{Dedicated to @RehabIskander for being one of my first amazing friend here on Wattpad. And, for encouraging me in the beginning of this book. I know I should have had dedicated to you a little bit earlier.....but, it just slipped past my head.}

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'We girls have serious disorder of feeling insecure. Why can't we for once realise that we all are beautiful and pretty in our own special way, and only then we can stop wishing to be 'her'.' - Me

Chapter Fifteen

Unforgettable Dinner

( Maahirah Furqaan)

"Maahirah! Rise and shine!" Mom barges in my room.

"Mom!" I scream startled as I pull the blanket up to my chin.

"Wake up, honey!"

I lay down on my back in the bed. Closing my eyes, I once again adjust myself in my soft comfy bed. Next thing I know is that water spraying upon my face. I yell, and sit up straight. "Mom!"

She's holding a water gun in her hand, and smiling victoriously."Up. Now. Or you want another round!?"

"Jeez, no, Mom. I'm up! See!" I rub my eyes and face to wipe off the water.

"Perfect. Downstairs in five minutes!" She skips out of my room, (literally, skips)  slamming the door shut behind her.

What has gotten in her?

Shaking my head, I get away from my best friend (at the moment) - my bed. Pulling out a random scarf from my closet,  I wrap it around my head.

Outside in the hallway, Dad is exiting his bedroom - rubbing his eyes to clear away the drowsiness.

"I see, you've been victim of Mom's wrath on a bright, beautiful Saturday morning." I can't help but tease him.

Dad nods. "Your mother is amazing, but sometimes, she ceases to cross the lines, and act like a lunatic person!"

I laugh. At the same time, Mom appears out of Vaneeza's room, yelling,"I heard that,"

Neez follows her out, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Mom, what's the occasion?"

"You were supposed to," Dad calls back.

"Talking less, working more, Usman!" Mom retorts as she pulls Dad's hand down the stairs.

Vaneeza puckers her lower lip out and pokes her tongue out. I slap her lightly on the back, rolling my eyes.

Imaan and Ishaq are already in the kitchen. Neez, I and Dad stand across from them, on the other side of the table, while Mom takes the place at the head of the table.

"Assalmu Alaiykum! I see you're all up, and cheerful as chirping birds." Mom smiles and I throw a wide eyed glance at Imaan, who laughs quietly."I had already assigned you your tasks which I hope you remember. And, by three in the afternoon everything should be completed, and you all should be present in here. Got it?" Without waiting for our replies, she pushes us out of the room with a wave of her hand."Well, get to work. Don't just stand in here."

Ladies and Gentlemen, thus begins my beautiful Saturday morning - scrubbing and cleaning like poor Cinderella.

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Somewhere around four, (yes, four) I slump on my chair - all worn out. God, Mom can be cruel sometimes. She made me vacuum the entire house; four bedrooms, two guest rooms and living room, and, oh, the hallways, too.

See, the torture on me.

My entire back is sweating. I feel sore and numb. The subtle energy has been drained out of my body - like a vacuum pump sucker.

"Maahirah!" Once again, Mom does the courtesy of knocking once on my door, and then barreling in.

"Geez, Mom, at least, knock!" I make my bend posture erect.

"I knocked." Mom smiles.

"You're supposed to knock three times, and you knocked once!" I say.

"Whatever. Anyways, I just want to tell you this that put on your best outfit!"

"Why?" I frown.

"Just because I said so." She grins.

"Okay." I nod.

Mom exits my room. And, I, quickly, get up and lock my room.

Best outfit? Hmm, now, why does Mom wants me to put on my best outfit? I click my tongue, rapidly.

Oh, well. I need a warm shower, and then I'll decide what to wear and what not.

******************

I dig in my closet, pulling all the hangers one by one - at side. None of the clothes are according to my taste today. When Mom said 'best outfit' she obviously meant traditional outfit. Unfortunately, for me I don't own much traditional dresses. I've a few but either they are too casual or too outgoing or either too stylish.

