Khala squawked at Salaar. 

"I'm not implying. I'm stating facts. You like to take on special people projects," he smirked between her and Sofia, "I brought you a fresh one. A very interesting one." 

"Hmmph. I always liked your sister more than I liked you," the lady sniffed moodily, her gaze turning speculative as she watched Sofia. 

"I love you too, Kulsoom Khala." 

"You may pet my dogs on the way out." 

"Thank you." 

And just like that, Sofia's entire life changed. Again. 

She just didn't know it yet. 

Author's Note: 

Hi!! 

I don't know why writing seems so much more difficult than it used to. I'd say it's because I'm almost about to graduate, and I have an insane workload, but that would be a lie. I have had tougher semesters, with more intense workloads, so this hiatus is generated by pure existential crisis/writer's block. I love these characters. And I love how the story is in my head, but just putting it in writing has become harder, heavier. 

(In case there are any confusions: the story so far is in the past. I'll move to present soon.)

I love reading your comments, even if some days I can't find the energy to reply. 

Let me know what you think guys!!

loving the support. :* <3 

-E.