ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Hai Mushkil (Updated Ch. 130 Page 90 Oct. 11) - Page 12

Chapter 71

Her lashes swept her cheeks delicately as Zoya slept by his side. Asad worried. He would glance down at her every now and then while working. She looked too frail. That burst of hijinks from this morning had vaporized. Her cheeks looked hollow. Was the shock of her Ammi's news too much? Was all that day-long manic energy just a cover-up? Could something have gone wrong at that clinic? There were so many cases reported of Hep C during transfusions these days. He should have been more watchful.

He would burn the place down!

There was a knock at the door and he slipped away to answer it before Zoya woke. But he made a mental note to call for an appointment at the earliest.

It was Humaira.

"Bhaijaan, there's some lady here asking for you."

Asad frowned, but closed the door softly behind him. Seeing who it was, he nearly slapped his head for forgetting.

"Ms. Sheena! I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to inform you."

He had arranged for a martial arts instructor to come home and start basic self-defense training. He wanted the girls to get started as soon as they had returned from Agra. He'd even talked to a couple of female instructors for private training from one of the premier Martial arts schools. But then the attack on Humaira had happened and ...

He introduced Ammi, Aapi and Humaira to the instructor and then apologized profusely. Could they begin the lessons next week? His wife wasn't well and Humaira was still recovering from a serious injury. By then his sister would be back too. They finalized the details. He showed the instructor the store room which would be cleared by next week for the sessions.

Humaira peeked from behind Asad, bursting with excitement. Such fun! Her parents would have never let her do something like this, saying that it was unladylike. From all that she had heard from Nuzzhat and Nikhat, she never imagined that Asad bhaijaan, of all people, would think any differently.

After Ms. Sheena left, she couldn't restrain herself.

"Bhaijaan, I never thought that you would let us do something like this."

Dilshad smiled. Six months ago, she'd have wondered the same. But no longer.

Asad ducked his head self-consciously.

"Umm ... voh ... actually ..."

Dilshad chuckled. Asad smiled too.

"Mera yeh karna thoda ajeeb laga na, Ammi?"

"Bilkul nahin! I think you're doing the right thing. Girls should feel confident about their bodies and never live in fear."

Zeenat smirked knowingly. Anwar's cheetah had gotten to their son-in-law.

Asad nodded his head in thanks to Humaira when she got him his coffee. No one knew about their close shave at Mangalpur, or even the more recent incident at Agra. He wished he had thought of doing this a lot sooner. That day Zoya's trusty pepper spray and quick thinking had turned a terrible event from getting worse. His fist tightened on the mug handle. He hadn't known this kind of fear before. He had always worried for Ammi and Najma's safety. However, he had also been supremely self-assured that he would be their most effective shield. No one had dared to tangle with them when he was by their side. But the vulnerability he had felt that night, shook him to the core. Alone, he could have taken on anybody. But worry for Zoya had nearly paralyzed him. One moment she was by his side, and then bam! She was gone. For a few horrible seconds, he had feared them becoming a grim national statistic.

He shook his head to rid himself of the possible terrors of that night.

"Yes, Ammi. Girls should be able to protect themselves."

Dilshad too sat down on the couch, responding instinctively to the seriousness of his tone.

"But having such training may be about something more. It could sharpen one's presence of mind and ability to make quick, life-saving decisions."

Humaira gasped aloud and Asad looked at her.

"Abbu would never let me do anything like this," she thought aloud.

She twisted around to appeal to Dilshad. "You know Phuphi, so many times in college, boys would misbehave with us, but we never told anyone at home. Abbu would have banned us from going to college."

Asad nodded his head sadly in agreement. "May be sometime ago, I would have reacted the same way, or even sent Najma to college with a bodyguard. But for how long? Men are getting bolder, and girls are scared to tell at home because they fear additional restrictions on clothing or going out? This just lets men get away with criminal acts."

He laughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lecture. I just ... I don't know. It makes me angry to read and watch about daily attacks on women. That's why I thought we should do this."

The women murmured in acknowledgement. Asad paced now, restlessly.

"A few months ago I came upon Nuzzhat and Nikhat being harassed by some boys in the mall. They stood frozen and the boys circled them like hounds. And then Zoya entangled with those eve teasers at Najma's college. It seems never-ending."

Zeenat too remembered the incident from when they had first come to India.

Some boys at another table were singing lewd songs. She had been horrified that Zoya had boldly walked up to them and started to sing with them. She'd clutched Anwar's arm in panic. Stop her! she'd begged. He had smiled and said, she can take care of herself. And Zoya's fearlessness had shamed them. They had slunk away, tails between their legs.

"Asad, you're right. These cowards prey on women's fear and silence."

The doorbell rang and Humaira went to answer the door. Asad smiled ruefully. There was a time when he wouldn't have allowed Najma to open the door if he was home. But he too was easing up on domestic restrictions. Safety wasn't just about defensive living any more.

But he sobered just as quickly, and sighed. He still felt antsy about Tanveer. She was a loose canon. May be subconsciously, the idea about self-defense training for the girls was also because of the constant threat that loomed over their family. Eighteen years ago, they had been ambushed by the likes of Razia Siddiqui.

Not any more.

Ayaan tumbled in, a breezy harbinger of chatter and clatter. His helmet, already chipped and dented, fell carelessly to the floor and banished the gloom. Dilshad and Humaira rushed about to cater to his needs as he crashed on the sofa. Zeenat went to pick up his helmet and place it on the side table.

"Bhai, what a long day!" he grunted self-importantly. "How do you do it everyday?"

Ayaan wiped his brow dramatically, "in fact, why do you do it everyday! Oh man, badi Ammi! I'm dead. Where's Mona darling?"

Zoya felt infinitely better after her Jahanpanah-mandated nap. She stretched contentedly and felt around for Asad. She freshened up and began to straighten the bed.

"You're up already?" Asad came in, carrying his coffee mug.

"You weren't here," she complained.

Asad sensed her mood dipping. Placing his mug on the side table, he opened his arms wide and she glided into them and buried her face in his chest.

Lifting her chin, he asked with concern, "you okay?"

"Umm hmm."

"So what's the mission? Dinner? Movie?"

Zoya made a face.

"Long drive? And chaat!" she pleaded.

"Street food? You'll get an upset stomach."

"Hmph! Upset stomach hoga mere dushman ka! My stomach is Teflon-coated."

"Sar bhi!" he muttered.

"Jahanpanah! Do not mess with Zoya Farooqui Khan!"

"I know. I know," said Asad shaking his head and muttering, "what was I thinking?"

When they came out of the room they were accosted by an indignant Ayaan.

"Bhaijaan! Martial arts training? Inn cartoons ke liye? What a waste of time and money. Besides, I can teach them much better."

"Ayaan, shut up!" scolded Humaira.

She was really upset with him. Here she had been raving about how Bhaijaan was so cool and supportive and understanding, and suddenly Ayaan turns into an idiotic macho pig.

Asad ignored him. But not Zoya.

"Oh really Raabert? Kucch aata bhi hai ya aise hi?" And she assumed her warrior pose.

"Oh please!" he taunted. "Don't even start. Kucch ho jayega and everyone will say devar ne bhabhi ko maara."

"But bhabhi toh devar ko maar sakti hai," and she suckerpunched him.

"Umfff!"

She blew on her knuckles and Ayaan, doubled over, gasped out, "Bhai!"

"Humaira begum," he turned to her for sympathy, when he didn't get any from his joru ka ghulam brother.

"Serves you right, Ayaan Ahmed Khan!" she retorted and turned her back on him to stalk away.

He rushed over to beg for forgiveness.

Zoya's restless eyes gleamed. She had just spotted her devar's bike keys on the side table. She picked them up and tried to get her husband's attention.

It wasn't too hard.

She jiggled the keys and raised her eyebrows.

Asad grinned.

Zoya ran out the door. Grabbing Ayaan's discarded helmet, he called out to Dilshad, "Ammi, we'll eat out!" and slammed out of the house just as fast.

"Hunh? What happened?" looked around a befuddled Ayaan.

"Good, I'll keep you all safe, big mom," he waggled his eyebrows at Dilshad. She laughed.

"Big mom? Allah, ab yeh kaun hai?"

"Badi Ammi, big mom. Same thing!"

Tanveer shook with anger and sorrow. She still couldn't fathom the doctor's words.

"There is a high chance that your baby could be born with Down syndrome."

She would kill Razia.

It didn't matter that the doctor said that her head injury had nothing to do with any of this. It's rare, but it does happen one in a million. But in her mind, Tanveer was convinced that it was someone else's fault. Because if it wasn't someone else's fault, then it would be her own.

It had to be Razia's doing. The earlier attempt at the cabin, and then the push. It had to be her.

She had been pleasantly surprised when she felt the baby kick for the first time. And now this? How unfair? Why was everything bad only happening to her? Why did everything have to go wrong only with her, while others enjoyed their brittle little lives with no problems whatsoever?

Going down to the kitchen to get herself a glass of warm milk, she noticed Razia creeping up the stairs.

You bi*tch!

Her fingers itched to push her down the stairs. But with superhuman effort, she restrained herself. Too easy. She would devise more slow torture for her. Later.

At the vista point near the Hilltop Restaurant, Asad leaned back against the bike with Zoya wrapped in his arms. They looked down at the lights of the city spread like a glittering carpet before them. He pushed her hair to one side over her shoulder and bent to press a kiss on her neck.

"Asad?"

He groaned, and she smiled as she felt him leap against her. His arms tightened around her.

"Don't ask me to make love to you here!"

"If we'd brought the car, I would have," she sighed.

He growled possessively in her ear.

"Recite me something."

She loved to have him read to her, or recite passages of shayari and poetry. In bed, she would pillow her cheek on her palm and close her eyes, savoring the texture of his voice. She particularly loved when he recited memorized passages.

Asad lazily trailed a finger down her arm. She shivered.

"I never knew that when I read "A Thousand and One Arabian Nights" as a kid, that I'd find my own Sheherzade."

Nipping her ear he recited a passage from memory.

"She comes like fullest moon on happy night,

Taper of waist with shape of magic might.

She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind,

And ruby on her cheeks reflects his light."

Eyes shut, she felt his husky voice rumble through her, head to toe.

"I bet you read that just because the king executes all his wives," she teased.

"Never! I read it for Ali Baba, Sinbad, and Aladdin ... and other heroes. I didn't even know then that the main storyteller was a woman spinning tales to save herself."

He nuzzled her ear with his nose, "now I'm convinced, it was a sign of things to come."

"Yeah, Jahanpanah six packs who fight love the most fiercely, fall the hardest!"

Asad chuckled softly, "and say, oh no! Mera ghutna chhil gaya!' "

She turned in his arms, exhilarated, "you remember!"

"Koi bhool sakta hai bhala!" He kissed her temple and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Chalen?"

"No! One more."

He kissed her palm.

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.

I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other' doesn't make sense any more."

Zoya's eyes misted. She took a deep cleansing breath, "Asad, that was beautiful."

With charged fingertips she traced his brows and nose. She shuddered as his lashes fluttered against her palm. With her thumb she parted his lips.

"Who needs a car! That was like being made love to," she whispered as they sat astride the bike. Arms and thighs tight around him, she pressed herself against him. Eyes closed, she replayed his words. Gripping his legs with her own, she leaned her head back and spread out her arms. The wind blew through her hair and fingers. Happily, she wiped a tear from an eye.

"What are you going to do today?" Asad called to ask from work the next day.

"Ammi and Aapi plan to go shopping. But I don't feel like going."

"Zoya, you feeling okay?" Asad asked with concern.

She usually didn't miss out on a chance to go out and eat junk food. And going out for shopping and then gorging on unhealthy food was a given. It was a Zoya rule.

"Yes ... I just want to be alone ..."

"I'm coming home."

"No! Asad, please. I'm really fine. I just want to go to the dargah."

"Do you want to meet me for lunch?"

"I'd love that. I'm craving butter chicken and mango lassi!"

Asad smiled. She was back. If she could talk excitedly about food, then she was already fine. "OK. I have a meeting that may run late. Take the driver and text me. And then when you're done, come here."

After visiting the dargah Zoya went to pay her respects at her mother's gravesite. It was here that she felt a sense of calm and wellbeing. She didn't know how long she sat here communing with a lost mother, sharing her hopes and fears.

Asad's client was running late. He sighed in frustration. He decided to get an update from Rakesh in the meantime.

"She went to another clinic today. We think her doctor ordered some new tests and referred her to a specialist. My man is still following Miss Tanveer. She went to the mosque. But from her phone records we also know that she's contacted some new people. We're trying to get some background on them."

When Asad hung up he knew that Tanveer was regrouping. She was getting ready to strike. He dialed Zoya's number but couldn't reach her. He called the driver who assured him that all was fine. Madam was still at the cemetery and he had a clear view of her.

Prasad came to get him. The client was here.

Tanveer's fury and despair knew no bounds.

She had just finished a thousand tests, and been poked and prodded for the hundredth time. Blood and urine samples. That vile liquid they made her drink. It was as if her body was a medical experiment. Alien and only microscope-worthy. Having redressed and stepped out of the diagnostician's office, she had swayed with fatigue and irritation. And who should she see but her nemesis, glowing and smiling? Like an avenging ghost, she followed her out of the clinic and asked her driver to tail the car. Over the phone she gave her new men clipped instructions.

Enough was enough.

She was going to go all out; all guns blazing.

When Prasad burst in through the door, Asad looked up in annoyance and then alarm.

"Sir!"

He knew something was very wrong.

"Rakesh sir is here. There's some bad news."

Asad's face paled and palms sweated. Excusing himself he stepped out of the conference room. He told Prasad to pacify the client as he dashed to his office to find out what Rakesh had to say.

"We intercepted a call from her confirming a hit on your brother. His bike's brakes have been disabled. And he just left. The good news is that we know where he's headed, and my guys are trying to flag him down."

Asad sank on the couch, his head in his hands. Rakesh got him a glass of chilled water.

"We're also trying to call your brother on his phone but he's not responding."

Rakesh's phone rang. While he attended to it, Asad's phone rang too. It was their driver. His heart stopped.

"Sir ..."

"What!" he barked.

"We were hit by a speeding car. Sir ... Madam is hurt"-"

"Where?"

"Near the Badi Masjid. I've called the ambulance. Sir, I'm sorry."

Asad sprinted down the hall. He knocked into someone and blindly pushed them away. He had no time to wait for the elevator. He raced down the stairs towards his car. How he made it to the accident scene he had no idea. His mind didn't register the blaring horns around him, the oncoming rush of the traffic, or traffic lights for that matter.

He ran the last hundred yards to push his way through a crowd of do-nothing gawkers. They were loading her on to the stretcher into the ambulance when he got to her side.

Thank god she was conscious.

"Zoya!" Eyes wild, he gripped her bloodied hand, kissing it.

"It's going to be OK. You're going to be OK. I'm here."

She was crying, distraught and frantic. She held their clasped hands over her stomach.

"Asad, the baby! Don't let anything happen to our baby."

On a hunch, she had decided to go on her own to Ammi's doctor on the way to the dargah. She just had a feeling. There was no morning sickness, but it was just the way her body felt. There was a tenderness and oversensitivity that felt strange and uncanny. When Asad had made love to her last night, she had hissed louder and arched more violently. She almost couldn't bear him suckling her. His mouth, the nick of his teeth, the flick of his tongue, and the rasp of his stubble had burned her sensitized flesh. Moaning and writhing in his arms, her eyes had suddenly flared open. Yes! She was pregnant! Earlier, on their way back home on the bike, she'd whispered in his ear just before disembarking.

"Thanks for the midnight ride, Jahanpanah!"

He'd grabbed her arm and twisted her to crash against him, "just thanks? Jahanpanah wants more."

Nipping her ear, he'd demanded, "a lot more."

She had trailed her finger down his lips, and wiggled against him, "Sheherzade will ride you so hard tonight ... you'll see a thousand and one stars!"

Giggling, she had skipped away, out of reach from his hungry lips and grasping hands.

And she had. Hugging her secret knowledge to herself, she had twisted and thrashed on top of him with complete abandon. She had bitten and sucked his fingers keeping them away from her oversensitive bre*asts that felt fuller than usual. He had bucked harder thrusting in deeper. She had guided his hands to cup her butt instead, and his fingers had dug in, seeking revenge. Head thrown back, she had laughed softly, sphinx-like.

There would be bruises tomorrow.

But once she told him he was going to be a daddy, there would no end to the pampering and sweet lovin'. Tonight it would be just the two of them. Tomorrow there would be a new awareness. A new promise. She kept him pinned down with both hands to prevent him access to her bobbing chest. Her fingers had homed in on his mouth and he had bit them hard and sucked on them. He had raised his own hand to cup her nape and his thumb had slowly skittered across and stretched the slick skin on her throat.

Damn! He knew what that did to her.

Coming, her thighs had convulsed around him and she'd raked her nails on his nipples. His hands had spasmed on her waist. Tomorrow, there would be purple smudges there too.

"Zoyaa!"

Watching the unfolding drama and the lovebirds' trauma from across the street, Tanu had grinned smugly.

"Ghar chalo," she instructed her driver.

Settling back in the seat, she thanked serendipity. She had been livid when she saw Zoya exit from Dr. Sharma's office. The same office Khala had dragged her to a few months ago. Zoya's beaming smile had driven a nail through her heart. So she was pregnant. Sure, they must have been going at it like horny bunnies all this while. Their chemistry was unmistakable. In fact, she had suspected they were already doing the nasty even before the nikaah. Why do they get to be happy? And not her. On a whim she had decided to follow Zoya. She had twiddled her thumbs in the car at the dargah. And then the cemetery. And it was then that the idea struck her. She called her contact to arrange a quick hit and run. The promise of extra money had gotten her the top of the line expedited service. It was a good thing that Ms. New York had spent a nice long time by the grave. Her detour by the pastry shop had earned her even more time. Tanveer had wondered about the boxes of pastries the driver carried out. It could have fed an army. She had smirked. Too bad it would all go waste.

Song in Title:

Jurm (1990): "Na Koi Hai, Na Koi Tha"

Chapter 72

When a stunned Rakesh had turned around, the glass door swung on its hinges.

So Mr. Khan had already heard.

Wearily, he wiped his brow and took a deep breath. It had been a narrow escape for Mrs. Khan. A second's delay, and the speeding van would have taken her side of the car off and crushed her. Thank god, his team was able to alert the driver who had accelerated hard and swerved away just in the nick of time. The van had rear-ended them, missing her door entirely.

He too left to go to the crime scene. The van driver had already fled the scene. At least he had better news to give to Mr. Khan about his brother.

Asad stumbled into the ambulance, shell-shocked. A baby? A thousand questions ricocheted in his head. How did she know? When did she find out?

But no sounds or words came.

His ears registered a distant clanging sound. His disconnected brain couldn't figure out that it was the siren. He couldn't look away from the cuts on her hands. Bright red dots puddled up. The nurse swabbed at it with a cotton ball. The red bloomed on the white.

Her wounded cry wrenched him from his waking coma.

His eyes restlessly scanned her body as the first responders secured her and checked her vitals. Asad's hands brushed her face fearfully. He didn't care if he was in the way. He needed to feel her warmth, touch her skin. He feathered her cheek with his knuckle, scared that she would break. She had tried to shield her face from the flying glass with her hands. The emergency technician kept reassuring him that she was not seriously injured. She was lucky to have missed direct impact.

Even he knew it could have been a lot worse. He had seen the state of the mangled van flipped upside down, and his blood had run cold.

He knelt by her. Asad wished he could hold her in his arms, but the nurse had stopped him from shifting her.

"Sir, we still have to be careful in case there are any head or neck injuries."

"Zoya!" He whispered hoarsely. She clutched his hand to her lips and was sobbing uncontrollably.

He looked at the attending nurse hopelessly, "my wife is pregnant ... please make sure ... the baby"-" And he too had broken down.

Stroking her stomach protectively, he promised her through his tears, "Zoya, everything will be fine. I won't let anything anything happen to you or the baby."

It was what she had wanted to hear. Her heart had jolted in fear at his vacant expression earlier. As though that was all the reassurance she needed, she sighed and closed her eyes.

"Zoya! Please don't leave me," Asad had whispered brokenly, lips pressed to her temple.

A little later the nurse cleared her throat. "Sir, the police will be at the hospital to ask questions. I'm sorry."

Rakesh had followed the ambulance to the hospital and waylaid the police even before Asad staggered out. Zoya was wheeled away in a flurry.

"Mr. Khan, I'll take care of the formalities with the police. You take care of Mrs. Khan. And, your brother is fine too."

An hour later, a more stoic, but grim Asad had demanded details. Zoya had been cleaned and stitched up. The doctors were just beginning to run a battery of tests to assess internal injuries. His pale skin stretched taut across his cheekbones. Her blood was still on his hands. For a long time he gazed at it. It had dried and darkened; it snuggled into the lines of his hand, fanning out into the microscopic trenches.

"It was Ms. Tanveer. My team was able to call your driver who did his best to prevent the worst from happening. We have her on tape ordering the hit and run. We'll be turning in the evidence to the police. The van driver fled the scene, but we have his number. My guys are trying to track him down. He's injured and won't get too far."

"Do everything you have to to put her away for good," Asad spoke harshly, fist clenched, fingertips grinding her blood deeper into his hand.

"I'm done playing nice. I want her to rot behind bars for the rest of her miserable life. You have my lawyers' numbers. Make it happen. I never want to hear her name again."

He couldn't even bear to think of what could have happened. What if it had been a truck instead? What if they hadn't been able to intercept her call? What if it had been rush hour? He knew that these questions would haunt him for a long, long time.

He looked up to see Ayaan rush over to hug him tight, "Bhai!"

Asad squeezed his eyes shut. His body slackened as he let Ayaan brace him. Thank god, at least he was fine. He felt cool fingers on his forehead and opened his eyes to peer into Ammi's tear-streaked face.

"Ammi!" he broke down in her arms.

Many hands clapped his heaving shoulders and rubbed his back as Dilshad held his shuddering body. Everyone was here.

"She'll be OK, Asad. Have faith. We all know she's a fighter." Dilshad had choked out through a tight throat.

Aapi patted his cheek and handed him a chilled water bottle. "Tumhi ne mujhe yaad dilaya tha: Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai!' Himmat rakho. She'll be fine. Tomorrow she'll be arguing with you."

Fresh tears had fallen from his eyes. "I'm sorry Aapi!"

"Shh, aisa nahin kehte hain, Asad. Tumhari wajah se she avoided being hurt more seriously. Your watchfulness protected her."

Rakesh had filled them in on how the driver has reacted with quick thinking and deflected the impact away from Zoya's side.

Rashid gripped him by his shoulders. Tears were streaming down his face to see his son's helplessness. He cradled his head and rocked him in his arms. A father muttered strangled duas over his child's head. Dadi, head covered and beads sliding between her fingers, mouthed silent prayers. Nikhat and Nuzzhat hugged him from the back. Humaira sobbed in Shireen's arms.

Asad felt their love and concern buoy his flagging spirit. His prayers joined theirs.

Ayaan cornered the guy who had introduced himself as Rakesh. Fists on his waist, he had confronted the guy with a barrage of questions.

"What the hell's going on? Who are you? How did you know to nudge me off the road and that my brakes had been killed? Is this connected to what happened to Zoya? Is someone targeting our family?"

He looked away, and whirled on him, "is this connected to Humaira's shooting?"

"I'm sorry sir. I can't say much unless Mr. Khan says it's OK," Rakesh said calmly. His phone buzzed and he held up his hand.

"Excuse me, I have to take this," he said waliking away.

Rakesh was surprised. It was Mrs. Siddiqui.

"I tried Asad's phone but it's unreachable. I can't reach anyone else at either house. Something's wrong isn't it? I just know it. What happened? Is it Humaira? Is she alright?" she garbled all the words together in panic.

"Umm ... you'll hear this soon enough. Mr. Khan's wife was in an accident. Everyone's at JK Hospital."

He heard her gasp.

"Why did you call, Mrs. Siddiqui?" He prompted her after a long silence.

"It's Tanveer. She came rushing home and is packing. She's getting ready to fly the coop. I'm dead sure of it."

Rakesh laughed grimly. "Don't worry. She won't get very far," he assured her and hung up.

Ayaan scowled. His spidey senses were tingling and he knew this guy was giving him the run-around. He had figured out quite quickly that his brakes had given out. He had been distracted thinking of ways to patao and manao Humaira. She still hadn't forgiven him for his dumb comments about the self-defense classes last night.

"Tum log and martial arts! My nail broke, ooh, my hair is all messed up. Ouch! Meri choodi, mera kangan!', " he had mimicked and teased her relentlessly.

Zeenat and Dilshad had giggled. Not because they agreed with him, but because they knew he'd get his butt kicked pretty soon. He had no clue and paid no attention whatsoever to the changing colors and emotions on Humaira's face. When for the fifteenth time he had scoffed at the idea, she had lashed out at him in cold anger.

"I thought you were a 21st century man. But looks like your thinking is like my Abbu's and all those men who want to keep women locked up in golden cages thinking that we'll be safer that way."

Her eyes blazed.

"Do you know, in western countries they keep calves in tiny cages? Do you know why? Their meat is the most tender because they can't move a muscle! That's what's happening to so many girls in India!"

Ayaan's breath had been knocked out of his chest at this unforeseen onslaught. He sputtered in confusion. He had never imagined Humaira being such a spitfire.

That Mona darling had to be behind this!

Humaira had stalked into her room and slammed her door shut.

Even Badi Ammi had been mad at him then.

"Big mom will give you big slap," she had glowered at him, and he had the grace to turn red.

"I'm sorry," he had said softly, and she had smiled reluctantly and patted his head. It was impossible to be mad at him for too long.

"Paagal kahin ke! Bilkul sahi kaha Humaira ne! Beta, this is another reason why girls lose heart and feel powerless. They need support, not ridicule."

He had been mortified.

Her words stung.

He hung his head in shame.

Zeenat tried to lighten the mood.

"Bach gaye tum! Zoya hoti toh khoob khabar leti tumhari! Kaan pakad kar, she would have made you do at least fifty sit-ups."

Still reeling from Humaira's brutal condemnation, Ayaan had suddenly realized that he was unable to control the bike.

Strange.

On his way to the office, everything had been fine. First hit by panic, he had maneuvered to avoid hitting anything or anyone. It was a grueling task. There were too many slow-moving rickshaws, pedestrians and thela-wallas weaving in and out, along with stray dogs and sluggish cows. He had looked for a tree that he could slam into to break the momentum. But given Bhopal's recent road expansion hysteria, there weren't many trees to ram into. Crashing into the center divider would only make him fresh roadkill. However, within minutes, a car had veered in front of him and magically cleared the traffic ahead of him. A guy in the passenger seat had waved to him.

"Your brakes have been tampered with! Follow us," the guy leaned out and yelled.

Although stunned, Ayaan breathed a little easier. Bracing himself for the impact, he nudged his front tire against the car's bumper. He hung on for dear life, letting the car control the speed of his bike. The car began slowing down and eventually pulled over to the side. His bike had gently come to a rest too.

It was a narrow escape. His back was drenched in cold sweat then.

And now Mona Darling?

Something didn't add up.

No!

It couldn't be!

He saw the doctor come out and consult with bhai. Bhai had charged into the room. Everyone outside had bowed their heads in silent prayer.

Let her be OK, Ayaan prayed.

He didn't even want to think about what Bhai would do if anything happened to Zoya.

He saw Humaira charge after the doctor and followed her.

"Please doctor, how is she? Does she need blood? Take mine! I know it matches," he heard her hiccup through sobs.

The doctor patted her arm kindly and walked away. Ayaan walked up to stand behind Humaira and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him and blindly clutched his hand in fear. As Ayaan held Humaira, a dangerous idea began to gather storm in his head.