After a good half an hour of endless search, I pick out a simple black long Kameez- a white lace adorned at its bottom edge on the front side, and around the neckline - I pull out white tights. I smile at my laid out dress. Perfect!!!

I quickly shrug into them. Running a brush through my hair, I tie them into a bun - making sure not a single lock escapes. I drape a white dupatta around my head. Slipping on some bangles, I look at my reflection in the mirror and wince.

There is something about mirrors. They are like an open book, and show only the truth. Every person will be glad if for once mirrors show something fake or unreal and not the actual you.

However, that's not the reality. Mirrors show the hidden. And, when they show that, a person can give birth to two new traits; he either becomes too conceited and proud or he loses all self confidence and wallows in self-vulnerability.

Me, I'm somewhere in between. Sometimes I despise my looks and sometimes, I just shrug it feeling lucky or something. Today, I feel wrath evaporating from my body. My turquoise eyes stare back at me, all wide and angry. My fair skin red. I feel intimidated at myself. Am I not capable of defending myself? Is it written all over my face? Huh?? Am I that timid looking? And not fierce?! I blink furiously.

Turning away from the mirror, I count till three. I'm sure if I stared at myself a bit longer I might have ended up screaming at myself. I need to compose my erratic heartbeat. I pull out the locket and run my finger over the emerald. Sometimes, I wonder what is this supposed to mean? Why did Mum leave me this? My heartbeat is reduced. Yaay!!

I know, I'm weird, and you needn't to tell me that!

The doorbell's ring echoes in my room, but it reverberates in my ears even after the chime of it has ended. I fling my cell phone on my bed, and tug the chain under my shirt or Kameez. I rush downstairs. Somehow, my heart pace hasn't reduced as it has increased tenfold, minus-ingthe chances of calming down.

When I'm at the bottom step, Aunty Doniya is entering. I walk up to her and politely greet her. However, she needed to get bit lousy or something because she pulls me in a tight hug. I simply pat her back, quite awkwardly.

"How are you, baita?" She asks me.

"Alhamdolillah!"

Her husband, Uncle Suleiman keeps his hand on my head and mutters some Dua'a. Aayan enters at last followed by Haashir, Aunty Doniya's adopted son. Aayan - smiling - greets my Dad. And, then Mom. He simply nods in my direction, and I gladly return the same gesture.

He as usual looks breath taking in sky blue tee shirt and some causal jeans. His shirt makes his lightly tanned skin more prominent.  But, I avoid staring at him or thinking something Haraam. Shaking my head, I grimace.

The men follow Dad in the living room, while Mom and Aunty Doniya saunter their way to the kitchen. I make my way in the direction of kitchen.

Aunty Doniya isn't really my Aunt. She's Mom's close friend, and hence the title 'Aunty' aroused. A year back they moved to Paris, where they adopted Haashir. They don't have their own kid, and I wonder how Aayan is related to them. Maybe a month ago, they shifted back in here. How joyous!

To be honest, I don't hate her. But, it's her personality that is so irksome, sometimes. Um, most of the times, actually. She's the typical woman with a pointy nature. She has to interject in every other matter. She has to use her index finger at every sight that is displeasing to her. And, she has a bad habit of intermingling in people's personal bubble or business.

"Maahirah, set the table!" Mom orders me.

I happily follow her instruction.

Aunty Doniya is chatting about her time in Paris. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. How conceited! How is Mom even friends with her?

"Maahirah, how well do you know Aayan?" She asks me.

See? I pause, my fingers curled around the brass handle of the fork waiting to be placed upon the table. "Sorry?" I look at her as I orient the poor fork at its destiny.

"How well do you know Aayan?"

"We're a friend, that's it." I say in a voice that clearly states that this matter is over.

"But, how close?"

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"Um, Maahirah, why don't you call your Dad for dinner?" Mom suggests.

I boldly storm out of the room, just in time saving myself from bumping into Uncle Suleiman as he brushes past me, probably to the washroom.

