ASYA SS: Arranged Kum, Love Marriage Zyada (UPDATED Pg. 32) April 9 - Page 24

When he slammed in back home that night Ammi and Tamatar really hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Sure he was cranky, but when was he not?

No Biggie, as Zoya, no, Ms. Farooqui would say.

They bustled about him, handing him the TV remote, bringing him his coffee, laying the table for dinner and softly chatting among themselves.

The house was too quiet. Eeriely so.

It usually wasn't and the chatter wasn't soft either when ... when Ms. Farooqui was around.

"Um ... woh ... Najma, where's Ms. Farooqui?"

"Uh ... she still hasn't returned ..." Najma said in an apologetic tone. She wanted to protect Zoya from Bhaijaan's obvious wrath but then she was too scared not to answer when asked a question directly.

"She texted that she'd be home soon," Najma stuttered to fill in the angry silence.

Except it wasn't an angry silence, was it? He felt frustration bloom and mushroom through him.

"So late ...?"

"Asad, don't get mad. She's be home soon. Aati hogi," Dilshad pacified him.

What the hell? He wasn't mad. Not really.

Then what?

Asad pushed his sleeve back to check the time.

Unease crawled into his gut and set up home.

An hour later and she still wasn't back.

Dinner was done. Tanveer and Ammi were parked in the backyard with cups of tea and Najma was holed up in her room. Asad was sure she was frantically trying to reach and warn Zoya.

He was sick of checking his watch every two minutes. He drummed his fingers on the glass table instead.

When she moseyed in a half-hour later he wasn't sure how mad or relieved he was. But his face had slipped into its familiar mask of outrage just out of sheer habit--because his face didn't know any better when it came to her. The stony angles and edges were a default setting when it came to Ms. Farooqui.

She already had her hands up and was rattling off a semi-apology a mile a minute.

"Sorry, sorry, Mr. Khan. Don't be upset, please. First, I couldn't get an auto and then a car bumped into us--I think the axle got twisted. Poor guy, he was so shaken. I got him to have some water to calm him down. Then I even helped him push the auto--"

"You got into an accident!" He didn't know why he was shouting.

Of course he knew why he was shouting--he was un-freaking-believably mad, that's why. Mad, as in angry-mad, not lunatic-mad.

Mad.

He needed to stay mad.

"It was no big deal," she rushed. "Just a small ding. But I got the car's license plate. I can run it and find out the owner's name and then I'm going to find them and make them pay that poor guy for the damage! Do you know he has two young daughters! What if something happened to him? And now it'll take so many days to repair his auto--how will he make up lost wages?"

No big deal, she'd said.

NO BIG DEAL? Was she mad? Lunatic-mad, not angry-mad.

"Did you get hurt? Are you OK?" he interrupted her neverending good-samaritan-saga of injustice.

Everyone else was here now. Ammi and Najma ran over to fuss over Zoya. And of course she forgot to answer his worried questions.

Asad sighed. Are you OK?

"Zoya, tum theek ho na? What happened? Why didn't you call?"

"Phuphi I swear, I would have. But there was no time! And I was trying to take a picture of the fleeing car and helping the poor auto-wala. I'm going to lodge a complaint tomorrow. This is just not done--"

On and on she ranted. She still hadn't answered the question. But of course she must be OK. She was yapping wasn't she? Non-stop.

He glanced up and caught something fleeting in Tanu's gaze. Annoyance? Irritation? What? Why?

Asad shook his head. He had no time for this. Ain't nobody's got no time for this, he'd heard Ms. Farooqui say on many an occasion.

Ms. Farooqui.

Ms. Farooqui.

Get out of my head, Ms. Farooqui.

Ms. Farooqui was still droning on about her latest escapade; her plans for reparation and restitution for the auto-wala got more detailed. Thank god Ammi was leading her away to the bedroom--hopefully she'd get some first aid if she needed it. She couldn't be hurt under all that manic energy.

He did catch that little wince on her face though. Was it her ankle bothering her? Her neck? What? Are you OK?

It was her neck. Later that night Zoya felt the stiffness mount as she twisted and turned in her bed. A whiplash from the impact most likely. It better not be serious, Allah miyan! Ain't nobody's got no time for that. She massaged it for the fiftieth time. She didn't want Phuphi or Tamatar to know. They'd worry.

Zoya turned over again and flopped on her back. And she thought about the afternoon encounter with Mr. Khan. She felt guilty for blackmailing him with the phone. And guiltier for his smashed phone which she'd taped together fully intending to return it to him.

She shouldn't have been so pig-headed.

You mean like him?

No, I mean ... yeah, exactly like him.

