Asad/Zoya: Aaina [Chapter1] - Page 4

Author's Note: Hey guys! Here is the first chapter of "Aaina" - it's a little bit different to QH but will have similar characteristics. Also, I wasn't quite sure what Asad's job was but had to make it up. I probably won't be able to update asap as I have a lot of college work to do. Hope you enjoy! PM's will be sent soon!

"Zoya!" Zeenat called out. Her and her husband, Anwar walked up towards the younger woman standing amidst the crowd.

"Aapi!" Zoya said with a sigh of relief. She ran towards her, and hugged her. "Shukar Hai that I met you, otherwise. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?" Zeenat asked. She looked at Zoya's appearance. Her hair was messed up; her once perfected curls were lessened to soft wavy locks. Strands moved around as the wind hit past her. "What happened to you?" Zeenat noticed that she was wearing a red lengha. "Zoya?"

"Zoya, we had just left you in the mall for half an hour. What happened to you? And your clothes?" Anwar said concerned.

Zoya sighed. She loved her Aapi and Jiju, but sometimes they got a bit too protective over her. "Don't worry Jiju. Actually, I saw this red lengha and I liked it so much so I went and wore it, you know to try it on. But I don't know how, as soon as I went inside the changing room, someone stole my clothes."

"What?!" Zeenat asked. "Did you see who it was?"

"I don't know, Aapi." Zoya rubbed her forehead, which was stinging of a slight headache. "The stupid salesman wouldn't let me go without me buying this, and as soon as I came out these guys started their business. Disgusting. Uff, and I lost my pepper spray otherwise I would've given them such a lesson that…" She sighed. "I swear I will sue them. First they steal my clothes and then won't let me go." Zoya started to rant. She was furious. If there was one thing that she disliked were the corrupt men, always eyeing the woman as if they were a piece of meat.

She was a born and bred in America, New York to be exact. She was modern, lively and outgoing, totally different to the women in India. This was her first time visiting Bhopal, taken by her Aapi and Jiju for a holiday. As soon as she stepped foot into the country, she noticed the sudden change from her warm hometown in New York City to the buzzling streets of Bhopal. She did like India, but it was the way some people treat others that she disliked.

"Zoya, leave it." Anwar said as they sat inside a rickshaw. He gave the driver the place of the apartment that they were staying in whilst Zeenat brushed Zoya's hair.

"But Jiju! How can I just leave it like that? This country and its infuriating people!"

"Zoya." Zeenat gave her a cold stare. She glanced at the driver, and was glad that he hadn't understood what Zoya was talking about.

The drive quickly came to an end as they reached the area. Anwar gave the driver his fees whilst Zoya stormed out of the rickshaw, without a second look. Zeenat sighed watching. "When will this girl learn to behave properly?" She shook her head in displeased.

They walked up the stairs to where their apartment was. "But Zeenat, we have to see Zoya's point of view as well, after all her clothes did get stolen."

"I know that. But Zoya shouldn't have been making general negative comments about India. After all, what would people think?"

"Whatever people think, I don't think Zoya will care." Anwar said honestly. It was true. Zoya only cared about what she thought was right and wrong. Whether people talked about her, or made accusations on her morals she seriously didn't care. If she had faith in herself, then why the doubts?

Zeenat sighed as she opened the door and let themselves in. She saw that Zoya was already in her room, her doors tightly shut. She shook her head, not knowing what to do before walking out to place her bags of clothing into its place.

Zoya sat on her bed, sulking. She looked at herself in the reflection and brushed the tips of her fingers along the material of her dress. She smiled. She liked it: the colour, the design, the style. It was something that she desired to wear, but just didn't think that she'd wear it any day soon. It was a Nikah costume. It was elegant and beautiful, perfect for any blushing bride. Just not Zoya. She wasn't in the position to marry, heck she couldn't even look after herself, how could she possibly look after her future husband and his family? She was only twenty-two, with the dreams of creating a name for herself, so that everyone would know that it was Zoya Farooqi walking down the street. Either way, if she was to marry she dreamt of marrying someone like her. Completely modern, lively and outgoing, if anything she would prefer to marry an American. After all, it was better if she knew was comfortable with the area just like how she was comfortable in New York.

She got up and quickly changed into something more comfortable. She brushed her hair back, groaning as she pulled the knots out. It was only just past ten, thanks to Zeenat's continuous insistence of going to the mall early in the morning. Zoya stood up and paced up and down her room wondering what to do.