Was Mumani behind all this?

No!

But why was there so much security? Who was this Rakesh guy really?

Asad had leaped to her side and her hands spasmed around his. Her eyes had begged answers, but he had none to give her.

"Asad?"

"Shh, I don't know baby. They are still running tests. We'll have to wait for the results."

He kissed her knuckles and one hand cupped her stomach. He gently stroked and massaged it before placing a kiss on top. With a pang he thought of the first time they had made love. He had kissed her stomach then too.

"We'll pray together. Thank god, you're OK. I died a hundred deaths. Where does it hurt? Can you move your legs and toes?"

Zoya framed his face in her hands. "I'm OK. Just some pain in my neck. Whiplash from the impact, I think."

"You have a pain in your neck?" he teased, and she smiled after so long.

"When did you know?" he asked softly, his eyes moist again.

"Hold me," she insisted.

He sat on the bed and gently lifted her in his arms. She sighed and breathed in his scent.

"I felt it in my bones last night, Asad! I just knew it when we were making love." She dashed her tears. "Then this morning I went to Dr. Sharma to confirm."

She smiled bleakly. "I was looking forward to coming to your office. I went to the Cake Shop to buy pastries for everyone at office. I even bought black forest pastries just for us!"

She buried her face in his chest and wept bitterly. Asad cradled her head and rained kisses on her head.

"I should have told you. I'm so stupid. I was going to surprise you," she sobbed out.

"No! This is not your fault. And Insha'allah, everything will be fine. Everybody's outside. Praying. It has to count for something."

"They know about the baby?" She asked fearfully.

"No. They're out there praying for you and look, you're fine. The baby will be too." He promised and prayed, his hand splaying over her belly.

There was a soft knock on the door. The attending doctor walked in, accompanied by another doctor. He introduced them to her.

"This is our gynecologist and obstetrician, Dr. Nagpal. I know you both had questions about Mrs. Khan's pregnancy."

Asad got up to stand behind Zoya. She leaned against him, refusing to let go of his hand. His thumb absently stroked the top of her hand.

"Because it's so early, it's going to be really hard to determine the fetus' health at the moment. It's a good thing that you didn't sustain direct impact on the abdomen. And there is no bleeding. That's good news too. We can do an ultrasound but I don't know how much that'll really tell us. I am going to order a CBC panel. Our biggest concern for now would be something called placental abruption ..."

The doctor rattled on with a lot of medical jargon and terminology. Asad listened intently. But Zoya had already tuned her out. She didn't want to hear worse-case scenarios. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned more heavily on Asad. His arm came around her to envelop her in its comfort.

Ammi watch over my baby, please.

Zoya held both their interlaced hands over her stomach. This time her tears fell for her mother. Alone, scared, how must she have felt when she found out about being pregnant? You watched over me. Your courage gave me life. You led me to Aapi and Jeeju, and then Asad. Please Ammi, please let my baby be fine.

Watch over my baby.

Please Ammi.

Razia had felt the earth slide from under her feet when she heard about Zoya. Could Tanveer have had something to do with that? Why else would she be so eager to flee?

Some power had drawn and dragged her to the hospital. Asking around she had finally bumbled on to the right floor. She covered her face and stood paralyzed as she watched Humaira tearfully plead with the doctor.

"... take my blood," she heard her impore.

"She's your sister isn't she?" The doctor had asked.

Razia had nearly crumpled to her knees. She had watched anguish glaze her daughter's face and wanted to rock her in her arms telling her that everything would be OK.

Humaira stood rooted to the spot.

Her eyes went wide with shock and pain. They were blood sisters, she thought. Zoya bhabhi had given her blood after all. She would be her jethani. That made them sisters too.

The music box!

"No ... yes, YES! She IS my sister. Please take my blood if you have to."

"Don't worry. If the need arises, then we will." And the doctor had walked away with a gentle pat on her head.

Humaira had turned blindly into Ayaan's arms and sobbed bitter tears.

"Shh, Humaira." Ayaan had held her tight and rubbed her back. He lifted her chin and wiped her tears.

"It'll be OK. She'll be fine." He kissed her gently, soothing her, and Humaira melted into him.

Razia watched over them, heart full and eyes desolate.

The doctors had said it was okay to take her home. She could come back the next day for the results and more extensive check-ups if needed. Dr. Sharma had been informed. They could even ask her for a second opinion. Asad lifted her to place her in the wheelchair. Aapi fixed her kurta and dupatta lovingly. She pressed a kiss on her forehead.

"Mera cheetah," she used Anwar's words.

Zoya had smiled gratefully. Allah, give Aapi a chance to call my baby that too. Jeeju will be such a great nanu. She glanced down in her lap. There were still some bloodstains on her clothes. She had dressed with such care this morning. She knew she was going to Asad's office for the first time as Mrs. Khan, and she wanted to look her best in an elegant anarkali suit.

Just let the baby be all right, Allah Miyan.

In the elevator she grasped Ammi's hand. Dilshad looked down at her and stroked her cheek.

"Ammi, can we host a Quran khwani?" Zoya asked softly.

"Zaroor, beta. Kitna nek khayal hai! I'll arrange it for tomorrow."

Zoya's other hand had gripped Asad's even tighter. She held their joined hands to her cheek. Asad's thumb caressed a tear away.

Dilshad's instincts were screaming.

Asad and Zoya looked too grim. Too sad. She was coming home and looked remarkably fine for having been through a car crash. But there was no joy or relief on their faces, just despair and fear. Zoya rubbed her palm over her belly.

Ya Allah! She was pregnant.

Dilshad's heart squeezed in pain. Oh my goodness! Please Allah, let the baby be all right. Don't give my children any more pain. They've been through too much already.

She almost sobbed out loud. Shireen rubbed her shoulder and she looked up into her eyes. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and Shireen wiped them as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Allah will protect her."

Dilshad's heart constricted and she couldn't help a sob escape. Shireen enfolded her in her arms and cried with her. She could understand. She had felt the same terror when she had heard about Humaira. Such young, gentle girls, so full of life, loved so much by their sons. Why was this happening?

A driver from office had driven his car over from the scene of the accident. Asad lifted her into the passenger seat and tenderly buckled her in. His hand had lingered on her stomach and their eyes had locked.

"I love you," he whispered in her palm. Zoya leaned back, overwrought and exhausted.

"Should we tell Ammi?" she asked much later in their room.

They were in bed. Asad shifted to hold her back closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around hers over her stomach. The heat from his hand seeped through and warmed her head to toe.

"I was thinking about it too."

"She'll know what to do. Her duas will have more power." Zoya whispered.

She had learned the value of shared grief that day when everyone's love and grace had swaddled her in a thickly comforting embrace. Their tears had mingled with hers, and it had mended her battered spirit.

Asad kissed her shoulder.

She was right.

"I'm so scared, Asad."

She had already made three trips to the bathroom since they'd come back home an hour ago, to check for any signs of bleeding.

"Me too baby, me too." His arms tighetened around her.

There was a soft knock on the door. Asad got up to open the door and Dilshad came in. Seeing her, Zoya couldn't stop herself.

"Ammi!" she burst out, and half-ran to fall into her arms.

"Na, beta. Sab theek ho jayega. Everything will be fine."

Dilshad led her to the settee.

She took Zoya's tear-streaked face in her hands and stated, "you're pregnant."

Through sobs Zoya nodded yes. "I'm so scared Ammi. What if something happened to the baby?"

Dilshad held her arm out to an equally miserable Asad and pulled him to sit on her other side. She held their faces next to hers.

"I know. I'm terrified too. But I also know something about the power of love and hope. I know that sometimes bad things happen to good people, but good people create and draw the positive energy of the universe. Tum dekhna, the baby will be fine. I'll be the first one to hold it in my arms and bless him or her."

She cried with them. Asad told her about what the doctor had said. There was good news: no direct impact and no bleeding.

"See?" she wiped Zoya's tears and her own. "Allah is already watching over my grandchild. Now tell me when you found out."

Zoya blushed. "I had a feeling, and thought I would go to your doctor to confirm this morning. I was going to surprise"-" her eyes locked with Asad's.

Dilshad gripped their hands in hers and brought them to her mouth to kiss them.

"It's OK, sab accha hoga. The baby's parents are strong, of course the baby will be fine!"

"Baby's dadi is stronger," said Zoya with a hopeful smile, and Dilshad and Asad smiled too.

"Main dadi ban jayungi?" Dilshad asked with wonder.

"Allah! What will its first words be? Voh ... actually ... main, ya Allah Miyan?"

They laughed through their tears, much more hopeful and sure now.

"OK. Let me go now and prepare for the Quran Khwani tomorrow. Dekhna itni saari duaon ka bahut accha asar hoga. I'm going to send some haldi milk with Humaira. Asad make sure that she drinks it all."

Closing the door after her, Asad re-wrapped her in his arms and they gazed out of the window. The sun would set soon. The sky was on fire, edged bright with incandescent pink and purple streaks across a blue canvas.

"I hope I'll be a mother like Ammi," she whispered.

"You will be. Just a little crazier and louder. You'll be a bigger kid."

"And se*xy?"

"Very se*xy."

"A total MILF?"

"What's that?"

She whispered in his ears; his eyes popped and ears reddened.

"Mrs. Khan, you take my breath away. Every single day."

And Asad bent to kiss her, his lips sucking urgently on her lower lip. His tongue parted her mouth further and slid in to reassure her that she would indeed be the se*xiest mom, and soon. Their tongues twined and desire flared.

Coming up for air he pledged, "happy mother's day, Mrs. Khan!"

Her eyes brightened and Zoya giggled, content and confident. "Happy father's day, Mr. Khan! You are going to be Abbu Ahmed Khan!"

She stepped away and twirled back to him. "Nahin! Wait!" She paused dramatically.

Dimples deepened.

She put on a super serious expression on her face.

"Jahanpanah, main aapke bachhe ki maan ban ne wali hoon!" And she laughed up into his face.

He swung and spun her in his arms. Setting her down, Asad cupped her face and kissed her closed eyes. Pushing her hair behind her ear he huskily recited a couplet from Rumi, and sucked the tear that sneaked out:

Chapter 73

Tanveer was a nervous wreck ever since she had returned. Her hands shook. She knew it was only a matter of time before he came after her. It was the money that she had come back for. She had worked too hard for her stash and couldn't just leave it behind. She'd squirreled it away in different parts of her room to keep it safer, and just needed to remember all her hidey-holes.

The taxi waited below. She hovered anxiously for the driver to load up the bags in the trunk. She had abandoned all her belongings; more room for the cash. Coming down the stairs she had even tossed her phone. Less baggage the better. She had stuffed a few wads of cash in her handbag: emergency money to buy essentials and shut people's mouths.

Locked and loaded, she breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled out of the driveway. She weighed her options. She couldn't risk the airport. The train station would be chaotic enough to be lost in the crowd. But she'd have to wait for the next train, walk a lot to get to a platform, climb up and down stairs.

No.

Bus Station?

She was torn.

Self-preservation dictated that she run as far to the ends of the earth as possible. Somewhere, where a blood-seeking Asad couldn't find her. But curiosity twisted her arm and slowly strangled that primordial instinct. She directed the driver to take her to a four-star hotel. She could afford to treat herself and hang around anonymously to stir the pot if needed. She even had the perfect alias picked out.

Zoya had felt the blessings and grace pulse through her. First Ammi. Then Aapi and Jeeju.

Last night Dilshad had kissed Zoya's cheeks. "Tell Zeenat if you feel that it's the right thing to do."

Glancing up at Asad, Zoya had nodded. There had been tears of joy and fear, and then collective sighs of prayer. In the pre-dawn light she had felt the warmth from Asad's hand radiate out from her belly as he chanted Allah's name. His voice had caught first and then steadily grown stronger. She had felt the air vibrate and fuse all three of them seamlessly.

All morning, both Ammi and Aapi, digging deep and richly into their motherly databases, had plied her with holy water, rubbed mysterious herbs on her stomach, cast off evil nazars, and fed her chilled kesar milk and soaked badams. After the Quran Khwani they would go to the dargah and feed the poor while Asad took Zoya to the doctor.

Dried red chillies had burned furiously and brightly, smoking the air with their pungent bite, searing away every spell cast by evil eyes.

During the prayer service, she had felt certainty and power crackle through her all the way to her fingertips. So many people had come after hearing about the accident: family, neighbors and friends. Even people from Asad's office.

She felt humbled and celestial.

So many soft hands had patted her head or arm, blessed her, chanted over her as Dilshad and Zeenat flanked her. An elderly aunt had even tied a tawiz from Ajmer Sharif on her arm. Humaira fussed and clucked around her. She fixed the cushions on the sofa to make her more comfortable, brought her water and juice. She had even stood guard outside the bathroom door each time Zoya had gone in to check for spotting.

But over the last hour, Zoya had stopped checking. There was no need to any more.

Humaira nervously climbed the stairs to Abbu's office. He had called last night and told her to come see him now that she was better. He had something important to tell her. His PA stood at attention and ordered tea and snacks for her. She leafed through a magazine in the outer office and waited for Abbu to be done with his meeting. Why had he called her here? He had stuttered through the invitation and cleared his throat multiple times.

The door opened and the client stepped out. Her eyes widened and breath caught. Why were the police here? Oh my god!

"Abbu, police?" she asked as soon the door closed after her.

Gaffur Siddiqui walked over to carefully embrace her. "Are you OK, beta? All better?"

"Ji Abbu! But why were the police here?" Her voice rose an octave.

"I'll explain. But first tell me when you'll be home."

"Umm ... Abbu ... voh ... actually ..." she realized suddenly that this Khan-trademarked phrase, as Zoya Bhabhi called it, had great utility. You could really stall for time and gather your wits together.

She had an insane urge to laugh.

"I will Abbu. Soon. But is everything OK?"

Her father sighed. He looked thinner; gaunt even.

"Abbu, aapki tabiyat?"

"Don't worry Humaira. I'm fine. Come sit with your Abbu and we'll talk," he invited her to join him on the couch.

"Kya hua Abbu, you seem really tense." Humaira was really worried now. Something had to be seriously wrong.

"Ek zaroori baat thi ... It's hard to tell you Humaira, but you will be hearing about it soon."

Pacing restlessly he ominously wiped his brow. He held up his hand when he saw her leap up in concern.

She trembled when he came to sit by her and took her hands in his. "Humaira, I'm embarrassed to say it. I don't know how to tell you ... you have an older sister ..."

She gasped. He covered his face in shame expecting a look of horror and revulsion.

"What? What did you say, Abbu? What do you mean?"

There was no way out of it anymore.

Haltingly and through tears, he recounted his first secret wedding with a woman he had met in the US. How, when he came home he had been pressured to give up his wife and remarry. Later he had found out that he had a daughter, but he was separated from her when she was a child. But more recently he had been re-united with her. He had even brought her home to live with them. Now, all he wanted was for his daughters to be together with him under the same roof.

But ...

Gaffur Siddiqui said all this with his back turned to her, gazing out of the window. Seven stories below, traffic rushed on the road. He turned when he heard the door slam behind.

His shoulders slumped. He hadn't even got to the part about his daughter having gone missing since yesterday. Reluctantly he had called the police. But they couldn't help much. He didn't even have a photograph of hers to give them.

He was worried. All her belongings seemed to be left behind. But her room had looked as if a tornado had blown through it. The servants just told him that she had taken some bags and called a taxi. The police officer had patronizingly told him that she seemed to have left of her own volition and there wasn't much they could do.

Dr. Sharma told them what Zoya had already known in her being.

So far, so good. It had been more than twenty-four hours since the accident, and if she hadn't spotted yet, then most likely everything was fine. But, she said, they would still need to monitor and check for any abnormalities. Come back in a few days. And yes, they would have to be careful. No intercourse.

The doctor was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Zoya meanwhile, had nearly snorted out loud at her words. She almost dropped to the floor to roll and laugh uproarously.

She didn't.

But only because she knew that Asad was already praying for the earth to open up and swallow him. She squeezed his hand. This was his mother's doctor after all.

The devil in her had almost whined out loud though: no intercourse? Ever?

But she held her tongue.

She was going to be a mama soon; she better start learning how to behave. At least in front of strangers.

She was dying to ask: for how long? Gee, how do you think we got here, Dr. Sharma? Yeah, that's right! With a lot of intercourse.

But ...

She counted till ten.

If she asked the doctor when they could have se*x, then Asad would ... poof ... just disappear into thin air or explode from embarrassment.

Like, right here.

Already he was having trouble breathing. His face was more tamatari than his sister's. He was an inch away from leaping out of the chair and flying out the door.

The doctor finished with the call and wrote up some prescriptions for pre-natal vitamins, and handed her brochures and reading lists for neo-natal care.

Asad's breathing normalized. His color returned.

" What to Expect When You're Expecting' is a cult favorite," Dr. Sharma said with a smile.

"Troops of women have marched in and out of this office over the years, armed with knowledge from that book alone!"

Zoya nodded in dismay. She'd already bought and downloaded it on her iPad. Barely half way through the first chapter, she was bored out of her wits, and yawning. She really didn't want to know what was going to happen to her body in the next nine months. It looked like a construction zone in there.

Asad had commandeered it from her, and had already read the first three chapters.

Of course!

Allah miyan! Her Akdu Ahmed Khan was going to turn into this all-knowing, chart-keeping, whistle-blowing monster who would go all control freak on her diet and exercise, and when to sleep and how to sleep, and not to run or jump, don't do this, don't"-

Oh, she just knew it! The OCD Khan she had tamed was going to come marching out from hiding and rain down on her like a judge's hammer.

"Order, order!" he would yell day and night.

"Aapko umar qaid ki sazaa sunayee jaati hai!"

And on top of that, to not even be able to have se*x with her Jahanpanah? The only way to shut him up and make his mind go blank by"-

Bahut na-insafi hai!

Annnhhh!

She glared at him with squinty eyes. He reeled back not knowing his offense, but prudently deciding to seal his lips.

Dr. Sharma sniggered.

All these years, and she still cracked up over silent spats like this between hormonal wives and egg-shell-walking husbands.

As they were leaving the office, Zoya held back. Asad knew exactly why! He was just too damn embarrassed.

"Zoya!" he ground out through gritted teeth, "don't you dare!"

He couldn't get out of here fast enough.

"But Mr. Khan, I want to know"-"

"No!" He growled softly and pulled her by her arm.

She resisted. "You go ahead. I'll just be a minute," she whispered, her eyes flashing. She was this close to getting pissed off at him again.

"I said no! There's no need. I'm reading about it, and I'll tell you."

"No!" She jerked her arm free from out of his fingers. "I want to ask Dr. Sharma when we can have se*x," she hollered.

You could hear a pin drop.

Gasps erupted and mouths gaped in the waiting room.

"Tell me about it," muttered a visibly pregnant and harried woman. Her husband blushed.

Zoya's hands flew up to slap her traitorous mouth shut. Her eyes could have fallen out of their pretty little sockets.

She was done for. She'd gone and done it now. She was pretty sure, that when she turned around, she would not find Asad by her side. She wasn't even sure she'd find him in the parking lot.

Or the same PIN code.

The old Asad would certainly have fled.

Or evaporated.

Or yelled till he was purple in the face about tehzeeb and adab and lihaaz and tameez and tarbiat.

But love and impending fatherhood's glorious dash mein bumboo had unforeseen and maddening effects on Jahanpanahs.

He threw his head back and laughed till tears streamed down his face.

He had continued to chuckle in the car after overseeing her buckle up securely.

"I can't believe I just did that!" Zoya covered her face in embarrassment.

"Believe it! You just did that," he said flatly, as he backed out to drive them home.

She slapped his thigh.

"Aapko kya hua hai? How come you didn't go ballistic on me and read me the riot act?"

"I almost did. But then I heard that woman, and I couldn't hold it together.

"And here I thought, Zoya aaj toh tu deewar mein chunvayee jayegi!"

"Imagine going back there again next week! At least I can hide my face by wearing a burqa. What're you going to do, Mr. Khan?" she teased.

"Oh god!"

Zoya giggled, "Poor Jahanpanah! Your begum is so shameless." She lifted his hand from the gearhead and kissed the top.

"It must be right." Asad mumbled a little later.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Asad!"

"Forget it." He was blushing now.

"Jahanpanah!" she threatened.

"That women become cranky and horny during pregnancy," he yelled.

"The book said that?"

"Yep!"

"Great! Just great! And now the se*x curfew to live through!" She slapped his thigh again.

"What? What did I do?" he mock-yelped.

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" she muttered mutinously. "Aapko doctor-ordered se*x fast bahut mubarak ho!"

"Shukriya! Aapko bhi!" he snickered.

"Oh really?" she drawled. Her eyes glittered dangerously. Her hand moved up higher on his thigh.

"No! Zoya! N"-!"

When he threw his head back this time it wasn't to laugh.

Aapi and Dilshad kissed her on the forehead when they got back home. They had already heard the good news because she had texted earlier. Ayaan and the girls were here too. They were all clustered around the kitchen island busy over something. The girls were whispereing and giggling, and slapping away Ayaan's hands.

"Itni der kar di. You ate out?" Aapi asked.

Asad fled to the bedroom muttering something about an important phone call.

Color high on her cheeks, Zoya answered, "ji Aapi."

Pulling her to the couch Zeenat asked, "kya khaya? Zaroor pizza khaya hoga. Haina?"

"Nope. We had chaat, bhel puri and kulfi!"

"Ya Allah! Yeh ladki!" Zeenat slapped her head and spoke in a low tone so the others couldn't hear. They didn't want to tell everyone till they were absolutely sure about the baby's health.

"Here both Dilshad Aapa and I are trying to feed you healthy food for you and ... Aur tum ho ki, sab pe paani pher ke aayi ho! What if you get sick?"

"Aapi, you know I never get sick!"

"Zoya! Stop tempting fate!" she cupped her face trying to convince her to improve her ways.

"Pffft!"

"Beta ..." Zeenat flashed her eyes. "Ab toh thodi responsible ho jao! Maa ban ne wali ho!" She hissed.

Zoya squinted at her. "Aapi! Don't nag," she pouted.

"Zeenat," Dilshad came to her bahu's rescue. "Meri bahu bahut samajhdaar hai!"

Zoya stuck her tongue out at Zeenat and edged away.

"Badmaash ladki! Sudhar jao! Warna abhi tumhari choti kheenchti hoon!" Zeenat chased after her.

Zoya giggled. She had grown up playing this game with Aapi all her life. She dodged and wiggled, keeping out of arms' length. Easy peasy.

She stopped at the other end of the table and a dimple peeked.

"Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti," she recited her favorite sher that she had composed for Aapi in the ninth grade.

"Irshad! Irshad!" encouraged Dilshad.

Humaira watched from afar, fascinated by and jealous of this filial playfulness. In their home, no one was supposed to behave this way with parents. Abbu was too stern, and Ammi never laughed with her like this.

"Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti

How will you kheencho that, when there is no choti!"

They zigzagged around the dining table. Giving up, Zeenat opened her arms and Zoya ran into them. She let Aapi kiss her by holding up alternate cheeks.

Dilshad laughed, delighted. By now the others had joined them and were asking Zoya to repeat her shayari. Ayaan was rolling his eyes. Nikhat proudly carried a lopsided cake. It was decorated with random initials made out of Gems stuck into the chocolate icing.

"They're our initials," explained Nuzzhat when Zoya looked up quizzically. Nikhat cut a piece and fed it to Zoya. And then she smeared the icing on her cheek, "welcome back and stay well, Zoya bhabhi!"

Asad leaned against the doorjamb watching these capers and shaking his head. He blushed remembering why they'd been late in coming home.

To pacify his frisky wife, he had offered to take her to his office. Everyone would be gone by now.

"Won't there be security cameras?"

"Uh ... yes, but no one monitors them 24/7. And there're none in my office." he reassured her.

"And why exactly are you taking me there, Jahanpanah?" Zoya'd asked coyly.

He looked down his nose at her. "Oh, you don't want to go? Fine, let's go home."

"No!" she moaned. "I want you, now!"

Asad's pulse had leaped and he'd nearly wiped out. The woman just drove him crazy. In his wildest dreams he wouldn't have imagined making this offer. He had very nearly offered the backseat. But somehow, he'd called up his reserves of steely willpower to get them more privacy.

But lust didn't stop him from driving very carefully or keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

They had tumbled through his office door, lips fused and hands untucking each other's clothing. Reluctantly, Asad had moved away to turn on a lamp and shut the blinds. He turned around, and sucked in his breath.

She stood in the middle of the room, naked.

He leaned against the desk.

"Come here," his voice was raw with desire.

When she sailed into his arms, he kissed her bare shoulders reverently. He lifted her up in his arms. With the slightest of nods, he indicated the desk.

He raised an eyebrow. Or the couch?

Her heart flipped over. She would have loved the comfort of sinking into the cushions. But the desk had its own seductive appeal. It was too neat, the glass too pristine, the stationery marshaled just a bit too precisely.

It was too Jahanpanah.

She would mark it.

She wanted it to carry smudges of her fingerprints when she gripped its edge in hot surrender. She wanted to heat the cooled glass and write their initials in the fogged residue. Tomorrow when he sat at this desk, she wanted him to remember.

And go rigid with desire.

And then phone her to seduce her all over again.

She wanted him to remember her stretched across this very table, when she had swept his preciously ordered papers and supplies off, to enthrone and coronate herself.

"Mrs. Khan, you're a devil with an angel's face and a goddess' body," he said in exasperation and devotion a little later.

She was draped across his table breathing hard. She had shivered when he first laid her on it. Now her hair spilled over and fanned out. Knowing that they'd be unheard, she had screamed out his name along with other words of hot need.

She had begged for mercy.

She had begged for release.

She had threatened godawful revenge.

The balls of her feet had dragged up and down on the glass making squeaking sounds as she thrashed in the throes of ecstasy.

Slowly opening her eyes, she put out her hand for him to pull her up. Hopping off the table she had embraced him.

"Thank you baby, I needed that. So bad. But I still miss you," she moaned.

She tilted her head back to let him trail kisses down her throat. His fingers warily feathered across her bre*asts.

"Does it hurt?" Asad asked with concern. She had told him about them feeling oversensitive and he had avoided adding to her discomfort.

"Yes," she guided his mouth down to offer herself up, "it tickles and burns, but right now it makes me feel ultra-feminine."

She hissed as his mouth closed over a heat-seeking bud.

Zoya then dragged him to stand at the front of the desk and sat herself down in his plush leather chair.

"Your turn," she promised.

Her name too had reverberated in the room amidst hissed and satisfied growls of pleasure. His fingers had splayed across the glass and then gripped the edge before entangling in her hair. His body had bowed back and twanged under her fraught ministrations. Just before losing control he had pulled her up to him roughly by her hair and whispered in her ear, hotly echoing her earlier pleas, "I know we can't. But oh god! Zoya, I wish I was inside you right now!"

And she had lost control with him.

"Zoyaa!"

Later they had cuddled on the chair.

His hand had crept over to her stomach and warmed it. She had covered his hand with both of hers. They had kissed and tasted themselves.

His hand had crept lower.

She jerked in his arms.

"One for the road," he whispered.

Song in Title:

Abhimaan (1973): "Tere Mere Milan Ki Ye Raina"

Chapter 74

Asad watched Nikhat and Nuzzhat circle and dance around Zoya feeding her cake and smearing it on her face. Her tongue darted out to lick off the icing from her lip and his breath jammed in his chest. That mouth! Just a little while ago it had been on him.

Hot.

Wet.

Wild.