Her mouth tightened. But he did need to say sorry to her. She wasn't being that unreasonable. He owed big time for sending her to that weasel Akram and for everything that happened--

But it wasn't his fault that Akram turned out to be such a douchebag!

Fine, yeah ... But still!

She rose and picked up Mr.. Khan's repaired phone from the dresser. She'd wrap and leave it outside his door.

Zoya rummaged through her backpack to retrieve a dog-eared post-it notebook. She tried to smooth out the edges with her palm and then gave up when they returned to their sorry state.

"I'm sorry," she scribbled across one and drew a smiley face. She stuck it to the phone which was being held together with some cheery Hello Kitty tape.

See Mr. Khan, it's not so hard to say sorry. And it won't kill you to say it to me!

Zoya tiptoed out. But of course her tiptoeing meant some minor crashes and trips along the way. Naturally.

A bull in a China shop, Jeeju used to joke.

She put his phone on the dining table.

No. Phuphi would see it and then it would be embarrassing to explain.

She next put it in front of his door.

But what if he came rushing out and stepped on it? He'd go flying, break his bones and then like Anarkali she would be sentenced to death and be walled in, brick by brick. May be in that wall by the front door. Bye, Zoya. Alvida. Hasta la vista, baby.

Aapi would cry so much and Jeeju wouldn't know what to do. And how would they go on without her? Who would do their taxes? They'd be miserable. No snow angels in December, no Thanksgiving in November. No 4^th of July fireworks.

Her eyes stung.

And it was at that moment that Mr. Khan decided to open the door to his bedroom.

He hadn't been able to sleep a wink either. And those muffled sounds coming from outside his room--his gut told him it was Ms. Farooqui. Probably fumbling around in the dark. But what if she was seriously hurt? What if there was some head injury from the accident? Head trauma or a concussion?

But it was the sniffle he'd heard outside his door that had clinched it. He leaped out to make sure she really was OK.

He saw her crouched in front of his room.

"Zoya, are you OK?"

She jumped up as if burned and backed up. Right into the carved screen.

"Ow!"

Asad couldn't help himself any more. He took her by her arms wanting to shake her but remembering that she could be hurt. "Will you just tell me that you're OK? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head numbly and then winced. Of course she wasn't OK! He led her to the sofa, turning on the table lamp next to it.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

She was still on that emotional roller coaster where she was playing out the scene of Aapi-Jeeju having to go on with their awful lives without their pyaari si Zoya. And it was this man that would do that to them.

She glared at him.

Asad recoiled. He was kneeling in front of her, being a solicitous gentleman and here she was glaring at him. Ungrateful brat.

"Look, Mr. Khan," Zoya raised her voice and a finger.

"Shh," Asad responded.

"Did you just shush me? Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr Khan?"

"Ms. Farooqui, you'll wake up everybody."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Shit, why was she apologizing? She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd read in the New York Times about a study that showed that women apologized a lot more than men. At work. At home. And men? Nope, men never apologized! Even when they were wrong. Just like Mr. Khan!

She re-glared at him.

Asad sat back on his heels. What the heck was going on with her? She must be hurt in the head for sure.

"Can I get you something?" He asked. "For your pain? You're obviously hurt. I'll call the doctor--"

Oh really? A doctor?

"Yes, you can get me something," she hissed back. Wouldn't want to wake up any body now, would we? "You can get me a 'I'm sorry, Zoya' on a gold platter. With a red bow and cherry on top!"

He blinked. What? The woman was clearly insane. Possibly even delirious.

"I'll call the doctor," he muttered pulling out his phone.

Zoya saw the phone in his hands and her lips drooped. Oh, so he'd got a new phone already, had he? Of course. Why would he need an old, battered, messed-up phone like the one she'd fixed?

Zoya picked up her tattered dignity and whatever leftover emotions remained and trotted off to her room.

"Ms. Farooqui? ... Zoya!"

The door to her room closed. Whisper soft.

"Idiot," Zoya scolded herself.

No, she was even worse than an idiot. What was she even thinking? What had made her reach out and touch his face in the afternoon? As it is Mr. Khan had a low opinion of her. And then her zombie hands had taken over her mind and body and decided to cop a Jahanpanah feel?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Zoya covered her face with her hands and groaned. How is it that she just kept getting into deeper and deeper messes? And why did Mr. Khan have such an effect on her? For god's sake, that man was a walking Tehzeeb-pedia... exactly the sort of know-it-all, mansplaining smug ass she detested ... then why was she behaving like a mental case around him?

You have a monster crush on him, that's why.

What? No, I don't.

Yeah, you do.

Don't.

Do. Do. Do. Times infinity. Plus one.

