ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Hai Mushkil (Updated Ch. 130 Page 90 Oct. 11) - Page 16

Chapter 110

"Asad you tell her! Meri toh koi sunta kahan hai," Dilshad frowned at Zoya at the dinner table that evening.

Zoya grinned back at her shamelessly. "But Ammi it itches so bad!"

"You're telling me! I've had kids too." Asad and Najma looked at each other and rolled their eyes. She grinned to see her brother clutch his forehead. Poor Bhaijaan.

"But beta, I'm telling you to not scratch for your own good. Do you think I like bossing you around and bullying you? I hate it!" Dilshad raised the spatula when she saw her bahu's thumb try to sneak another scratch at her belly. "Don't make me hit you!" she threatened.

Zoya giggled. "Ammi please! Stop pretending to be one of those filmy saasu ma's! Aapke bas ka nahin hai."

"Ammi, don't worry, I'll take of it," Asad tried to pacify his mother too.

"Oh really?" Zoya reared her head dangerously to look at him. "How exactly will you take care of it?"

He tilted his head in warning. Give it up, he seemed to say.

When she was about to argue further with him he narrowed his eyes at her.

Zoya sighed in surrender.

"Fine!" she muttered. "Such torture and abuse I have to bear in my sasural."

She made a face. "Najma, I can't even expect my husband to stand up to his mother. So typical!"

Najma laughed. "Zoya, stop it! I wish every girl was tortured and abused in their sasural like you are in yours! Life ban jayegi!"

Zoya looked at a smug Dilshad and nodded. "I know," she stage-whispered to Najma. "Kabhi-kabhi I say this stuff just so that nazar na lagey. What if there's a mischief-making farishta who sees us so happy and jinxes us?"

"Please!" Asad drawled. "The only mischief-making farishta in this house is you."

Zoya gave him the look. Watch it, or the jinx could land on you, it seemed to say.

Asad's smile started at one corner of his mouth and took its time to get to the other side.

With his eyes he pointed to his ring on her finger.

Zoya blushed with pleasure as she remembered the inscription: Qubool hai.

Nicely done, Mr. Khan.

But his smile disappeared when she raised huge doe eyes to his. Asad excused himself from the table abruptly.

A second or two later Zoya's phone pinged to show a new message: "Wipe that look off your face, Mrs. Khan, or I'm not going to be responsible for what I do to you."

Zoya forgot to scratch her itch as she bit back a moan.

"qh," she texted back.

"What do you think Zainab? I understand that Asad doesn't want to move back in, but he's not even letting Zoya come home with us for the delivery." Raziya was at the gravesite complaining about their son-in-law. "He's saying everything will happen at the Khan house. Kaise samjhaoon iss ladke ko!"

She fiddled with the flowers and swept the stone with her hand. "Hmm, may be I'll ask Badi bi to talk to him," she decided after some thought. "Can you believe it, Siddiqui saheb says that it doesn't matter where the godh bharai ceremony is and which house she's in when it's time for the delivery. What matters is that our daughters be happy."

Her eyes misted. Both she and her husband had indeed come a long way. Raziya stroked the stone and arranged the flowers. "He is right, isn't he? I wish I had understood this a long time ago. I don't know why I gave in to the dark fears that consumed me. I couldn't understand such a simple thing"what matters is that our daughters be happy. They could have been happier growing up together ..."

A crow cawed in the distance. Raziya shook herself off. She had promised not to keep wallowing in the past. She'd been given a second chance ... a new beginning ...

She wiped her eyes and sat up straight. "Chalo, even if Zoya stays at her sasural at least Zeenat will be here for the delivery. I doubt if Asad will change his mind. The only person who could make him do it""

Her eyes gleamed and she grinned. Yes, she'd try that too. "Let's see how he says no to Zoya! Anyways, I've been making lists of things to do and get. There's no point getting her sarees or lehengas, right? Even jewelry ..."

She sighed. Yeh ladki ... Nothing traditional or normal for this girl. Raziya had consulted for hours with Zeenat also. Zeenat had laughed at her elaborate plans. "Cricket, films, music and tech gadgets"iske alawa if you get her anything else, she's not going to even touch them."