Grabbing her purse and placing a new pepper spray inside, she unlocked her bedroom door and walked out to see her Aapi and Jiju sitting down at the dining table.

"Aapi, I'm going to go out." Zoya murmured. Zeenat looked up at Zoya and nodded slightly. She was still upset at her younger cousin's attitude but decided to let it pass for now. She knew that it was hard for Zoya to adjust in a new city, a new country.

"Assalamu Alaikum." Asad greeted his mother and sat down. Behind him, his sister Najma came in and sat down in her usual place.

"Wa Alaikum Assalaam." Dilshad replied. She placed his knives and forks perfectly in place. It was one of Asad's personality traits. He disliked anything out of place, even a slight smudge of the table would get him wiping it clean.

"Bhaijan, here bread." Najma passed him another piece of bread. He shook his head looking intently at his watch.

"No thanks." He got up and pushed his chair in. "I'm going to be late."

"But Asad..." Dilshad said. "It's not good to leave your plate like this."

He sighed. He seriously didn't like that he was late, and the fact that he was going to be even more late. Though, it was his own company and he was the owner Asad was his own person, if he was going to make a rule he, himself was going to stick by it. It was very rare that he would go against his rule, only in the extreme of circumstances. In fact, he was only late due to not being able to sleep at night and the fact that he caught the attention of the girl running this morning. He hissed and quickly closed his eyes as to relieve the memory: it was not like him at all. Asad was not the sort of person who would look or even glance at a woman, but today there was something about that girl that just clicked. There were hundreds of people running about, shopping and talking. Each and every one of them unique to the next. But there was something about that girl that instantly caught his attention, hundreds of people but he could only see her.

"Urm, Ammi. I have to go or else I'll be late." He murmured, still trying to forget about that girl.

"So what? Asad it's your own company. Whether you're late or not, it won't make a difference." Dilshad insisted.

Looking at his mother, Asad nodded and sat down obeying. His sister Najma smirked as she glanced at Dilshad who gave her a look as to not react. Asad was always a man of honour. He was considerate, kind and respectful. He didn't ever want to disobey his mother, trusting her more than his life. Ever since his parents had a talaq, he felt as if it was up to him to take care of his mother and sister. A once nave ten year old suddenly had to grow up. In his twenty-seven years of life, Asad had earned the respect and fortune that was highly unlikely for someone of his age. He was the head of a line of Hotels, Khan Hotels the most advanced Hotel in the city. He had invested one in the city of Mumbai and another in Goa, whilst contemplating on offers overseas.

Asad quickly finished off the rest of his breakfast and placed the knife and fork down. He drank his juice and wiped his mouth dry with the tissue. He got up and excused himself to the delight of his mother whilst wearing his blazer jacket and hurriedly walking out to his car.

He sat down in the driver's seat and placed the key in the engine and turned it. There was no response. He turned the key again and groaned before jumping off and opening the car's engine. He looked to see that the fuel pump had been overheated, meaning that his car was not going to start. "Why now?" He groaned before getting his briefcase of the car and closing the door. Glancing at the time, Asad made a mental note to call a mechanic before racing down towards the end of the street.

He hadn't really been in a taxi or rickshaw in a long time. He really didn't need to. Not with the money he had now, though it didn't mean that he showed off his pride. If anything, Asad was neutral about what he had, he was content with what he could provide and didn't feel that he didn't too show off to an extent.

Childhood hadn't been good to him. After his father cheated on his mother and then left, so did practically their money and nearly their house. Dilshad was left with the minimum money that she had saved up over the years but even that was not nearly near enough. She had spent the next couple of years doing random jobs whether it was cooking for a large group or sewing clothes to fend for her son and daughter. From then on, Asad vowed that he would become a bigger man than his so called father ever was.

Asad gestured for a taxi but was over taken by a stranger. He glanced back at his watch, knowing that he was indeed very late. A taxi was about to go when he ran towards it, stopping it in the process. He quickly opened the door and sat inside before it went away.

"Brother can you take me to –"

"Excuse me, can you take me to –"

Asad stopped, suddenly noticing that there was someone else sitting besides him in the same taxi. He turned towards his right, to see a young woman wearing a light blue top and jeans. He looked into her eyes, looking intently at her face. He wondered why she looked so familiar before it all came rushing back to him. The image that he had tried to forget before.

The girl in the dress.