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Hi Friends, I've been a silent reader for some time now. I am a huge fan of AsYa and I've read some mind blowing stories on this forum. I hope you'll enjoy reading this fiction too.
Chapter One
Zoya Farooqui was kneeling in the soil of her garden, when the sound of the car's motor attracted her attention. She glanced at it over her shoulder, then panicked as it came to a stop in front of her house.
"Ya Allah, is it that late?" she muttered. Dropping her shovel, she stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes.
She reached up to push her dark bangs off her forehead before she realized that she still had on her gardening gloves. Quickly she peeled them off and dropped them beside the shovel, all the while watching the driver get out of the sports car and walking towards her front yard.
Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that she hadn't lost track of time. He was just very early for their appointment. Being sweaty and dirty was no way to meet a client. And she needed the commission badly.
Forcing a smile, she nervously moved down the sidewalk to greet him. He was still yards away from her when she greeted him. "Hello," she said with a bright smile. Obviously I misunderstood our meeting time. I thought you weren't coming until later."
"I decided this evil game of yours had gone on long enough."
Zoya came to an abrupt halt. She tilted her head in stunned surprise. "I'm sorry, I..."
"Who the hell are you, lady?"
"Miss Farooqui. Who do you think?"
"Never heard of you. Just what the hell are you up to?"
"Up to?" She glanced around helplessly, as though someone can provide an answer to this bizarre interrogation.
"Why've you been sending me those letters?"
"Letters?"
He was clearly furious, and her lack of realization only seemed to make him angrier. He bore down on her, until she had to bow her back to look up at him.
He was tall, dark, and dressed in casual slacks and a sport shirt...all stylish. He was wearing opaque aviator glasses, so she couldn't see his eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The letters, lady, the letters." He strained each word clenching his teeth.
"What letters?"
"Don't play dumb."
"Are you sure you've got the right house?"
He took another step forward. "Of course, I've got the right house," he said in an irritating tone.
"Obviously you don't." She didn't like being put on the defensive, especially by someone she'd never met over something of which she was totally ignorant. "You're either crazy or drunk, but in any case, you're wrong. I'm not the person you're looking for and I demand that you leave my property. Now."
"You were expecting me, I could tell by the way you spoke to me."
"I thought you were the man from the advertising agency."
"Well, I'm not."
"Shukar hai Allah ka." She would hate having to do business with someone this irrational and ill tempered.
"You know damn well who I am," he said, removing off the sunglasses.
Zoya sucked in a quick, sharp breath and fell back a step because she did indeed know who he was. "Asad," she gasped.
"That's right. Asad Ahmad Khan. Just like you wrote it on those envelopes."
She was shocked to see him after all these years, standing only inches away from her. This time he wasn't merely a familiar image in the newspaper or on her TV screen. He was real. His looks have only improved in all these years.
She wanted to stand and stare, but he was staring at her with hatred and no recognition at all. "Let's go inside, Mr. Khan," she suggested softly.
Several of her neighbors have started gawking at the car and Miss Farooqui's visitor.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for a man to come to her house. Many of her clients were men and most of them consulted with her there. Most of the residents in her neighborhood were middle class. A Porsche on the block was a curious thing indeed.
She turned and led Asad Ahmad Khan through the front door of her house. Air conditioning was a welcome respite from the humidity outside, but since she was sweating, the cold air chilled her. Or maybe it was the man behind her that was giving her goosebumps.
"This way."
When she turned to face him, his dark blue eyes were moving around the studio. They connected with her like magnets.
"Well?" He said briefly. He was obviously awaiting a full explanation for something Zoya was in the dark about herself.
"I don't know anything about any letters, Mr. Khan."
"They were mailed from this address."
"Then there's been a mistake at the post office."
"Look, Mrs. uh...what was it again?"
"Farooqui. Miss Farooqui."
