"Nuha? Who gave you..." Mrs. Hafeez walks into the lounge to see Nuha standing by the dining table with her loafers on. Her bag that once was slinging on her shoulder is by her feet. Her fingers move across the screen as she types thank you to her lover.

She cannot hear her mom. A hug smile us mastered across her face. "Nuha". Her ammo firmly states with a grip on her arm. She presses switch off button and looks up.

"Ammi, this guy from the University. His is Pakistani. A senior. He gave me."

The silence hangs around them as they both have a staring contest for good one minute. A minute of silence observed by Mrs. Hafeez for not raising her daughter well while a minute of silence observed by Nuha for broken family traditions of match making.

"Okay... If he really likes you why did you not give him your dad's number?" Her mom demands.

"Woah! Ammi". Nuha's hands fly in the air. "It's not how it works anymore."

"For how long has this been going on?" Nuha's mom picks up the flower bouquet from the table and buries her face into it.

"A few days but not a week." When Mrs. Hafeez gets her face out of the flowers in stunned by Nuha's words a small white petal has been settle on the tip of her nose.

"Nuha. The question still stands. Run a background check. Is he really into you or is he toying you."

"Ammi. Stop being so skeptical of everyone. Not like those guys from match maker were any God gifted, milk bathed pure souls". She snatches her flower bouquet out of ammi's hand. "I just want to have someone who loves. Everyone around me is either in a relationship or is getting married. And me here? Stuck with matches come right from the deepest pits of misogyny."

She storms out of the lounge into her room and slammed the door that scares the birds in the cage who's beady eyes gawk Mrs. Hafeez standing all by herself.

"I cook. I clean. I study. And yet no prospect of a guy" her muffled screams escape the room. "Because I fucking want to work! This misogyny. Ugh! I'll burn this civilization down to it's bones."

Nuha in the fit of fury pulls her fashion design sketches off the soft board. The board pins clutter on the wooden table rolling down on the floor. But she doesn't care for her hands are busy tearing her own hard work into small pieces with her coat soaking her tears and her small curly hair strands escaping out of her perfect low bun.

"HOW. DARE. YOU.", she hisses marching further into the room and slamming the heart on the table. A white petal from the jasmine brushes against her white coat and breaks off. The haze in Aariz's eyes catches the fluttering of the petal down to land gracefully on the tiles only to be crushed by Selena's stomping feet in his direction. He notices a flower in her hand and his heart wilts.

He walks up to the table to pick up the notebook he had forgotten and makes his way to leave the room but she blocks it placing her hand on the doorknob, "Answer me."

He looks into her eyes. He wants to speak but he won't.

(Aariz's POV) The silent treatment. That's what you wanted, Selena. That's what you'll get.

He shrugs and goes back to sit on the CHAIR with a satisfied smile. He opens his Messenger. No Nooran's message waiting for him so to initiate a message he decides to take a selfie.

Selena lungs towards him. Click. Aariz's pale face with Selena in the background following him like a ghost, "No... No... No...", an inaudible mumble of Aariz as he presses send, "Shit!", he mumbles again. The picture is marked seen. Nooran is typing. 

"Why is YOUR face swelling with edema of congestive heart failure? Not like you aren't enjoying your nose in my business. In fact this time it isn't just the nose. It is your entire Frick-crack existence"

Listening to Selena's ranting Aariz rolls his eyes. "I am having just a heart failure but guess what your entire existence here is failing" . He mumbles.

"Why are you doing this? You know I don't want you in my life or anywhere around! You know it. Because you know people will make us stand against each other. And yet you did this.", she plops on the chair beside him. 

"Seems like someone is about to get murdered by my cousin," Nooran adds three crying with laughter emojis with it.

He sighs and bites his lips. He doesn't care what people think for the first time and this is what he gets for not caring. A lecture, "Yep.," he replies, "I master the art of dancing on her nerve. You should take classes from me."

"Should I?" Nooran adds a purple smirking devil emoji, "Go talk to her. Get things straight. We aren't kids anymore to play these games. Or are we?"