I stride toward the living room, but stop outside when I hear Dad and Aayan talking in a hushed voice. Curiosity gets the best of me - again - and I push myself against the wall ready to eavesdrop.

"... then, do you still talk to her?" Dad asks.

"Yes, Sir." Aayan replies. Sir?

"How's she doing?"

"Good."

"Hmm, you're a good lad. You've my blessings!"

Blessings? What blessings?

Aayan doesn't say anything.

"Do you want me to tell anything to...." I suppose Dad makes a gesture.

"No, Sir, not at the moment. We want to keep things hushed!"

Silence.

"And for the record call me Usman! Not Sir!"

Aayan chuckles lightly,and I decide to stumble in the living room. "Dad. Dinner." I avoid meeting their gaze. I tread out of the room, and quickly inform Mom that Dad's coming.

I head to washroom. Standing in front of the basin, I splash water over face. My reflection looks pale, and scary. What's going on? Why are Dad and Aayan so buddy buddy? A word clicks in my mind. A word that I fear. Before this word can start dominating all over my body, I shake my head and push myself out of the washroom.

"Maahirah?"

I jump. Aayan.

"What do you want?" I glare at him.

He runs his hand through his hair."Washroom! I want to wash my hands!"

I side step, and start walking away when his voice stops me - my back facing him.

"I know you heard us outside the living room. Believe me, you'll find all about it soon. So, in the meantime, stay cautious!"

I want to snap at him and tell him that I'm very much capable of taking care of myself. Who the hell are you to tell me what to do and what not? But, without a mere glance, I walk away where I'm supposed to be, in the kitchen.

Everyone has already seated on their chairs. And coincidentally, only four chairs are left. One next to Uncle, and the other next to Aunty Doniya, and then Mom and Neez. Before I can contemplate my place, the doorbell rings.

"Must be Imaan and Ishaq?" I chide in and skip out of the room. Glad to escape the awkwardness.

I open the door."Assalmu Alaiykum!" They slowly enter, and I point at the kitchen. Nodding Ishaq makes his way there. I take the sleeping Asad in the guest room.

When I return, only seat empty is next to Mom which happens to be right across Aayan. Cursing my luck, I sit there.

The adults are talking about business. And Aayan pays attention with full enthusiasm. He's so boring. I roll my eyes, inwardly.

"Maahirah, what will you do after high school?' Aunty Doniya addresses me.

"I, um, hopefully medial field." The automatic fitter in my mouth answers it.

"Masha'Allah! How well are you two," She points her fork at Aayan and me. "Close with each other?"

Again? I stop chewing. How many times do I've to clarify myself? Out of my peripheral vision, I see Aayan choking on his food. He quickly covers it with a dry, hearty cough and gulps a glass of water, hastily.

"We're just friends." Aayan emphasizes on the word friends.

"What kind of friends?" She presses the matter.

There's silence, every eye is focused on us two.  Us two, um, I like the sound of this. Ew. What the hell am I thinking? Focus, Maahirah, focus!

"Acquaintance," Aayan replies again.

"Hm, acquaintance? Really how?" I know, she's asking me. She's talking to me.

I clench my fist.

"Huh, Maahirah?"

I stand up. My chair makes a screeching on the tiled floor. "Excuse me!"

"Maahirah!" Mom says - gritting her teeth.

But, I'm way beyond obeying anyone."I need to excuse myself!"

And, I stamp out of the room. Outside, in the patio.

I sit in the swing. Pushing my legs forward and then back urging the swing go higher and higher. What does she think herself? What does she think is going on between me and Aayan? Am I this type of girl to commit sinful acts behind Mom and Dad's back? No, I'm not. She deserved every bit of my rude attitude.

I kick my legs harder in the air. The whooshing air hits my face every time when I go higher and it helps to soothe down my anger. I stare at the sky.

There is an orange tinge around the horizon which proves that sun is hidden behind the white fluffy clouds waiting to set in the west, and showing its face in the other side of the world where they are still sleeping – dreaming happily while cuddled in their blankets, and here I'm lost and so done with this world. I sigh as chilly December winds blow, and I regret not bringing my jacket with me.