Zeenat had sighed too. "Her jewelry is still sitting in our safe deposit box. We wanted to mark her 13th, 16th, 18th and 21st birthdays with special pieces ... Her heavier lehengas and salwar kameezes ... ? Many of them she gave away to her American friends to wear as costumes for Halloween or New Year's parties. Ya Allah, yeh ladki! But you know Raziya bi, I can't imagine Zoya in anything else besides jeans. Uska trademark hai. We gave up a long time ago."

"Trademark is right, hai na?" Raziya continued chatting with the headstone. "You should see her. It's killing her to have to wear baggy shirts and jeans. Baby will be born wearing jeans too, I'm sure!"

Zoya frowned. For days now she had been wracking her brains for a solution. Aapi had sent her the baby book. But as much as she loved it, there was no official page on which to add what Aapi and Jeeju meant to her and their special relationship to the baby. The family tree held the names of her Ammi and Abbu and their family histories"names of people she'd never met nor known. Her Ammi and Abbu hadn't even been in her life, Aapi and Jeeju had. And god knows what she would have been like if she'd had Abbu in her life from the beginning. Would she be traditional and calm like Humaira?

Aapi and Jeeju had given her the room to be herself. She was what she was today thanks to having them in her life. Then why was there no room for them in this book?

Nope. She was going to fix that.

But how?

Idly Zoya re-flipped through the baby book. It was growing massive with additions of loose sheets and her more recent project. It was taking on the look of a messy scra*pbook ...

Hmm ... scra*pbook ...

Her eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. Two birds, one stone. If she did fold the baby book into a scra*pbook then she could add her own pages, customize them and even sneak in a surpise for Asad at the same time. Ammi could help her with it. May be they could even make a scra*pbook for Najma to take with her ... the possibilities were endless.

Perfect!

She should have known. Aakhir Zoya Farooqui kuchch bhi kar sakti hai!

"Mr. Khan, a Mrs. Khan to see you."

Asad smiled. Strange. Why would Zoya have herself announced so formally? What new tricks was she up to now? He leaped out of his chair as Shireen was ushered in.

"Chhoti Ammi, aap?" He faltered in confusion and alarm. "Is everything OK? Please have a seat."

Asad ordered tea growing more and more concerned at her blank expression and the stiff tension that oozed from her.

Shireen looked at him with watery eyes. One hand desperately clutched her dupatta end. "I wanted to talk to you. Only you'll understand this. Everyone else will dismiss my concerns ... or make fun of them."

Her words chilled him. Asad sat down too by the sofa and waited till the server had handed her the cup of tea and left.

"What concerns? Is it Ayaan? Abbu?" Terrible scenarios were playing out in his head. His mind raced. He'd heard nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing on everyone's minds these days was the big move back to the big house.

"Are you worried about moving back to the Siddiqui house?" He prompted. Her silence was slashing a million knives though his gut. He began sorting through a mental list of health scares, family politics and fights.

Did something happen?

An uneasy hand fisted behind his back.

"Chhoti Ammi? You're scaring me."

Shireen placed the cup and saucer on the coffee table with extreme care. "I'm scared," she said finally.

"Why?"

"Don't laugh. But I saw this show. And in it ... this man is settled in America and he sends his wife home to her parents for a month after ten years of marriage."

Asad stared at her in utter incomprehension. In her hurry to get the words off her chest Shireen didn't notice his disbelief. " ... but instead of sending her the green card papers he'd promised, he sends divorce papers. She ends up having no legal status in the US and can never go back to see her kids who are US citizens."

Asad blinked. Wha"? But he schooled his face to not show his rising skepticism.

Shireen looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I'm scared for Nikhat ... even Najma. And now everyone is after Nuzzhat to get married to Faiz. What if something like this happens? Do our girls have any rights in a foreign land so far away from home?"

"Umm ..." Asad's mind was blank. He had no response, so unprepared had he been for this curveball.

"I want you to do something about it," she continued, her voice a lot firmer now, her mind made up. She looked up at him hopefully"her eyes pleading for understanding and reassurance. "I want you to promise that you'll look out for the girls, their rights. That something like that could never happen to them. Itni door, wahan unka kaun hoga? What'll happen to them if ... ?"

"Chhoti Ammi, both Feroze and Omar are good men. Their families are good. This would never happen. That was just a show. I don't think you should worry about this."

"Your Abbu was a good man too."

She saw his face shut down and nearly crumpled.