Like always she had begun by kissing and licking the scar on his stomach. It had a history that she now knew intimately. The first time he'd finally told her about it, after she had issued multiple threats, ultimatums and kasams, she'd cried softly, whispering "I'm sorry," a hundred times over. He had kissed her tenderly, and wiped her tears saying, "it's not your fault. I'm just glad you were able to escape."

The angry slash, puckered and whitened, had lashed them together seamlessly ever since their first stormy meeting.

His body had already tightened in anticipation as she had continued lower. A steamy fusion of soft lips, hard teeth and coiling tongue that bit, licked, and sucked. It had made his head snap back and hips buck wildly. His hands had fisted in her hair and he had let out a powerful growl before dragging her up ...

His eyes hooded. She looked at him then, from across the room, and their hungry gazes collided. Zoya saw their recent lovemaking, so satisfying yet incomplete, replay in his stormy gaze. Her hand arrested in mid air.

Unashamed awareness crackled between them.

Eyes locked, he strode over to her, panther-like, pulling out his handkerchief. Asad lifted his hand to wipe her cheek clean and she lifted hers to cup her hand over his. Their bodies swayed toward each other, hopelessly hypnotized, snake to a charmer.

They could have been the only ones in the room.

"Ahhemm!" went Ayaan.

The girls tittered. "Ooh, Bhaijaan!" whooped Nuzzhat.

Zoya's lashes swept across her burning cheeks and her hand fell away. Asad clenched his free fist. He wanted to smooth his knuckle over that heated skin. He wanted to hold her to him and feel her breath on his chest. He didn't care that everyone was here. His mother. Her Aapi.

Nothing, no one mattered.

Asad took a deep breath. This hadn't been in the book.

Was this the baby's doing? The ultimate survivalist? Did a tiny dot of a being pull the heartstrings to knot and knit its parents ceaselessly into each other?

Playing cupid; this tiny tyrant, god with mischief.

It was the little trickster's wily chaal.

A puppeteer's primal chhal and kapat: dictating its Ammi Abbu's se*xual distance to ensure survival, yet fueling a fierce yearning that never let them forget its mighty tug.

When Zoya's lashes fluttered open, she saw Asad still looking at her.

Intently.

His gaze glittered: remembering ... reminding ... promising.

Slowly, deliberately, his hand reached out and fevered fingers circled her wrist. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist.

Zoya's heart jolted.

He had never done this before. Staking public claim. Branding her.

"After Jahanpanah's fateh," he had said playfully in Agra.

He may as well have said it. Now. But it wouldn't have been playful.

Her mouth went dry.

And yet she wasn't embarrassed.

She was luminous.

Asad tugged, an insistent partner leading in dance with him.

"Say goodnight," he commanded softly.

Her eyes flared wide.

Everyone gasped, already affected by the raw energy rippling between them.

Any other time, Zoya would have uttered a mortified, "Mr. Khan!"

Any other time she wouldn't have needed to.

She knew he meant business now. If she demurred he would go all caveman on her. His insistent grip on her wrist and the resolve in his eyes promised just that.

Just try, he dared.

She shivered.

"Goodnight," she whispered to the room absractedly, eyes only for him. Heart on her sleeve.

A floored femme fatale.

A trophy claimed. A Mallika waving to her subjects.

Nuzzhat giggled, clapping a hand on her startled mouth.

"Whoa!" hissed Ayaan when he saw bhai sweep his bhabhi into his arms at the door and stalk into their bedroom.

Without breaking eye contact with her.

The door clicked softly after them.

Humaira's breath had leapt at the electric charge in the room. Something had pulled and pooled in her core and she dared not look at anyone. She wasn't embarrassed; she was on fire.

She dared not think of Ayaan or she'd vine herself around him wantonly.

Earlier in the day, she had cried in his arms after fleeing Abbu's office.

What a nightmare! A mother who had blackmailed for eighteen years, and now a father who had a secret family and daughter. Ayaan had taken her to her favorite coffee shop. Blubbering over a cappuchino, she had told him everything.

He was aghast.

His brain buzzed and ears clanged. He gripped her hand in sympathy.

Her Abbu.

Just like his Abbu? What if he and Nikhat and Nuzzhat had never known that Bhaijaan and Najma existed? Who would he be without Bhai in his life? He had learned his most cherished life-lessons at Bhai's knee rather than Abbu's.

Ayaan shuddered. The horror mounted.

Would that lost daughter hate her father as much as Bhaijaan had hated Abbu? Wouldn't she be justified?

His eyes prickled suddenly. What happened to girls who grew up without fathers? Najma at least had had Bhai to look out for her. Suddenly Humaira's bitter words about female helplessness from the day before swarmed in his ears. If girls from rich families, having both parents alive and together, felt that way, then what about girls that had none of these layers of security? Unable to restrain himself, Ayaan knelt by her and ardently pressed Humaira's hand to his lips.

"Oh god, Humaira! What must have happened to her? Why didn't your father try to find her?"

Her heart warmed. He did understand. He was saying what she had been thinking.

That day she had lashed out at Ayaan in blind rage. But now guilt rose up to suffocate her. She had lived a life of comfort and security, doted upon by loving parents, spoiled rotten by curtseying servants. And all the while there had been an older sister who had lived at the edge of her golden world, invisible, empty-handed. Huddled at the mercy of strangers' random acts of kindness? Did she ever peep into this world and see a younger sister in the lap of love and luxury? Wouldn't she hate her younger sister?

She had nearly burst into tears all over again. Why couldn't she have had what Ayaan did? An older sibling's mighty shade that protected from the sun's pricks and the rain's darts.

A sister?

Baaji?

Aapa?

Or Aapi?

What would she have called her?

She thought back to what Abbu had said. He had found her and brought her home? She would have known sooner if she had been home, or in touch with Ammi. Was this what outsiderness felt like? To know and not touch. She was on the outside looking in now.

No!

There was no comparison. Self-loathing rose up to choke her.

Even without her parents or a home to call her own, she still had so much more. Ayaan. His family. Zoya bhabhi. Bhaijaan. Nikhat and Nuzzhat and Najma. Now Omar.

A part of her wanted to run home and throw herself at that sister's feet. I'm sorry. I didn't know that I lived your life. I stole from you. I robbed you of your birthright. I should have walked in your shadow. I should have worn your hand-me-downs. I should have lived like the second-born that I am.

Ayaan looked at the pageant of emotions on her face as her eyes dripped in guilt and horror. He dropped kisses on her clenched and bloodless fist. His own eyes felt damp.

"Humaira? I get it babes. I know what you're thinking. That's how I felt when I realized that we had taken so much away from Bhai and Najma."

That's why she loved him so much! Humaira broke down completely, grateful, yet heartsore. But there was another part of her that felt a bone deep regret. When the doctor that day had asked her if Zoya bhabhi was her sister, a fierce desire had risen in her to be that sister. Her frantic mind had sought irrational proof and zoomed in on that shimmering image of the music box.

A golden world exactly like hers.

What an uncanny omen of connection!

That moment the stars had aligned and she had made a mystical decision. She had cut cords and walked away from tainted blood to tie knots with people who felt more like family. It was at that moment that she had pledged to herself that Zoya bhabhi was the sister she never had, and bhaijaan a stern but protective Jeeju"a brother she never had.

But that solemn and hopeful oath now lay shattered at her feet. Its scr*aps mocked her flight of imagination as fantastic self-delusion. You are your mother's daughter, they taunted. You don't deserve a sister like Zoya bhabhi or Jeeju like bhaijaan.

She had been inconsolable.

And now, looking at the combustible passion between them she had felt a sharp pang of lonely longing. Him carrying Zoya bhabhi away from her with every step and shutting the door on her was a deathknell. She was an outsider looking in. An exiled voyeur who could peep through a keyhole, but never have what was beyond the door.

Because she didn't deserve it.

Razia gazed out of the car window. She came here almost daily now. Eighteen years ago she had come here, bitter and enraged ... A cruel cliche.

She shuffled out now, covered her face with the plain dupatta secured under her eyes, and stepped into the gated compound. The transformation was stark. No chains and swathes of gold or colorful clothing draped her. She had even let the grey in her hair go uncolored.

Girls in uniforms squealed and played in the grassless field. She went to the back to sign up for her daily task: clearing and manually hauling the trash and washing the latrines in the orphanage.

She had started the day of Humaira's shooting. Some bizarre notion had convinced her that the harder her penance, the better she would be able to bargain with Allah. Take care of my daughter, she pled everyday. Take me; destroy me, not her. In an even stranger act of self-loathing, she had stopped taking her medication. Punish me, not her. Don't let the sins of my past ruin my child's life.

In a fit of delirium she had even attended the Quran Khwani yesterday, incognito. She hoped to catch a glimpse of Humaira to assure herself that she was fine. She promised herself that she would slink away as soon as her eyes caught sight of Humaira. There was heavy security, but after comparing her face to a photograph, the female security guard had waved her in.

Must be Tanveer's picture.

She had sat through the service, eyes glued to the back of Humaira's covered and bowed head. She had seen her daughter jump up to her sister's aid each time. Humaira had brought her juice, brushed Zoya's hair off her face, hovered over her asking a hundred times if she was OK, and if she could get her anything.

Tears had streamed down Razia's face. They dampened her dupatta that she clutched around her eyes. Zoya and Asad had accepted her in their home and hearts even after knowing the whole truth. But what would Ayaan do when he found out? Rashid? Badi Bi? They would cast her out for being her mother's daughter.

She had nearly sobbed.

When everyone rose to bless Zoya and praise Allah for her having survived the accident without much injury, Razia had dithered and wrung her hands. She had nearly turned to leave but a hand had stalled her. Nuzzhat was offering juice and sweets.

A second's delay, and she had been propelled by a wave of women toward Zoya. Her hand had stretched out on its own. It had lingered on her covered head. But as if burned, Razia had pulled her hand away. Grasping her slipping dupatta she had fled.

She walked, not knowing where. She forgot that she had come here by car. The sun beat down on her back. Traffic screeched. Urchins and streetdogs swirled around her.

Eighteen years ago, she had clinched Humaira's legacy and sealed it in blood and fire. Today, she had thrown her to the wolves. Her daughter was at strangers' mercy because of her. Ayaan and Asad were half-brothers. The deep and steady bond between them had been unshakable.

Unmistakable.

Humaira could have had that.

She stopped suddenly. A cyclist swerved past and spat out an expletive.

She stood rooted, oblivious to him.

Humaira did have that. Now. But for how long?

Shame and desperation clawed at her.

"Mr. Khan, I have bad news." Rakesh decided to cut to the chase.

Asad had just returned from a site visit and was trailing his fingers on his desk remembering last night. His spine stiffened.

"We lost her."

Dead silence bristled on the line.

"How?" Asad hissed.

"We followed her out of the Siddiqui house to Badi Masjid. We haven't seen her since. We think she dumped her phone, changed into a burqa, and sneaked away. My guys waited for hours afterwards. There was a big contigent of pilgrims leaving for Ajmer Sharif. There were too many people with bags. I'm sorry."

Asad felt cold fear race down his spine. With a cautious Tanveer on the prowl things could get very bad.

Only one thought buzzed through his head: He had to talk to Zoya. He grabbed his keys.

Everyone looked up in surprise when Asad stormed in. In the middle of the day? Dilshad and Zeenat had looked at each other and grinned. And then shaken their heads.

Will you, or should I? they seemed to ask each other.

"They'll be fine," Dilshad reassured Zeenat in a whisper. She was confident that the doctor had already told them to be careful, and that these two wouldn't let anything happen to the baby.

But still.

All that smolder and steam?

She'd have to have another talk with them. And soon. Allah! Najma and Omar were coming back this evening. Her house would be a den of randy pheromones and twitchy newly-weds.

This time Zoya had exclaimed, "Mr. Khan!" when he had grabbed her wrist and dragged her to their room.

"We need to talk," he said grimly and her dimples disappeared.

"Asad?" she asked in fear.

Closing the door behind him, he sat her down on the settee and knelt before her. He examined her injured hands for a long time before speaking.

"She did this!" he said with barely repressed rage.

Zoya wrapped her fingers around his face, alarmed for him. He shifted his head to plant a kiss on her palm.

Getting up to pace and release his pent up fury he told her everything. The attempt on Humaira, her moving to the other house, their surveillance of her, ordering the accident, and now her disappearance. Mid-step, Zoya turned him to her and held him. His arms came around her and he breathed in her scent, treasuring the feel of her fullness against him.

Sitting her back down on the settee he held her hands and knelt before her.

"Zoya, she's out there. Waiting to strike. She's vicious. I know you'll hate this, but please, I don't want you going anywhere without an escort. In fact, you'll stay home. If you need anything I'll get it for you. I'll take you to the doctor or the dargah or your mother's gravesite."

Her lips had straightened into a mutinous scowl. Oh really? Didn't she know it? Right before her very eyes, her charming and se*xy Jahanpanah was turning into the old tight-assed Akdu.

"Asad, I go to other places too. Shopping? Movies? The Mall! The orphanage? What about the British Council Library? I was planning to go today."

Asad's eyes bored into hers. They were wide with worry, his skin looked pinched and his eyes and hands around hers pleaded with her.

"I know you'll hate this," he'd said. Aww.

Zoya stroked the frown between his brows. "You're right."

He relaxed.

"I do hate this!"

"Zoya!" he rose, exasperated with her. His fists balled and he looked around frantically for something to smash.

"Why don't you understand how dangerous and obsessed this woman is!" He dragged his hand through his hair.

"She knows common criminals who will do anything for a little cash. And she's flush with a lot of cash right now. How do I make you understand how serious this is?"

His voice was rising. The pulse in his forehead was pounding. Zoya watched him, face resting in her hand. He paced and roared like a caged lion.

She leaned back and rubbed her stomach. Look baby, there's your Abbu: crazy with love for us. I can't wait to see him hold you in his arms. Your tiny fingers will curl around and grip his finger ...

"If something happened to you, I'd die!" her husband was still shouting.

"Asad!" she flew to him and into his arms.

She felt horrible for tormenting him. She knew he was right. They had come so close to losing their child because of that hateful woman. And here she was teasing him when he was crazy with worry for her and the baby.

"Shh," she soothed him. "I promise I'll do whatever you say"-within reason," she flashed her eyes at him. "I was just pulling your leg."

"Pulling my leg!" he growled. "Are you mad?" he nearly shook her by her arms and then hugged her fiercely.

"Please, please be safe," he murmured in her hair.

"We will be. We have you," Zoya pulled out and framed his face in her hands. "Hmm?"

Asad squeezed his eyes shut and sighed yes. He smiled when she ordered, "now kiss me and make it all better."

He did, after which Zoya led him to the bed and climbed into his lap after pushing him down.

"So, now what?"

"I don't know. I can't think straight. Can't concentrate on work either. I've cancelled two meetings already." Asad scrubbed his brow in frustration. "I'm meeting Rakesh to figure things out, but I needed to let you know first about the danger of taking this too lightly."

"We'll just have to think like her." Zoya murmured, deep in thought.

He twisted her face around to him: "one, I don't want you thinking like her, probably not good for the baby. Two, she's a sociopath! You're too good and incapable of doing it."

Zoya leaped up in excitement, "but Asad! That's just it. When the FBI creates a profile for serial offenders, they get into their heads to predict what the psycho will do next."

"Zoya! This is not some American crime drama. This is real life."

Her eyes gleamed and he already knew that it was pointless to try and talk her out of it. She rubbed her hands together and he knew. That mind was working a mile a minute and up to some hare-brained scheme.

"Zoya! No!" he hollered.

She crossed her arms and pouted. Asad sighed in defeat. If he persisted and threatened, she'd dig her heels in and not even tell him what she was up to. He'd learned this hard lesson from too many well-meaning but not-so-foolproof escapades.

"OK, tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

"Her doctor!"

"Don't you dare go there to snoop into her doctor's office!" Asad roared.

"I won't. But Rakesh's people can stake out the place till she shows up."

Asad looked at her appreciatively. "But," he suddenly popped her smug little bubble, "what if she comes in a burqa?"

Zoya made a face. She knew he'd reject the next idea outright. "Use me as bait at the cemetery?"

"NO!" Asad towered over her furiously. "I just may have to handcuff you!"

"Oh really Jahanpanah? Do you even remember the last time I was ... I mean, we were ... handcuffed?" Her eyes gleamed. "Only handcuffed to you is qubool hai to me!" and she batted her lashes at him.

"Stop trying to distract me. I mean it. You will not do anything that'll get you into trouble. You will not channel your musibat magnet skills!"

"Allah Miyan, what's wrong you Mr. Khan? How can you even say that! Am I always such a musibat? So basically now I'm only good for se*x and babies!"

"Stop twisting my words," he warned. "That's not what I mean and you know it." He was disoriented. He wasn't sure if she was really mad or still pulling his leg.

Her eyes went coal-black. "All I know is that you think I'm impulsive and thoughtless. You think I'll deliberately put the baby in danger just so that I can have fun playing Sherlock Holmes. You don't trust me! You never have!"

Zoya stormed out of the room.

Oh yes, she was mad for real, all right. He slapped his head.

Zoya was blinded by tears of rage and hurt. She wanted so bad to run out of the house and keep running. But after everything Asad had told her about Tanveer and his genuine worry for her, she kept indoors. She looked for a place to hide and lick her wounds. Thankfully no one was around when she slammed out of the room.

Heart in his mouth he dashed out of the room to find the kitchen and living room empty.

"Zoya!"

He ran outside to ask the guard if she'd gone out.

"No sir, no one left the house."

His heartbeat slowed. Thank god, she was still home. By the time he went inside, everyone was in the living room.

"Bhaijaan, is everything OK?" asked Humaira.

"Yes," he muttered.

Dilshad hid her grin. First fight. It was long overdue. The two of them hadn't had a drag-down screaming match for sometime now. Zeenat had never seen them fight so didn't know any better.

"Where's Zoya?" she asked.

"Umm ... voh ... actually ..."

She waited.

"Uh ... she's resting, and not talking to me," he ended lamely.

"Aww," went Humaira and Zeenat.

He was itching to go look for her but didn't want to alarm everyone. He went back to the bedroom and tried her number. The phone rang by her bedside. The terrace? He was half-way up when Prasad called. He had to leave right now. But he couldn't resist sprinting up the stairs to check the terrace. She wasn't there. Storeroom? He raced down.

"Asad, what happened?" asked Zeenat as she set the table. "Come have some lunch."

"No Aapi, I have to run. But I have to check something real quick in the storeroom."

She wasn't there either. Where"-? There was only one other place where she could be. But he stopped himself. May be she needed to be by herself. He didn't want to crowd her. Reluctantly he left for office to pacify a client who was having a cow about sloppy schedules and unmet deadlines. He really needed to hire a few more people.

First she had just been mad. But when he didn't come looking for her she started to weep. She heard his car leave and cried bitter and pitiful sobs into Najma's bedcover.

Song in Title:

Jab We Met (2007) "Tumse Hi"

Chapter 75

Asad couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking about Zoya. If only he didn't have to leave without talking to her.

He had worked all through lunch, and nearly threatened to walk off a project. The client, already antsy about government permit restrictions, over-zealous inspections and fines, had been hinting at cutting corners for days. Today, he had demanded outright that Asad's company do so, even gloating about a possible under-the-table workaround.

"I don't want any more delays. Forget redoing the drawings. Or better yet, draw them up and we'll send them in. Doesn't mean we have to stick by the new specifications. I'll take care of shutting these people up," he said with an oily smile.

Asad had been livid.

He slammed his laptop shut and rounded on him, face dangerously close to his client's.

"Mr. Shah, get this straight. I won't be signing off on anything illegal, or compromise professional ethics. You can get someone else to do that!" he ground out, eyes blazing.

"And," he clenched his fist, exerting supreme self-restraint in not grabbing his collar and shaking this grasping, greedy"- "you better comply with the updated building codes if you do get someone new or, rest assured, I will report you to the BMC!"

An intimidated Mr. Shah had stepped back involuntarily. Fixing his suddenly tight collar, he tried to save face, gushing with false bravado. His hands waved wildly.

"Good luck with that Mr. Khan! Your super self-righteousness and ... this ... this ..." he sputtered, spit pooled in the corner of his mouth, "maha-Gandhigiri won't go too far with all the babus and policticians I have in my pocket!"

"But it will with the media," said a dead-calm Asad, with a low growl.

"With so many buildings collapsing because of irresponsible builders like you, the Indian public has woken up and is demanding change. What do you think will happen if I leak this conversation to the press?"

He held up his phone. Not that he had recorded anything. The idea had only occurred to him a second ago. In a flash his brain had telegraphed the question: what would Zoya do? And now, seeing the color leave the man's face, he knew his work was done.

Asad stormed off, glad to get away from this vileness.

He grinned suddenly.

Gandhigiri?

No one had ever accused him of that before! Because in another life, he would have punched the man's face in. Red hot anger would have made him beat him to a bloody pulp for even suggesting"-

But it would have solved nothing. Asad scrubbed his face with both hands and looked at his watch impatiently.

He had been blind.

He knew now why Zoya was upset with him. In blind panic he had reverted to old habits where he viewed the world as only black and white. When he went into his hyper-protective mode, he didn't think that anyone else would be as careful, or do as good a job as him. It was usually my way, or the highway for him. And most of his life, Ammi and Najma had even let him get away with thinking like that.

He rubbed his forehead impatiently.

It had taken him too long to realize that Zoya was just as fiercely protective of their family. Like him, she'd put her life on the line for those she loved.

In a heartbeat.

And this was not because she was careless. It was because she cared too much. She had saved Najma from being molested, even gone to jail for it. Like an Amazon she had guarded Ammi from being fatally shot. His blood ran cold each time he thought of how close she had come to being gravely injured herself when she tackled with that hired killer. A skilled marksman, nearly twice her size, and armed with a loaded gun. Even now he squeezed his eyes shut imagining the worst.

And in misplaced fury he had lashed out against her, and"-

Asad raced home, driving like a maniac. He needed to hold her in his arms. He had already called and left a million messages on her phone. He had pleaded, recited couplets from Rumi, and made a thousand promises. He needed to hear her voice. The meeting had left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed her grace to raise his spirits and feel grateful about the world again.

After a night of restless tossing and turning, Humaira resolved to talk to Abbu. It must have been so hard for him to do what he did. And, she owed her sister that much. She would do it for her, if not for Abbu. She didn't want her sister to think that Humaira had fled the house because their father had brought her home. She just hoped that Ammi was at least being civil to her.

She felt ashamed once again.

She had come close to losing Ayaan because of Ammi. Please don't make me lose Baji because of her too.

"Abbu?" she whispered when he picked up the phone.

He sounded weary. Her gut clenched. She missed him and being home. With a pang, she finally admitted to herself: she even missed Ammi.

"Umm ... Abbu, I would like to meet Baji ... I mean Aapi, I think." Her voice tapered off into a strangled silence.

She heard him clear his throat.

"Beta, I am so happy to hear you say that. But there's a problem."

Her heart caught. Oh my goodness! She could imagine him removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes in worry.

"What is it Abbu? Is Ammi OK?"

"Humaira ... it's your sister. She's ... she's missing."

"What?! How?"

He sighed. "I don't"-"

"Hang on, I'm coming over right now, Abbu!"

She dashed out with her bag and nearly toppled Phuphi who was coming to knock on her door.

"Humaira beta, careful! What happened? You look worried," Dilshad asked, worried herself.

"I have to go to Abbu's office, Phuphi. I'm sorry. I'll call a taxi." Her words tripped over themselves.

"No, don't. We'll drop you on the way."

The tires squealed on the driveway as Asad braked sharply. Inside, the house was empty. Where"-? There was a hand-written note taped to their bedroom door.

"Zoya-

We are going to Abbu and Chhoti Ammi's place. Make sure that both of you come over as soon as Asad comes home. Shireen has invited us all to welcome the honeymooners there. Tell Asad that Ayaan and Abbu will pick them up from the airport.

-Ammi"

He crept inside cautiously. They must have thought that she was still resting. But the bed was pristinely made. Her phone was still on the side table. She wasn't in the restroom either. Grabbing her phone, he ran up the stairs to Najma's room.

His face fell.

Here too the bed was perfectly made. He almost stepped out. But the AC was on. He walked up to the open restroom door.

His heart plummeted.

She wasn't here either. He turned to walk away, and the lopsided arrangement of the pillows snagged his attention. One pillow was missing.

Asad smiled.

He actually went down on his knees to look under the bed.

She wasn't there. He looked around in bewilderment. The restroom's open door beckoned again. This time he stepped into the room and nearly laughed.

She was actually curled up in the bathtub!

Only Zoya!

Cushion under her tear-streaked cheek, she slept peacefully. He almost reached his hand out to brush the hair off her face, but stopped.

She had stayed back for him. The old Zoya would have run to the dargah or her dead mother's side to cry her heart out.

He stood up.

Taking her phone out of his coat pocket he put it on the tub's edge.

He had an ambush to plan.

Humaira had rushed to hug Abbu.

"What happened, Abbu? Tell me everything. From the beginning," she ordered after settling him down on the sofa and handing him a glass of water.

His mouth parted in mute wonder. Gaffur Siddiqui had never seen this side of his daughter. Timid and demure, she had never raised her voice before him. He was surprised by her take-charge attitude. When had she grown up? He looked into her face as she leaned over him with her hand on his shoulder. Taking her hand in his, he patted the sofa next to him.

Somehow, it was easier to talk this time. He had seen the deep concern in her eyes and no longer feared any judgment from her. He leaned on her maturity and strength, and slowly told her all: his guilt, regret, and above all, his disappointment. He had hoped that he would feel more love for his long-lost daughter. But she had lived like a stranger with them. He didn't feel close or connected to her. He had often caught her looking at him with contempt in her eyes. May be, she really hated him for what she had gone through?

Silent tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.

Humaira clasped his hand in hers. Pity and sympathy warred in her. Some part of her understood her sister's aloofness. Why would she feel any human connection to a man who had abandoned her to be raised by strangers in a cruel world? She was even more sure now that her sister would never forgive her, let alone accept her.

Her heart twisted. Since Abbu had last told her about having an older sister, in some corner of her mind, she had woven stupid sappy dreams of having an Aapi who would welcome her with open arms. They would cry together, and Humaira would beg for forgiveness. Through tears, her sister would pat her head and wrap her in her arms.

Moron! You are such a fool to even think that it would be so easy. Not everyone is like Asad Bhaijaan and Najma who never held anything against their siblings.

She ordered coffee for him.

"What did the police say, Abbu?"

He sighed heavily, and went on to tell her about the lack of any leads.

"Beta, I must be getting old and forgetful. I don't even have a photograph of hers." He hung his head in his hands.

She massaged his back. "It's not your fault."

Humaira stared out of the window, depressed and uneasy at Abbu's self-deprecation and helplessness. She felt torn.

A part of her wanted to move back home so that she could watch over Abbu. But if she did, wouldn't it be betraying Ayaan and his family? But Abbu needed her ...

Suddenly she whipped around, "but Abbu! What about a sketch artist? Didn't the police say they could do that?"

Her father's eyes burned with hope and surprise. "What a great idea!"

He leaped to his desk to talk to the Police Commissioner.

Later he hugged her and kissed her forehead. "He said that they don't do it officially for missing persons. But he can send an independent artist who would be able to help."

Gaffur Siddiqui looked fondly at his child. "Bahut samajhdaar ho gayee ho tum. And I'm so proud of you that you don't resent her, and are even helping to bring Tanveer home." He patted her head lovingly.

"Tanveer?"

"Didn't I tell you? That's her name."

The name sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it. She was sure she'd heard that name before though.

When Zoya's phone rang she popped up, disoriented.

What time was it? The room was darker, the sun had moved to the other side of the house. Then she saw where she was, and her lips drooped in self-pity. Pregnant, alone and weeping herself to sleep in the bathtub!