He gave her a swift, inquisitive stare. "Miss Farooqui, I've been a bachelor for thirty eight years. It's been a while since puberty. I don't remember every woman I've gone to bed with."
Her heart fluttered, and she took a quick breath. "I've never been to bed with you."
He threw his head arrogantly. "Then how is it that you claim to have mothered a son by me? A son I'd never even heard of until I got your first letter several weeks ago."
Zoya stared at him with speechless dismay. She could feel the color draining from her face. It felt like the world had been yanked beneath from her feet,
"I've never had a child. And I repeat, I never sent you a letter." She gestured at a chair. "Why don't you sit down?"
He thought about it for a moment, feeling irritated he moved toward a chair. He sat down on the very edge of the cushion, as though wanting to be ready to leave if the need arose.
Self conscious of her old, muddy dress, Zoya sat in the chair facing him. She sat straight, clasping her hands nervously.
"You recognized me." He shot the sentence angrily.
"Anybody who watches TV or reads a newspaper would recognize you. You're one of the most popular Astronaut of our country."
"And therefore I'm a visible target for every nutcase who comes down the way."
"I'm not a nutcase!"
"Then why the hell have you been sending me those letters? That's not even an original idea, you know. I get several dozen a day."
"Congratulations."
"They're not all fan letters. Some are hate mail from the religious crazies who believe we're going where God never intended man to go. I've also received proposal of marriages from all ages of woman," he said dryly.
"How nice for you."
Ignoring her snide remark, he continued. But your letters had some originality. You were the first one to claim that I was the father of your child."
"Don't you listen? I told you I've never had a child. How could you possibly be the father?"
"My point exactly, Miss Farooqui!" He shouted.
Zoya stood. So did he. He tracked her when she moved to her drafting table and needlessly began arranging sketch pencils and paintbrushes.
"You were also the first one to threaten me with public exposure if I didn't do what you wanted me to."
She turned to find him very close. She could feel his breath. "What possible threat could I pose to you? You're considered superior at the space program, hailed as a hero. You held every indian spellbound in front of their television while you shook hands over a peace treaty for a space program. You had dinner with the prime minister of the country." She paused to continue..."A common woman like me against a celebrity like you, I would have to be crazy or stupid. I assure you that I'm neither."
"You called me Asad."
After her lengthy speech, his four words took her off guard. "What?"
"When you recognized me, you called me Asad."
"Which happens to be your name."
"But the common man on the street would address me as Lieutenant Khan, nothing as familiar as Asad. Unless we'd known each other well before."
She tried to ignore that. "What did these alleged letters demand from you?"
"Money first."
"Money?" She exclaimed. "How crass."
"Followed by public acknowledgment of my son."
Zoya eased herself from between him and the table. His closeness was creating havoc on her ability to think clearly. She began shuffling through her sketches. "I'm an independent, self reliant person. I would never ask you or anybody else for money."
"This is a big house."
"My parents."
"They live here with you?"
"No. My Abbu is dead. My Ammi suffered a stroke several months ago and is in a rest home." She kept the sketches on the floor. "I mange to support myself. What business of yours is any of this?"
"I think the victim ought to get to know his extortioner." Huskily he added, "In every way."
His eyes moved over her again. This time more slowly.
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me now," she said with haughtiness. "I'm expecting someone soon and I've got to clean up."
"Who are you expecting? The agency man?" At her startled expression, he said, "you mentioned him when I first got here."
"He has an appointment to look at my proposed sketches for a commission."
"You're an artist?"
"An illustrator."
"For whom?"
"For myself. I freelance."
"What project are you working on?"
"Cover for the People magazine."
His eyebrows rose a fraction, impressed. "That's quite a commission."
"I haven't gotten it yet." Zoya could have bite her tongue the minute the words were out. He was shrewd enough to catch the slip.
"It would be an important commission to you?"
"Of course. Now, if you'll..."
He caught her arm as she tried to go around him. "It must get tough, living from one commission to the next while you maintain the house and pay for your sick mother's medical bills."
