Hello Readers: Sorry I have been away so long. Changed Zarine's name to Zeenat (like the show).
He had always loved water - so much so, that he had had a small, shallow swimming pool installed in his spacious bedroom back home. This beach house, in a secluded, expensive enclave in Goa, was his personal, private sanctuary, an escape from the relentless stresses at work and the noisy, colorful chaos that was Mumbai. His mother had quietly offered to accompany him, but Sahir had politely refused. As much as he loved and respected Alvira, he needed to be alone.
"Are you sure, beta?" Alvira had asked, cupping her son's face.
"Ji, Ammi. It's only for a few days. I'll be fine," Sahir replied, forcing a smile that could not fool his wise and observant mother.
Alvira looked into Sahir's beautiful brown eyes; it broke her heart to see the fathomless depths of sadness that they carried. She remembered the happy, adorable baby he once once and a tear slipped from her eye, unbidden and unexpected. Sahir wiped it away, kissed her on the forehead and went back to his room without looking back at his mother.
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He thought of his mother and how she had been there for him during those dark days seven years ago. Sahir closed his eyes and remembered a happier time...
2007
"Sahir...wait up, man!" It was Rafiq Hussain Siddiqui, Sahir's friend chasing him down Chestnut street. They had met one another during orientation for their MBA at the world-famous Wharton Business School in Philadelphia. Now, two years later they were getting ready to graduate.
"Do you have it?" Sahir asked,
"What?" asked Rafiq, with mischievous innocence.
"Someone is about to meet 'Mukka' Hussain Siddiqui" retorted Sahir, with mock anger, making a fist and bringing it close to Rafiq's nose.
Rafiq dodged and chuckled.
"Of course I have it!"
"Show me...now!"
Rafiq pulled out a small box and handed it to Sahir, who opened it. Inside was a dazzling chocolate hued diamond ring.
"Sahir, it's about time you proposed, yaar," Rafiq said solemnly. Sahir knew his always jocular friend wasn't done. He was right.
"Sahir...I'm going to have your baby!"
Sahir grabbed Rafiq in a headlock as both friends burst into laughter.
"Seriously, Sahir. She's going to love it. It's beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as Zeenat," said Sahir, grinning. Rafiq nodded in agreement. "Thanks for picking it up, Rafiq."
The two friends decided to have dinner at their favourite Thai restaurant; they then had delicious gelato at Capogiro's before going to Reading Market. Afterwards, they walked back to their two bedroom apartment near Rittenhouse Square and stayed up late talking about the unforgettable two years they had spent at the University of Pennsylvania.
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The insistent ringing sound coming from his kurta pocket roused Sahir from his flashback of happier times.
It was her. After all this time.
Sahir closed his eyes and clenched his fist.
"I won't pick up - to hell with her."
The phone stopped ringing and Sahir breathed a sigh of relief.
Within five minutes, the phone began ringing again. This time, Sahir picked up.
"Ji"
"Sahir, don't hang up. Please don't hang up..." came the voice that had haunted his dreams for the past seven years.
"I have nothing to say to you, Mrs. Siddiqui" Sahir said, in a cold voice that belied the hot, lava of rage erupting in his heart.
"Sahir," wept Zeenat, "please! I have been trying to tell you something since...since..."
"Since the day you ran away from our nikkah?"
"Sahir...listen to me...Rafiq is dead!"
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Sahir dropped the phone. Fortunately for him, the batteries had died. He would not be able to tolerate hearing that woman's voice again, especially not tonight. He would not be able to tolerate hearing those words: Rafiq is dead.
Sahir did something he never allowed himself to do in the presence of others: he wept like a broken-hearted child. For the betrayal from Rafiq, whom he had loved like a brother. For the best friend who was now dead. For the fractured relationship he never mended with his now deceased father. Abbu had blamed him for "not being able to control a woman." Sahir, in his fury, stormed out and then his father died suddenly of a heart attack, alone in the apartment Sahir had shared with Rafiq during their MBA.
Now there would be no closure again - Rafiq had tried over the past seven years to reconnect and Sahir had coldly rebuffed his efforts.
He mourned for the life he had imagined with Zeenat, the woman who had been the love of his life, but who had chosen at the last minute to humiliate him and run off with Rafiq. The couple had come back full of contrition and had begged for Sahir's forgiveness. But his heart had been replaced with stone - hard and unfeeling.
After his marriage fiasco, Sahir stopped writing poetry, something he had loved to do. He stopped listening to music, which had been his passion. The only thing he kept doing was drawing because that was an integral part of his career, but he took no pleasure in it. It was just work, a means to achieve his ambition.
And he stopped living - he was a mere shell of the man he once was. Now he existing only for work. Zeenat's taunts during their time together still rang in his years: "you'll never be a businessman! you're studying business, but at the end of the day, you're just going to be one of those bohemian, artsy fartsy street musicians with the long grungy hair, living paycheck to paycheck! Look at Rafiq! He not only comes from money, he has the brains to make more money!" And out of love for her, Sahir never allowed himself to feel hurt at her obvious lack of faith in him. But after her elopement with Rafiq, he made an oath: in seven years time, he would be one of the top ten richest Indian entrepreneurs.
Sahir closed his eyes, hoping for peace and some sleep but then he saw that luminous face, indelibly etched in his mind, smiling lips that he longed to kiss. Not Zeenat, but her. That girl: Arzoo. She was the reason he was able to fulfill his vow - as of today, he was one of the top ten richest entrepreneurs in India, with a fashion house that commanded global respect.
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