Great job, Zoya!

How far you've come along to become a sorry cliche. From the Big Apple to Bhopal. Her mouth watered. Suddenly she was craving a slice of warm apple pie from Marie Callendar's. With a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. To die for.

The phone rang again. It was Asad. She saw the number of missed calls and messages, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Had he been calling all this while? And how did her phone even get here?

Her heart lifted.

Akdu Ahmed Khan was home!

Smiling more broadly now, she put the phone to her ear. His low voice gave her goosebumps.

"Mere khwabon mein apke saaye hain,

Meri tanhayeeyon mein aap khalal deti hain,

Mere andheron mein aap roshni ban ke aati hain ..."

Her breath caught.

The same words.

Almost.

"Agar aap mujhe itni napasand hain, toh mere khwabon mein apke saaye kyun?

Agar aap mujhe itni buri lagti hain, toh kyun meri tanhayeeyon mein khalal deti hain?

Kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?"

His first near-confession from that night when they had come so close, and then been ripped apart. She closed her eyes, savoring the memory. The words had been questions then, but they transformed into a renewing of the vows now.

He continued. Huskily.

"I resisted so hard, for so long, but ... you bewitched me, body and soul.' "

Her head fell back against the tub's edge and her heart knocked in her chest.

Hot damn!

Playing unfair, Mr. Khan. Quoting from her favorite Austen film! She had forced him to watch it with her, and he'd been caught up in it soon enough. After watching the film she had poured over favorite passages on her iPad, and read them to him. Now, her crafty Akdu was channeling Mr. Darcy.

Devious!

Ingenius!

How was she to resist?

Leaping out, she splashed cold water on her face, smoothed her hair, and flew down the stairs. Zoya slammed into their room, breathing hard, phone still desperately clutched in her hand.

She drank in the sight before her.

Changed into jeans and a black shirt"Allah miyan, black shirt! He leaned against the windowsill, legs casually stretched out, crossed at the ankle. Head bent, he made adjustments to the guitar in his lap.

He didn't look up.

As she stepped in, Asad began strumming a tune guaranteed to melt her into a slushy, squishy mess.

Their song!

Very impressive Mr. Khan!

She should have known. The make-up wooing would have to be meticulously planned and executed. Jahanpanah style! He wouldn't have had it any other way.

Picking up a pad and a pen from the table, she glided over to his side of the bed and sat down to listen, elbow on knee, face in her hand. He had his laptop open on the console and was following the chords on some webpage. As the music faded, their eyes met. She wrote something on the pad and held it up for him to see.

It was the number six.

He grinned.

Asad leaned over to set the instrument on its stand but she took it from him to hug it in delight.

Carefully replacing it in the stand she ran into his arms for a tight, overdue hug.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her hair.

"Me too! I missed you so much."

"I do trust you, you know that right? It may be messy, but your instincts are always right!" He rocked her to him. "I know better now. You can take care of yourself. I know you'd never do anything reckless ... well, you would. But only to protect our family. I get it."

He hugged her tighter to him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "But I go crazy worrying about something bad happening to you."

She burrowed in deeper, nose in his neck, inhaling deeply

Lifting her chin he asked solemnly, "do I really need to tell you how much I love you?"

Zoya raised her lips to his, "you already did, with all the high-octane charm offensive. But I can never get enough!" Her voice dropped to a throary murmur, "tell me again ..."

Asad stroked her lips with his thumb, and pressed his lips to her ear, "... saanson se uljhi rahen meri saansein ..."

He kissed her.

Pulling apart, he grinned down at her devilishly. Asad waved Ammi's note under her nose and wagged his eyebrows.

She grabbed it from his hands and gasped. "The whole house to ourselves?"

"And, I have more good news," he nuzzled her nose with his. His raised an eyebrow, remembering ...

She had desperately tugged him awake late last night.

"Asaaddd!" she'd arched and thrashed.

Alarmed, he had switched the lamp on.

He'd looked at her blearily, hardly aware of the volley of questions that flew out of his mouth: "Zoya! Are you OK? Is it the baby? Does it hurt?"

She'd wiggled against him mercilessly and moaned, "yes, it hurts dammit! Intercourse! I want in-ter-course!"

He didn't know whether to laugh or yell. Chuckling softly, he had chosen foreplay and partial gratification instead.

"What's the good news?" she now begged impatiently, bouncing on her feet, hands fisted on his shirt.

He swung her up in his arms. "Dr. Sharma called. The CBC panel results came back fine. All's good."

She smiled, and then her eyes got stormy.

"Yes, the curfew's been lifted." He nearly staggered with the shock of her gleeful shriek.

They tore off each other's clothing. Some buttons flew, and seams came close to being ripped. Another shirt got added to the growing pile of shirts that needed mending. Tomorrow, she promised herself. I'll get to them tomorrow. She had become an expert button-sewing domestic diva after all, thanks to all the practice!

Even though they had the whole house to themselves, they still ended up making love in their bed. It was slow. And sweet. They left the door wide open to broadcast their intimacy from room to room. Zoya moaned his name out as her nails raked his back. She would have screamed, but he swallowed her cries. The christened house wrapped them in its private embrace, its corners intimately remembering words spoken by a new guest from New York, eight months ago:

"Aapke ghar mein mohabbat hai

Iss kadar chhayee hui,

Deewaren tak lovers hain,

Kono mein mila karti hain."

"Happy, Mrs. Darcy?" he asked later, nuzzling her ear.

"Incandescent," she breathed.

Asad snickered and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckle. His eyes widened in shock.

"Zoya!" he held her face in his hands urgently, "did I make you cry so much?"

He knew that when she cried hard she stopped up her sobs by shoving her fists in her mouth. He massaged the tiny bruises and kissed them, "I'm so sorry, baby."

"No!" she rushed to reassure him. "It wasn't you ..."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Zoya rose up on her elbow to stroke his brow, "no, really. It was about what you told me about ... Ab"- Abbu taking her home with him."

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes as she whispered, "he really would have accepted me?"

He crushed her to him. "Of course he would! He doesn't know what he missed out on. It's his loss. You'd have been the best thing to happen to him." Asad spanned her stomach possessively, "like you are, to me."

They lingered and talked in each other's arms. He told her about his client and watched the expressions of anger and alarm flit over her face. But soon her eyes widened in delight and pride and she hugged him tight.

"So kickass! I wish I was there to see his face!"

But suddenly the color drained from her face as fear clutched her heart. "But Asad, people like him know dangerous criminals. What if he tries to ...?" She was unable to go on. Manglapur flashed before her stricken eyes. Her fingers convulsed on his shoulders.

He chuckled. She punched him. He burst out laughing.

"Mr. Khan, it's not funny! You may be Jahanpanah, but you're not invincible!" she yelled, outraged. "What if he sends gundas to threaten you"-?"

Asad held her flailing fists. "You don't see the irony in this?"

Eyes slitted, she sat up pulling the sheet to her chin. She co*cked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"This morning I was saying the same thing to you about Tanveer knowing dangerous people."

"Hmm ..." she lowered her gaze.

"Hmm, what?" he prompted.

She let out a long martyred sigh, "OK, I'll be careful if you're careful. Deal?"

"Done. But I want you to be extra careful."

She glared at him.

"Please, for me? You know she would have burned the house down without a second thought. And at that time it was just for the money. Now, it's personal for her."

Her eyes softened, her pouting mouth curved, "OK, I promise."

He had told her about Tanveer being the one behind the gas leak. She still stewed about that. How dare that woman try to harm her family?

"We better start getting ready," she reminded him.

"Unhhh!" He fell back on his pillow and covered his face with an arm. She knew how much he hated parties.

She kissed his shoulder. "It'll only be family," she cajoled.

He snorted.

"Well, Omar's side of family too. Fine, rest. I'll shower first, then you can get ready."

Asad lowered his arm. His hooded gaze followed as she rose and tied her hair in a bun. He watched as she went to the closet to retrieve a towel, and then entered the washroom. A minute later he heard the shower run. Flinging the twisted sheet back, he strode in after her. Why waste water on two solo showers when one would do just as well? One of their prenuptial vows had been water conservation after all.

"Omar, I swear I'll kill you!" Najma hissed loudly. When he wasn't teasing her or pinching her, he was pretending to ogle young women around the airport knowing how steamed she'd get about it. She had glared at him, but by now he had become an expert at dodging her shin-kicks.

"I'll just have to send you back to the US with a chastity belt," she had muttered a couple of days ago when he was doing the same at the beach.

He had laughed outrageously at that. But seeing her wistful expression he had sobered up pretty quick. Their days together were limited. Each day was inexorably counting down to a long separation. Entire continents and time zones would divide them. He had pulled her into his arms then, not caring who saw, and kissed her hard.

Najma had struggled in her husband's embrace and he leered down at her, "let them see and be jealous of us!"

She had blushed a deep red when some people had passed by, whispering and giggling. But then she forgot about them and remembered only the feel of his skin against hers.

Even now, as they wheeled their bags towards the entrance she reddened thinking about how she'd never be able to look at Bhaijaan and Ammi. Zoya better be there to receive us or I'm just going to die, she thought. Of course Zoya would be there. Wild horses wouldn't keep her away. In fact, Najma rethought things, Zoya better not be there. She'll tease and deliberately ask embarrassing questions. Bhaijaan would blush, but say nothing to stop her. And with both her husband and Bhabhi ganging up on her, she wouldn't stand a chance.

She covered her face.

They had hardly stepped out of the hotel room or the houseboat this past week. Each time she had wanted to go out, Omar had yanked her back into bed.

"No point wasting time on sightseeing. You're all I need to see. Let's do some Omar and Najmaseeing."

He had memorized random lines that he'd keep reciting and repeating whenever she demanded to go out: "Gar Firdaus barrue zamin ast, hami asto, hami asto, hami asto."

"Isn't that about Kashmir?" she asked the first time he had used that phrase to cancel her petition for a walk on the beach.

"You're my Kashmir. My heaven on earth."

He placed his thumb on her swollen lips, "it is here." Omar then trailed his fingers down her cleavage, "it is here." As he moved lower, she slapped his hand away.

"It is not here!"

He managed to convince her otherwise quite easily.

"Say it," he commanded later.

"It is here ..." she breathed.

"But what'll I say when someone asks, how was Kerala, what did you see?" Najma asked after her breathing had slowed and her head had finally stopped spinning from a dizzying climax.

"Tell them to find out for themselves. Tickets are quite reasonable. Tell them that you saw the inside of a hotel room, in fact, mostly a lot of the room's ceiling!"

"Omar!"

He had trailed kisses all the way down. With a rough voice, he had whispered, "tell them that you saw Kerala on the inside of your eyelids while your husband was taking a slow tour down your body."

Most days they had turned down housekeeping. The pile of room service dishes outside their room kept getting bigger.

He had tried to emotionally blackmail her the first couple of days: "Sure, let's go sightseeing. We have all the time in the world. So what if you won't be seeing me for five months after this."

But that would make her cry.

But eventually they did have to go out to restock on supplies the third day. Pure necessity. Omar had proudly displayed the empty package of condoms and she had covered her face with her hands. She had resolutely turned her face away in the car as he stopped at a Chemist's shop. This was so embarrassing!

Back in the car he had jiggled the paper bag: "Dinner or dessert?"

"Dinner," she said sweetly.

Dessert was guaranteed after all.

She looked up now and saw Ayaan bhaijaan scanning the crowd. Abbu was by him. Her heart stopped. She rushed over.

"Bhaijaan, Abbu! Aap yahan? Is everything OK? Ammi? Asad bhai?"

Rashid placed a hand on her head as Ayaan and Omar shook hands and bumped fists.

"Sab theek hai beta. Can't a father come to pick up his daughter and son-in-law?

That evening as he parked the car in the building's visitor lot, Asad tugged her hand before she stepped out. Hand on the door lock, Zoya turned to look up at him in surprise.

Eyes glittering, he jerked his chin half an inch.

She gasped aloud. "Asad!" she whispered, aroused and shocked. "No!"

He locked the car doors and crossed his arms.

"Do it." He ordered quietly.

She blushed a deep red. As they'd left home he'd teased her about going commando. She had giggled and then forgotten about it all in the car ride over.

It was obvious he hadn't.

"Now," he said roughly as his hand tightened on her wrist.

Her body zinged in awareness.

Silently, in slow motion, she shrugged her arm from his grasp. Unable to take her eyes off from his, she obeyed. She bent to raise her saree and lifted her butt to slide the panties off her legs. The feel of her own fingertips on her sensitized skin aroused her even more. As she slid them down, they got caught in her heels; she heard him swear under his breath.

She tried to discreetly tuck them away into her tiny sequined purse. With a groan, Asad snatched the black lace scr*ap from her and stuffed them in his pocket instead. Her flesh burned under the intensity of his gaze. She rubbed her thighs together and her back arched involuntarily.

Oh god, all evening would be exquisite torture. He would make sure of that.

Even in the elevator, if the lift boy hadn't been there, he would have taken her against its smoky mirrored walls.

As they got off the elevator, she whispered, "I didn't know that my pregnancy would be such an aphrodisiac for you!"

"That writer should write about the libidos of husbands of pregnant women," Asad muttered.

Finding the corridor empty he pulled her in for a hard, punishing kiss, that threatened an evening of subtle, yet public foreplay. "Better yet, may be I'll write that book!"

Luckily Dilshad opened the door. Her smile turned upside down as she rubbed off the dregs of his wife's lipstick from the corner of his mouth with her dupatta.

"Allah, Tum dono!" she muttered in frustration. She tut tutted in dismay. She had just read her daughter and son-in-law the riot act. Now these two.

"Behave now! Don't make me come over and yell at you again."

She probably shouldn't have said that. It only made him bolder.

As their eyes tangled with each other behind her back, her son tilted his head again. A fraction of an inch. Zoya's lashes brushed her pinkening cheeks.

The hunt was on. He had issued fair warning.

His eyes chased and stalked her all evening long, keeping her in a constant state of fluttery, misty arousal. Her back, covered only with silken doris hungered for his touch. For a brief second she had even felt his thumb snag in the doris and rub against her skin as he pulled her to introduce her to a distant relative. Her blouse felt tight, suddenly constricting. She wanted him to cup her possessively, relieve the pressure, to feel his finger and thumb stroke, twist and tease her. She wanted to feel his palm on her stomach high-fiving their baby and reassuring: Abbu's here. How does this happen, she wondered. How do warm maternal instincts silkily lace together with white hot lust?

She was surrounded by the girls who were teasing Najma. No one noticed Zoya being preoccupied, or her eyes darting away every two seconds. With quickening breath she watched him from afar. His fingers curled around a glass and he raised it to take a sip of his drink. His lips curved around the crystal, and she nearly moaned. When he shoved his hand into his pocket and looked straight at her, her knees melted, as liquid as the drink he held in his hand.

A half hour later, he dragged her to the balcony that wrapped around the whole flat on all three sides.

"Asad, what are you doing? Everyone will see!"

"I want you now."

She gasped. "Ammi will kill us!"

He pushed her deeper into a recessed corner behind a pillar. So high up, they could still hear the traffic below. Raucous Bollywood music thumped inside. Asad pressed against her and she moaned. A water fountain gurgled close by and occasionally splashed them.

"Oh god, Asad!" she breathed. She felt voluptuous. Silken. Sinful. Her head rolled against the wall as he bit her neck and sucked on it. She swayed and started to grind against him.

"Now, please!" she urged, turning renegade. "Take me!"

"Zoya!" he groaned against her beseeching skin.

In a flash, he'd raised her saree and petticoat. His fingers feathered between her thighs. She arched as much as her trapped body would allow. Scattered cold droplets from the fountain hit the fevered flesh on her bare legs; she shivered and hissed.

One hand under her chin, he bit out harshly, "look at me when I enter you."

She nearly cried out. But her eyes closed in erotic desperation as she felt him plunge in and possess her. Bracing one hand on the wall behind her, and clutching her hip with the other, he drove in, still commanding, "Zoya, look at me!"

She opened drugged eyes to let him brand her with his burning gaze. Her mouth parted and he dipped his head to slide his tongue in. In the distance they heard voices and his rhythm grew more insistent. Zoya wiggled desperately, embarrassed and aroused as she had never been before.

Shrieks of laughter and squeals grew louder.

She mewled and whimpered. Her hands dug into his hair, molding the shape of his skull.

"Where's Zoya Bhabhi?" she thought she heard Nuzzhat.

Her hips churned wildly as she felt herself spill over. Arms clasped around his neck, she pressed her lips to his temple to stop herself from keening like a cat in heat. As her body went limp he continued to plow harder into her.

"Oh my god, Asad," she breathed, her muscles still convulsing around him. "You consume me!"

He shuddered to a climax dragging her along with him for another one.

"Zoyaa!" he exhaled in her hair, "I love you."

She started to cry softly.

"Zoya, what is it? Tell me," he asked, worried, as they finished readjusting their clothes.

"I'm scared of this. Tell me we'll always be together, happy in each other like this?"

He drew her to him in a fierce embrace and tucked her head under his chin. "Always. I pray for it everyday, baby, every single day."

Song in Title:

Junglee (1961): "Ehsaan Tera Hoga Mujhpe"

Even in the midst of that tingling and throbbing lust fog, Zoya had been acutely aware of Najma and Omar's glum faces. She felt an odd kind of guilt.

Survivor's gloom.

She would have her husband close by to hold and love; her friend would not. The newlyweds would spend the night at his relatives' place and he would leave tomorrow. Six months of lambi judai! If she had to live away from Asad for a half a year, she would go insane and drive others around her insane as well.

Her heart ached for Najma. As they sat huddled together in Nikhat and Nuzzhat's room, Zoya held her weeping sister-in-law in her arms, nearly in tears herself.

Najma felt so grateful for Zoya's silent understanding.

She didn't want to moon and mope around too obviously in front of Bhaijaan and Ammi. How embarrassing. They would think that just in a few days her husband had become all-important to her. More than the two people who had doted on her all her life. But she could be free and honest in front of Zoya. Through tears she could express her deep grief and fears.

Zoya had wiped and kissed her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry Tamatar. I wish I could do something so that you could go with him or he could stay longer!"

Najma smiled through her tears. "I know Zoya. And I know, if you could do it, you would. Even I wish you were some kind of a fairy godmother who'd wave her magic wand!"

Zoya hugged her tight. "No, you don't want me as a fairy godmother. I might mess up the charm and turn Omar into a pumpkin! Or a frog. Your Bhaijaan would kill me. And you would have to kiss the frog all your life to turn him back into a prince!"

Najma sniffed. And laughed. "Thanks. I feel so much better now!"

"NOT!" they both said at the same time and dissolved into giggles yet again.

She held her bhabhi's hand, "Zoya, I'm so glad I have you. I'd be embarrassed to share any of this with Ammi or Bhai. They'd think kitni jaldi parayee ho gayee.' "

Zoya knelt in front of her, "paagal Tamatar! Why do you think your bhaijaan and Ammi will judge you for being in love? Ammi is thrilled that you are happy and have found her the best damaad. He's only second to her best bahu! And your bhaijaan? You know I'll take care of him!" she retorted smugly.

Najma grinned.

"No, but seriously," Zoya went on, "he would never think that. He's not happy that you're all grown up and married. In fact, he wishes you'd waited a whole year to get married."

Najma snorted.

Zoya laughed at that sound. "Exactly what I told him! But," she brushed her fingernails against her saree and blew on them, "thanks to your super-bhabhi, he knows exactly what it's like for two people to be in love and miss each other like crazy."

"Zoya! I don't need to know about my brother's love life. Jeez! La la la la la la la la ..." she rattled on, blocking her ears with her palms.

Offended, Zoya looked at her in mock-anger, fists on her waist.

"Oh really? Then let's talk about your love life, and how much of Kerala you really saw! Not much, right? Let me guess. The houseboat nearly capsized, hai na? Did the fish blush?"

"Zoya!" Tamatar flamed tamatari, and fled the room.

"Najma!" her bhabhi hissed, "wait up!"

"And you would know?" taunted Najma, making the mistake of continuing their honeymoon show-and-tell oneupmanship.

"Well, we weren't on a houseboat so I wouldn't know about that, but a certain train sure rocked a lot!"

"Zoya!!" Najma groaned and covered her face.

Her Bhabhi grabbed her arm and they guffawed with their heads together.

And that's how Asad found them. His heart warmed seeing them like this. He would forever be grateful that he had fallen in love with and married a girl who loved his family as much as he did, if not more. He drew Najma into a side hug and dragged Zoya to his other side, looking down into her eyes with silent gratitude.

"Hey, why wasn't I invited to the party?" called out Omar. Najma blushed and ducked her head into her brother's shoulder.

Asad frowned at the intrusion, forgetting for a second that his baby sister was married to this interloper. Omar insinuated himself in between them shamelessly, surreptitiously drawing Najma closer.

"Zo, I'll be needing your butt-kicking services," Omar looked at her archly. "Your Raabert is bugging me about going out afterwards for dancing, sundaes and coffee."

She saw Najma's face fall and patted his arm, "don't worry kids. Mona darling is fairy godmother, and she'll fix everything."

A much-happier Najma beamed.

"Oh really?" Asad asked, "how is Mona darling going to do that? And what needs to be fixed or kicked exactly? I thought everyone would be very happy to go gallivanting in the middle of the night, except for me."

Zoya looked at him pointedly, trying to telegraph her friends' dismay, "you'd be very surprised Mr. Khan!"

She dug her elbow into his side, "umm, Mr. Khan, Dadi wanted to talk to you."

He looked down at her quizzically, head co*cked to the side.

How did she know Dadi wanted to talk to him? Her phone hadn't rung. And if Dadi wanted to talk to him, why didn't she tell him sooner? His wife dragged him away babbling non-stop about how forgetful he was, and hadn't she already told him this. She turned to wink at Najma, while clinging to her confused Jahanpanah's arm. She giggled as she saw Omar drag his blushing bride away while giving his accomplice an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Zoya!" Asad shook off her hand in annoyance. "What is all this? And why are you herding me? I wanted to ask Omar something. Where'd he go?"

"Allha miyan, what's wrong you Mr. Khan?! Couldn't you see that the poor things needed time alone? What else was I supposed to do?"

He groaned clutching his forehead.

"Oh god, he better not"-"

"What? Do what we just did?"

Asad blushed a tomato-red himself. "Will you stop putting such images in my mind, woman? She's my kid sister for god's sake!"

"Mr. Khan! They are married, in love, and about to be parted for a good half year. They need all the time they can steal. Don't be so mean."

"Mean? You think I was doing that on purpose?" he glowered at her.

She glared back at him, "yep, because you are a total pyaar ka dushman, Tayyab Ali!"

"Pyaar ka dushman!" Asad roared pointing an accusing finger. "You better have lots of badaam Mrs. Khan, because I don't want my child to have selective amnesia like its mother!"

"Allah!" behind them, they heard Dilshad groan, "ye dono! When they aren't being besha*ram lovebirds, they are fighting!"

Zeenat giggled as she slipped her arm in Zoya's. "Aise hi ladte the ye dono?"

"Din raat. For six whole months, Zeenat! Every morning and every evening, this is what Najma and I would wake up to, and go to bed seeing. Sher cheete ki ladai!"

She sighed, "I should have sold tickets!"

Dilshad, an ironic bard, continued giving her samdhan an excerpted account as the warriors of her epic saga glared each other down"one, arms folded across his chest, the other, fists planted firmly on her waist.

"Aap musibat hain!"

"Aap 17th century se hain!"

"Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai!"

"Aap judgmental and Akdu hain!"

"Aap ko apni hadein nahin pata hain!"

"Aap pathar dil hain!"

"Aap ... voh ... actually ... main ..."

"Aap emotionally challenged hain!"

Zeenat loved it. "I wish I had been here to see this!"

"Arre Zeenat, ye to sirf trailer tha! I have never seen my son behave this way."

"So cute," Aapi laughed, delighted, as she saw Asad blushing. She patted his back, "bahut tang kiya meri Zoya ne?"

Asad's eyes had already begun to soften as he heard his mother replay six months' worth of turbulent chemistry between the two of them.

"... bas, thoda sa," he said softly, eyes only for Zoya.

Both had imperceptibly lurched toward one other.

"Par maine bhi innko kafi tang kiya." He had intended to say it playfully, boastfully. But it came out as a plea for forgiveness for every time he had ...

She was right. He had been mean.

"Mera baccha," Zeenat caressed Zoya's cheek. "So far away from home, all alone, and seedhe sher ke pinjare mein chhod diya?"

Aapi dug her elbow playfully into Zoya, fully expecting her to come back with her trademark, "oh really?" or "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you?"

But Zoya remained silent. Her own eyes had softened. She knew what he was thinking. We were different then, Mr. Khan, she pleaded. Don't beat yourself up about that time.

We have now.

Today.

And so many tomorrows.

She grinned up at him impishly.

Those fights were just foreplay. Sensuous, heated mating dances. Each time we fell into each other's arms, it was a slow dance; just a preview of love to come. And Aapi, if we hadn't fought all those months, this would be our second pregnancy, nikaah, or no nikaah!

"Lekin aaj kal, these two drive me crazy by not fighting!" Dilshad joked, already sensing the smoldering change between the two of them and rolling her eyes.

"Convent school ki Mother Superior ki tarah, I have to play monitor!"

"Bad cop," quipped Zeenat.

"Ammi Havaldaar!" snorted Zoya, waving an imaginary baton.

"Restraining order ki kami hai bas, or may be hathkadis to opposite ends of the room!" teased Dilshad.

Happily she watched them smile a secret smile. Hathkadis brought back memories.

"Ammi, please!"

Dilshad laughed as she saw her son stalk away from all this female-dominated domestic psychoanalysis and forensic indictment.

"Mr. Khan," his wife called out, "Voh, Ayaan"-"

"I'll talk to him ... don't worry," he reassured, giving her a long hooded look before leaving.

Zoya leaned on Aapi, covering up a sudden yawn.

"Theek ho?" Aapi asked. She nodded.

In synchrony, both mothers removed kaajal from their eyes to plant twin kala tikas behind Zoya's ears.

"Khush raho!" Zeenat prayed through suddenly stinging eyes.

She still hadn't told Zoya that she would be leaving soon. But now that everything was settled about the baby she needed to get back to her husband. Even though he said nothing, she knew Anwar was skipping meals and overworking, not wanting to come back to a dark and lonely house. It was time to move back to the empty nest and look forward to a brood of transnational grandchildren. FAO Schwarz's flagship store was about to be depleted!

Just yesterday, Anwar had introduced them to the world's largest bow-tied and vested teddy bear via skype.

"Awww," Zoya had clapped her hands and cooed. "Jeeju how come you never bought me something like that?"

"We were just starting out then, beta. Aur waise bhi, assal se pyaara sood hota hai," Jeeju had retorted.

Oh, she was so sick of hearing that line! Day and night, she would hear Ammi and Aapi say that too.

"No way is my kid going near that monstrosity," Asad had muttered later, in private.

"Mr. Khan, you're so mean!"

And the battle lines were re-drawn.

But not for long. She had managed to easily divert him.

"Asad, you promised to show me your toys and things from when you were a kid!"

"Please," she begged and bounced when he rolled his eyes.

"There aren't that many," he said quietly.

And Zoya had sobered up, her heart going out to him. "I'd still love to see them," she coaxed. She knew that growing up, both he and Najma didn't have fancy toys.