"I do fine."
"But you're not rich."
"No, I'm not."
"That's why you've been writing me these threatening letters, isn't it? To get money from me?"
"No. For the umpteenth time, I haven't ever written you a letter."
"Blackmailing is a serious crime, Miss Farooqui."
"And a charge too ridiculous even to discuss. Now, please let go off my arm."
He wasn't hurting her. But his closeness was affecting her. She could smell his sexy cologne and minty freshness of his breath.
"You seem reasonably intelligent," he said.
"Should I take that as a compliment?"
"So why did you send anonymous letters to me, then put your return address on the envelope?"
She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh and shook her head. "I didn't. Was this a trick question to trap me? Where are these letters? May I see them? Perhaps after I saw them I could offer an explanation."
"Do I look stupid? I wouldn't hand them over to you so you could destroy the evidence."
"Ya allah," she cried. She stared at him and said, "you're really taking this seriously, aren't you?"
"At first I didn't. You were just one lunatic in hundreds. But after the fifth letter, when you got really nasty about pinning a paternity rap on me, I thought it was time to confront you."
"I'm not the kind of woman who would pin a paternity rap on any man."
"Even one with as high a public profile as me?"
"No."
"One who stood to lose a lot if there was a scandal?"
"That's right! Besides, I've told you that I've never had a child."
They heard the front door open, than bang shut. There were running steps in the hall. Then a tall, slender teenage boy rushed through the door.
"Mom, you've gotta come see the car parked in front of our house. It's totally cool!"
Index:
Ch 2 - Pg. 4
Ch 3 - Pg. 9
Ch 4 - Pg. 15
Ch 5 - Pg. 21
Ch 6 - Pg. 26
Ch 7 - Pg. 36
Ch 6 - Pg. 44
Ch 9 - Pg. 52
Ch 10 - Pg. 64
Ch 11 - Pg. 72
Ch 12 - Pg. 86
Ch 13 - Pg. 99
Chapter 14 - Pg. 107
Ch. 15 (Final) - Pg. 121
Chapter One
Zoya Farooqui was kneeling in the soil of her garden, when the sound of the car's motor attracted her attention. She glanced at it over her shoulder, then panicked as it came to a stop in front of her house.
"Ya Allah, is it that late?" she muttered. Dropping her shovel, she stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes.
She reached up to push her dark bangs off her forehead before she realized that she still had on her gardening gloves. Quickly she peeled them off and dropped them beside the shovel, all the while watching the driver get out of the sports car and walking towards her front yard.
Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that she hadn't lost track of time. He was just very early for their appointment. Being sweaty and dirty was no way to meet a client. And she needed the commission badly.
Forcing a smile, she nervously moved down the sidewalk to greet him. He was still yards away from her when she greeted him. "Hello," she said with a bright smile. Obviously I misunderstood our meeting time. I thought you weren't coming until later."
"I decided this evil game of yours had gone on long enough."
Zoya came to an abrupt halt. She tilted her head in stunned surprise. "I'm sorry, I..."
"Who the hell are you, lady?"
"Miss Farooqui. Who do you think?"
"Never heard of you. Just what the hell are you up to?"
"Up to?" She glanced around helplessly, as though someone can provide an answer to this bizarre interrogation.
"Why've you been sending me those letters?"
"Letters?"
He was clearly furious, and her lack of realization only seemed to make him angrier. He bore down on her, until she had to bow her back to look up at him.
He was tall, dark, and dressed in casual slacks and a sport shirt...all stylish. He was wearing opaque aviator glasses, so she couldn't see his eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The letters, lady, the letters." He strained each word clenching his teeth.
"What letters?"
"Don't play dumb."
"Are you sure you've got the right house?"
He took another step forward. "Of course, I've got the right house," he said in an irritating tone.