Soon enough when my anger subsides, I'm drenching in regrets. I had no right to excuse myself in front of her. After all, she is my elder. Then, Mom's disappointed face appears, and Dad's stern face. Oh, Allah, what have I done.

My anger didn't allow me to see vivid and clear images, all I saw during my rage feats was frenzy and blur pictures. The side effect of fuming is that it blinds your judgments and makes you feel like you're right and others are wrong.

I cringe. Now, what am I to do?

I get off from the swing, and dust my dress with my hands. Heaving in deep breathe, I make my way back into the house.

As I thought, everyone is going through the final course of the dinner - the dessert. I stop at the doorframe, clearing my throat I announce my presence. Mom and Dad's expression, the same - angry dissatisfaction looks - Aunty Doniya narrows her eyebrows at me.

I address her directly."I'm sorry for crossing my limits, and for showing disrespect to you in anyway."

I hadn't prepared a 'perfect aplogy' and nor do I care how well I performed in my apology ceremony. The shocked faces are enough to tell me that I sucked in it, and hint of annoyance was laced in my apology. I turn on my heel to seek comfort in my room when Aunty Doniya says.

"It is okay, Maahirah, you needn't to apologise. Everyone needs a break when suddenly things are bombarded upon him!"

My eyes snap to meet hers. Why do I feel that there are two meanings behind her word? Everything is fishy, and weird.

"Uh, take a seat!" Mom says.

I grudgingly obey her.

The dessert goes smoothly. Twice, my gaze meets Aayan's, and he does nothing to look away. Instead, he stares right back, which to be honest is quite scary. My heartbeat will increase thousand times as he looks at me - his eyes piercing my soul - and I glance away, scared out of my wits that he might be able to read my thoughts or something.

There's something about his chocolate brown orbs which seem to show varying emotions at different places. At school, his eyes shine with enthusiasm and right now, they burn with weird intensity all I see is sign of tiredness and glumness.

After the table is cleaned, Mom, Imaan and Aunty Doniya (the men have already left) leave the kitchen to talk somewhere privately, but before leaving she nudges me with her eyes that she needs to have a hearty chat with me soon which can be anytime.

I frown at the piles of dishes in the sink waiting to be washed. Sighing, I pull the sleeves up to my elbows, and begin washing the dishes.

After ten minutes or so, the pile has reduced but the danger has arrived. I knew I had it coming. I knew I've to pay the consequences for my action.

When Mom enters the kitchen to place back the glass on the table (after Aunty Doniya asked for a drink) I busy myself in removing the grease off the plate rubbing it with sponge with all my might as if my life dependent upon it.

"What was the meaning of that Maahirah Furqaan?" She whisper-shouts.

I decide to play dumb."Meaning of what?"

"Why were you so rude to her?"

I straighten my posture; look at Mom's face briefly before avoiding her gaze."I...just lost it!"

"Lost it?" Her hands are placed on her hips and she scrutinize my face. "What's wrong with you?"

I focus my attention on washing the plate."Nothing!"

"Then, why are you acting this way?"

Dropping the plate in the suds, I turn to face her."Mom, I'm fine. Honestly, I'm! I'm worried about my exams and that's it."

Mom looks torn in between finding the reliable truth, or believing in my partial lie. However, she does the latter."Very well. Then you need to have some lesson on patience." She swiftly walks out of the kitchen to join Aunty Doniya. Her ramrod straight back is enough prove to tell me that she's pissed off at me.

Signing, I concentrate on washing the damned dishes. After twenty minutes, the dishes are done and I heave in a relief full sigh. Putting the cloth rag under running water, I go over to the counter and swipe the counter with the wet cloth.

Few seconds later, I hear converse slapping against the tiled floor, and I don't have to look up to recognize those steps. I continue rubbing imaginary dirt off the counter.

"Hey," He says.

I give him talk-fast-and-don't-waste-my-time look. He gets it because he speaks up.