A long time ago Najma had shown her the dollhouse bhaijaan had built for her as a kid. It was made from a simple cardboard box. Its sides had been painted with watercolors which had now faded. Windows and doors had been meticulously cut in. They could be closed and opened. You could still see the pencil marks where he must have measured and marked before making the precise cuts. The details had been breathtaking. Fabric scr*aps from Ammi's sewing work had been used as curtains and bed covers over a bed made of folded newspapers. Bottle caps served as mirrors and a gas stove. Matchboxes and matchsticks, ice cream sticks, straws and jam jar lids had been transformed into furniture with paint and more fabric. Shiny foil from chewing gum wrappers had been rolled into tiny balls and glued on as knobs. A cigarette box made a refrigerator. A matchbox, painted black was a TV. Other matchboxes had been sawed in half and stacked to make dresser drawers for different rooms.

It must have taken days to collect the recyclables and put together!

It had brought tears to her eyes. She had wondered about this side of him then, when she was still falling headlong in love. So tender toward his sister, so protective of his mother. And so angry with her. Even then she had felt a pinch of self-pity. Am I really that hateful? So unfit?

She shook off those memories of pain and heartbreak and held his face in her hands. "I don't care! They'll be priceless treasures to me. I want to hug them and feel what you must have been like as a child. I want to save them so that we can show them to our kids."

He grinned. Once again she'd managed to weave dreamy fantasies from buried shards and broken fragments. Her enthusiasm was catching; it made him want to check out the toys too. Grabbing her hand he had led her to the storeroom. Pulling up a chair he made her sit on it. He rummaged around in old cupboards trying to find a battered cardboard box with his name on it. After a few sneezes and bumps he unearthed it. When he turned around, Zoya burst into peals of laughter.

"What?" he asked frowning.

"You look so excited. And so cute!"

He walked out with the box.

"Asad? Hello?"

"Come, we'll open it in our room. Grab me some wet washcloths so that we can wipe the dust off."

"Humph," she grumbled. "Trust you to make any fun thing into boring work."

"Zoya!'

"OK, OK, coming right up Jahanpanah. Sheesh! Here I wanted to play house, and he turns me into his maid. Typical!" she continued to mutter to herself.

"I heard that!"

"Good for you! Obviously nothing wrong with your hearing. Yay!"

By the time she came back to the room he was on the floor with the box in front of him. She handed him the damp washcloth and he began to wipe the box down.

"Asad, hurry!" she urged as she too settled down next to him.

Very carefully he opened the box to reveal treasures from long ago. Out came a jar of marbles. She squealed, grabbing it. He snatched it back to wipe it down.

"How do you play with these? Teach me."

"Later."

She set it next to her and waited eagerly for more.

He took out old school notebooks. She could hardly contain herself.

"On my god, look at this handwriting. It is so you." There were no red marks and countless glowing comments from teachers about the neatness and accuracy of the work. She hugged them to her chest.

"You were one of those perfect kids right, who made no mistakes? The teachers always held you up as a model student and all the other kids hated you?" She groaned.

He took out a shoebox full of tiny cars. They were neatly arranged in precise rows on top of a cotton pad. The colors may have faded but none of them had a chip or missing part.

"Asad! I love this so much," she whispered in wonder. Some of the cars had doors or trunks that opened. Each specified the model number and famous car manufacturer on the undercarriage.

Her eyes misted. "I have a similar collection back at home. It's smaller than yours and not as well-maintained! Obviously. My favorite used to be this red Volvo hatchback station wagon. You know, they don't make them like this any more. It's all cheap, lightweight plastic with no working parts anymore."

He hugged her sideways, grateful for reliving the memories of his childhood which weren't tainted by anger or bitterness.

"Which one's your favorite?" she asked softly.

He delicately fingered them all and then picked up a tiny beetle.

"I always imagined that when I grew up, I'd buy Ammi a Volkswagen exactly like this."

"Aww, you were always a heartbreaker weren't you?"

He sniggered.

Unable to resist, she peeked in and saw comic books neatly stacked. She pulled out hard-bound books on Robin Hood, Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island, A 1001 Arabian Nights. Each had official seals and inscriptions on the inside for winning debate or essay competitions, or for placing first in class.

"Aww, my Akdu was a total nerd!" She climbed into his lap to hug him and place kisses along his jaw. "I wish I'd known you as a schoolboy. You must have been a Prefect or a Headboy for sure."

"And Captain," he pulled out a battered cricket ball.

"Cricket! You were team captain? My Dhoni! I am so in love with you all over again!"

Zoya shook her head as she wiped Aapi's lipstick off her cheek. The party was in full swing around her. Nuzzhat and Nikhat circulated, chatting with relatives. Aapi and Ammi were with Dadi and Chhoti Ammi. Abbu was in deep conversation with Omar's cousin. Hmm. Isn't he the one everyone had been whispering about for Nikhat's rishta? Zoya crossed her fingers. Yay! He would be perfect. She watched Asad nab Ayaan and pull him aside. From across the room, Humaira's eyes followed both of them. Zoya smiled as she saw Humaira's eyes widen in panic. Poor thing! Worried that her Ayaan was going to be taken to task by my Akdu for some new prank or escapade.

She walked over to link her arm with Humaira's.

"It's OK," she reassured her sister. "Mr. Khan's just telling him that we can't go out after this. I don't think Najma and Omar will be up for it."

Humaira nodded in understanding.

"Zoya bhabhi, tell me, why do you still call him Mr. Khan? You can't possibly be calling him that in private!"

Zoya sputtered. "Oh really? All of a sudden you're so curious about what we do in private!"

"No! I didn't mean that!" Humaira blushed.

Zoya laughed heartily and hugged her close. "I know. I'm just messing with ya. I wanted to remove those worry lines from your face. You seem tense these days. What's going on?"

Humaira sighed. She was dying to share everything with Zoya bhabhi of all people. She loved that Ayaan had been an absolute rock during all this. But she didn't want to tell him about her dithering over the decision to move back home.

"Kya hua Humaira? Can't you tell me," Zoya urged softly, crooking a finger under her chin.

"Bhabhi, both you and Asad bhaijaan have been so nice to me. I love staying with you all. Phuphi and Aapi have made me feel so welcome. But I'm thinking that it might be time for me to go back home." Her voice nearly broke.

Having said it aloud made her realize that she had actually made up her mind. She was going home.

She needed to be with Abbu. She needed to face Ammi. No more running away and hiding.

Zoya gasped. No! Please don't go. I've only just found you, after so many years! Her eyes teared.

"I've loved having you with us. Are you sure? We'd love it if you stayed on."

"I'm worried about Abbu, that's why. Otherwise I would have stayed on. Promise!"

"What happened to Abbu?" Zoya's heart stopped. "I mean, your ... Abbu."

Humaira looked away. She wanted to tell her all. But it was so complicated. Zoya bhabhi looked so concerned. She had tears in her eyes. How could she feel so deeply for me? Since day one Zoya bhabhi's only thought of me. My fears at the fashion show. My silly worries that day when we met at the restaurant. Donating blood. Nursing me back to health.

I was so miserable that day. When they had met at that restaurant, Zoya bhabhi had been the only one to sense her pain. She had talked about ...

Humaira thought back to their conversation that evening. She had been forlorn because she thought that Ayaan liked Zoya bhabhi. They had gone together for a fun trip to Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra that Ayaan would not stop talking about. She was just his type: jeans-wearing, shayari-reciting, witty, bold, feisty ... He seemed to hang on to every word of hers, he seemed so charmed by her. But Zoya bhabhi had not seemed to flirt with him or encourage him in any way. In fact, she had actually changed places to sit by her, comforted her and even held her hand in sympathy. She had been sad herself that day.

What had she said then ...?

"Isn't it funny? The person I ... I like, doesn't really like that I dress this way. Nor does he approve of what I do or think, for that matter. But I've only just begun to stop feeling sorry for myself."

She had squeezed Humaira's hand in hers, "and you know what helps? Getting mad!"

Humaira smiled a watery smile now. Zoya bhabhi had clearly been talking of Asad bhaijaan then! Someone who she had thought so confident and invincible, had been hurting from the pangs of unrequited love.

Just like her.

Much later, Ayaan had told her how both bhabhi and bhai had loved each other, but because of some misunderstanding ...

Hadn't Asad Bhaijaan been engaged to someone else then? In fact, that evening had been a special get together so that they could all meet his fiance. What was her name?

Tanveer ...

Tanveer?

Tanveer!

Zoya saw Humaira's mouth form a big O. Fear gripped her. She grabbed Humaira's hands in both of hers.

"Humaira? Munna what happened? You're scaring me."

She felt her sister's hands tremble in hers. She pulled her in for a tight hug.

Blindly, her eyes sought Asad's. He turned, heeding her silent cry from across the crowded room.

In a flash, the brothers were by their side.

"Mona, what happened?" asked a worried Ayaan. "Why is she staring blankly like this?"

He tried to hold Humaira's hand. It was cold and clammy.

Asad's eyes collided with Zoya's.

A frantic Ayaan tried to disengage a stiff Humaira from Zoya, to take her in his arms. Asad and Zoya moved to shield them from prying eyes.

"Zoya?" both men asked.

She swallowed. "She was telling me that she wants to go back home. ... that she's worried about Abbu ... her Abbu, I mean."

Her anguished eyes squeezed shut.

"What happened to Abbu?" she whispered to Asad who held her to his side.

Asad frowned. Rakesh's people were still following the Siddiquis. If anything had happened, he'd have heard. He led Zoya out to the sofas on the balcony, signaling Ayaan to bring Humaira too.

Ayaan knelt before Humaira as he settled her in on one of the couches.

"Humaira begum?" Ayaan pled in desperation. "Tell me what's going on? Why do you want to go back?"

"Tanveer!" Humaira choked. "He said her name was Tanveer."

Song in Title:

Love Aaj Kal (2009) Aj Din Chadheya"

Chapter 77

With her back to him, Najma let Omar hold her as they leaned against the balcony railing. His stubble tickled her ear and she took a deep breath. He bent to kiss a tear from the side of her eye. Neither wanted to say tired words of goodbye, or missing each other, or not being able to live without one another. Their hearts were already heavy with the weight of these unsaid redundancies. And saying them would only make it all too real.

His heart beat against her back, cruelly counting the seconds down.

When he pressed his lips against her temple to whisper, "Najma," she twisted around in his arms, to bury her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," she hiccupped later. "I promised myself that I wouldn't cry and ruin our time together. I'll do that once you're gone." She burst into tears all over again.

She had seen her crazy, unpredictable and fun-loving husband turn more and more somber over the last few hours.

It had broken her heart.

He cupped her face and wiped her streaming tears with his thumbs. "Cry all you want. It gives me more reason to hold you. And I hate the idea of you crying alone. Promise me, you won't hide your tears from me, or put on a fake smile when we skype or facetime. Don't be filmy. Just be you."

Busted!

That's exactly what she had been planning to do. She smiled suddenly. He knew her so well ...

Returning from the airport, for some time, it had been easy to pretend that they had all the time in the world. It had been exciting to catch up with everyone, be teased mercilessly, distribute gifts, and dress up for the party in their honor. Nikhat and Nuzzhat and later Humaira, had fussed over her, offering conflicting suggestions for jewelry and clothes and hairstyles. They had teased her so much that the rising color on her cheeks was pretty much a permanent fixture.

No designer blush needed, Nuzzhat ribbed. No sirree!

They had lovingly helped dress her, drape and pin her dupatta just right, and style her hair, even attaching a gajra on the side. All the girls were going to wear one.

Wouldn't it be so much fun?

All the sisterly hard work had to be redone of course.

Omar had kicked up a fuss about his suit needing ironing. Many an aunt and saali had offered to help, but apparently only his wife knew how to do it just right. Unsuspecting, she had gone into the guest room, only to be dragged and pinned against the wall to pay a hefty fine for looking too gorgeous for her own good, smelling delicious, and avoiding him all evening. The iron had dropped from her limp fingers and landed on his toes.

He'd yelped and hopped on one foot after cussing under his breath.

"Dammit, Najma! Loving you is like going into battle without armor. I have too many scars and fading black and blue bruises to count by now!"

"I'm so sorry," she had cried out, hands on her mouth, eyes wide with alarm.

He had kissed her roughly. "It's fine babes, it could've been worse! At least, it wasn't plugged in or burning hot ... as I will be ..." He had waggled his eyebrows at her and whispered more bawdy threats and promises.

She'd giggled and blushed and covered her face.

"Omar!"

Scooping her up in his arms he had limped over to the bed for some heated payback and ironing out of marital issues. The suit laid out on the bed had become even more creased. And the mogra flowers had hardly stayed in her hair. The gajra, with some help, had slowly snaked its perfumed way down her body and ended up crushed under them; the flowers lay scattered, spontaneously combusting into a shower of fragrant embers.

Later at the party, Ayaan bhaijaan and Omar's cousins had dragged them to dance to re-mixes of Lungi Dance, Dilliwali Girlfriend, Badtameez Dil and many more ephemeral item numbers of the day.

The grown ups had pooh-poohed and rolled their eyes at such meaningless lyrics in aaj kal ke behude gaane.

"Gaane toh humare waqt mein hote the!" An elderly granduncle bemoaned.

"Shayari ka toh zamaana hi nahin raha!" An older aunt sniffed.

"Nahin, nahin, aisa nahin hai Khala," Dilshad had interjected. "Meri bahu bahut acchi modern shayari karti hai!"

"Mera beta bhi," chimed in Shireen, and the moms had laughed to Khala's dismay.

A laughing Dadi had patted her arm. "Let them be, Baji. Ab inn bachhon ka zamana hai!"

It had been such fun ignoring the stick-in-the-mud oldies and kicking up their heels to dance their hearts out! Omar had twirled her, while Humaira, Nikhat and Nuzzhat clapped in rhythm and the boys whistled and whooped around them. She had been giddy with delight when Omar belted the lyrics in sync to, "Tere liye hi to signal tod taad ke ..."

In the masti haze, both of them had forgotten the parting barely less than twenty-four hours away. She had thrown her head back and twisted with abandon, and he had leaped with Ayaan and other cousins to maniacally do the Lungi Dance.

It had been exhilarating!

When Zoya and Bhaijaan had come in, Zoya had squealed and run in to join them. She had hugged Najma to her and they had shouted out and pulsed to Badtameez Dil, steps already familiar from having danced to it a hundred times before.

Najma had looked at Bhaijaan to see him shaking his head at all the craziness. He stood at the edge, an arm around Nikhat's shoulders pretending disapproval. But when "1, 2, 3, 4, get on the dance floor," came on, it was perfect timing!

Ayaan bhaijaan and Nuzzhat had pulled their quieter siblings into the heart of the thumping, pounding action. Nikhat has danced shyly even though she was the best dancer among them. Najma caught Omar's cousin Feroze, watching her from the side before he too was sucked into the seething, gyrating whirlwind of surging and heaving bodies.

She remembered Zoya dancing in circles around a beaming Asad Bhaijaan, giggling up into his face and grabbing his hands in hers. Winking up at him, she sang loudly with, "itna mazaa, kyun aa raha hai, toone hawa mein bhaang milaya!"

He had thrown his head back and actually laughed before gathering her in his arms!

Wrapped in the circle of her husband's arms, Najma sighed now, remembering how, in the end, Omar had pulled her into his chest and they had swayed to the music, oblivious to the zany Gangnam style movements around them. The siblings and cousins had formed a jiving wall of noise that shielded the newlyweds from raised eyebrows and parental frowns. She had seen Zoya and Bhaijaan in a similar walled off private world. Even though they weren't in each other's arms, they were still lost in each other's eyes.

Suddenly, she was jealous of Zoya and Bhaijaan.

Not fair.

They get to be together but I won't see my husband for six long and lonely months.

She sniffed.

Omar's arms tightened around her.

She closed her eyes and switched off her mind to savor this moment to make it last forever. The disintegrated gajra, a blushing witness to their lovemaking, was gone. But its scent lingered on their intertwined bodies.

They sighed in unison. Their stillness formed a stark silhouette against the night sky; tomorrow it would have one less stargazer.

Zoya had been holding Humaira's hand. Her other hand was clasped firmly in Asad's warm and comforting grip.

"He said her name was Tanveer ..." Humaira had whispered.

Zoya snatched her hand away from hers as if burned. A silent gasp ripped through her. Asad's grip tightened around her convulsing fingers. His thumb gently stroked the self-inflicted bruises from this morning.

She let her hair veil her face.

Humaira sensed her withdrawal; it pierced through the shell of her own numbing shock. She rushed to kneel in front of Zoya and held her hand in both of hers.

"Zoya Bhabhi, I'm so sorry for even mentioning that woman's name."

Zoya ducked her head into Asad's shoulder. His arm had already come around to protectively hold her tight to him.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me." Looking at a recoiling Zoya Bhabhi who had always been so strong, Humaira too was locked into a cycle of pain. She had just realized how hard it must be for Bhabhi to be reminded of ...

Unable to bear Humaira's self-inflicted grief, Zoya leaned forward to hug her. That woman's name didn't bother her for the reasons Humaira thought.

She kissed the top of her head.

"Forget it, it's ... I'm OK."

And she was, Zoya thought as she squared her shoulders.

To an extent.

To be surrounded by people who loved her so much: a sister she could hold, a husband who put roses on her cheeks and stars in her eyes.

She was better than OK.

Zoya's hand flew to her stomach.

But she could feel Asad stiffening in suppressed rage next to her. She turned to smile at him and squeezed his hand to let him know she really was fine.

"But Humaira, what happened? Who said her name? Someone here at the party?" Ayaan asked, still confused about the unnamed ripples of undercurrents radiating around them.

"Abbu ..." she whispered.

"What?" Ayaan croaked. "How would he ...?"

Asad looked down at Zoya's bowed head. She was holding herself too tight again, afraid to fly apart into a million pieces. He gathered her even closer. He wanted to haul her up and take her home, press her face into his chest and tell her over and over again, that he would fix everything, burn down anything that caused her pain.

But ...

His lips thinned in grim frustration.

Humaira looked into Ayaan's worried face, pleading silently with him to not ask any more questions. He pulled her up on the sofa.

"Bhai knows about ... you know. I just told him. You can say anything in front of them." He rushed to reassure her.

She exhaled deeply. Holding Ayaan's hand for support she let the pent-up distress and confusion bubble out.

"Abbu told me ... her name this morning. I thought the name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. She's missing. The police can't help much. Abbu doesn't have a picture but he'll talk to a sketch artist tomorrow." Her words frantically tumbled out. It was as if they needed to break free from being strangled and trapped in her mind.

"I have her picture ..."

Asad nodded stiffly.

Ayaan and Humaira whipped their heads to look at Zoya. She was staring at the table in front of her.

" ... from the trip."

Asad leaned back and sighed out loud. He had almost deleted those pictures in Agra. But thanks to those pictures, he had been able to put Rakesh's team on her trail. Had Zoya not offered the pictures from her iPad, he wouldn't have known how to volunteer this piece of information to Humaira or Gaffoor Siddiqui.

He smiled grimly.

What was even the use of those photographs any more? Tanveer had slipped through the cracks yet again. He dragged his attention back to the conversation.

"... thanks Zoya bhabhi. When we go back home, I'll send the picture to Abbu to confirm whether it's the same person."

Both she and Ayaan looked at each other.

"What are the odds?" He mused. "How is it even possible? It's too much of a coincidence, right Bhai?"

Nikhat came up to perch on the sofa arm. "Bhaijaan, why are you all looking so serious? Is everything OK?

Asad stood and drew her down to sit next to Zoya. He stepped away to make some quick calls.

Omar's phone buzzed to indicate a new message. Sighing, he pulled out his phone. A pressed white mogra flower fell out.

They grinned.

Najma bent to pick it up and tucked it in her bra. His eyes shuttered.

The phone buzzed again.

Asad.

He showed the screen to Najma.

"Looks like Zo waved her magic wand. Your brother just arranged a car to sneak us out of here and take us home. Our bags have already been smuggled on board."

Najma didn't even bother to blush. But she did ask one burning question for courtesy's sake: "We were supposed to spend the night at your cousins' ... what'll everyone say?"

He yanked her to his chest, "that we are shameless and horny! Badtameez Dil and Dilliwali girlfriend went to do gandi, gandi, gandi baat!" Omar sang out in tune to all the songs.

She giggled, highly diverted by the return of her playful husband.

"Anyways, let Zo and Asad handle the PR on that. They must have more experience in excuse-making after all!"

He gave her a quick kiss and pushed her through the French doors with strict instructions: "don't look at anybody! Keep going even if someone calls out your name. In fact, hold your phone to your ear as if ... Just make a beeline for the main door and I'll follow in a couple of minutes. See you by the elevator!"

As she moved to leave, he tugged her arm to growl in her ear, " ... and if we have the elevator to ourselves, we could stop it midway and do some sightseeing, hmm? I'll really show you Kerala this time."

"Omar!" she hissed, already praying and crossing her fingers for an empty elevator. It was just after 10pm. The liftboy would have left, right?

Please!

Backing away from him, she quipped, "you know, I'd rather see Kashmir!"

He groaned and looked at his watch impatiently.

Hanging up, Asad rubbed his brow.

Still no trace of Tanveer.

May be there was something to Zoya's idea about Tanveer's doctor. He had mentioned it to Rakesh who was already trying to get someone hired at the clinic for an inside track.

But at least he had been able to get Najma and Omar out of here. If the gory secrets were to come tumbling out into the open, then these two needed to be out of the way. Safe from fresh worries of monsters lurking in every shadow. They had precious little time together. It needed to be free of ... of this foul mess. There would be time enough for it later.

And it would temporarily shut up his wife for callig him a pyaar ka dushman!

Most of the evening, Dilshad had kept an anxious watch over Najma and Omar. Her heart went out to them. My babies. Wiping a tear, she turned and nearly ran into Shireen. She too was gazing at the newlyweds and smiling.

"It's so good to see the children happy." She patted Dilshad's arm, "though I know, Najma will miss him terribly."

She looked away at Nikhat in quiet conversation with Feroze, and clasped her hands hopefully. "I wish Nikhat also finds a nice boy like Omar."

Dilshad rubbed her shoulder, "she will. She deserves only the best. Feroze looks like he's perfect for her."

Shireen raised excited and grateful eyes to her face, "really? You think so? We always worried about her. She's the quietest. Never any trouble. Mature beyond her years."

She sighed. "Ammi always called Nikhat maintenance-free.' Because Ayaan sucked up too much of my maternal attention and energies."

A shadow crossed her face. She remembered Imran. Unconsciously, she gripped Dilshad's hand tighter, "when the engagement with Imran broke off ... I was so terrified for her. I almost feared ... she would hurt herself." A sob escaped her.

Dilshad had wrapped her arm around her shoulder and led her to a couch, comforting her. "Shireen, she would never do something like that. Haven't you seen how strong she is? Look at her."

She pointed with her chin. Shireen had turned to see Omar hugging Nikhat to his side as she laughed up into his face. Najma was clutching her head in despair and Feroze looked on, charmed and wistful.

Dilshad continued to soothe her fears, "yes, it's always the quiet ones you worry about the most, isn't it? Asad bhi aisa hi tha. Always thinking of us and never about himself. I almost feared he would let Zoya get away! Tauba! If he had taken even a day longer, I would have cracked his skull!"

Shireen smiled. Yes, Nikhat was stronger than all of them had given her credit for. In fact, she had become a little bolder since the Imran fiasco. Being at the other house more and more these past few days, had made her smile and laugh more. Omar had certainly been a good influence too. They talked quite frequently over the phone. She had rejoined her kathak classes and was just talking excitedly about martial arts classes that Asad had organized for the girls.

Earlier, along with Najma, she was considering applying for a Masters program once their results came out. But lately Shireen had seen books on MBA and MCAT test prep stacked by her bed.

Please Allah! Just let her be happy ... let her find a boy who will value her quiet strength.

Zoya came up quietly behind him and slipped her hand in his. Inside, dinner was underway. Through the wide plate-glass, floor to ceiling windows, Asad watched Ayaan, Humaira, Nuzzhat, Nikhat and Feroze laugh and chat at a table. The parents sat at another table equally at ease.

"I know what you did," she teased softly.

"What did I do?" he looked at her suspiciously but still brushed her hair off her face.

"You played fairy godmother!"

"I'm a fairy now!" he growled.

"A macho and se*xy one, but still a pyaar ka farishta!"

He quirked an eyebrow.

She held up her phone. "Tamatar texted me to say thanks for waving my magic wand. Little does she know that her Bhaijaan has become quite an expert at magic, not requiring any supervision!"

"Magic, huh?" Asad held her hands in his and kissed her knuckles.

"Pure, unadulterated, love potion type, magic!" She grinned, watching his expression change, his eyes narrowing.

"Any left for me?" Zoya purred.

"Only the best kind! Hard core," he moved a step closer. Wiggling her hands free, she moved one step back.

"Dark magic," he took another step, and so did she. He heard her breath catch.

"To match that voodoo that you do," Asad breathed. Zoya moaned softly.

He pulled her toward the railing and nuzzled her neck after pushing her hair to one side. "But first things first, tell me, you're OK?"

She nodded. Too eagerly. "I will be."

"Let's get out of here. I'll give you a back rub, a deep tissue massage ..."

"Mr. Khan, those massages always go incomplete because you demand a happy ending! And we used up too many tissues last time to mop up the oil spills! Besides, have you forgotten, we have to give Ammi, Aapi and Humaira a ride back home?"

He looked blank for a second. "Because the lovebirds took the other car," she explained patiently.

Realization dawned, and he exhaled. "Let's get something to eat then."

"I'm not hungry."

"Zoya! You have to eat properly!"

"I munched on starters all evening. I'm stuffed."

Her husband started to drag her inside to get her to eat something.

"Should we wait for Humaira to find out on her own, or ..." Zoya asked, to divert him.

He tucked her hair behind an ear. "Are you ready for her to know?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know," Zoya nearly sobbed.

Asad crushed her to him.

"If she finds out about me, won't she also find out about her Ammi?"

He didn't answer, waiting for her to sound out and sort the tormenting and treacherous thoughts.

Zoya fell silent.

"What does your gut say? Your instincts have been foolproof. We'll do whatever feels right to you." He assured her, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't know," she sighed. "A part of me doesn't want anything to change. But a part of me wants him to acknowledge me. I want her to know she's my sister." Zoya sniffled.

"She will. I promise."

Slow music played inside. Their bodies swayed to the faint strains of "Tum hi ho." He wanted to erase all sadness from her eyes. He wanted to see that dimple flash again. Brushing his lips over the shell of her ear, he whispered, "the post-curfew action was pretty good today, hunh?"

Zoya shivered. And giggled. "Oh my god, it was glorious! I can't believe we actually did that! What if someone had walked in on us?!"

"We've had practice," Asad's triumphant voice rumbled in her ear, and her blood thrilled.

So true.

Najma and Omar's Waleema!

And then, someone had nearly walked in on them!

She had worn a lehenga that night, her husband a sherwani. Because they had been at their own house, it had been easier to sneak away.

She smiled remembering ...

Zindagi, ab tum hi ho ... chain bhi ... seductively played on.

Asad twirled her and slammed her back to his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist as his hands splayed her stomach.

"You had texted me to lure me into our room," she whispered.

"Mrs. Khan, I didn't need to lure you. You nearly tripped over your two feet to come running to me."

"I came all right!"

Asad chuckled heartily at that.

The room had been dimly lit as she entered. The door had closed with a soft whoosh behind her. Before she could whip around, he had her picked her up and carried her to the closet.

"Asad!" she had whispered. It had meant to be a reprimand, but sounded too much like a moan craving the promise of familiar surprises to come.

Setting her down, he turned her to face the wall as he bent to drop openmouthed kisses on her nearly nude back. He still remembered, two useless doris had hung and swayed, obstructing the path of his questing lips, and he'd pulled them loose impatiently. He had wanted to rip them off. But they needed to go back and join the celebrations. Mingle and make nice; smile, bob and curtsey.