Tears fell down Shireen's face. It had taken so much courage to talk herself into coming here. She had always been scared of Asad and his temper. But she had seen him mellow over the past year. Living together in the Siddiqui house had shown her an intensely protective side of him. She had even forgiven his outburst against Ayaan"he had yelled at Ayaan because he'd been terrified for his safety. Shireen gripped Asad's forearm urgently.

"I'm sorry to bring this up. But your Abbu did leave your Ammi"a woman far better than me. I will forever carry that guilt with me to the grave. It was so hard for her"who else knows this better than you? She was all alone, here, in a city where she knew so many people, had so many relatives. But at least she had her kids with her. Asad, think of the girls in a brand new country, thousands of miles away"no other relatives besides their husbands and their families."

Asad wiped his forehead with a cold hand. Dread and anxiety seeped through his frame.

"At least find out the legal aspects of a worst case scenario. Please!" Shireen wiped her wet cheeks. She had seen something flicker in his eyes. Compassion?

Braver, she went on, "what about their immigration status or rights if something like this happens? Do they become citizens right away or is there a longer process? What's their status in the meanwhile? Can they leave the country during that period?"

Asad stared at her.

His mind veered to that day of horror when he too had been forced to say that one terrible word which would have left his wife and child adrift. He had talked to the girls later and told them pretty much the same thing: don't rely on a man however good he may be. Be strong.

But that was easier said than done, wasn't it?

Just learning Taekwondo wouldn't make them strong.

Yes Zoya was strong"she had true mettle and grit. But she was different from his sisters. She had work experience and exposure, she'd interned and freelanced as a developer in the US, and still dabbled with her blogs and apps and kept her skills current. But above all, she had a fierce and independent spirit; her self-reliance and spunk were her protective armor"she was a warrior.

But years of being over-protected and sheltered could have disabled his sisters"after all, you can't grow a brand new pair of spiffy wings overnight when your original ones have been clipped.

Asad shook his head in dismay. How come he had never thought about asking these questions himself? He'd been so wrapped up in his own perfect little world that he"

What kind of a brother was he?

Shireen had seen him struggle with himself and felt a glimmer of hope.

"I wanted to talk to vakil saheb about this but I'm scared. If your Abbu finds out, or anyone else, they'll think I'm paranoid and just imagining things. I didn't know who else to go to. You are the only one I can trust. You are the only who'll know what to do."

"Chhoti Ammi ... " Her faith in him humbled him.

"Do you also think I'm being silly?" Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "I haven't been able to sleep for weeks thinking about this. It's so unfair"we worry about daughters getting married first. And then about what could happen to them if" On that show that girl is so helpless. She was so dependent ... first on her husband, then on her father and brothers. Itni be-bas, majboor"apne bachchon se juda ... Her own family wouldn't support her. Am I being silly?"

"No, you are absolutely right."

Shireen watched Asad lope over to his desk and place a call to his lawyer and it was as if all the secret stress she'd been carrying around on her shoulders melted; she could breathe again. She heard the urgency in his clipped tone and knew she'd touched a chord.

"Thank you for listening to me and taking me seriously," she said when he ended the call.

"I should have thought of it earlier," Asad said; his voice was low and tense. "I've fixed an appointment with the lawyer. He'll have an immigration specialist there too. We can ask them for more details and see what steps we can take to protect the girls. Aap chahen toh we can also talk to Maulvi saheb."

"But do you think we should tell ..." Fresh worries paralyzed her now. Shireen struggled to articulate them as coherently as possible. "I mean, if Naz and Hana find out will they treat the girls differently? Kuch bura toh nahin hoga?"

"I don't know. May be not. Naz and Hana aunty are wonderful people"absolutely incapable of hurting anyone. But this is still worth doing. I'm glad you came to me with this. I should have thought of it myself," Asad berated himself again.

"Beta, you're the best brother and son there is, and the kids look up to you." She smiled up at him. "I'm sure you'll be an incredible father too. We're all so proud of you." She hesitated. "You've been through so much, and a lot of it was because of me."

"Chhoti Ammi please don't say that. There were a lot of factors that led to what happened all those years ago."

