19. Fam-Bam

It was a warm morning in the Port city of Bangladesh. The city was colored in red and green, the colors of the national flag, on the occasion of the country's Independence Day. The Father of the Nation's speech, delivered on a 7th of March years ago, rang across the city as the Ahmads and the Fayyads stepped into the Osmani property. General Jalal Ud-din Osmani allowed strangers in his home only for three occasions - The day Bangladesh won the war against Pakistan, the day the country was born and the day he himself was born.

Neela Bashir's father, General Jalal Ud-din Osmani, grew up in poverty. He was a freedom fighter who spent the later years of his youth as a prominent political leader. He once ruled the country with an iron fist, and headed his family just as strictly. Now settling well into retirement, the General enjoyed his old age growing his own food and relaxing on the acres of land he now called home.

The property was situated in the outskirts of the city surrounded by a beautiful lake and luscious green - a privilege only a few could enjoy in the overpopulated city. General Osmani preferred to spend his free time lounging on the easy chair at the veranda that stretched to the entire length of the house, with his freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice and a decorative ashtray which was no longer in use.

His favorite pastime was to criticize the industrialists who visited him and complain about the useless leaders who eventually ruined their country. He was a tough man with a gaze of steel. No one dared argue as he spat out to his heart's content.

The General's eyes landed on his only daughter. "Where's that good-for-nothing husband of yours?"

"He's not my husband anymore, Dad," Neela Bashir answered with a sigh, tired of having the same conversation year after year.

He pursed his lips. "What kind of nonsense has filled your head, girl? Once a man and a woman weds, they are husband and wife for life." The old-fashioned man still refused to accept the divorce.

"Wow, then my husband must have been playing hide and seek with me for the past twenty three years. That's how long I haven't seen him," she replied with sarcasm dripping from her words.

The General's eyes glowered viciously, however, the answer shut him up. He raised seven boys and one girl, so he taught her to be tough. She was the one who had inherited his zeal the most, he always thought with pride. However, when Neela actually showed her hard-headedness, he didn't know how to deal with her.

The guests started pouring in. Salman Bashir pushed his grandfather's wheelchair across the yard, as people parted ways to greet the man of the hour.
Salman's eyes brightened as they landed on the Ahmads. "Aye, Sasquatch!" he cried. "I see you decided to show your ugly face."

Ibrahim narrowed his eyes though mirth sparkled in them. "Are you sure you're not looking into a mirror again, Salman?"

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "There's one thing you're not allowed to criticize about me and that's my pretty face."

Rolling his eyes, Ibrahim entered with his family.

The day was spent with food and laughter. Lunch was a grand affair as everything was cooked in-house with ingredients acquired from General Osmani's farm.

Layla, Dahlia, Ibrahim and two of the Ahmad sisters sat down at the end of a long table with the Osmani cousins. A man with dark brown curls caught Ibrahim's gaze. His eyes, that seemed to hold wisdom beyond his years, were hidden behind rimless glasses. He looked older than most of his cousins. On his lips was a warm smile.

"That's Rashid Osmani," Layla spoke up before Ibrahim could ask. "The eldest of the Osmani cousins."

"Oh."

The attention of the entire table was drawn towards the other end of the table. A few guys were seated there. Zayan Osmani was speaking in his signature drawling tone. Sitting opposite Rashid was Salman, his plate devoid of any food. Whether he had just finished eating, or didn't start at all, he couldn't tell; what Ibrahim could tell was that Salman wasn't acting his usual self.

"Salman's Grandpa's favorite. Always has been," Zayan was saying. "So we can conclude he has inherited his father's ability to fool-sorry-charm people. It's the only thing the Bashir men seem to be good at." He ended with a wink.

The easy air between them had turned heavy. Salman's silence was uncharacteristic, so was the expressionless eyes and the hardness of his lips.

"If you're not careful, Professor Rashid, this one will soon have grandpa write your inheritance in his name," Zayan mocked. There was a discomfort brewing in the room.

Rashid shrugged. "If Grandpa wants Salman to become the heir, and he accepts it, then they're more than welcome to do that. I have no interest in any of his properties."

Ibrahim learned that Rashid was the natural heir of General's properties, since his eldest son had passed away and Rashid was the next male in line. However, Salman was the apple of his grandfather's eyes. His grandmother often mentioned she spent her life believing the General had a rock beating in his chest instead of a heart - until he saw him with Salman.

"Rashid bhaia being the selfless one, as always." Zayan cooked. "This is why our parents were always asking us to become more like him, Salman."

One of the aunts swooped in and made them clear the table. The conversation died there. Ibrahim saw very little of Salman after that.

The rest of the day passed by quickly. It was late in the afternoon when Ibrahim found Malika in the kitchen. The kitchen blended into the dining area and living room. This place was the heart of the house. The window had high arches and stretched down almost to the floor. Outside, Ibrahim could see the lake turning a mellow gold.

The guests were starting to thin. The chaos around the house was beginning to settle. Malika was packing up the last of the leftovers into plastic containers.

Her hair was tied up and she had very little makeup on her face. The traditional attire she was in was very plain and simple. She was working with concentration. Feeling his presence, she looked up.