His fingers had dug in making her cry out in pain. They had slid under the sequined and studded fabric, and slowly he had unhooked and peeled it away from her eager skin. Asad cupped and stroked her as he kissed her arching neck. One hand had crept down to tug at the golden, tasseled drawstring. All evening he had watched the sassy silken tassels swing and swoosh against her hips and legs.

It had made him rock-hard.

That evening, he had imagined her out of the lehenga, creamy and resplendent behind the translucent dupatta. He would yank that last defense from her. The glittering dupatta would fly in the air and feather down at his firmly braced feet. Because her feet would not be on the floor.

The lehenga had capitulated to slither and puddle at her high-heeled feet in a soft whisper.

He had spun her around and soft hisses and moans escaped her mouth. Her own hands hadn't been able to resist tugging at his confining clothes. Her fingers had trembled in unbuttoning the sherwani. Each had sighed the other's name in fierce longing. Unhurriedly, their bodies had homed in to revel in each other's spiraling heat. He had hitched her up and her legs had irresistibly wrapped around and sheathed him.

And that's when it had happened.

The bedroom door opened and a second later, they'd heard a pair of unrecognizable voices.

Her eyes had popped wide open in alarm, and Asad's hand had come up to cover her mouth. Her legs had slid down in blind panic.

Some cousins had blundered in, "I think we're supposed to leave the gifts here. That's what Khala said." One of them said in confusion.

"Hurry then! Just leave it on that settee."

The sounds of laughter, music and chatter drifted in from the open door. The voices continued to bicker about whether this was the right room. There weren't any other gifts here. May be they were supposed to put them in another room.

Asad's eyes had bored into hers, and his lips had curled in a sly grin. Her desperate hands had clutched his shoulders. Deliberately, he replaced a bashful leg around him, and grabbed her thigh to drape her other leg over his shoulder. Hand still over her mouth, he began to move sinuously, demanding synchrony.

She trusted him to avert any risk of exposure. Placing herself in his sure custody, she had let her head fall back in rapturous but silent, lip-biting surrender. The studded dupatta had left ruby-red imprints of a hundred jewels on her bare back.

Kyun ki tum hi ho ... played on. They swayed synchronously.

Even now she blushed, remembering that after she had stepped out of the room, Ammi had pulled her aside to re-do her blouse strings.

"Oh god Asad, we're so bad," she said, hiding her face in his chest.

He grinned and murmured in her ear, "you are such a terrible influence on me, you know? You make me want to do things I wouldn't have dreamed of doing in another lifetime. See what I mean by that jaadu that you do?"

"Ammi is right to police us!" Zoya giggled.

"Asad, Zoya, chalo beta, have something to eat. It's not good to go hungry for so long."

They sprang apart, and she laughed when she heard her mother-in-law call and husband swear under his breath.

"Ji Ammi." Zoya towed him in to join the others.

She sat down next to Nikhat who looked up and blushed.

"Bhabhi sit, let me get a plate for you."

"No! I'm fine. I'm not hungry," Zoya insisted. "So Nikhat, are you all set for the taekwondo classes?"

Nikhat ducked her head. Next to her Feroze piped up, intrigued. "Taekwondo? That's awesome!"

Nikhat looked up, surprised. She hadn't seen this side of him all evening.

He blushed furiously. "Umm ... actually, I have a black belt, second degree."

The whole table erupted in squeals and shouts. Everyone turned to look at them and Feroze nearly passed out from being the center of admiring attention.

Asad joined them with his plate.

"What happened?" He looked at his wife suspiciously, assuming that she must be responsible for the uproar. He frowned. She didn't blurt out about ...

"Bhaijaan," Nuzzhat exclaimed. "Feroze just told us that he's a second degree black belt. Isn't that cool?"

"That's so cool," gushed Zoya. Asad had just speared a cucumber slice with a fork and raised it to his mouth. She grabbed his hand to eat it instead, and continued, "I'm a martial arts expert too. Main salute karti hoon, toh apne aap ko behosh kar leti hoon. My hand is so strong, isn't it, Mr. Khan?"

Asad choked on the piece of kebab he had managed to nearly swallow without any interruption from her. Ayaan slapped his back. Humaira brought over a glass of water for him. The girls were sniggering, whether at their Bhabhi or Bhaijaan, no one knew. Feroze's color had gratefully returned to normal by now. Ayaan pressed him to tell them more about how many years he'd trained, since when.

"Um, it's been a while now. I'll be trying out for a third degree when I get back. I also teach kids on the weekends at our local community center," he volunteered shyly, ears red. This brazen self-promotion was alien to him. Usually his mother would gush over his accomplishments to complete strangers, and he would stand by dying of embarrassment. But somehow, this table-wide wonderment had been a jolt of raw caffeine to his system.

Zoya listened and chatted on, sneaking food off Asad's plate.

"Zoya, should I make a plate for you?"

"No, I'm not hungry!"

"Of course, I can see that," he muttered as she guided his hand to stab a piece of paneer tikka and eat it with relish, "mmm, yum!"

"I'm going to get a diet Coke," she half-stood.

Asad pulled her down. "No Diet Coke," he scolded lightly.

She pouted. He narrowed his eyes at her and poured her a glass of water. "See, it's even got lemon wedges!"

"Mr. Khan you're so mean!"

Ignoring her, he lifted the glass to her lips.

Ayaan stopped midway, a little later, to grin broadly at Bhai continuing to spoon feed an animated Mona darling. Oblivious to the others around them, he would take a bite of his food and then feed her the next one. Every now and then, he carefully wiped the side of her mouth with his napkin. She often pushed his hand away for cutting her off in the midst of talking to the others.

Quietly, Humaira placed another plate in front of Asad. He smiled at her gratefully.

When he offered his wife another bite, she groaned, "Allah miyan, what's wrong with your Mr. Khan! I told you I wasn't hungry."

She couldn't understand why everyone was laughing suddenly.

"But you know what? I could go for some of those gulab jamuns!"

Song in Title:

Mere Brother Ki Dulhan (2011) "Kaisa Yeh Ishq Hai"

Chapter 78

"Why did you say it was too much of a coincidence?" an anxious Humaira asked Ayaan over the phone the next day.

"Umm ... I'll tell you in person. Can't talk right now."

"Come here for breakfast and we'll talk," she instructed grimly.

Humaira puttered around restlessly, still deep in thought. She had arranged and rearranged the cushions on the couch, and the plates and cutlery on the table.

At least five times by now.

She'd slept poorly and was tempted to bite her nails, a habit outgrown long ago.

It certainly would be too much of a coincidence if that woman went from this house, straight to hers. But the way Ayaan had said it, and the way Bhaijaan had looked down at Zoya Bhabhi's bent head to hug her more protectively, made the hair stand on the back of her neck.

Something was afoot.

They all seemed to know something more. And it was to do with that ... that Tanveer.

She felt conflicted and guilty.

In her heart she was hoping for two impossible miracles. One, that the woman wouldn't be the same Tanveer. And two, if it was, then please don't let me be related to her.

She remembered her so clearly from that evening now. They had all thought her so elegant when they were first introduced to her as Bhaijaan's fiance. But Tanveer had been distant. She hadn't said a single word to Humaira even though they sat directly across from each other all evening. She only deigned to talk briefly to Nuzzhat and Nikhat, and didn't seem particularly close to Najma either.

Later, the girls had talked about her and been slightly disappointed that their Bhabhi-to-be hadn't seemed warmer. May be she was just as serious as Asad Bhaijaan. She did seem really conservative and just his type. But then they all had quickly dropped the subject and gushed over Zoya Bhabhi and what a firecracker she was to go up against Asad Bhaijaan of all people!

Late into the night they had whispered and giggled about the evening at the restaurant. Would they ever have the guts to stand up for a girl being harassed by eve-teasers? And end up in jail on top of that?

So fearless!

Wow, Bhaijaan really must have been furious when he went to bail her out! And still she said nothing so that Najma wouldn't get into trouble.

Who does such a thing?

No wonder Najma seemed so fond of her, linking arms with her wherever they went, high-fiving, whispering among themselves, and giggling with their heads close together.

Nuzzhat had expressed what they had all been thinking that night: "wouldn't it be so cool if Bhai was getting married to Zoya instead? She would be so perfect for him!"

They had all tittered nervously and Nikhat had slapped her arm: "Chup! Aise nahin kehte."

Humaira's heart plummeted.

Could that woman really be her sister? No one had wanted to be related to her by marriage. And she would be related to her by blood?

No!

She'd seen her be so cruel that day.

Tanveer had maliciously tried to badmouth Zoya Bhabhi but thank god, Bhaijaan had stepped in. Humaira had seen Bhabhi duck her head behind the menu to hide her misery. Instinctively she had held Bhabhi's hand under the table and squeezed it in comfort. Later, when the topic of her entanglement with Najma's harassers had come up, Tanveer had made a face and looked away as though she couldn't wait to get away. As the evening progressed, her face grew more and more stony, her gaze icier.

Please Allah, don't let me be related to her!

When she got married to Ayaan, wouldn't there be some awkwardness at family get-togethers? What would happen when her sister and sister-in-law came face-to-face with each other?

Humaira's fingernails dug into her palms. Why do I have to be related to people who hurt the people I've come to love the most?

A sob nearly escaped her.

Please don't let me be related to her! Please let me protect Abbu ... and Ammi from her.

She had sent the woman's picture to Abbu from Zoya bhabhi's iPad last night.

Bhabhi had suddenly looked so wistful. Puzzled, Humaira had seen her look down at Abbu's name as she ran her fingers over the screen. Bhabhi had then hugged the iPad to her, and Bhaijaan had looked as if he would break something. As she closed the door to their room behind her, she had seen Bhaijaan gather her in his arms. Was Bhabhi crying? Was she thinking the same thing? That her hone-wali devrani was related to ...?

She felt wretched for bringing up that woman who still seemed to have the power to make Zoya Bhabhi so sad.

Humaira sighed. Abbu must have already given the picture to the police. She wished she hadn't been so hasty.

Yes, Abbu was worried.

But what if ...

Her chin lifted.

That's it!

Even if I am related to that woman I'll still choose this family over her. I won't let her hurt Zoya Bhabhi!

She took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling so much better now.

More at peace, Humaira looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. Phuphi and Aapi were talking in happy whispers these days.

Something else was afoot.

Were they planning some kind of a surprise? Was Zoya Bhabhi's birthday coming up or something?

She felt that familiar pinch of longing.

Ayaan was so lucky to have so many loving siblings and now such a fun sister- and brother-in-law!

She'd never had a sibling. And now that she did, she wished ...

Enough!

She needed to talk to Ayaan first. Then she would do what needed to be done.

Zoya rounded on him. Suddenly she was mad at her husband. "Why didn't you let me have my Diet Coke last night?"

He'd been getting ready for work; she was making the bed. Asad looked at her patiently. Arms folded across his chest, he raised a hand and began counting off on his fingers. "Because it's full of nasty chemicals, too many unpronounceable additives, fake colors, and carcinogens."

"So may be I should switch to real Coke?" she asked. Too innocently.

"Humph! Do you how much sugar there's in one can of coke?"

She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "I don't, but I'm sure you're about to tell me, Dr. Jahanpanah!" she muttered thunderously.

"12 teaspoons! No carbonated drinks for you any more," he lectured. "Carbonation isn't good for the bones. Studies have linked aerated beverages to osteoporosis as you age."

"Hello? Where's my husband and who are you? I didn't realize I'd married Dr. Oz!" she demanded as she boxed his pillow.

Truth be told, she knew he was right. She's heard these familiar lectures from Jeeju and Aapi. Intellectually she knew. But emotionally, she craved.

She didn't want to be good. She was so good at being bad.

It was her signature.

Being good would erode her street cred. She may as well be Mary freakin' Poppins!

She was craving that sweet, rich, brown, frothy, bubbly, ice-cold, tongue-tingling elixir--

She fled to the restroom.

"Zoya!" an alarmed Asad followed. He held her hair back as she hurled her guts out.

Damn!

She wanted to smash something.

Here she thought she would be one of the lucky ones.

The invincible.

The unstoppable.

The Zoya.

But no.

Baby Ahmed Khan had just leveled the playing field and made her a cliche.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Morning sickness.

Ima kick your nasty little butt, morning sickness!

But after my stomach slides down from my throat and returns to its original place. Allah miyan, what's wrong with you? So not fair. Why couldn't Mr. Khan get morning sickness instead?

She glared at him after washing up. He grinned, put up his hands defensively and slowly backed away from her.

Yeah, you better back away.

She burst into tears.

"Aw Zoya, come here," Asad pulled her into a fierce hug and kissed the top of her head.

"I wish I could say it'll get better." He murmured soothingly. "I'd take your place in a heartbeat so that you didn't have to go through this."

"You would?" she sniffed into his shirt.

"Absolutely! For you, a thousand times," he whispered into her hair.

"Jeez Jahanpanah, I better not be pregnant a thousand times!"

He cracked up laughing.

She smiled. His words didn't take away the sting completely, but she felt immensely better just hearing him say that. He had read up on it more than her anyways. So he knew what was coming up in the next few months. And he didn't tell her about any of the bad stuff, just to spare her.

Or to save his own butt, most likely.

She knew in her still-unsettled gut that there were some mean little surprises in store for her. On facebook, a friend's sister ranted openly about her pregnancy. She railed constantly against what they had collectively christened this phenomenon: preg-atory! It would be accompanied by heartburn, tiredness, swollen feet, gestational diabetes and what not!

Zoya had decided to skip those pregger postmortem posts for now. Asad teased her about burying her head in the sand and being an ostrich. So what? The less she knew, the better it would be for him.

There was a knock on the door.

Zoya groaned.

Oh great! The daily miserable dose of poison was here!

Asad grinned and patted her back in sympathy. Disengaging himself, he went to open the door.

There stood a beaming Ammi with the detestible glass.

Got haldi milk?

Gaak!

Zoya fled to the bathroom, once again to hug her porcelain accomplice. She retched miserably but nothing much came out this time.

Oh really? So morning sickness was just as much about assuming the position and not puking? Now she really did look like an ostrich, she fumed.

Genius! Who the hell came up with this?

Vengefully, she brushed her teeth for the third time that morning and stepped out. Dilshad made kissing sounds and patted her back. But she held the glass in front of her bahu's face firmly, not bridging any dissent.

"Ammi, nooo!"

"It'll do you good, beta. Now, quickly, ek saans mein gatt-gatt kar ke pee jao. That's a good girl." She murmured the practiced lines.

"Chaand jaisa baby hoga."

"I don't think so. At this rate, this baby is going to be yellow-yellow, dirty fellow," muttered Zoya after hastily downing the nasty stuff.

Asad chuckled. His wife said and did the darnedest things. But his eyes narrowed suspiciously when he saw a twinkle in her eye and a dent in her cheek.

Suddenly she was ravenous.

"Mr Khan, just for putting me through this, you get to order pizza for me!"

He nearly opened his mouth to protest and deliver another lecture on junk food, but she gave him the stink eye.

Reluctantly, he dialed.

If she was thinking about food, then he was off the hook.

For the time being, at least.

"I wish I hadn't listened to you and let Bhaijaan book my tickets to Dubai!" Najma half-moaned.

The packing was done. Each had reminded the other a dozen times about relevant paperwork, time differences, international calling codes, and taking good care of themselves. Now their exhausted bodies clung to each other, dreading the afternoon departure.

"No. I told you, I can't handle saying good bye so many times." Omar leaned back against the headboard. "I don't want you to be miserable and alone in Dubai after I've caught my flight back home. Asad would have insisted on accompanying you or sending Ayaan. And half the family would have tagged along too."

He shuddered.

She ducked her head into his shoulder.

"It's better this way, Najma." He kissed the top of her head. "A swift surgical cut will be simpler."

She didn't have the energy to protest. They fell silent. And she fell asleep in his arms as he brooded about the long trip, his dead and empty apartment, mail and bills that must have piled up, work to join ...

Thank god Ammi had said that she'd take care of stocking up on groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Knowing her, she'd probably give the place a good scrubbing too.

His parents had left for the US a week ago.

Omar felt her even breath against his neck and pressed his lips to Najma's forehead. He was going to miss her so damn much! He had come here, very reluctantly, to attend a cousin's wedding.

He'd dreaded mothers of eligible daughters eyeing him hungrily at all the shaadi functions. As though he was a piece of meat with a "Made in USA" stamp.

Ya Allah! The endless questions!

"Beta, where do you work? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Why do you live all by yourself in the same city as your parents?"

He would hear whispers and giggles behind his back.

And then his cousins would bug him with other questions, "you must have so many girlfriends in the US, right? Any of them white or blonde? What are black girls like? Isn't San Francisco like the gay capital of the world?"

Who were these people!

He smiled wryly.

He had sworn he'd never agree to an arranged marriage or, marriage to a girl back in India. They'd have nothing in common. Ammi had started dropping painfully-obvious hints, and he'd brushed her off. Not for another two years at least, he'd insisted. But then he had been blackmailed into an informal meet and greet. Omar had figured he'd have a lousy time and then hold that over his parents' heads so that they wouldn't pester him for at least another year.

It was a good thing that the prospective rishta had been Zoya. He was in fact looking forward to seeing her again after so many years.

It was an even better thing that at the door, he had been greeted by a cherubic face, with the reddest cheeks and the shyest smile.

And there had been no turning back after that.

Married!

His friends were going to kill him. They were threatening a post-wedding ex-bachelor party in Vegas.

Najma would kill him.

He interlaced his fingers with hers and lifted her hand to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. His phone pinged and he picked it up off the bedside table, trying his best not to disturb her.

"Come on down for breakfast," Ayaan had messaged.

With a thumb, he texted back, "later."

Tightening his arms around Najma, he closed his eyes and dozed too.

"This tastes funny," Zoya complained about her pizza. Najma and Ayaan grabbed a slice too, despite being scolded by Dilshad to eat a proper breakfast.

"Nah! It tastes just fine," said Ayaan. "And big mom, why aren't you scolding Mona darling for not eating a proper and healthy breakfast?"

Dilshad looked at her bahu fondly and patted her head. "Let Zoya eat whatever she wants."

"But why? That's not fair!"

"Ayaan," his brother put down the newspaper and glared at him. "Cut it out!"

"Par Bhai--!"

"Give it up. When Ammi and Zoya team up, there's no stopping them."

"Oh really, suddenly you of all people will let her eat junk food just because she's your begum? You're all spoiling her you know, hai na Aapi?"

Zeenat laughed. "Ayaan miyan, every girl should be so spoiled in her sasural!" She removed kaajal from an eye and rubbed it behind Zoya's ear. Zoya stuck out her tongue at her devar, lapping up all the attention.

"Bhaijaan apki problem kya hai?" Nuzzhat butted in as she dug into her own slice, "why are you asking so many questions when you are getting to eat pizza for breakfast?"

"Eggjactly Raabert! Ye question and answer ki dukaan band karte ho ya main pizza box band karoon?"

Ayaan rolled his eyes but quickly grabbed another slice before the box lid slammed down on his fingers.

Dadi smiled knowingly. She had suspected yesterday but was certain today. The palm fluttering over the stomach very other minute, the erratic appetite and taste changes could only add up to one thing. She had already tied a taawiz around her granddaughter-in-law's arm and blessed her after blowing the air around her to ward off all evil spirits. Now, she tied one on Omar's arm.

Again Ayaan protested.

"Dadi sirf inn Americans ke liye? What about all of us? Bhopal ki murgi daal barabar?"

Dadi laughed delightedly. Ayaan was her favorite after all.

"Kuch aisa hi samjho beta," she teased him. "I'm an all-American Dadi-saas now." And soon to be par-dadi, she slyly exulted to herself.

The whole family and his cousins were here to see Omar off. Because he had banned anyone from coming to the airport.

"I'm already married. Don't need band, baaja and baraat anymore," he'd announced to the families' dismay.

Only Najma, Asad and Zo were allowed, and only so that Najma would be taken care of on the return trip home. To compensate, the farewell had turned into one boisterous party at the Khan house. And breakfast had morphed into brunch. But every now and then, people would randomly hug Najma or pat Omar's back. With so many air-blown exorcisms, all evil spirits must have been banished to the outskirts of Bhopal if not the ends of the earth.

Omar's heart was full.

It was very rare for him to be surrounded by so much family. His cousins in the US lived in the east coast so they met just once or twice a year for family reunions. Here, cousins and in-laws were tripping over each other and falling out from the woodwork like there was no tomorrow.

It was a zoo.

And he was loving it.

More than thirty people in the room and to be related to all of them!

M.A. as Zo would say.

He looked across the room at Najma. Zoya was holding her by the waist and they were chatting softly over half-eaten pizza.

How could these women eat this stuff? This wasn't pizza. It was gloop slapped together and thrown into an overheated oven. He'd treat Najma to the real stuff when she joined him back home.

He grinned, watching Asad stalk over and shut the pizza box decisively. "Enough now. No more of this junk. Have something healthier now." He placed a bowl of fruit in front of his wife and tried to get her to swallow a piece of watermelon.

Ayaan whooped. "Dekha! I knew my Bhaijaan would come out of hiding pretty soon."

"Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan?" Zoya lunged to grab the box from Asad's hands as he held it over her head.

"Beta, khane do humare dost ko." Rashid called out from the living room. "It's OK once in a while."

"Abbu, you don't know. This is all she eats, all day long!"

"Mr. Khan!" sputtered his wife as she climbed up on a chair for better access to her precious pizza.

"Mrs. Khan, niche utariye, abhi! And you just said it tasted funny. Why must you eat it then?"

Zoya frowned, "yeah, it did taste kinda funny ..." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Hands on her waist, she demanded, "did you ask them to make it with low fat ingredients or that yucky whole wheat stuff?"

He closed his eyes in exasperation.

She gasped at the sacrilege, "you did, didn't you?"

"Whole wheat is good for you and not yucky! Besides, I did nothing of the kind," he growled. "But may be next time ..."

"Oh really? Don't you dare!" she sassed, still scrambling to lay her hands on her confiscated treat.

"Zoya, it's the same as always," interjected Najma, taking a bite just to be sure.

"Really? Let me see." She tried snatching the box from her husband's hands yet again.

"Mr. Khan!" she hopped on the chair, "will you stop being the Jahanpanah of food police, for just this once?"

"Zoya, stop it and get down!" he scolded, scooping her off the chair by her waist. "All this fast food and acrobatics is not good for the baby!"

He saw her eyes pop wide open and realized what he'd just done. He heard collective gasps around him and then squeals, shouts and whoops.

Dilshad slapped her head and looked at Zeenat. Between the two of them they had joked that Zoya would be the one to blurt this out.

Who'd have thought it would be Asad!

By now everyone was swarming around the blushing parents-to-be. Ayaan leaped on his bhaijaan's back and wrestled him to the floor.

"A baby!" he hollered sitting astride his brother. "Aap Abbu? And I'm going to be a chachu?"

Flat on his back, Asad groaned and covered his face with both his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He was always convinced that Zoya would be the one to ...

Damn! He'd never hear the end of it now.

The girls piled on top of him as well, and kissed their bhaijaan's face in glee"a first for them. "We'll be Phuphis!" they shrieked in delight. Asad had to cover his ears now.

Humaira hugged her. "Zoya bhabhi, I'm so happy for you," she said softly as Zoya hugged her back just as fiercely.

Shireen too joined them in a group hug. Her eyes were moist as she looked at Badi bi. "Ammi, hum Dadi ban jayenge?"

Dadi beamed.

"Mujhe kal hi shaq ho gaya tha!" she boasted as she kissed Zoya's forehead. She removed some money from her bag and pressed it into Zoya's hand. "Khush raho," she murmured through tears.

"Zoya!" sobbed Najma as she rushed to cling to her Bhabhi, "I'm so happy for you and Bhaijaan."

Rashid meanwhile pushed Ayaan off and held out his hand to pull Asad up. He slammed him into his chest.

No words came.

No words were needed.

He simply cradled the back of his head and dropped a kiss on his son's shoulder.

"Dilshad inki nazar utaro," ordered Dadi. And Zoya and Asad dutifully lined up for the familiar ritual. Zoya ducked her head and let her hair curtain her face. Ever since her husband's inadvertent broadcast, she hadn't uttered a word, and her lashes hadn't lifted off her reddened cheeks. Asad looked down at her, worried. He put his arm around her waist and subtly drew her into his side.

Dilshad's eyes misted.

She kissed Zoya's forehead and spoke softly, "you've brought joy and laughter to our home ever since you came here. Because of you, my Akdu son is happy and our family is together. Hum sab ko itni saari khushiyaan dene ke liye, shukriya."

Zoya turned her face into Asad's sleeve and burst into tears.

"Yeah, she's pregnant all right!" quipped Omar. "All those leaky hormones."

"Omar!" Najma, Nikhat, Shireen and Zeenat chorused to chide him.

Ayaan boxed his shoulder, "shut up, Phupha!"

Omar choked on his coffee. "What the hell? I refuse to be called Foofa. A loofah sounds better."

Nikhat pinched his cheek, "Foofa nahin, Phupha!"

"Let the baby call Pheroze Phupha that," he teased her. She blushed hard and fled to Humaira's room after a strangled, "Omar!"

"I'll get the baby to call you Oompa loompa," a bold Feroze muttered and scowled at him for chasing away Nikhat. "Cos. you're just as annoying!"

Omar chuckled, fondly remembering their marathon sessions of watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as kids. "Ooompa Loompa would be an improvement, Pheroze Phupha!"

He loped over to give Zoya a sideways hug and drop a kiss on her head. "May the force be with you!"

"Thanks Omi-Wan!" They grinned at each other conspiratorially, die-hard Star Wars nerds.

"Just for you Zo, I might even consent to be called Phupha!"

"I don't know, I like the sound of Oompa Phupha better!" She and Feroze high fived.

Humaira was still reeling from shock and horror. Ayaan had just given her the highlights of Tanveer's deeds when she lived here. He had reluctantly left for work on Bhaijaan's orders and promised to talk more in the evening.

She sat on the floor in her room, leaning heavily against the bed. When Zoya bhabhi had been hurt, it was Tanveer who had pushed her down the stairs? Just because Bhaijaan had broken off his engagement with her? Oh my god! What kind of a woman was this?

"I don't know why he even got engaged to her in the first place," Ayaan had wondered. "On the trip they seemed to have no interaction or chemistry. May be Badi Ammi arranged it. But she too didn't seem that close to her. Then why?"

He had always found that whole episode odd. When he tried to talk to Bhaijaan about it on the trip, nothing came of it. Bhai just hedged and changed the subject.

Humaira had been aghast when he told her how Tanveer knew Imran from before and even had a relationship with him. That's why they had broken off Nikhat's engagement to that scumbag.

Oh my god, what has Abbu gotten himself into? He had confirmed that it was the same woman in the photograph.

Ayaan was right. It was, indeed, too much of a coincidence.

Humaira wiped the tears off her cheeks decisively.

She grabbed her phone and took a deep breath.

And punched in some numbers.

"Ammi? I need to talk to you."

Asad had pulled some strings and arranged for Najma to spend time with Omar at the airport lounge while he waited to board his flight.

He now stroked Zoya's hand as they waited in the car in the parking lot. She shifted in her seat to face him and brought their joined hands to rest against her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Asad whispered as his thumb traced her cheekbone.

"What for?" she asked, alarmed.

"For blurting it out in front of everyone."

"I always thought it would be me ..."

He chuckled, "me too!"

"Mr. Khan!" she scolded, but with no real fire. She was beat. The warm leather seat, the cool air from the AC, his thumb on her cheek, were all conspiring to put her into a deep contented coma. Her eyes drooped. She felt his warm breath on her cheek and felt his lips press against the corner of her mouth.

Her lips curved into a smile.