"Obviously you don't." She didn't like being put on the defensive, especially by someone she'd never met over something of which she was totally ignorant. "You're either crazy or drunk, but in any case, you're wrong. I'm not the person you're looking for and I demand that you leave my property. Now."
"You were expecting me, I could tell by the way you spoke to me."
"I thought you were the man from the advertising agency."
"Well, I'm not."
"Shukar hai Allah ka." She would hate having to do business with someone this irrational and ill tempered.
"You know damn well who I am," he said, removing off the sunglasses.
Zoya sucked in a quick, sharp breath and fell back a step because she did indeed know who he was. "Asad," she gasped.
"That's right. Asad Ahmad Khan. Just like you wrote it on those envelopes."
She was shocked to see him after all these years, standing only inches away from her. This time he wasn't merely a familiar image in the newspaper or on her TV screen. He was real. His looks have only improved in all these years.
She wanted to stand and stare, but he was staring at her with hatred and no recognition at all. "Let's go inside, Mr. Khan," she suggested softly.
Several of her neighbors have started gawking at the car and Miss Farooqui's visitor.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for a man to come to her house. Many of her clients were men and most of them consulted with her there. Most of the residents in her neighborhood were middle class. A Porsche on the block was a curious thing indeed.
She turned and led Asad Ahmad Khan through the front door of her house. Air conditioning was a welcome respite from the humidity outside, but since she was sweating, the cold air chilled her. Or maybe it was the man behind her that was giving her goosebumps.
"This way."
When she turned to face him, his dark blue eyes were moving around the studio. They connected with her like magnets.
"Well?" He said briefly. He was obviously awaiting a full explanation for something Zoya was in the dark about herself.
"I don't know anything about any letters, Mr. Khan."
"They were mailed from this address."
"Then there's been a mistake at the post office."
"Look, Mrs. uh...what was it again?"
"Farooqui. Miss Farooqui."
He gave her a swift, inquisitive stare. "Miss Farooqui, I've been a bachelor for thirty eight years. It's been a while since puberty. I don't remember every woman I've gone to bed with."
Her heart fluttered, and she took a quick breath. "I've never been to bed with you."
He threw his head arrogantly. "Then how is it that you claim to have mothered a son by me? A son I'd never even heard of until I got your first letter several weeks ago."
Zoya stared at him with speechless dismay. She could feel the color draining from her face. It felt like the world had been yanked beneath from her feet,
"I've never had a child. And I repeat, I never sent you a letter." She gestured at a chair. "Why don't you sit down?"
He thought about it for a moment, feeling irritated he moved toward a chair. He sat down on the very edge of the cushion, as though wanting to be ready to leave if the need arose.
Self conscious of her old, muddy dress, Zoya sat in the chair facing him. She sat straight, clasping her hands nervously.
"You recognized me." He shot the sentence angrily.
"Anybody who watches TV or reads a newspaper would recognize you. You're one of the most popular Astronaut of our country."
"And therefore I'm a visible target for every nutcase who comes down the way."
"I'm not a nutcase!"
"Then why the hell have you been sending me those letters? That's not even an original idea, you know. I get several dozen a day."
"Congratulations."
"They're not all fan letters. Some are hate mail from the religious crazies who believe we're going where God never intended man to go. I've also received proposal of marriages from all ages of woman," he said dryly.
"How nice for you."
Ignoring her snide remark, he continued. But your letters had some originality. You were the first one to claim that I was the father of your child."
"Don't you listen? I told you I've never had a child. How could you possibly be the father?"
"My point exactly, Miss Farooqui!" He shouted.
Zoya stood. So did he. He tracked her when she moved to her drafting table and needlessly began arranging sketch pencils and paintbrushes.
"You were also the first one to threaten me with public exposure if I didn't do what you wanted me to."
She turned to find him very close. She could feel his breath. "What possible threat could I pose to you? You're considered superior at the space program, hailed as a hero. You held every indian spellbound in front of their television while you shook hands over a peace treaty for a space program. You had dinner with the prime minister of the country." She paused to continue..."A common woman like me against a celebrity like you, I would have to be crazy or stupid. I assure you that I'm neither."