Malika was startled to see him. She paused for a brief moment, then went back to what she was doing, trying to act like nothing happened.

"Have you seen Della?"

It took Malika a moment to realize he was actually speaking to her. She looked up, surprised, coloring her eyes. "I- she's in the restroom down the hall," she responded. "She should be back soon."

She probably expected him to leave. However, he lingered by the kitchen entrance. Ibrahim could see the confusion in her eyes, as well as the nervousness. Malika could tell he wanted to say something.

"Could you ask Dahlia to meet me by the front gate?" He decided to go with that.

Malika let out a deep sigh of relief. "Alright." She nodded her head.

"Thanks." With that, he spun on his heels.

Dahlia Ahmad was exhausted by the time they were on their way home. Poppy and Lily had left earlier. Dahlia stayed for a few hours longer to keep Malika company, so Ibrahim stayed behind as well to drive her home.

She watched the city as the cars zoomed by. The little shops that dotted the roads seemed like mere blobs of lights. The dancing leaves in the sparse trees told Dahlia it was windy outside.

It was Ibrahim who broke the silence. "Zak's in town," he informed her.

"Oh." Dahlia turned to face him. He had his eyes trained ahead.

Ibrahim could be caught in the middle of a brewing storm but you could never tell it from the look on his face. He was just never the guy to let his issues take over his life. Unlike Dahlia, he dealt with his problems with such a calm head that he made it look easy. It was this quality of his which Dahlia admired and wished to master the most.

Still, when something was bothering him, even if small, she could tell. There were no secrets between them.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, searching his face in the dimly lit interior.

"He wants me to meet Aryan."

His response took Dahlia by surprise. Being born only a day apart, the guy could be her twin. Even though there were no secrets between them and she could tell him anything and everything - but boys especially, Aryan Malik, was always an uncomfortable topic between them.

Dahlia knew Ibrahim confronted Aryan the day after graduation day. They faced each other in Zakariya's house. Heated words were exchanged and the rest was still a blank for Dahlia. But whatever happened caused irreparable damage.

She remembered Ibrahim was fuming with anger by the time he came home and confronted her. There was also a bruise forming on his knuckles that indicated that things might have gotten physical. She had never seen him like this. Zakariya later informed Dahlia that Aryan had escalated the situation verbally and Ibrahim sealed the deal with a punch to the nose.

Dahlia was heartbroken to see her brother's distress and friends tearing apart at her expense. However, a part of her was also secretly glad. She was mad at Aryan at that time as well.

Dahlia let out a sigh to ground her back to the present. "Are you going to?" she finally asked.

"No." The stubborn anger was present in his eyes, still.

Dahlia looked at him tentatively. "Ibi, it has been two long years," she let out the words carefully. "Maybe it's time to let it go."

Ibrahim glimpsed at her briefly. She might have felt scorned by Aryan once upon a time but that was no longer the case.

"I mean, it's not like anything actually happened between me and Aryan," she quickly added. "We barely spoke to each other. It wasn't that serious even on my end. Besides, Aryan was a teenager. He wasn't opposed to dating like we were. Was it really that big of a deal?"

Ibrahim was quiet for a moment. "He was one of my best friends. He knew how I would feel about him trying to date you and also that you would struggle with it; but he went for it anyway." His voice was calm yet assertive. "On top of that, you clearly weren't the only girl in the picture, Dels." At that, she pursed her lips together. "It's not about what happened or didn't happen."

He turned to look at Dahlia. "I just don't agree with who Aryan is as a person anymore."

"You know, we run into each other often since his current girlfriend and I are doing the same major and we're in a lot of the same classes," she admitted, surprising him in turn with that piece of information. "From what I have seen, he doesn't seem like the jerk he used to be." She rolled her eyes.

"Why did you never tell me that?"

"Because you get really weird every time I try to talk about a guy." Dahlia said with a chuckle. "Listen," she looked at him. "I think you should give Aryan a chance. I don't think he's the same guy. I don't know him closely enough to assert it, but my radar for jerks is pretty solid," she said. "Growing up changes people. There's a possibility he's changed for the better as well. Besides, he tried to mend things with you over the years, so it's only fair you at least hear him out. Not everyone in this world would try to hold onto a friendship."

He didn't respond. "Forgiving someone could never be the wrong thing to do. Holding onto anger only hurts you," Dahlia added. "If not anything else, at least work on forgiving him, for your own sake."

There was silence after that. Dahlia didn't prod further. Ibrahim once again had his full attention on the road, but Dahlia could tell his head was heavy with thoughts.

They arrived home soon. Dahlia's two elder sisters moved in with their in-laws after marriage. Lily was probably in bed scrolling through her phone. The living room light was on, so Dahlia's father must have been up waiting for her, though it was past his bedtime.

She was about to get out of the car, but Ibrahim turned to look at her again. Dahlia paused.

He let out a deep sigh. "I have Malika's letters."

A/N: Alright, fam. Our boy has the letters! Let's all take some deep breaths okay!

Let's start some discussions too. Don't hold back your thoughts please.

How was the transition from high school to Uni? Who is your favorite character so far? What is your favorite thing about the book?

What did you think of Ibrahim's confession????

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