Fu*ck. She was so, so screwed. Zoya pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. In this world of seven billion people she could only find this one guy to fall for?

Fall for? Whoa! where did that come from? Who said anything about love? It's just a stupid crush, moron.

Yeah, yeah, my bad. Just a crush. Who said anything about falling for, or being in love or any such thing?

OK, so it was a crush. She'd deal with it. Just like the time she had a crush on Kevin in sixth grade. She'd play it cool like she did then. But then she'd found out that dumb Kevin had a crush on Sarah ... and she'd ...

Oh shut up, Zoya. How does it matter how you got back at him. She'd ditched him as a partner for the science fair. And she'd gone on to win second prize too, thank you very much. See, she didn't need Kevin. And she wouldn't need Mr. Khan either. She'd do what she'd come here to do and then leave for New York.

Simple as that.

Asad's heart had tilted when he saw his phone on the floor in front of his door. "Sorry," the pink note said. A lop-sided smiley face grinned up at him. The whimsical tape made him smile. And the damn thing even worked. No more I'm sorry, Zoya password needed.

He tossed it into a drawer. But then he'd checked on it every once in while. By the next morning its battery had drained and he'd even put it on charging. God knows why. What was he hoping for? That it'd reset the password? That he'd have to really say, I'm sorry, Zoya into it?

At work he hadn't been able to concentrate. Unwanted answers tapped against the door he'd firmly shut and walled himself behind. Whispers of desire and wisps of longing peeked through the barred windows of the vault to his heart.

He just didn't want to admit it. Too much would be lost if he did. He'd be left exposed, vulnerable. And he couldn't have that. No. That was just not an option.

But he didn't know how to seal the gaps that kept letting the visions seep in. Heated visions of luminous eyes and lips ... a sassy dimple ... a pout and its twin frown.

Those fantasies clawed at him, bolder and defiant each time he shut his tired eyes. He wanted to press her hand against his cheek. He wanted to pull it to his lips and kiss it.

Bite me ...

He wanted to bite her thumb and suck on it ... pull her to him ... press her against his hardness ... He'd sweep her up into his arms. She'd wrap her legs around his waist. He'd kiss her ... And after he'd had his fill he'd explore that dimple. He'd been dying to do it. It was only second on his long to-do list. He'd run his knuckles across her jaw and feel her quiver. She'd beg him to take her. And when he did she'd beg him to come inside her ...

Asad swore. He needed a cold shower and a bullet to his head. Definitely. He had no right fantasizing about--

He gulped some water down; the glass was slippery from frost. He pressed it against his forehead. He needed to drown himself in work. Asad pulled the laptop closer and took a deep breath.

Forty-five minutes later he pushed away from the desk. It just wasn't working. He was still distracted. He grabbed his coat and decided to get out of the office. May be if he went to the dargah he'd find some peace.

He didn't.

He could have lunch at home with Ammi. She was always a calming and centering influence. Tanu was out. She was busy trying to salvage her business back home ... Najma and Ms. Faroo--

Well, they'd be out too, he was sure of that. They were hardly ever home during the afternoons. He knew perfectly well that they were sneaking away to movies, music festivals and of course, cricket matches. Yeah, he was sure just Ammi would be home.

When he stepped inside he knew he'd made a mistake. A big one.

He leaned against the door: on fire, in helpless lust. She was in the kitchen head buried in the fridge scrounging around for some junk food as usual. He could only see her butt and legs. That butt had been a part of his fantasies earlier this morning. He'd kneaded it and she'd wiggled and squealed in his arms. He'd buried himself deeper between her legs and her head had fallen back with a whimper.

Asad moved closer drawn to her. Moth ... magnet ... who really knew at this point. Or cared. Once again he was hard. God help him, he hoped she wouldn't notice. May be if he snuck back out? She wouldn't even know that he was here. She probably had her ear buds on. Yes, she did. She pulled out a jar of jam and some bread. She kicked the door shut.

He grimaced.

She danced and wiggled that butt some more. Right in his face. She hadn't yet seen him and sang lustily: "you're the one that I kiss goodnight!" He didn't know it, but Shania Twain was one of her mood therapists.

Asad groaned. He watched her lick the jam off the knife.

"Ouch!" Of course, she'd cut herself.

How this woman had lived to be 22 he didn't know. How had she not killed herself with the walking disaster that she was? Must have a battalion of guardian angels, for sure. Stressed out guardian angels with high blood pressure and weak hearts.

He on the other hand, would've died of a heart attack if she re-dipped that knife into the jar. She must have sensed it, because she didn't.

She bit into the messy sandwich that practically bled with jam and turned around, still singing. That's when she saw him and the bread slices slipped right off her plate to land at her feet.