"You called me Asad."
After her lengthy speech, his four words took her off guard. "What?"
"When you recognized me, you called me Asad."
"Which happens to be your name."
"But the common man on the street would address me as Lieutenant Khan, nothing as familiar as Asad. Unless we'd known each other well before."
She tried to ignore that. "What did these alleged letters demand from you?"
"Money first."
"Money?" She exclaimed. "How crass."
"Followed by public acknowledgment of my son."
Zoya eased herself from between him and the table. His closeness was creating havoc on her ability to think clearly. She began shuffling through her sketches. "I'm an independent, self reliant person. I would never ask you or anybody else for money."
"This is a big house."
"My parents."
"They live here with you?"
"No. My Abbu is dead. My Ammi suffered a stroke several months ago and is in a rest home." She kept the sketches on the floor. "I mange to support myself. What business of yours is any of this?"
"I think the victim ought to get to know his extortioner." Huskily he added, "In every way."
His eyes moved over her again. This time more slowly.
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me now," she said with haughtiness. "I'm expecting someone soon and I've got to clean up."
"Who are you expecting? The agency man?" At her startled expression, he said, "you mentioned him when I first got here."
"He has an appointment to look at my proposed sketches for a commission."
"You're an artist?"
"An illustrator."
"For whom?"
"For myself. I freelance."
"What project are you working on?"
"Cover for the People magazine."
His eyebrows rose a fraction, impressed. "That's quite a commission."
"I haven't gotten it yet." Zoya could have bite her tongue the minute the words were out. He was shrewd enough to catch the slip.
"It would be an important commission to you?"
"Of course. Now, if you'll..."
He caught her arm as she tried to go around him. "It must get tough, living from one commission to the next while you maintain the house and pay for your sick mother's medical bills."
"I do fine."
"But you're not rich."
"No, I'm not."
"That's why you've been writing me these threatening letters, isn't it? To get money from me?"
"No. For the umpteenth time, I haven't ever written you a letter."
"Blackmailing is a serious crime, Miss Farooqui."
"And a charge too ridiculous even to discuss. Now, please let go off my arm."
He wasn't hurting her. But his closeness was affecting her. She could smell his sexy cologne and minty freshness of his breath.
"You seem reasonably intelligent," he said.
"Should I take that as a compliment?"
"So why did you send anonymous letters to me, then put your return address on the envelope?"
She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh and shook her head. "I didn't. Was this a trick question to trap me? Where are these letters? May I see them? Perhaps after I saw them I could offer an explanation."
"Do I look stupid? I wouldn't hand them over to you so you could destroy the evidence."
"Ya allah," she cried. She stared at him and said, "you're really taking this seriously, aren't you?"
"At first I didn't. You were just one lunatic in hundreds. But after the fifth letter, when you got really nasty about pinning a paternity rap on me, I thought it was time to confront you."
"I'm not the kind of woman who would pin a paternity rap on any man."
"Even one with as high a public profile as me?"
"No."
"One who stood to lose a lot if there was a scandal?"
"That's right! Besides, I've told you that I've never had a child."
They heard the front door open, than bang shut. There were running steps in the hall. Then a tall, slender teenage boy rushed through the door.
"Mom, you've gotta come see the car parked in front of our house. It's totally cool!"
Index:
Ch 2 - Pg. 4
Ch 3 - Pg. 9
Ch 4 - Pg. 15
Ch 5 - Pg. 21
Ch 6 - Pg. 26
Ch 7 - Pg. 36
Ch 6 - Pg. 44
Ch 9 - Pg. 52
Ch 10 - Pg. 64
Ch 11 - Pg. 72
Ch 12 - Pg. 86
Ch 13 - Pg. 99
Chapter 14 - Pg. 107
Ch. 15 (Final) - Pg. 121
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