Zoya startled when she heard the door on his side open and slam shut. Puzzled, she watched him walk around the car and open her door. He bent to adjust her seat controls so that her seat reclined. He slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her.

"Asad?"

"Shh. I know you're exhausted. Just rest. I shouldn't have let you come. I told you to take a nap."

She grabbed his hand before he closed the door, "I wanted to hold Najma on our way back home. She'll be heartbroken and too embarrassed to say anything in front of you. Besides, these were Omar's strict instructions."

He looked at her long and hard and bent again, to kiss her forehead this time. "You're mad. And too good for me, you know."

"I know," she feathered her fingers across his cheek, not wanting to break contact. "And when we go home, I'll show you how good."

"Can't wait."

She giggled.

By the time he came around to sit in the driver's seat, she was nearly asleep. He reclasped her hand and she sighed.

And she slept. Right in the middle of planning a grand seduction.

He looked down at her indulgently and shook his head. She had argued with him about not staying in the car with the AC on full blast.

"Mr. Khan, we'll be adding to all those greenhouse gas emissions!"

He had smirked at that. Last week she had insisted he read an article on how the US was reducing its emissions. "Down by 2%! Isn't that cool?"

He held firm now. "You're right, but"-"

"As always," she hadn't been able to resist interrupting.

He placed a finger on her lips, and reiterated, "but, I'm not going to let you stand outside in this heat."

With his chin he pointed to the clock on the dash, "there are still two more hours for Omar's flight. Which, by the way, contributes to even more emissions. If Indians stopped going to the US may be India could lower its emissions too!"

She had rolled her eyes, but grinned.

"You will sit here comfortably, and not argue with me about greenhouse gas emissions, Indian or American, OK?"

"Jo hukum, Jahanpanah," she'd murmured gratefully and kissed his finger.

Song in Title:

Dabang (2010): "Tere Mast Mast Do Nain"

Chapter 79

She had insisted that they meet in a public and neutral place. Not home. Raziya had agreed without any protest. She was just thankful to hear Humaira's voice. But she was also dreading the meeting. For Humaira to call and request a formal meeting could only mean one thing: She was ready; she wanted answers. Raziya quailed at the thought of what the questions would be.

At a coffee shop in a generic Mall, Humaira faced down her mother. Ammi looked drawn. Her heart missed a beat. She had mustered enough courage to fix this meeting, but taking the next step was proving harder than she had imagined.

"Ammi ..."

"Bolo beta," said her resigned mother.

"How is Abbu?"

Raziya sighed. "He's ... fine."

"Is he? I met him at office last week. He told me about ... Tanveer."

Raziya gasped. Humaira knew? She had hoped that Siddiqui saheb would delay this revelation. But his guilt was making him anxious and careless. She lowered her gaze, agitated and unsure where this would go.

Humaira hated to bring up all this. Ammi looked devastated. Having your husband's illegitimate child thrust upon you must be torture for a stern and self-assured woman like her mother. Did she ever wonder if it was payback for her past misdeeds?

"He also told me she's missing, and he didn't have her photograph."

Raziya listened, her heart hammering. She watched pain flash across Humaira's face and nearly reached out to touch her hand.

"You know Zoya Bhabhi, Asad Bhaijaan's wife? She's the one who donated blood for me when I was shot. She had a picture of this woman who lived in their house, and I sent it to Abbu. Abbu said it's the same woman."

She looked up sharply as her mother made a choking sound. Raziya's face was grey, her lips white.

"I'm sorry Ammi. But that's why I called. I think this woman is scamming Abbu. She's the reason Nikhat's engagement broke. She had a relationship with that Imran. Can you believe it?"

Anger flashed across her face. "She pushed Zoya Bhabhi down the stairs! Ammi, I can't bear to think that I could be related to such a person!"

Tears were streaming down Raziya's face. She tried to kill you too, she wanted to scream. If you can't stand to be related to her, wait till you hear about what I did to Zoya! And when you find out that I was the one who planted Tanveer there"-!

She broke down, hopelessly covering her face in her dupatta. It was all over.

Humaira rushed to her side to console her. "Ammi, I know it must be so hard for you. I'm sorry I brought this up." She massaged her mother's shoulder and back.

"That's why I was thinking of coming back home. I want to protect Abbu and you from this woman."

Raziya gripped her hand in gratitude and relief. Yes! Please come home. I've missed you so much.

"But, there are some conditions," Humaira asserted. "I need to know everything about why you did what you did to Rashid Phupha. I know that Ayaan will not be happy about me coming back home. But I have to do this."

Still gripping Raziya's hand, she continued wistfully, "and, I'll be going to Bhabhi and Bhaijaan's house everyday. I don't want you to stop me. Do you know, Zoya Bhabhi's pregnant?"

Humaira's face glowed and Raziya's heart sank. "When I get married I'll be chachi!"

No, you'll be khala whether or not you get married, Raziya's tortured soul cried.

Humaira went on, unaware of her mother's self-inflicted purgatory. "I know that in the past you've always badmouthed that family. Ammi you were so wrong about them! I've been living with them all this while, and they are the best people I know. I won't hear another bad word about them."

Humaira took a deep breath and crashed in the nearby chair, completely deflated. Wow! She'd never talked this way, or said as much to Ammi before. She was already missing her new family. But no, Abbu needed her. And Ammi seems completely different: broken and beaten. She patted Ammi's knee unable to see her in so much pain.

Raziya was screaming in her head. No! I can't tell you why I did what I did. You'll hate me forever. Your life will be ruined. I know, you'll never forgive yourself.

"Please Ammi, tell me. Apki kya majboori thi that you took such a step? Why did you try to blackmail them? Ayaan told me that you threatened to hurt Dilshad Phuphi. Why Ammi? If you only knew how much they love me, and how they took care of me. Why would you do it?"

"Humaira! Bas karo. Don't ask me these questions. I can't tell you. I hate myself for the kind of person I was then. Isn't that enough?" she begged her daughter to be the grown-up.

Humaira leaped out of the chair and stood ramrod straight. "Ammi! I want to believe that there was some desperate reason for why you did that. I want to understand how you could push me to get married to Ayaan when you had such a bad history with that family? I need to know. They still accept me, even after what you did. For that, I need to know. "

Raziya stood too. "I'm sorry, but I can't go back to that dark time again. Don't do this to me." Or yourself.

"Ammi, I have a right to know. If you don't tell me, I refuse to come back home!"

"Humaira, ye kya zidd hai!"

"No Ammi, I'm serious." She dashed the tears steaming down her face. "I am your daughter after all. I can blackmail too!" she lashed out against her mother. Why, when I'm giving you the chance to redeem yourself, are you still resisting? Why can't you understand the guilt I feel whenever I look at Ayaan's parents?

"You have two days to think this over. I want answers, and no' is not an answer I'm going to accept!" She picked up her bag to march off.

"What will you do if I say no?" Raziya taunted desperately.

Humaira spun on her heel. "I will take out an ad in all the city newspapers and the Badi Masjid bulletin to publicly disown you as my mother. From that day, I will be dead to you."

"NO!"

"Two days Ammi."

Asad looked in the backseat and smiled as he shook his head. A tearful Zoya was hugging a quietly sobbing Najma. He heard Zoya whisper soft words of comfort and his heart warmed. As he backed the car out he heard the sobbing get louder. Alarmed, he twisted around, worried for Najma.

But it wasn't Najma.

"Zoya? Are you OK?"

He looked at Najma wondering what had happened. Both were wrapped in each other's arms and crying uncontrollably. Asad pulled over. Retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket he asked gently, "Zoya?"

Najma raised her head and began wiping Zoya's tears. She took the handkerchief from Asad's outstretched hand to wipe Zoya's tears.

Zoya wailed louder.

Najma's sobs were receding. Shock and fear were taking over. She too was wondering about her Bhabhi's breakdown.

"Zoya!" hollered Asad. "What's wrong, tell me. I can understand Najma crying but why ... ?" He got out and dashed to open her side of the door, looking worried.

Najma patted her back, still sniffing herself.

"Zoya? Talk to me. Why are you crying so hard? Is everything OK?" Asad continued to panic.

"I can't bear to see Najma be so sad. But now I can't stop crying," Zoya wailed.

Asad and Najma looked at each other. Najma giggled and dashed her tears. Asad raised his eyes heavenward, in exasperation or gratitude, who knew.

He grinned. At least Najma was smiling.

"I see a kulfi wala, Najma would you like some?" Asad teased.

He heard a loud sniff. "Me too!"

He chuckled. Of course! Why else would he even offer?

Asad helped the girls out of the car and hugged each of them close. He dropped a kiss on Najma's head, asking anxiously, "are you OK, Tamatar?"

"Ji, Bhaijaan! I'm much better now. Thanks to paagal Zoya," she pinched her Bhabhi's cheek and handed her Asad's handkerchief.

Zoya wiped her face in the same handkerchief she'd used earlier and eagerly stepped forward to place their orders. Najma slipped her arm around Asad's waist.

"Bhaijaan, I'm really happy for you. I'm sorry I've been upset and all weepy, par main aap dono ke liye bahut khush hoon."

Asad hugged her tighter. "I know Najma! You don't even have to say it. And you have every reason to be upset. It's not easy for us to live without these crazy Americans."

"Bhaijaan!" Najma gasped with pleasure and embarrassment. It was so rare for Bhai to joke with her. That too when she had been crying.

Zoya popped over with a bouquet of kulfis, eyes sparkling, a sky swept clear by cleansing rain.

"Najma, I got us two each. And, Mr. Khan, here's one for you."

They slurped over their treats and scrambled to get in the car when the first raindrops started to fall.

Dropping them home, he'd gone to office to catch up with work. The rain didn't let up all evening. When Asad returned much later, the neighborhood was darker than usual. No electricity. Generators and inverters feebly chugged and pumped energy into rationed lights and fans.

When he let himself in, he could smell pakoras being fried. Songs played on Zoya's iPad as she scooped and folded fat chillies in the batter and dropped them into the hot oil. The oil spluttered and sizzled. She chatted loudly with Humaira and Najma as Aapi pulsed green chutney in the blender.

Ayaan lounged against a counter, head deep in a bag of potato chips. Asad had already seen his bike parked outside. As Humaira ladled the deep fried goodies onto a plate, Ayaan popped a chip into her mouth. Next was Zoya's turn and then Najma's.

Dilshad sighed as she poured out the adrak elaichi chai to hand to Asad. "Why are you people frying so many pakoras jab pait chips se bharna hai?" she groused.

Zoya looked up to beam at her husband. With the back of her hand she pushed her hair off her face. A smear of batter coated her hair.

"Hi Mr. Khan! You have to try these pakoras! We've stuffed the chillies with dhokla masala and it's so yum." She licked her lips in anticipation.

His mouth watered. She looked good enough to eat herself. Najma brought over a plate heaped with sizzling pakoras with a bowl of chutney in the center. He grabbed a napkin and a pakora, and dipped it into the chutney.

"Asad! Wash your hands at least," Dilshad scolded, wondering why her adult children needed to be reminded of simple things like little kids.

The first bite was delicious. He nearly moaned at the explosion of flavors and the accompanying heat. Zoya ran over, dying to know his verdict. She took a quick sip of his tea and pushed back her hair on the other side. Now both sides of her bangs were evenly coated. Asad munched while tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Aap pehle se hair band ya clip nahin laga sakti theen?" he asked, bemused and smitten.

"I forgot!"

Handing her his mug and wiping his hands, he strode into their bedroom to return later with her hair scrunchie. As everyone looked on, he deftly secured her hair in a neat ponytail.

Ayaan sniggered. Humaira glared at him. It was so sweet the way Bhaijaan took care of Zoya Bhabhi. She was beginning to suspect that Ayaan would be totally useless as a husband.

Najma sniffed and burst into tears.

"Aww, chhota baby," Zoya wrapped her in her arms and promptly started crying too.

Asad rolled his eyes. This was getting worse and worse. How many times in a day was she going to be crying in the next nine months?

Setting his mug down on the coffee table, he hugged both of them and rested his chin on Najma's head.

He fished out his handkerchief to hand to his wife. She sobbed harder.

"What now?" he asked.

"It's the same one from this morning when Omar said it was my hormones!"

Najma wailed with new intensity now.

"Kulfi? Any one? Diet Coke?" he asked desperately.

Dilshad came over to hug Najma and make cooing sounds.

Humaira took a video of this unfolding scene and smiled. Ayaan lumbered over.

"Why take a picture of them being all emotional?"

Humaira giggled. "Because Omar gave me strict instructions to take multiple pictures and videos of Najma all day, and send them to him. This way he can feel that he's with her. Isn't that sweet?"

"No. It's retarded!"

"Ayaan!"

"Just kidding! He begged me to help Najma with her TOEFL and GRE applications and chauffer her around when she needs her transcripts and letters of recommendations."

"Aww, so cute! I wonder what instructions he left for Phuphi," she mused.

"What's cute?" Najma asked holding up the pakoras for them. Seeing Zoya cry made her tears myseriously vanish. She found an overemotional and bawling Zoya too comical.

"Bhabhi and Bhaijaan," Humaira said shyly. She didn't want to mention Omar's name for fear of making Najma cry.

They all dug in.

Dadi and Rashid were speechless. Shireen sobbed quietly, "why?" she kept repeating.

"Ammi, please. I'm sorry, but I can't do it. Please try to understand." Nikhat knelt in front of her mother and begged.

"Lekin beta, every girl gets married. We'd like you to find a loving partner who you can spend your life with. Have kids, be happy." Dadi said, perplexed at her quietest granddaughter's firm refusal to get married.

At Shireen's behest Rashid had talked to Omar's parents and then Feroze's. Everyone had seen them get along well at the party and the get-together the next day. They had all conferred and decided that Feroze would be a perfect match. Then why this?

"It's because of that weasel Imran, isn't it? I could kill him!" Fumed Rashid. He paced up and down, helpless and furious as Haseena bi's cruel words and Imran's betrayal came rushing to choke him.

"Abbu, please calm down." Nikhat ran to hug her father.

Shireen wiped her tears and blew her nose. "But beta, you seemed to get along so well with Feroze. We thought this was the right thing to do."

"Ammi, Feroze is very nice. I have nothing against him. But I don't want to get married now. I want to study, and work. Please!"

"Par beta, you can study after marriage. Dilshad was telling me that Najma plans to apply for a masters in the US," Shireen persisted.

She rose to cup Nikhat's face. Fear stabbed her heart. What would happen to her daughter in this world if she didn't get married? Their small world was so cruel to girls who remained single. Had she failed as a mother?

"Ammi, Kya hoga meri bachhi ka?" she whispered helplessly.

Nikhat clasped her hands in her own and smiled. "Ammi, look at me. Main apna khayaal rakh sakti hoon. For the first time in my life I feel strong and confident. And then I have all of you. Please give me a few years to find myself."

Badi bi came over and put her hand on Nikhat's head. "Beta, I can understand your point of view. And I support you. But right now your parents are feeling they've failed you in some way. Maan-baap ko lagta hai beti ki acche se shaadi ho jaye, then everything will be all right."

"But dadi, what if I had gotten married to Imran? Can you imagine what my life would have been like with a mother-in-law like Haseena bi?"

She wrung her hands and spoke quietly. "I am scared of the idea of marriage. But I'm more scared to give up this sense of self I've found over these past few months. Aapko pata hai how hard it is for girls to be paraded in front of prospective grooms and their families, wait for their verdict, face rejection and then start all over again?"

She ran to Rashid, "Abbu please don't make me go through all that all over again."

Rashid held her to him as she sobbed. He stroked her back. Shireen sobbed too, frightened and heartbroken. Nikhat was right. It wasn't fair for girls to have to go through this kind of sabzi-mandi evaluation. But what could parents of daughters do? Did Nuzzhat think this way too?

Rashid offered his handkerchief to his daughter and patted her shoulder as she wiped her eyes.

He then held at apart by her shoulders, "Nikhat, we never realized that this was so hard on you. But there are two things I want to say to you: One, there will be no dekhna-dikhana. Feroze and his family have already agreed to the nikaah."

Nikhat started to protest, and he held up a hand. "But, if you're not ready, I will talk to Abdullah saheb and we'll say we're sorry. Doosri baat. I am proud to see you so strong. We will support you in whatever you want to do, right Shireen?"

He looked at his wife. Shireen took a deep breath. They had been traditional and mindful of cultural conventions and reet and rivaaz. But it had brought her daughter only grief and humiliation. May be it was time to stand tall with their heads held high with their daughter, instead of bowing their heads in front of greedy ladkawalas like the Qureshis.

She wiped her tears firmly. "Jee, aap sahi keh rahe hain. Although Feroze and his family are nice people, if Nikhat wants to wait for marriage then I can wait too."

"Ammi! Thank you so much!" Nikhat threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her cheek.

Dadi hugged her too and told her to go freshen up. As she started to leave, Rashid called her back.

"Nikhat?"

"Ji Abbu?"

"If you want, you can work at our office and get some experience as you apply to other places."

"Really Abbu?"

"Absolutely!"

His heart lifted to hear her squeal in delight and skip away to tell Nuzzhat the good news.

"Rashid, what are you going to say to them? Ek ladki unke ghar mein byaahi hai, and now we are breaking off the rishta for another daughter. I'm scared. What if ..." Shireen twisted the end of the dupatta nervously.

He brushed his hand through his hair. "I don't know. I'll talk to Asad and Dilshad first." Shireen came to pat his back, worried about how hard it would be for him to talk to Feroze's or Omar's parents.

He put a comforting hand on her arm, "It'll be hard," he said, reading her mind. "But Nikhat is so fragile right now and we have to think of her first. That Imran business really left her scarred it seems. I don't want us to push her. Let's give her a chance to breathe free with no pressure."

Shireen nodded.

Dadi rolled her prayer beads between her fingers and covered her head to murmur her prayers. "Tum theek keh rahe ho Rashid. Kaafi gehra sadma pada hai bacchi par. Let's back off and let her be."

He sighed. "Shukar hai Allah ka that Omar's parents are such fine people. And so are Feroze's parents. I feel terrible that we won't have another son-in-law from that family. Feroze is a good boy. But if that's Allah will then ..."

Zoya held up another pakora for Asad to bite into. Their eyes snagged as he took a slow bite, his tongue snaking out to lick her finger. This one was spicier than the last one. His mouth was on fire. He hissed.

Suddenly the lights blew out.

"Uff! I told the guard to get the inverter fixed," Dilshad muttered in exasperation. "Najma beta, get the candles."

In the pitch dark, Asad seized Zoya by her forearms to crash her to him. A soft gasp escaped her. He sucked her lower lip and thrust his tongue in to mate with hers and bank the spreading fires. The heat index of the chilli peppers lowered as she melted against him. He broke away just a second before a couple of candles flared up in the kitchen.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, Asad sipped the last of his tea and went to sit on the couch. Zoya swiped her mouth. Her lips burned as if branded. Her mouth was on fire as if she'd eaten ten chillies in one go.

"Mirchi!" she yelled and ran to get chilled water and rinse her hands.

"How are the pakoras?" she asked Humaira on the way. "I still haven't had one," she grumbled.

Humaira's eyebrows arched. But didn't Bhabhi just say ...?

She watched Zoya wash up and take a bite and moan in delight, "so good!"

As she threw her head back and closed her eyes, Humaira saw Asad bhaijaan look at Bhabhi with a long and hooded gaze. She noticed a batter-smudged handprint on his dark shirtfront, and she blushed.

Aapi patted Zoya's shoulder, "zyaada mat khana. You'll get indigestion."

"Mmm, Aapi it's worth it!"

"Badmash ladki, koi baat nahin sunti ho meri! Dekhna, your kids are not going to listen to you too!" Zeenat pulled her ear playfully.

"Phir main aapki tarah, unki choti kheenchungi! Or better yet, I'll send them to you."

"Ya Allah! You're impossible and incorrigible!"

"Koi shaq?" came the cheeky retort.

Asad thought back to another evening, months ago, when he had returned similarly from work and found the neighborhood shrouded by another electric outage. They had all gone out into the backyard. A minute later Zoya had come out carrying a tray of mugs of steaming ginger and masala tea. A candlestick on the tray cast a soft halo of light on her face.

She had handed him his mug tentatively, a fragile peace offering, "umm, Mr. Khan, tea?" They had barely been civil to each other since his bitter outburst over the gas leak.

He'd stiffly stuffed his hands into his pockets and she had ducked her head.

"Asad, try it, it's really good," Ammi had encouraged.

He had taken the mug from her without a word. He didn't have tea, only when he got a cold once in a while and Ammi forced him to have some. He took a sip of the light sugary, milky concoction just so that he wouldn't have to say a word in repsonse. The strong ginger flavor blended with cardamom had made him sigh in pleasure.

"Zoya, I love your adrak elaichi chai," Najma had said. And since then, so had he.

Ammi had shivered, and just as quickly, Zoya had dashed inside to get a shawl. They had all heard her cries of "ouch!' as she blundered about. Najma giggled, Ammi smiled fondly and sighed, and he had rolled his eyes. But she had hobbled out and tucked Ammi snugly in a shawl and given another one to Najma. She had been excited and gushed about the fun of sitting in the dark together and looking up at the moon. She didn't know there were so many stars in the sky, she whispered in awe.

"Phuphi, you know you can barely see the stars in New York. The skyglow there is so bad."

"What's skyglow?" Najma had asked.

"Light pollution. From the night lights in the city."

Later, she and Najma had nagged everyone to play Antakshari. Five seconds later, Tanveer had pretended to be cold, rubbing her hands together and hugging herself. And Zoya had nearly gotten up to get her a shawl too.

But Tanveer had purred, "rehne do Zoya, Jammy can give me his coat."

He'd been forced to part with his jacket and drape it across her shoulders. Zoya's smile had slipped. And his heart had twisted. Those were the days when his rigid self-control wouldn't allow him to admit even to himself how attracted he was to her. But he would catch his eyes following her, alerting to the sound of her voice or giggles. He would watch her, many a night, sitting alone on the bench caressing her father's music box and his fists would clench.

Thank god, that night Najma had put the 440-volt smile back on her face. She had invited Zoya to share the shawl with her and they had snuggled together under it as they sang off tune, eventually winning the competition against Ammi, Tanu and himself.

Najma and Tanu had then pestered him to play his guitar and sing for them. He did, and with a pang watched Zoya's lashes brush her pale cheeks.

Her yearning to belong and fear of being an outsider had only registered with him much later. She had hurriedly plastered a smile on her face and watched them sing a song she didn't know the words to. She clapped in rhythm and gradually joined in when the lyrics and tune became more familiar. He'd been mesmerized by her eager and hungry eyes looking at Ammi and Tamatar, as she tried to master the song. Quick to recover, pick up and dust herself off, always ready for a new experience and adventure with no grudges or hard feelings. She was Sheherzade and Lucille Ball. Fun and daring of the West, wisdom and grace of the East.

Irrepressible!

That was his Zoya!

Now, under the cover of semi-darkness, he texted her, "room. Now"

"Y"

"Y do U think? After teekha, I want meetha."

"No!" she texted back, "can't."

"I know how to turn a no into a yes! Yes! YES!"

She squeezed her eyes shut and silenced her phone so that the others wouldn't hear the rapid successive pings as their lust ping-ponged across cellular devices, from the couch to the kitchen. But thanks to that fiery kiss and these se*xts she was mighty close to a steamy YES! right now.

"Stop showing off! And I have to help with dinner"

"I'll help with dessert"

"Aaahhh! U're killing me"

"U have batter in your hair & are half-done already. My turn to stuff and gorge on my laal mirchi" These words were followed by a string of hot red peppers. She was wearing red after all!

"I thought I was meetha!' she shot back.

"You will be, after I'm done with U"

He heard her groan and grinned.

Bingo!

"Ammi, I'm going to change," Asad announced and left for their room.

Zoya had to hold herself tight so that she wouldn't bounce restlessly on her feet or rush in after him as if attached by an invisible elastic band.

Not fair, Mr. Khan!

But he was right. She was nearly done. Undone rather!

She raised her hand to her hair remembering his text. "Allah miyan! What's wrong with me?" she squealed. "How do I have all this batter in my hair? Humaira, Najma, why didn't you guys tell me?"

They laughed and shrugged. "Here, Bhabhi, let me help you wash it off in the kitchen sink," offered Humaira.

On the iPad, Adnan Sami crooned, "ishq tera garam masala ..." and Zoya clenched her thighs. She hugged herself.

"No! umm ... er ... I'll go do it in the restroom," and she fled gratefully for a promised saucy and spicy treat.

No.

Feast.

He was shirtless and barefoot. Just a pair of unfastened jeans.

Waiting. Stalking.

Are you wearing anything under those jeans?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Zoya tugged her hair free and shook it loose.

"Come find out."

Asad yanked her to him. Before she could catch her breath, he whipped her shirt off over her head. And before she could clear her vision, he unhooked her bra and sent it sailing to land on the headboard. He lifted her by her hips aligning her with his mouth to suck and feast. Zoya arched like a bow strung taut, arrowing herself deeper into his mouth. The touch, the sounds of his lovemaking, made her head rear back helplessly; her hair swept his arms at her waist. On their own, her knees bent and toes pointed toward her swaying hair. Jeans-clad hips crushed and ground against jeans-clad hips. Their bare upper bodies were one. She thrashed.

"It burns," she protested as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed him closer.

"Good," he taunted after a deep tug that turned her molten. He grunted as she scissored her legs around his waist tightly.

"Oh really?" she asked innocently and rubbed herself against him more for herself than to punish or tease him.

He carried her to the settee and gently slid her down. The faintest moonlight streamed in from the window when a cloud passed. Unsnagging her jeans he peeled them off along with the flimsy lace. His urgency inflamed her more.

She gripped his hands, "Asad, slow down!"

"No," he growled, pushing her hands away.

"Now!" and her jeans landed in a tangled heap at the floor.

Her breath caught. She trailed a lazy finger across his taut stomach inching lower to the open fly. He flipped her over and raised her on her knees, kissing her shoulder. She reached out to push the windows open as he undressed. Then she grabbed a cushion to rest her elbows on it, waiting for him. He entered her swiftly.

Deep.

To the hilt.

She bit the pillow and whimpered into it, "oh god, yes!"

"Told you!" he crowed softly.

"Shut up, Mr. Khan!" she scolded, arching, writhing. Reveling. One hand gripped the windowsill to brace herself.

The rain danced and pattered outside. A soft breeze swirled the billowing sheers and sprayed her face.

In the living room she could hear soft strains of singing and some laughter. "Humnein tumko dekha, tumne humko dekha ..." sang Ammi and Aapi.

They were playing antakshari? Without her?

His fingers dug into her waist. And he started to burrow and bore deeper.

"Asaaddd, please," she hissed through clenched teeth. Her knuckles were white against the sill.

"Please what?" he panted, relentless.

"Harder, pleeeaaase!"

He jerked and went still.

"Asad?" she complained.

"Shh, give me a second."

And he began moving again. Hard and fast. Her teeth dug into the cushion. She wished it were his shoulder but she loved this way best. This was when she'd feel him sink in deepest. Closest. Nudging her womb.

So erotic. So damn hot.

"Ooh, so good!" she moaned biting her lower lip.

"Suraj hua madhyam, chaand jalne laga," Ayaan and the girls sang outside.

She wiggled impatiently, rocking him in further. "Please, please ... harder" she crooned. Her hips begged, luxuriated, going wild.

"Oh god, Zoyaaa! Don't say"-!" He threw his head back, helpless. "You make me lose all control!"

His roughened words through clenched teeth and breaking self-restraint were enough to drive her over the edge.

"Main theheri rahi, zameen chalne lagi ..."

"Yes! Yeesss!" she buried her face in the pillow to smother her cries. Her hair cascaded off her shoulders now dewy from the rain.