Asad pivoted on his heel and walked out the door.

Because, by god, if he didn't he really would have bent his head to lick the jam at the corner of her mouth. He'd have sucked the damn jam off her fingers and just picked her up to only dump her on his bed. He wouldn't have cared about the splattered sandwich on the floor. He'd peel her clothes right off and bury his face in her breasts. He'd slide his fingers in and feel her come around him. He'd--

Backing the car out of the driveway he dragged a hand through his hair. His breathing was ragged, his heart drumming a 100 beats per second. He growled in self-loathing and sexual frustration.

Zoya stood frozen at the kitchen counter. Allah miyan, what was wrong with her? Why did she turn into the world's biggest klutz in front of Mr. Khan? Just once, Allah miyan, just once, could I please appear dignified and elegant in front of him!

Sighing she picked up the mess off the floor and dumped it in the trash can. She mopped the sticky floor--Jahanpanah hadn't erupted into the usual Mr. Khan volcano today. He must really be pissed off at her. And geology and history were gavaah: when that Vesuvius imploded she'd be toast like Pompeii.

She didn't feel hungry any more. And she had to run. Najma's fashion show was in an hour. She'd promised she'd be there to support her. Tamatar was frazzled and super anxious. Poor thing, she better get there to cheer her on.

When Asad got the phone call he stared at his laptop in horror. In disbelief really. But should he really have been surprised? Truth be told, in some remote corner of his mind hadn't he always known that he'd get this phone call?

Ms. Farooqui in jail? The woman just would not leave him alone. He'd only just begun to focus on work and there she went, barging in again wearing only strawberry jam this time.

But he wasn't kidding himself. As he shrugged into his coat and rushed out the door the foremost thought on his mind was: I hope she's OK. Nothing better happen to her, or I'll kill--

By the time he reached the police station his lawyer was already there. Thank god. But why was Najma's college principal here?

"She was trespassing and damaged college property. I want her charged and detained," he heard Mr. Khosla allege.

Trespassing? Ridiculous. He knew Najma often invited Zoya to the college canteen and for all the festivals. Fear clutched at his heart. He hoped Najma was all right. Asad texted her and she replied within minutes: I'm home, she wrote back. Thank god.

But Asad's spidey senses tingled. Something was off. Zoya would not be on the college campus if Najma wasn't there.

The paperwork was signed, the principal pacified with a donation and compensation for damages and finally they led her out.

His heart lurched.

She looked pale. Had she been crying? Did they hurt her? But then he saw her square her jaw and shoulders. She stood taller, though she refused to meet his glance.

Oh man, she was so mad! How dare this woman do such a vile--?

Zoya saw that Mr. Khan's shirt was unbuttoned. She saw lipstick marks on his face and chest. Ugh. She slapped Tanu across the face.

Tanu lunged at and gripped Zoya's throat. "Stay out of it, little miss musibat. This is between Asad and me."

"Between you and--?" Zoya clawed at the woman's hand and then at her eyes. Tanu screamed and let go.

"This is assault Tanveer. He's unconscious. This is ... it's called date rape--you know that! Wait, what did you give him? What if he's really sick? You could've killed him!"

Tanu snorted. "You watch too many crappy American crime dramas. Nothing's wrong with him. Nothing he can't sleep off!"

Neither of them had noticed Asad stir. He felt groggy; his mouth dry. Raspy. His vision blurred as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Something was wrong with him. He could hear yelling but his eyes refused to focus.

Asad blinked several times to adjust his sight. Rain thrashed outside. His head pounded inside. He rubbed his hands over his face.

"You had no right to do that!" Asad heard Zoya yell. "It's criminal!"

He heard another woman laugh. Who was that?

"Criminal? Please, stop watching your films and TV shows."

Tanu was the first to see Asad fully conscious. "Asad!" she dashed over to him and held him by his shoulders as she stroked his back. "How are you feeling?"

"Mr. Khan!" He looked up at Zoya.

Her clothes were wet. Tears blazed in her eyes. What was wrong? What was going on? He looked down at himself and saw his open shirt. Confusion overcame him.

"Mr. Khan," Zoya knelt in front of him as she tried to hold his hand. He snatched his hand away.

Tanu's eyes glittered feverishly.

"Yes Asad, look, look what she did to you. She tried to--Uff! It's so ugly. I can't even say it!"

"No!" Anguish streamed in Zoya's eyes. She looked at him pleadingly. "No--I ... I would never do such--!"

But her mouth quivered too much. All was lost. Mr. Khan would never believe her. He may have forgiven all else but this was the final straw.

She backed away crying and shaking her head.

