FF: And Life Goes On...

My family, friends, and I have written letters and diaries telling the stories of our lives. It's a tradition passed down through generations, to make us immortal, to allow the children of our future to better understand the past. I have collected all of the letters and diary excerpts of my family, friends, and I here so whoever finds it, meaning you, will know our story.

Best of Luck,

ZF

*~*~*~*~*

My name is Asad Ahmed Khan. According to tradition, once a major event in one's life occurs, one must write about it. The difficult part of this is to try to find where to begin. Ideally, one would begin in the beginning. But what does one define as the beginning? When you are born, when you are independent, or when the rose-tinted glass breaks and you finally see the world in its true colors.

The beginning, for me, was not any of those things. My beginning consisted of a phone call, frozen yogurt, and a girl.

Before your read on, I need you to understand this. What I am doing is against the rules. We are supposed to write letters to tell what happened to us. But we are never supposed to write to our audience. You are supposed to learn the story as I learned it. I am breaking the rules by communicating specifically to you. Understand that I will continue to break this rule and continue to write to you. Continue to warn you. My friends and I all understand this and we will all write to you. Consider us your well wishers.

It might not seem dangerous now, but believe me it is. Our story, the story of my family, my friends, and I could be potentially dangerous. Not the story, but you knowing about it. If you understand the risk keep reading. But if you do not.

Stop here.

*~*

December 25, 2011

"Congratulations on your engagement Asad."

"We can't wait to meet the lucky bride."

"Way to go!"

This is getting a little bit out of hand. With all the pats on the back, I am definitely going to be bruised in the morning. Not to mention, why are all of these people here? This was just supposed to be a simple Christmas dinner with the same close family and friends I've been having Christmas with for as long as I can remember. Right, my grandma must have invited them to show off the new house she and grandpa bought. The only reason I can tell is because all the congratulations I was receiving were from people well, around my grandmother's age. Then why is my back hurting so much? I decided to grab an icepack and walk into the bathroom that is in a more secluded part of the house, which eventually won't be once the guests figure out where everything is.

The party has just started and I'm already feeling restless. Then I realized it's not the party, it's the announcement of my engagement. I decide to overlook the thought and as I lifted my shirt off in front of the bathroom mirror, I see a huge red patch over my right shoulder. Really? This is just brutal. I thought they were congratulating me, not trying to get me hospitalized. Maybe if I stayed in here a little longer the hype from the announcement will die down, then I can eat dinner in a quiet corner somewhere' No! I am Asad Ahmed Khan and I most certainly am not going to hide in a bathroom. Let me just put some ice on this first.

After that I walked out of the bathroom with an air of dignity. Well, as much dignity one could have after being thoroughly bruised by a group of senior citizens. Those hours in the gym really were for nothing. I looked around and saw that this area was actually still undiscovered by the wandering guests. "No. No! You know I want to, but I can't. It's Christmas A. Family time." It's definitely a girl's voice, and I've heard it before. I'm not sure I heard correctly because it sounded like she said 'A'. It's coming from farther down the hall so I decided to go check who it is. "And Asad just got engaged! Can you believe it? Who would have thought that Mr. Hotshot would finally want to tie the knot," Mr. Hotshot huh. Now I need to know who this is. Her voice continues and I can tell she's on the phone. There's a short pause and she continues saying, "Yeah, yeah they love you. But if you came here now they won't love you as much. Besides it's not your kind of crowd." By now I have reached her at the end of the hallway, but the lighting's so dimmed I can hardly make out her sillohuette. She is skinny, tall, and has long hair. That's all I can decipher. At least it ensures that she cannot see me.

She began to laugh, at whoever was on the other end. I finally figured out who it is though, her laughter gave it away. It's Zoya, Zoya Farooqui. I've known her since she was born, which was three years after me as I constantly remind her when we were younger. We haven't seen each other for the past seven years. Not a single phone call or text, because she's a family friend not necessarily my friend; the kind of family friend you see at Christmas or Thanksgiving. Seven years. I haven't seen her since she was fifteen, no wonder I could barely recognize her.

Well now is as good a time as ever to finally meet her again.I walked up to her and said, "Zoya, Zoya is that you?"

"Just a minute. Let me find the light switch." She turned the lights on and I see her. She's smiling. "Asad!"

Before I know it she has me locked in an embrace so tight, I could barely breathe. "Ouch!" I said. She was holding on to me right where I am bruised on my shoulder, and she let go instantly.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No. No, it's not your fault. I have a bruise on my shoulder, that's all. It's so great to see you. You've grown up a lot."

It was true. Zoya was always pretty, but now she is well, she's beautiful. She has the longest darkest hair and deep brown eyes that always seem so fascinated by everything. Right now, she looks like she could have come off of the cover of a fashion magazine. I'm not sure how to describe her, elegant, yet fun. No, that's not quite it. Why does it matter? I'm not a writer that I have to figure out the headlines for the new Cosmopolitan. At that moment I felt pity for the people who do that for a living, trying to sum up a person's look in about three words. Great, I can't believe I even know anything about a fashion headline. Well, that's what I get for reading my older sister's magazines until the tenth grade.s

"Oh please," she said, "Don't act like such a grown up. 'Oh look how much you've grown. The last I saw you, you were about three feet tall.'"

I laughed, "Trust me, I get it. That's why I came over here." And I heard you. But I was not going to say that. It wouldn't matter because even if I did, I knew she wouldn't mind.

"Good thing too. I've had enough of people asking whether I'm married or rich yet." She said this jokingly and at ease. I've always wanted to be able to do that.

"It's easier to just say no to those. Since I'm engaged I'm getting too many follow up questions. What I would give to get out of here." I didn't realize that I actually wanted to leave until I said it. That's the thing about Zoya. She gets me to tell the cold hard truth. Not just something small like this, but for other things too.

"Well, then let's get out of here," she said with a smile, "The bonus about you being engaged is that if we leave together, no nasty rumors follow us."

*~*

Seven years is a long time dear reader. People change whether for better or for worse. Now ask yourself, would you have walked out the door? Walk out with a girl you've known your entire life. I did. Now I will never know what my life would be like if I didn't follow her out. Some days I wish I didn't. But others I feel as if it was the best thing I had ever done. I knew you would keep reading so I stopped here. This is your last chance to leave. The same way it was my last chance to stay inside the house. I made my choice to walk out the door. Now it's your choice to keep reading or to close this book forever and for your own good. It seemed harmless to walk out the door and now it seems harmless to keep reading.

But dear reader, just remember knowledge is deadly.