To this Aariz pauses for a minute and replies okay before getting up and leaping toward the door with his notebook clutched in between his elbow. He leaves. She picks up the heart to follow him. The jasmine on the table silently wails for being forgotten.

"Why are you doing this to me?", she cries as they move out of the library, "You know your both schools have been so much better than mine. And I am STILL jealous of all the things these fancy schools offer. Yes, even after two years in University". Her voice echoes as they move towards the parking lot.

He pauses and turns around to look at her.

(Aariz's POV) Is she jealous? And that too of school? You had been the golden child of the family. Smart. Intelligent. You are the one with shelves decorated with trophies and medals and the parents praising your record files holding your certificates safe. The schools don't even matter. Isn't this the objective this event is trying to achieve?!

"Talk to me". he opens his car door and she pushes it close. They both stare at each other. She is short of breath. She wheezes. The air is still nippy despite March withering into the past. Her white hijab flaps behind her. The wind plays with his hair.

He opens his mouth to speak but she presses her lips together with glassy eyes and shrugs. Placing the heart between her two hands she turns around to leave. He inhales deeply rubbing a hand on his temple. His eyes fixated on her white existence walking away. 

Before she can fade away into the darkness he speaks up, "A-At least I am not dying from edema. Looks at you! Seems like your entire existence is failing. Get in the car. Let's talk.", she slows down and finally pauses. She turns around with her head tilted to her side in query.

He eyes the door. "What? Are you brain dead already? Hello!" he waves in her direction. "Are you having symptoms of stroke because the first signs is that people can't speak".

"Says the person stuttering". She replies slowly walking back to the car.

Her fingers played with the coat button in the silence engulfing them. Aariz ignites the engine but doesn't start driving. He is looking straight ahead. "I am trying. Okay?! I am trying to make peace with my past. I am TERRIBLE at conversations and I really need this.", he turns around to face her wanting to spew everything he has been accumulating within him "And I am not sorry AT ALL.", he pauses for a second, "I don't care what people say about us. At this point I don't.", he shrugs, almost whispering. His eyes fixated on the steering wheel with his fingers digging into its softcover.

Selena grinds her jaw looking down at the heart. He continues, "Also I was trying to respect your silent treatment policy but you were creating so much drama that I had to give in. And thus had edema of congestive heart failure. Not sorry for that either."

Selena scoffs. She was the one creating a drama? She still can't phantom the idea of people coming to her school. The ever out-of-order school. Lack-of-resources school. No-library school. She shuts her eyes close clenching her hands into fists. Aariz's eyes search for the jasmine in her hands but he can't find it.

"What?", she darts at him as he scans her.

"Where is your jasmine?", to this question she facepalms realizing she forgot in the meeting space.

"Why are you so bothered about me leaving that flower behind? Either way, it is already dead. It's no use carrying the burden of dead things."

"So, flowers are a burden to you?", he asks.

"Depends...", she sighs, opening the door, "A blooming flower attached to its stem is never a burden because its vibrance speaks for its existence. While dead flowers are only meant to get lost in the books or dustbin because of their EXISTENCE FAILING."

"I'll keep that in mind," he beams to which she doesn't react because she can feel the wording knocking at her door itching to flood into her. She needs to getaway.

She gets out of the car, "Where are you going?", he asks but she closes the door. She salutes him with two fingers and turns around and walks away. He watches her peacefully fading into the darkness before she emerges into the lights of the metro station. Her fingers fight a battle with the layers of white hijab for the earbuds of earphones to reach her ears beneath her hijab.

"The drought was the very worst
(Oh-oh, oh-oh)
When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst ",
she sings along to the song, Clean by Taylor Swift.

She pulls out her mobile and taps open her notes.

Let's grow a garden of roses, my love.
Don't give me the roses or doves.
They are dead and they are trapped.
They don't change, they don't grow.
They just wilt or fly away without guilt.
So dig the soil and sow the seed,
Water them with your blood you bleed.
I will render all the longing tears I shed.
For the growing roses, velvet red.

---

What is your favourite flower?

Do you have pet plants? Or love gardening?