Asad raised an arm to stall her but with a sob she fled to her room.

Asad staggered into his bathroom. He felt sick ... nauseous.

He looked at himself blearily in the mirror. Lipstick stains over his face ... his chest. He gagged in revulsion. Already unsteady on his feet he fell on his knees by the pot and retched into it.

He hated feeling this way. Weak ... and violated. Her hands had touched him all over. He retched again and fell back against the under-sink cabinet. Somehow he hobbled into the shower cubicle and turned on the water. Steaming hot.

He was still fully clothed but he needed to scrub every inch of his body clean. He needed to wash away every filthy fingerprint of hers away.

Sick, sick woman! What had she done? How dare she?

Zoya packed her bags in the darkened room. Only the light from the bathroom streamed in. She didn't want to turn any lights on. She didn't want to see her face in any reflective surface. She just wanted to melt into the darkness. To not feel. To turn into cold stone.

Would Mr. Khan really believe the worst of her?

Sure he would. Remember, you're the one who copped a feel the other day! Touched his face ... his cheek.

Zoya sobbed and fell to the floor. She buried her face into the comforter that lay messily on her bed.

Mr. Khan please, I would never ever--

She ground her palms against her eyes. Enough! She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself. She looked around the room. Everything was packed.

Her dress was ruined. She'd stuffed it in the trash can. But it hadn't fit; it spilled out.

She rose to make the bed. She wanted to leave the room as neat and clean as possible.

When Asad came out of his room all was quiet. And still. He needed a strong cup of coffee to think clearly and detox.

And then he was going to do what needed to be done.

Cold fury curled in his gut. She'd taken advantage of his hospitality. His friendship and concern. There was only one motive that could have made her stoop so--

Asad made calls as the coffee brewed.

He glanced up to look at Zoya's door.

It was ajar. And dark inside.

His heart skittered. No, it couldn't be. She wouldn't--

No, but she would.

It's exactly what she'd do and it made him even madder. He went in and turned the lights on. The bed was neatly made. Every surface shone, pristine. The cupboard was bare. He saw the bundle of her lehenga and dupatta in the trash and pulled it out. It was wet. He knew his suspicions were right.

He pulled his phone out. The coffee was ready. He loped to the kitchen to take a hefty swig. The hot black liquid splashed through his system and cleared his head.

"I know it wasn't you. Come back," he texted her. She wasn't taking his calls. "Please."

He put the phone on the counter waiting for her response. Please reply.

"How?" she asked a good ten minutes later.

"Come back and I'll explain. Or at least pick up the phone!"

She did when he called.

"Zoya, tell me you're coming back."

He heard her take a deep shuddering breath. "Why?" he heard her teary voice. She sniffed and began to cry again.

His heart twisted. "Please baby, don't cry," he begged.

He heard her squeak. What had happened? Did the taxi driver do something? Asad raced to get his keys. "Zoya, are you OK? Tell me. Did the driver do something? I'm coming, don't worry! Where are you?" he bellowed in frustration.

"Mr. Khan, I'm OK," she breathed. "I'm coming home."

There was something in her voice and the way she said it.

She was coming home.

He was pacing outside when the taxi turned into the street. It lurched to a stop and she leaped out to run to him. His heart light Asad swept her into his arms to hold her tight against him.

He was never letting go.

When he set her down his thumbs rose to swipe her cheeks. They were damp. And cool. He dipped his head to heal himself. To re-brand and rebirth himself. She met him half-way.

It was a kiss they knew they'd dreamt of before. It was familiar. Ages old. And it was new. He groaned as her lips met his. He'd craved this for so long.

"Zoya," he whispered between kisses.

"Hmm?" she replied, equally distracted. Her hands fisted in his hair and she pulled his head down for another deep, deep kiss. She sucked on his upper lip and felt him harden against her as he thrust his tongue in. She felt a mighty tug zing straight between her legs.

"I think we should pay the cab driver."

"What?"

Asad lifted his head and tilted it in the direction of the taxi.

Zoya blushed. Her hand flew to her lips which were swollen and tender right now.

"Oh my god!" she muttered. But she grinned when she heard him chuckle.

Hand in hand they went to pay the guy off ... unembarrassed ... giddy with love. As he drove off, Asad pulled her rolling pack behind him and they still hadn't let each other's hand go.

He pulled her into a side hug.

She looked up into his face under the streetlights and her smile froze. There was grim business to take care of.

"How did you know?" she asked.

Asad exhaled. He just did. There really hadn't been any detective work or process of elimination on his part. His heart and gut just knew. When they got to the front yard he parked her suitcase by the main door and took her in his arms again. She clung to him ... every soft curve of her body fitting the hard planes of his.