"The song that you texted me is perfect, and do you want to practise it?"

"No," I wash the rag cloth.

"Beg your pardon!?"

"We don't need to practise it." I spread the cloth over the counter and once again turn to the sink to wash my hands.

"Uh, why?"

"Because," I dry my hands with paper towels. "We don't need to. We can practise it individually and one day before play we can perform privately in the presence of Ms.Tess so she can tell his whether we need to improve on it or not. By the way, she approves of the song. She was quite happy about it."

"Oh, okay!" He turns to leave, but I clear my throat and he stops.

"What were you talking with my Dad?"

"Nothing,"

"Aw, hell." I snarl.

"Honestly, don't you get it." He walks toward me, and I take a step back. We aren't close, but just for precaution, I move back.

"Get what?"

"Whatever you're hearing by eavesdropping soon enough you'll find out your answers. All your queries will be answered."

He waits for my respond, but my mind is racing.

"Well, good night, Ms.Furqaan!" He leaves.

I place my hand on the refrigerator's door to collect my thoughts. Why do I feel that Aayan knows I spied on him when he and Darren were talking to Mr.Brackson? No!! He can't know.....he doesn't know. He just guessed it. Yeah, that makes much sense.

I gulp down a glass of water. And I think I've had enough trouble for one night just as I'm ready to set my foot on the first step of the stairs. The hallway is crowded. Men exit the living room, and the ladies are coming from the guest room which means that they are going. I sigh in content.

After fifteen excruciating minutes of bidding goodbyes, they finally leave. I carefully have avoided looking at Aayan; not once I meet his gaze till the time he's out from my territory. I know he was staring at me - the chills running down my spine pointed that.

When the door slams behind them, Mom looks at me, aghast."That was uncalled Maahirah!"

"Mom, can we just drop it." I mutter.

Nobody hears me, because Dad starts speaking."I agree Maahirah was bit disrespectful, but Doniya needed to confirm things maybe on the behalf of Aayan's mother before finalizing things."

Mom opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her.

"What things? Dad, what's going on?"

From Dad's troubled expression fixed on Mom, indicates that this wasn't supposed to be disclosed to me, not yet anyway.

Ishaq and Imaan have returned to their room perhaps to give us some privacy.

"Maahirah, honey, you'll find it out soon." Dad's voice is barely audible.

This ticks me off."Why does everyone keep saying that? Why?"

"Dear, trust me. I promise that you'll find your answers soon. Just trust me."

I close my eyes, and clench my fists."I trust you, Dad!"

Dad smiles - a forlorn, grim smile. The kind of smile which is coated with secrets. I try smiling back, but failed. Mom's expressions show that she's about to cry. Weep. Why?

I don't understand it at all. Nothing. I've no idea what's going on, and believe me, I want to know. I want to find out what's happening. But, at the moment, I've no choice....I've to go with the flow. And, I've to follow the saying, 'Ignorance is bliss.'

When time will come, things will unravel themselves. Reveal themselves. And, soon enough I'll have my answers on my plate. InShaaAllah.

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Kameez:-A long shirt.

Dupatta:-A piece of cloth traditionally draped on the head.

Baita:- Basically it means son but informally it means child.

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Hey, how was the chapter? Did you guys enjoy it??:) TELL ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And, what do you think of Eleanor Calder? I think she looks a bit like Maahirah except her eyes. Maahirah's eyes are turquoise. Tell me!!!

Lolz, AND TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THINK OF AAYAN??? HOW IS HE? DO YOU LIKE HIM???

AND, OH, DO YOU GUYS WANT A PREVEIW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER? PLEASE COMMENT BELOW AND TELL ME DO YOU WANT IT!:)

THE NEXT UPDATE WILL BE ON FRIDAY!! BUT, I CAN UPDATE THE PREVIEW TOMORROW!:))))

PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT!!!!!!!!:DDDDDDDDDDDD AND PROMOTE!!!!:))))

-MidnightWhisperer

PS: I think I overused tell me!:P

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