Song in Title:

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai (2010) "Tum Jo Aaye"

Chapter 80

"BTW, this mirchi is already stuffed, thanks to you and Baby Ahmed Khan," she texted him just after dinner.

"You're getting slow Mrs. Khan. I was expecting you to say that 2 hours ago!" He messaged from the living room.

The lights were back on. Asad was working on his laptop, overseeing Ayaan create a report for an important presentation tomorrow. In between, he was fielding texts from his wife hellbent on sassing him and destroying his concentration. It was going to be a big day for Ayaan tomorrow. His big chance to be in the big leagues. Humaira was more nervous for him and peeked over their shoulders every now and then. She rolled her eyes, wrung her hands and crossed her fingers when he seemed to space out. She wanted to rap his knuckles for flaking out. Ayaan, focus! she wanted to scream.

"I was distracted!" Zoya tried to save face. "And just for that, Mr. Khan, no meetha 4 U tonight! Bet you didn't expect that!"

"That's OK, I'm in the mood for khatta now," his text retorted.

She stomped her foot. Was she really getting slow? Allah miyan, if it's true then that's so not fair!

"Oh really, you want some imli or pickle?" she sassed back. "I thought I was the 1 who's pregnant. When's your baby due?"

She heard him laugh and pumped her fist. Yes! Not so slow after all.

"Same day as yours!"

Annnhhh! She mentally groaned. The man was keeping up. She must be slowing down after all.

"Aapi! Soak more badaams for me!" she harrumphed.

When Dilshad came down for water late at night, she saw Asad in the backyard, deep in thought, and pacing furiously. She watched, worried, as he ran his hand through his hair and cracked his knuckles.

"Asad? Why aren't you asleep?"

"Kuch nahin Ammi. I'm just ... thinking."

Dilshad took at sip of her water and sat down on the bench. She patted it, inviting him to join her. "Tell me what's bothering you. Is it Nikhat?" Rashid had called and briefly told them about Nikhat's decision earlier that evening.

Asad sighed. "Jee, Ammi. I support Nikhat. But I hope it won't affect how Najma will be treated by their family."

"They are really nice people. From what I've heard Zeenat say about Omar's parents, and what we've seen of them, they seem warm and kind. And incredibly open-minded. Najma will be fine. That's what I told Rashid too."

Dilshad sighed and continued, "poor child. Your Abbu told me they fear that incident with Imran seems to have scarred Nikhat in some way. My heart goes out to her. Such terrible people! And now she's scared to trust such wonderful people because of that."

He bowed his head and exhaled deeply. Dilshad put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"I'm worried about Zoya, Ammi."

"Why? Has something happened?" She half-rose in panic, clutching her heart.

Asad gently pulled her back by her arm, "no, nothing's happened. But she's crying too much these days. I read about this, and Dr. Sharma also told us that it's only hormonal."

"But you're not convinced it's just that."

"No. I think there's something deeper ... ek gham hai jo Zoya ko undar se khaye ja raha hai. I know she desperately wants to be reunited with her father. She wants him to acknowledge her as his daughter. Ammi, I know ... it's killing her that he's so worried about Tanveer and doesn't know the truth about her. She aches for Humaira to call her Aapi or Baji, not Zoya Bhabhi."

Dilshad spoke wistfully, "now that she's going to have a baby, she must yearn for him even more."

He rose and started to pace again. "I shouldn't have listened to her! I should've taken her to meet him as soon as we found out."

Asad stopped in front of her. "You know Ammi, she doesn't hold her music box any more. I think she's hidden it somewhere. It's not in its usual place ... She either doesn't want Humaira to catch her with it, or, I think she's done it because of all the buzz about pregnant women staying happy and thinking only happy thoughts."

Asad knelt before her, "She's trying to repress her feelings for the sake of the baby, and me. That's not right, is it Ammi? This can't possibly be good for her or the baby."

"Mera bachha," Dilshad whispered, stroking and smoothing his hair. "How much is Allah going to test her?"

He paced long after Dilshad went up to bed. Should he go meet Siddiqui saheb? Or should he just let nature takes its course? If he did go, then what proof did he really have? Why would the man believe him? Especially when they were business rivals. He didn't even have the music box to show him. Where had she hidden it?

Asad went to bed only when he felt a pair of arms embrace him and his wife's lips at his neck. She dragged him away, complaining that she and the baby couldn't sleep without him by their side.

When Zoya went to open the door the next morning she was greeted by a gigantic bouquet of roses. She squealed with delight. Her husband was back to spoiling her instead of razzing her. She reached her arm out ...

Feroze peeked from behind the mountain of roses. "Hi Zoya Bhabhi! I got these for Najma. Omar's strict orders."

Zoya's face fell. Not for her? But then she squealed again. "Najma!" she yelled up the stairs. "Special delivery for you!" Everyone spilled into the living room. New morning, new show.

Zoya waited at the bottom of the stairs dying to see Najma's reaction. She wasn't disappointed. Najma shrieked and sobbed. Humaira dutifully took pictures and videos, as did Feroze.

"But he hasn't reached home as yet. How did he contact you?" Najma inquired of her brother-in-law after wiping her tears. He had called her when he landed in Dubai. There was a five-hour wait there and then a sixteen-hour flight to San Francisco.

"He told me before leaving. I was instructed to buy the biggest bouquet of roses today and appear at your doorstep to take you to Khala's house where you are to spend the rest of the day with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. They've been told to spoil you rotten and treat you like a princess." In fact, Omar had ribbed him about may be having Najma bring Nikhat with her for company, but there was no chance of that now.

Najma blushed with pleasure.

"Haww Tamatar, this is your big test! You better be on your best behavior and represent the Khan family well. Aakhir humari izzat ka sawaal hai!" Zoya teased.

Feroze grinned. She offered him a drink and snacks as Najma went to get ready for her big day at her sasural, Cinderella at the castle in the absence of her Prince Charming. Dilshad and Aapi clucked loudly and followed her to wave their maternal magic wands. Humaira, the trusty photographer and videographer charged after them to memorialize the moment for everyone's favorite Jeeju.

"How are you doing Feroze?" Zoya asked cautiously. Asad had told her about Nikhat's decision. Admiration for Nikhat had warred with regret that she was missing out on being with such a nice guy. She had met Omar's cousins as kids at birthday parties and religious holidays back in the US. He was the older, quieter and shyest one. The observer and confidant, and everyone's secret keeper. And he was also the one with a wicked sense of humor once he became comfortable around people.

If only ...

Feroze ducked his head and she saw his smile slip. Her heart melted for him. These Khans! Breaking hearts all over the place.

"I'm fine ... Bhabhi. Thanks for asking."

"Call me Zoya. And I'm sorry it didn't work out with Nikhat," she said softly. She wanted to blurt out about Imran, assure him that Nikhat was neither heartless nor a snob. She wanted to ...

"Me too," he sighed.

Impulsively, she went to the side table and picked up the address book, a pen and post-it note.

Asad would totally kill her. Thank god he'd left early today!

Checking the address book she wrote something and then handed him the note.

"She's going to be here all day. Talk to her."

He looked at her and then at the paper clutched between her fingers. And then slowly he took the yellow scr*ap and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

"Wish me luck."

"You won't need it," she patted his knee. "Keep me posted," she said hurriedly as everyone trooped down the stairs.

Nikhat was loving it in Abbu's office. At first everyone treated her with kid gloves but when they saw that she wasn't about to be coddled and oohed and aahed over, they all went about their business and left her alone. Abbu's secretary had given her some simple computer tasks that she wasn't completely bored with as yet.

She had silenced her phone and ignored the thousand and one frantic text and voicemail messages from Ammi and Nuzzhat. Even Ayaan bhaijaan had left a few teasing notes. Zoya Bhabhi has sent a simple, "I love you and am so proud of you. Good luck." It warmed her head to toe. Humaira had sent her an inspirational quote and Najma had called to talk to her.

"I would have loved it if things had worked out. But you know that both Omar and I love you so much, right?" Najma, like the rest of the family, heartily approved of how close Omar and Nikhat had gotten. The two of them were the perfect foils to one another, sharing an odd and unexpected kinship. Nikhat felt so guilty when she saw Najma's name flash on her screen. Allah, please don't let Omar hate me!

Nikhat assured everyone that she was fine. Asad bhaijaan had come to pick her up and take her to Abbu's office. He gave her a small bunch of flowers, "Zoya sent you these. I think they are from our backyard."

She'd buried her face in them inhaling the sweet scent and he'd hugged her sideways and kissed the top of her head, "have a great day! And remember, if you hate it here, you can always come work for me! We're bigger and better!"

"Bhaijaan!"

Remembering Ayaan bhaijaan's first day at work, she had expressly forbidden Ammi to send lunch. "I'll eat with Abbu, please don't worry about me, Ammi."

She sighed with pleasure. This wasn't so bad. For a second she thought about Feroze and felt a pang. "No, it's for the best," she told herself. She got back to work after checking the clock. Half an hour before everyone broke for lunch. She wanted to run something by Abbu when she joined him then.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. It was Mala from the front desk.

"Ms. Khan, Ma'am, there's someone here to meet you."

"Who?"

"He won't give me his name. But he's been waiting for a long time. The guard wouldn't let him in. When I stepped out, he explained that it's urgent. He seems well-dressed and from a good family. So I thought I'd come up and tell you myself."

Nikhat just knew. Her heart chugged and thumped. Oh god, what now? And on her first day at work too! She thanked Mala and rose to face him. For a fraction of a second she had been tempted to tell Mala, "tell him I'm not here."

But no. She owed him at least this much.

He leaped up from the chair as soon as he saw her descending the steps. His helmet nearly went flying.

"Hi," Feroze said shyly.

She smiled tremulously.

"Umm, I'm sorry to bother you here. I shouldn't have come." He gripped his helmet tight.

"No, please, it's OK. Have a seat." She led him to a nook with potted plants and two comfortable chairs.

"Can I take you out for coffee? Please?"

She wanted to go. But she didn't want to go. If she didn't go, it would all end here. She'd probably never see him again. If she went with him, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be that clichd jhatt mangni, patt byaah. She wasn't the kind to flit from romantic dalliances to flings. If she went out today, it would be a permanent declaration of a lifelong commitment.

"It's fine. You don't have to. We can talk here." And he took a seat.

She had seen the light leave his eyes and it had done something to her heart. Had he been hurt by her reluctance? Did he actually like her?

Oh god, what are these feelings?

She sat too and waited for him to say something. She felt too tongue-tied.

He seemed to make a sudden decision. "I just wanted to know why you said no," he asked simply, calmly, with no rancor or recriminations.

He was dying to ask: was it me? I thought you liked me. I liked you. I like you. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. I've never done anything like this before.

But he remained silent. He wanted her to answer without him trying to fill in the uncomfortable silence between them with defensive excuses or pleas.

Nikhat looked at him. He looked so vulnerable. Had she hurt him by refusing him? Did guys feel this way too?

"I ... I want to study and work. I don't think I'm ready for marriage yet."

"Women study and work even after they get married. Najma"-"

"I know Najma will study further. But it's different for her. Theirs was a love marriage."

"Ours could be too," he whispered roughly.

Her eyes flew to meet his. She saw hope and fear and something else blaze in his direct gaze. She blushed and lowered her lashes. He looked down at her bowed head and made a split-second decision. Where had all this boldness come from suddenly?

"Let's get some coffee, or ice cream, or ... whatever you wish." he stated more firmly this time.

"OK," she whispered.

He held the door open for her. "Do you want to get your bag or ... tell uncle?"

She looked up at him blankly and then at her empty hands. She looked up in confusion at Mala at the desk.

"Go ahead Ma'am. I'll tell sir," she reassured her.

She was rooted to the spot.

"Nikhat?" Feroze held out his hand to her.

She looked down at his open palm and slipped her hand into his. She felt him tug her toward him and allowed him to lead her out. In a daze she watched him mount his bike, secure his helmet and turn to her. She sat in the backseat and bravely slipped her arm around his waist.

Ya Allah, what am I doing?

Was she just experimenting with something new and forbidden? Would she do this with just anyone? If Imran had come up like this would she do the same? Unconsciously she clutched his shirt. Her friends would sneak out on dates with boyfriends. Is this what she was testing and trying on?

She felt confused. She wasn't the kind. She had haughtily defined herself as too old-school. Too sure that she'd never be those types who sneaked around behind their parents' backs and led double lives as goody-two shoes at home and risk-taking rebels outside.

But she felt bold too.

She wanted to see where this went. She felt in control. Her fingers started to loosen their tight hold on his shirt. And she felt his palm press down on the back of her hand. He pulled over to the side of the road and removed his helmet.

"I have no idea where I'm going. Do you know where we can find a good place to talk?"

"When are you leaving for New York?" were her first words to him after they placed their order.

He looked at her in surprise. Why are you really here, she was asking.

"When I've convinced you to give us a chance."

He saw delight bloom in her eyes, but then, just as swiftly, they were shadowed by pain.

"Why? Is it because I was the first girl to say no to you?" She asked defiantly.

He chuckled self-consciously. "You aren't the first!"

She felt raw acid course through her. Whoa! What was that? Jealousy?

What nonsense!

"Did you go after every girl who said no to you?"

"No. Just you."

Now that felt really nice. She didn't want to explore why as yet.

But then she frowned.

"Why? Am I that easy to demand an explanation from? I hurt your ego because you didn't expect a girl like me to say no, right?"

"Wrong. At first I thought it was because you didn't think me worthy of you."

She nearly snorted. Him worthy of her? Never in her life had she ever wondered if a guy would be worthy of her. It had always been about if any guy would even like her for herself.

"But now I know it's not me you turned down, but some vague idea of marriage which you see as unequal or repressive."

She gasped. How had"-?

"And you are here to convince me otherwise?" She asked more playfully now. He was right. That's exactly what she feared an arranged marriage would be like. Asad Bhaijaan's and Najma's marriages seemed hauntingly beautiful, but she was sure that would never happen to her.

She was ordinary.

But her darkest fear went deeper. She had never fully admitted it even to herself. She loved Abbu to pieces, but she wondered if he could leave someone as beautiful and graceful as Badi Ammi, then there was no way that she, a plain jane, stood a chance to save her marriage even if she did end up marrying. On bad days, she thought: who would want to marry me? On worse days: why would someone want to stay married to me?

She didn't want Feroze to breach her carefully erected walls of tangled insecurities and self-defense.

But he did.

"What happened Nikhat? Why are you so scared of marriage? Someone hurt you. You've taken their rejection to heart."

Her eyes widened and teared as she looked at him in panic; the wall came crashing down. Woodenly, unexpectedly, the words spilled out.

She had been engaged not long ago. She thought she had no choice. She thought she should be grateful that someone was willing to marry a dark-skinned girl like herself. She thought he actually liked her. For a moment she had allowed herself to dream dreams and weave fantasies. She had made herself perfect in everyway: she could sew, cook, bake, paint, dance, run a house. She had tried her best to compensate for that one glaring defect.

But it had all been an illusion.

She wasn't a person. She was a damaged marker of her parents' and uncle's wealth. Just an unfortunate carrier of a name and legacy. His mother missed no opportunity to remind them of their charity in choosing her despite her darkness. Each visit was punctuated with suggestions for trying out new whitening creams and technologies. And he had betrayed her by carrying on with another woman on the side.

She was fair.

She was beautiful.

She was also pregnant.

Nikhat fled to the restroom to break down into tears. She had never said these words out loud to anyone. She didn't want to upset her parents or siblings. Only Dadi knew a little bit about how wretched she felt.

When she stepped out she saw Feroze pacing in the empty hallway, just outside. He handed her a water bottle and his handkerchief, both of which she accepted gratefully.

"He's a bast*ard!" He spat out. Nikhat's eyes flared. Not the language she thought she'd hear Feroze use. Omar may be. No, for sure.

But not Feroze.

"And not just because he stepped out on you. Because he didn't stand up for you!"

How did he know Imran didn't stand up for her?

"How do you know he didn't"-?"

"If he had, his mother wouldn't have had the nerve to say those rotten things to you! Say no to me, but don't let scumbags like that dictate what you think of yourself."

Everyone, Ammi, Dadi, Abbu, Ayaan and Asad Bhaijaan, had all said the same thing. But that was because they loved her, she was family. But hearing Feroze say it, meant a world of difference.

Her heart lifted. She beamed up at him.

"Get out your phone," he ordered.

She blinked. "I don't have it. I left it at the office. Why?"

"Here, take mine. Have you seen Jab We Met'?"

She nodded, perplexed.

"My sister forced me to watch. Call that ass and call him every swear word you know."

Nikhat gasped and then grinned impishly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously!"

And his earnest outrage on her behalf and his cheerleading just got to her. It hit her right in the gut. She punched in Imran's numbers surprised that she still remembered.

"Imran? This is Nikhat." She looked into Feroze's face for courage. He nodded and lifted his chin.

"I wanted to call you and tell you that you're a ... a weasel, an ass ... a gadha, suar, ku*tta, kam*ina ullu ka pattha!" Her voice grew stronger with each word. "Did you think your rotten mother and you could walk all over us? Over me? You smarmy son of a bi*tch ... you luchha, lafanga, cheapster ..."

"Ass*hole," prompted Feroze.

"Ass*hole!" she repeated.

"Di*ckbag," he suggested.

"Umm ... Di*ckbag!"

"Major scumbag!"

They continued to collaborate as they poured over every bad word in their mental thesaurus and urban dictionary.

"Loser!"

"Jerk!"

This was fun. Especially since she could hear Imran sputtering at the other end. What a moron! He didn't even hang up!

"Douche!"

She repeated it not even knowing what the words meant anymore.

"Sh*itface!"

"Asswipe!" She choked at that one.

"Devil's spawn!" She loved that one. It was perfect.

She remembered what Ayaan Bhaijaan had called his mother once. "Bhainseena ka toota hua seeng," she yelled.

"Teri maan ki"-!!!" she shouted for good measure and covered her mouth guiltily.

She felt exhilarated. Vindicated.

Grinning, Feroze took his phone from her and held up his hand in the air to high five her. She smacked her own palm against his.

They walked out, giddy and guilt-free, half-drunk coffee and cappuchinos long forgotten.

A young girl with a heap of balloons ran up to them, "Uncle, uncle, aunty ke liye balloon kharido, please!"

Feroze looked at Nikhat and pulled out his wallet. And he bought all the balloons she had.

Replacing his wallet, he gave Nikhat one balloon from the bunch. "I read this somewhere. Imagine this is one of your biggest fears. Release it."

Smiling, she closed her eyes and let it go. They both watched its trajectory, wishing upon it. It floated and bobbed in the air. It brushed against a branch and an electric line and snaked higher.

He handed her another one. "Your biggest doubt."

She released it too with a laugh. It snagged on a branch and then popped. She giggled.

"Your anger."

She looked up at him in surprise. Anger? She had never articulated anger before. If she ever felt the emotion, she suppressed it. Nice girls weren't supposed to be angry.

With a delirious sigh, she released her anger into the universe too.

"Your insecurity." She grabbed two-three more from his hand and released them together, nearly hopping and skipping. He laughed. Her glee was contagious. By now little kids had surrounded them and were clapping for each balloon that broke free.

He handed her another, but she stayed his hand, "your turn now."

She repeated the same instructions, and watched his face as he let each go.

She took one balloon from him and handed it to a little boy, "for hope," she said.

Following her cue, Feroze handed one to another child, "for new beginnings."

"For ... friendship," she said softly.

"For fun!" he responded, as a little girl squealed and skipped off with his balloon.

"For teamwork," sighed Nikhat.

"For champions," a little boy beamed a toothless grin.

"For ... yes," she said loud and clear. She waited for his reaction.

Feroze blushed but remained silent.

"Feroze?"

"That's way too soon! Sorry," he said distantly. "I don't want your gratitude or pity!"

She gasped. What!

The string in her hand released from her feeble grip.

He distributed the remaining balloons quietly and walked over to the bike. He donned his helmet and waited for her climb on.

Nikhat felt disoriented. Had she offended him? Didn't he like her any more? Her heart plummeted and shoulders drooped. She looked up into the sky one last time. She saw tiny colored dots getting tinier. Their fears, doubts, anger and insecurities floated away. Their hopes, friendship and fun were clutched in tiny grubby hands not a few feet away.

Her chin lifted and shoulders squared.

He dropped her off at the office.

"Thanks," he said shyly. "And I'm sorry for taking you away from work for so long."

"Give me your phone," she ordered. "I have to make an important call."

He handed it over obediently. She called her number and left a missed call. Handing him his phone she said, "now I have your number, and you have mine."

"You're going to study and work, and in a few days, I'll be going back to New York to teach a summer class on International Relations. What's the point?" he asked looking away.

She looked at him archly, "International Relations IS the point. You'll take me out for lunch tomorrow. Half a cup of coffee doesn't qualify as a date for a girl like me!"

"And if I say no?"

"You're a Ph.D. and already working. You don't get to say no," she said cheekily. "I'll be waiting here. Tomorrow, high noon."

She didn't know how hard she was gripping her hands, or how deep her nails were gouging her palms till she saw his eyes light up and lips curl into a full smile.

Wait, was that actually a dimple in his cheek and chin? OK, the kids better inherit that!

"Yes ma'am!" he replied simply.

As he kickstarted the bike to leave, she tapped his shoulder. Again, she wondered at her own audacity. He lifted the visor.

"Feroze?"

"Yeah?"

"You're such a liar! I can't believe any girl said no to you!"

Their eyes met and held for a long time. He turned the bike off and pulled off his helmet. "They did. But they may have regretted it after finding out what a prize catch I am!"

Her laughter pealed across the parking lot. "Will I have to fight off a long line of no-sayers and regreters?"

"Probably," he counted on his fingers and she slapped his shoulder. "Four or five of them. But you could do it with all the gaalis you know."

She leaned back weakly against the bike as she doubled over with laughter again.

Nikhat held out her open hand, "done!"

He looked at her open palm. Qubool hai? He low-fived her. He wanted to pull her by that hand into his arms and plant a kiss on her lips.

Too soon?

May be tomorrow.

"I think the bigger question is: how many said yes?" She asked, an eyebrow raised, still not wanting him to leave.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"Feroze! All that 'main bechara' charm was just to reel me in?"

He shrugged, "it worked, didn't it? See? You're putty in my hands."

"You"-!"

"Luchha, lafanga, ku*tta"-?"

She rushed to put her hand on his mouth. Both blushed. She jerked her hand back as if burned and clenched it. A plesant and comfortable silence stretched between them.

Nikhat hugged herself. "What a first day at work!" she quipped.

"Just imagine what your first day back at school will be like."

"Really interesting, if I had you for my professor. And I'm such a good student too!"

She gasped, unable to believe that she had actually said something like that. Where had THAT come from? Her hands flew to muzzle her mouth. Good god, what was happening to her? Who was she?

"Miss Nikhat Khan, I do believe you're flirting with me! Besides, it's against policy for professors to date their students, even the best ones. You'd get me fired. Then we'd have to make do on your salary alone!" He fastened his helmet and roared off.

Rashid watched from four floors above. Is that why she had said no to Feorze because she liked someone else? He had told the guard to buzz him when they came back after Mala came to tell him that Nikhat Ma'am had gone out for coffee with someone. He had pressed her for more details, but that's all she knew. He nearly called down to order the guard to note down the bike's license plate number. But no. He trusted Nikhat. And having the guard snoop around would just make the staff talk and speculate among themselves.

He couldn't see the boy from up here, but he saw her body language. She looked happy and confident. Her shoulders were thrown back and her head was held high. She actually touched him and laughed with abandon. He had rarely seen Nikhat laugh like that. He saw him slap her hand in a breezy low-five, and then her hand lifted to his mouth! His Nikhat? So free and at such ease with a young man? Rashid continued to watch as the young man rode away and Nikhat's eyes followed him. She crossed the lot and entered their office building, a spring in her step.

Rashid was happy for his daughter. But he was worried too. How long had she known this man? Why didn't she tell them? Was he a Hindu or Christian boy? Would that matter? Yes, and no.

She had kept track of his meetings by chatting up Prasad. At around 2 o'clock Zoya called Prasad again.

"I'm sending a gift for Mr. Khan. Let the delivery boy through the side entrance.

Someone knocked. When Asad looked up from his laptop, he saw the tallest and widest flower arrangement he'd seen in his life. The fragrance of tuberoses filled the room. Grinning broadly, he rose to supervise its accurate placement on the coffee table. He grabbed the small card while retrieving his wallet to generously tip the delivery boy.

His hand arrested in mid-air as he read the words. His favorite, Rumi.

"When I am with you, we stay up all night.

When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.

Praise God for those two insomnias!

And the difference between them."

From the corner of his eye he saw the delivery boy turn to leave. "Wait, please. Here's ..."

He looked at the baseball cap, the slight back in the loose shirt, the skinny jeans. Hmm, why did the delivery person have the cutest butt? Just like his wife's.

He quietly snuck up behind her and pinched her butt.

"Mr. Khan!" she squealed turning around. "How did you know? I hope you don't go around pinching random delivery walas' butts!"

"I can recognize you in any disguise, any where, that's how," Asad flipped the cap off and watched, mesmerized, as her hair tumbled down. "Besides, isn't that my shirt?"

"So it was the shirt you recognized, not your wife!"

"Why the flowers?" he asked tucking her hair behind an ear.

"Just like that! I was missing you. Najma's gone to her sasural. Ammi and Aapi went shopping. Humaira's disappeared somewhere too."

He pulled her in for a hug and kiss and led her to cuddle on the couch.

"How did Ayaan's presentation go?"

"Pretty good. He's a natural at this. I have to slog hours getting the littlest details right, and he just breezes in, oozes charm and confidence. Within minutes, he has them eating out of his hand." Asad proudly recapped for her.

"Humaira was so nervous." Zoya mused. She planted a kiss on his cheek and rose to go. "I know you're busy, I'll see you at home in the evening."

He pulled her back to land her in his lap, "don't go."

"But you have a meeting at 4!" she complained, snuggling in deeper.

"How would you know?"

"I've been keeping tabs on you."

"Prasad?"

"Shhh," she smoothed his brow, "a detective or reporter never gives up her sources."

"You're bored right?"

"Totally! How long can I help Ammi and Aapi, chat with Humaira and Najma, catch up with my blogging, and read?"

"Join work here."

"Really?"

"Sure!"

"No. No one will take me seriously since I'll be the bossni, and you won't get any work done!"

"Bossni?"

"Boss' boss!"

He chuckled and stroked her cheek. "Then work from home. Get involved with or supervise the work that's about to start at the children's center."

Even before they got married, they had talked about showing their gratitude for finding each other by doing something good, some kind of public service or community outreach or enrichment program. Asad had talked to Jeeju to find out the name and whereabouts of the orphanage where they had found Zoya. And since then they had committed to building an extension to the existing structure which would house additional classrooms, a computer lab and sports facilities. The ground-breaking ceremony would be in a few weeks.

Her eyes sparkled. "Yes! We can do a fundraiser to raise more money for equipment."

"Sounds good. Talk to Prasad and get started." His desk phone rang.

Zoya let herself out quietly after a quick peck on his cheek. He had pulled her to him letting his palm linger and rub her stomach gently. Every morning he still chanted Allah's name ninety-nines times, hand possessive and protective over her belly. They would talk softly to, and through the baby after this ritual: tell Ammi this, watch Abbu do that ...

Still talking over the phone, he took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips.

"Yes, I'll see you there," he told whoever was at the other end, and then bit down on her thumb pad.

She hissed.

As she got into the car, her phone pinged. A new message. She looked at the screen and pumped her fist in the air, "Yay! Good job Zoya!"

"We're going out for lunch tomorrow," reported her latest matchmaking client.

Song in title:

Veer (2010): "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"