Asad lifted her chin. "A girl who pushes an auto-wala's scooty to help him could never do such a thing. You gave him some extra money too, right?"

She nodded. He had two daughters and a broken-down auto. How was he going to survive for a week without his daily fare?

"That's it?" Zoya asked. She was kind of disappointed. What about some real detective work? Fingerprints? DNA? Forensics? Means, motive, opportunity? The real stuff.

Asad smiled at her frown. "Well there was other stuff too." He grimaced and Zoya reached upto to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"That lipstick? It wasn't yours."

"Mr. Khan! How would you know what lipstick I wear?"

"I know, OK. I know that you wear light shades or none at all."

"Wow," she whispered. Not bad.

"And I wasn't wet," he added.

She squinted up at him. He'd lost her now. Wet?

"It was raining and you were wet. If it had been you, I'd be too."

Ah, forensics 101--transfer! What was that thing they said about crime detection? Yeah, Locard's exchange principle: the perp always brought something to the crime scene and left with something from it.

"Wow, Mr. Khan you really are a genius! I'm so proud of you," she hugged him tight.

"Good," he said before kissing her. "But can you not call me Mr. Khan any more?"

She giggled. He didn't know how much he had thirsted to hear that sound.

"Really? You don't like it?" she teased. "What should I call you then, Akdu? Mr. T-Rex? Jahanpanah six packs? Sherlock Holmes Khan?"

He blushed and raised an eyebrow.

"What then?"

His eyes glittered and it was her turn to blush.

"Asad," she sighed.

She barely got his name out because he swooped to kiss her again.

"And that was the main reason." Asad said after more kisses.

"Huh?" Zoya looked up at him, dazed and blissed out. "Main reason for what?"

"The most important reason why you couldn't have done something so vicious ... so ugly. You've never even called me by my first name--how could you have ever stooped to such filth?"

She grinned up at him--her dimple deep and sure.

Zoya sighed in pleasure as she leaned against him. She could stay up here forever swinging from his neck and listening to him tell her about his absolute faith in her. But they needed to clean this mess up.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him.

"I've got some people looking into details." Asad pushed back his sleeve to check the time. It was late and Ammi and Tamatar would be back soon. "Tomorrow," he decided.

Zoya nodded. Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd lower the boom on that snake.

When she walked into her room this time it seemed different. It was bright and warm. And just right. She hummed softly as she unpacked and relived the touches and the kisses from the past hour or so. She couldn't stop hugging herself in delight.

Phuphi and Najma came in some time later and she bounded out to greet them. It was a new day.

Mr. Kha--no, Asad came out too.

They smiled secretly at each other as Najma nattered on about the wedding.

"Zoya, you missed the dance performances, yaar! There was this one guy, he was so cute," she whispered theatrically.

Zoya grinned. She was done with cute. She had the real deal now. And all that had happened over the past hour or so? Nope, she wouldn't miss it for the world.

She looked up to see Asad watching her. She blushed.

A half hour later Asad still tossed and turned in his bed. He was wide awake but for different reasons this night.

He couldn't stop smiling.

He sat up at the soft knock on his door.

At this hour?

Terrible thoughts competed and collided in his head--what if something'd happened to Ammi or Tamatar? He raced to the door and paused. But what if it was Tanu on the other side?

His bile rose up to nearly choke him.

He opened it a crack and beamed the next instant.

"Zoya?"

"Asad," she pushed the door open wide and wrapped herself around him. "I never said, I love you.' "

He chuckled softly and gathered her closer. "Then say it!"

"Mr. Khan!" she pouted at being teased. But then she bit his ear and whispered, "I love you."

He bit off a soft groan.

"Good, because I love you too."

"You do?" she squealed.

"Shh," he rolled his eyes. Would he have to worry about her waking up everyone in the middle of the night for the rest of their lives?

"You really do?" Zoya framed his face in her hands. She spoke much more softly this time.

Asad leaned his forehead against hers. "I do."

She gasped. He slid his tongue in and she smoldered and melted against him.

It was still later into the night.

This time it was her turn to be surprised at the soft knock at her door. Of course she was wide awake. After today's events who could sleep!

It could only be him at this hour.

He folded her into his arms as soon as she opened the door.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her hair.

"For what?" she asked, alarmed. "What happened?" Terrible and dark visions swam in her eyes. What if he was saying they couldn't be together? What if he was regretting everything--?

He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry for everything ... the whole Akram thing. For all the insults and threats ..."

It was her turn to shush him. She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Asad, no. Forget about it."

He grabbed her hand and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. "I can't forget." He held her even closer. "I keep thinking of how she drugged me, her hands all over ..."

