Dear Selena,
I have been meaning to tell you something for longer than I can remember. I have tried to suppress this within me and certainly thought that I lost it over the period but you brought them all back again this time. I wonder why?

The ringing in Aariz's ears is loud enough to block his dad who has been asking him which flight to book. He is supposed to sort things out with Selena before leaving. The sizzling of the oil in the frypan, the chopping of a knife against the wooden board. He could imagine all this. But now he can't the colors of his imagination are fading.

"2 am tomorrow or Monday morning?", he repeats gently a few times but when he doesn't hear a response from his son stands just a few meters away from him with his wife rushing into the kitchen to get pack some frozen kebabs in a separate container while the TV pours in the news of increasing COVID cases in Pakistan he screams.

"2 am tomorrow or Monday morning?", this time Aariz blinks breaking the chain of his thoughts with his eyes still staring at the mail on his mobile.

"Tomorrow it be.", he is numb by the university mailing all the foreign students out of blue due to a sudden surge in COVID cases to avoid anyone stuck in their home countries. So he just walks back to his room and pulls the suitcase out from under the bed and throws it open on his bed.

Nuha's ice-frozen trembling hands work hard to separate the kebabs stacked up together while her mom is now busy writing something on a sticky note.

Now that I think about it, I guess I know why my feelings faded away for you for a while. I think it's because somewhere down in the past I got lost on my way. I found myself an addiction - nicotine. And I know how much you hate the whiff of the suffocating smoke. The trails smokers leave behind everywhere they go. I have watched you consciously stop breathing for seconds as you pass through the dark allies of Deira.

The anger makes Aariz's movements a little violent. He pulls his wardrobe open with the door swinging and recoiling back to hit him. His eyes twitch. He pulls his hanging clothes out of the hangers and dumps them into the suitcase. His slippers on the shoe rack, his coats he bought, his shaving set in the bathroom. His hands almost stopped for a moment in front of the mirror as he picks the perfume from the dressing table. This perfume. He places it carefully in between his clothes so that the bottle doesn't break.

As young children, I still remember how we used to hate each other. The jealous you. The jealous me. But then this one time we both planned to chase down Nooran on one Friday night and when we successfully did that I felt like we could be friends. But then you simply stopped playing as if you never wanted to run through the parks with the wind in your black hair. I never understood why but now that I know, those hesitant eyes were the scared eyes with the same desire to play catch and catch.

He walks up to his study to grab his passport and IDs from the drawer, the glimpse of his notebook makes him sit down for a moment. He clicks open a pen to scribble something on it. Click. He puts the pen back closes the notebook and throws it into the suitcase. Nuha enters with a list and car keys. She hands him the list of things he has to get from a Pakistani shop in the area.

"Make sure to call her before you leave.", Nuha eyes the notebook and picks it up to read while Aariz unaware of his sister's move nods and leaves the room. On his way to the lift when he reads the list, all the desi canned foods have been listed.

Society makes the circumstances so tough around the girls that if they don't mature faster they are going to lose it all. Not holding men accountable for anything and making a big fuss about their slightest mistake is outright sexist. I don't know what you have gone through but all I know is that you have come out stronger. The world should be scared of those who have been broken and smashed into million pieces because if they cry their wails reach the skies and rain down the stones on earth and if they don't they become rock-hard to break.

Selena is trying hard to be productive after a chaotic week with the bare minimum of studies she had done within the week. But as she sees the clock tick away and she loses each hour like a falling leaf of the tree her anxiety grows. Only two subjects are covered in a day. She stops to look at her mobile. It's 11 pm already. She needs to get back home before midnight. Knowing the bus station is 7 minutes of walk away from the building with a dark pitch patch of schools area she decides to take a taxi.

"Beti... where are you from?", a taxi driver tries to initiate a conversation she wasn't in the mood of.

"India.", sensing the man would go on with the conversation if she says Pakistan she lies to shut him up. And it does.

At this point, I don't even know where this monologue is going but I just can't stop thinking about you. I don't want to lose this. A few months later when I'll be deep into my university semester crying over the musculoskeletal system I want to stumble across this notebook again and relive every moment you and I shared. Haven't I always given you bruises? Be it the physical ones from handcuff or the metaphoric verbal bruises. I am a red flag. I am the person who took so long to realize that the night you messaged me, you were lonely. Of all the people around you, you chose to share your problems with me.

The phone kept on the side table vibrates. Since everyone is busy watching Sang e Mah at Selena's place no one hears the vibrating phone in the other room. The phone has rung twice by the time the doorbell rings. It's Selena.

"You look dead.", Amelia snickers.

"I know. Stop rubbing it in my face.", Selena not in the mood for anything goes directly towards her room but pauses for a while before opening the door and decides to peek into her mom's room just in case she is hallucinating the vibrating phone. Nope. She is not. Mr. Hafeez is calling. Feeling the anxiety creeping in of the call being cut she slides out of the room almost skidding as she steps on her abaya.

In the bathroom, she stares at her reflection in the mirror. She does look dead. The cold water splashes don't help either and with all the acne because of her terrible menstrua cycle. Sigh! Her face is a disaster. Why on earth does this pretty human not only fall for her but also call her a masterpiece? Her lips twitch into a smile seeing her rose-tinted cheeks.

And amidst my confusing feelings, your angry confession you untied all the tangible knots in my head. Your eyes drive me crazy. The darkness of coffee in your eyes is my addiction. If we ever enter the staring contest I will lose it for you because I will walk up to you to spin you around and pull you closer wrapping you in my arms. My fingers shall trail up your back as I lean into you to catch the whiff of jasmines with my eyes closed. And as I open my eyes again, we start dancing resuming the game again to see who lasts the longest.

By the time Aariz comes home, it's already 11 because the canned food wasn't there in the nearby shop and he had to go to the Burjman branch. After wrapping them in the masking tape he places them carefully at the bottom so it remains in their place. His ammi's fingers are pale from holding the container of frozen kebabs.

"I am sorry...", a peck on the forehead makes him slow down, "No one could have foreseen this but it's just a matter of two-three months. You'll be back in no time .", her mom tries her best not to stress herself over Aariz leaving out of blue because she can see through him. He is not ready to leave just yet.

He holds her hand with his strong around her. She struggles to set herself free but he doesn't allow it. When they both look at each other the tears blur their vision. She laughs to lighten up the mood.

"I will miss you, mom. But... I'll manage.", he tries his best to give her a reassuring smile but he fails.

"You should call her.", she rubs her hands on his shoulder and looks up into his eyes. He nods, "Your Dad already called Mr. Asad."

Some days I wish to read my thoughts out loud to you while the others days I itch to act impulsively upon them.

---

I can see the end as it began.

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