He shuddered and gagged.

Zoya ran to get him a glass of water. She watched him drain it in a gulp. Hot anger sluiced and sliced through her. She would seriously kill Tanveer.

She took the now empty glass from his limp hands and put it by her bedside table.

Asad's face was still twisted in revulsion. Zoya shook her head to protest but he placed a finger on her lips. "Don't. I keep thinking about it--they drugged you too. What if that bas*tard touched you--? I should've killed him."

"Mr. Khan, no! Stop talking like this. I just got out of jail--I wouldn't want you to end up back there."

Jail. Yeah that would suck. Their gazes collided and remembered--they'd been jailed in Mangalpur too. They clung to one another.

"Please, let's just put the past behind us, OK? Let's only look ahead," Zoya reminded him of what really mattered.

He kissed her hands and dragged her mouth to his.

"Goodnight," he whispered a little later.

She kissed his cheek, " 'night. Sweet dreams."

He chuckled as he walked back to his room. Oh yes, he needed all the sweet dreams he could gather in his arms.

Ten minutes later he was back knocking at her door.

"Asad? Is everything OK?"

Aww, poor thing. She must've fallen asleep as soon as he'd left.

"I forgot."

"Forgot what?" she squinted up at him.

He cleared his throat.

"I forgot to ask you to marry me ..."

She had already launched herself into his arms.

"I didn't forget," she said after they surfaced from thousands of kisses. "I was going to ask you to marry me tomorrow!"

"Really?" he asked in wonder.

"Um hmm." she planted a row of kisses along his jaw. "Would you have said yes?"

"What do you think?" He teased.

"I think ... in fact I'm pretty sure you'd have said yes."

"Damn right, I would have!"

She giggled. And then she yawned.

"OK, get some sleep. It'll be a long day tomorrow," he sighed.

"Hmmm ..."

"Zoya?"

"Yes?"

"Were you going to ask me to marry you tomorrow, or were you going to marry me tomorrow?"

"Mr. Khan, check that clock over there. Tomorrow is here already. It's today! And I was going to ask you to marry me ..."

"Will you marry me tomorrow?"

"You mean today?"

"Will you?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He no longer bothered to shush her.

"Today?"

"Yes," Asad answered his mother.

"I'm going to marry Zoya," he'd told her five seconds ago. "Today," he'd added as an afterthought.

Dilshad was thrilled but also annoyed. As perfect as all this was she wanted a minute to savor the glory of being the mother of the groom.

Zoya as her bahu? Masha'allah! This was more than perfect.

But there was so much to do. Decorations, flowers, clothes, jewelry ... Allah, the invitations! But her son was robbing her of all her dreams. Stomping all over them. Being a Jahanpanah, like Zoya always said.

"Asad, what's the rush? Why are you in such a hurry? There's so much to--" A terrible thought slayed her. "Is it ... ? Are you ... ? Is she pregnant?"

"Ammi please! How can you think that?"

But he blushed. Because her questions put ideas into his head. Hot and nasty ideas of how he'd--

He cleared his throat. Asad took Dilshad's hands into his. "Ammi, I just realized ... No, I mean I've known for some time ... we ... we're in love. And I asked her to marry me yesterday. No ... I mean today."

Yesterday? Today? Allah miyan what was wrong with her son?

She saw his face. Dilshad smiled and patted his cheek. She was ecstatic, there was no doubt about it. But there was so much to do! Why couldn't he get that through his thick skull?

"But I need to send out invitations--Allah! There ARE no invitations to send out! And Zeenat and Anwar? It'll take them at least two days to get here. Asad, how can you do this to me?"

"Ammi," Asad kissed the top of her hand. "Nothing else matters. You're the one who always told me that, remember? The small things don't matter. Only the big things do. And Aapi and Jeeju? They'll be here for the Waleema."

She really looked at him then. He was different--there was a new light that burned in his eyes today. He wasn't as angry these days either. And there was even a hint of a smile that curved his lips; she'd yearned to see this all these years.

Dilshad's smile widened; she put her hands on either side of his face to reach up and kiss his forehead.

"You really do love her." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he said without ducking his head or blushing.

"And Zoya agreed? Your Ms. Farooqui is ready to marry Jahanpanah?"

He blushed and ducked his head now. "Yes," he said simply.

"You're sure?"

Asad held up a hand. "Ask her yourself." And he walked over to open the door and yank a squirming Zoya inside.

Zoya covered her face with both her hands. She could not look Phuphi straight in the face.

"Zoya?" Dilshad asked.

Zoya nodded her head. She'd removed her hands but her hair curtained her face now.

Dilshad grinned. She didn't miss Asad grab one of Zoya's hands and stroke the top.

"Zoya, tumhe apne Akdu Ahmed Jahanpanah Khan se nikah qubool hai?" she teased.

Zoya giggled. "Qubool hai!"

And then she launched her giddy self at her favorite Phuphi to give her a bear hug.

They fell back on the bed.

"Oof!" Dilshad groaned.

"Ammi!" Asad leaned over their faces, stark raving mad with concern. "Ammi, are you OK? Zoya, what's wrong with you--!"

Dilshad giggled and pulled his face down to theirs and planted a big fat kiss on her son's cheek. She was going to be the happiest mother-in-law today.

"Hurry," she scolded both of them as they righted themselves. "We have to get ready. There's a lot to do. Thank god I have that set and ring. Zoya can wear that pink dupatta I special-ordered last year ... Your blue sherwani that you were going to wear for the wedding yesterday?" She didn't even wait for his nod. "I have to call Maulvi saheb. Tell Najma to stay home today. She and Tanu can help me make some sweets ..."

"Uhh ... Ammi ... woh actually ..."

"Ab kya woh actually, Asad? I thought Ms. Farooqui would have cured you of that disease by now!"

They all laughed. But then Asad became serious. Zoya's grin froze too.

"Tanveer has left." He jerked his chin at Zoya and she nodded. It would be better if Asad explained the whole drama to Phuphi in private.

She let herself out quietly.

Besides she already knew this part. And she didn't want to embarrass Asad when he told Phuphi about--

They'd talked to Tanveer in the morning. Asad had texted her and invited her to join them in the study.

Zoya still fumed when she thought about that scene.

Tanveer had actually waltzed into the room thinking she had the upper hand. It was only when she'd seen Zoya standing next to Asad that her step had faltered. They both'd leaned back against the desk and watched Tanveer get more and more nervous by the minute.

"Asad," she pleaded. She cut her eyes at Zoya. "Don't believe any lies she told you about last--"

Asad raised a hand to stop her. "Cut it out, Tanveer. I don't want to hear a word out of your mouth. Just listen."

He turned to walk around the desk and retrieve some papers and photographs. He wanted to throw them at her rotten face. But he controlled himself. He looked at Zoya to clear the red mist of anger from his eyes.

She smiled at him. He exhaled.

One by one he threw the papers on the desk. "I've had someone look into your finanaces and factory. Looks like you're in deeper trouble than you told me. So what was the plan, Tanveer? You were going to seduce your way into my money?"

Tanveer stuttered. She wanted to cower before him in feigned remorse but envious anger at Zoya was making the facade hard. She clenched and unclenched her hands and then rubbed her stomach in guilty circles.

Zoya gasped and choked on her own spit.

The next second Asad was by her side massaging her back. "Zoya, what happened? Are you OK?"

Tanveer rolled her eyes and nearly snorted. Every second day Ms. Farooqui got into trouble and she'd heard Asad ask the same damn question. Day after day. Are you OK? Are you bloody OK?

Zoya recovered and thanked Asad for the glass of water he'd pressed into her hand. Tanveer watched their gazes entangle and cling.

Perfect. They'd already forgotten about her.

But they hadn't.

Zoya rounded on her in accusation still recovering from her epiphany. "Mr. Khan, it wasn't just the money for which she tried that stunt last night. It's something else isn't it, Tanveer?"

"What is it?" Asad looked from her face to Tanveer's.

Zoya swallowed and squared her shoulders. Then in a quiet voice she announced, "Mr. Khan I think she's pregnant and planned to pass off the baby as yours."

"WHAT?!!!"

This time Tanveer staggered back from the heat of his fury. "No ... it wasn't like that ... I wouldn't ..."

Asad advanced to tower over her and she cowered. " ... I was desperate ... I thought ... please Asad, don't look at me like that. I can explain ..."

"Get out," he ordered in a hiss. "Zoya already had the maid pack your bags. They must be by the main door by now. There's a cab outside waiting to take you to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"Asad!"

"Leave! Now," he ground out. His voice had fallen to harsh rasp. He couldn't breathe ... the depth of her deception stunned him.

His hand groped blindly for Zoya's as Tanveer slithered out of the room. Asad held her to his beating heart.

Such evil. She could go so low?

He bent his head to kiss Zoya and to clear his head and heart ... to make room for the good things in life. The best things. She returned his kiss--buoyant, vital as newborn colt. He lifted her to fit better and her legs wrapped around his waist. Their bodies fused in mutual hunger deepened by much-fantasized fantasies.

Oh yes. They needed to get married.

Today.

Chapter 8: 133293745