Shireen took a deep breath. "Since this idea came into my head I've been thinking more and more of Bhabhi's actions. Did this fear of losing Bhaijaan lead her to"? This kind of insecurity can change a person, Asad. Look at me ... "

She turned away from him and exhaled before confessing her darkest anxieties. "Your Ammi was so strong. If it had been me in her place ... I couldn't do what she did. It's so ironic that all these years I lived in fear of your Abbu leaving me and going back to her." She turned back to face him. "Tumhe yaad hai, when Ayaan came to live with you when he was a baby?"

Asad nodded as he swallowed a lump. Those days with Ayaan were the only bright spots of his childhood. A sunny Ayaan's adoration of a big brother, his goofy antics and aimless chatter had made it possible for Asad to be a child himself for a few hours.

"I'd had a nervous breakdown." She covered her mouth to bite off a sob. "I ... I tried to hurt myself. I lost complete control and threatened to ... " Shireen couldn't go on. Some secrets and regrets were too dark to see the light of day.

The silence was deafening. It stretched between them"the sediment of the past shifted and settled into a startling new perspective.

"Thank you for what you did for Ayaan then." Shireen spoke again, but very softly, as if not wanting to rock that fragile bond that had just been forged between them. She wanted to stroke his cheek but was terrified he'd reject her. "I had become selfish then because of those fears. May be I was jealous of how much Ayaan loved you. It was always, Bhaijaan this,' Bhaijaan that,' and I know that the girls hungered for that same bond with you." She wiped her tears. "And now I see why they all worship you. You're doing all this for""

Asad cleared his throat to disengage himself from the hoary tentacles of the past. Why dredge a healing scab?

"Nikhat and Nuzzhat are no different for me than Najma. I'll do everything in my power to protect them. But Siddiqui saheb also has daughters," he tried to remind her gently. Daughters who were married into their family. Couldn't they face the same future she feared for her daughters, a future that she'd tortured herself with all these years? Hadn't he come close to doing the same thing to Zoya, whatever the circumstances?

"But you and Ayaan are so good! You love the girls so much!"

"Feroze and Omar ... and Faiz are good too. They love Nikhat and Najma and won't let anything bad happen to them."

Shireen considered his words. "You mean ..."

"I mean that it's good to worry about the girls and we should definitely try our best to protect their interests and rights. But we shouldn't let constant fear trump our faith in good people." He took a deep breath. After all he had learned this lesson the hard way too. "But yes, the girls need to think more seriously about being strong and independent. I never want to see them helpless or dependent on anyone."

A lifetime of his mother's daily struggles and tears flashed before his eyes. Ammi was incredibly strong too, but that strength was hard-won. It had come at a steep cost; and her blood, sweat and tears had turned him bitter. His own faith had eroded in the basic goodness of humankind.

Shireen was still processing his words. "So you're saying that whatever we do to protect Najma and Nikhat we have the same responsibilty toward Humaira and Zoya?"

Asad's eyes widened and his breath caught at the simplicity of her deduction. Yes, it was clear as rain. That's exactly what he should have thought of himself too.

He smiled.

"You're right again, Chhoti Ammi. You're absolutely right! That's precisely what we should do. Thank you."

Shireen beamed. No one had ever made her feel so sensible or wise. Instinctively, she put her hand out to touch his head. She'd never done this either except for that brief moment at his nikaah. Bolder, she pulled his head down to kiss his forehead and blow the air around him in blessing.

"Khush raho," she whispered before leaving. "And Asad?" She smiled at him fully when he looked at her. "Thank you."

Long after she was gone, Asad stood gazing out of the window"unseeing ... sightless.

He cringed at the cynical heartlessness of what he would have to do"to prepare for doom in the midst of happiness was chilling enough. But Chhoti Ammi was right. Who else knew better about what happened to a woman when her husband left her? Zoya's broken sobs too slammed into him: "how would you prevent this from happening to our daughters?" And for the first time Raziya Siddiqui's actions from nearly twenty years ago now seemed starkly clear"in her own monstrous way the woman was trying to secure her own, and her daughter's rights. Because in this world apparently women had scarce options: to become a monster in grim self-defense, or become fodder for other monsters. Besides, may be some of Ammi's strength also came from having a son. What happened to women who only had daughters?

"So you're missing me?"

"In your dreams!"

"I didn't know you were so concerned about my dreams."

"Please! I have better things to do in my life."

Nuzzhat slammed her phone face down on the bed to escape Faiz's moronic teasing. They texted once in a while since he'd left. But ever since Zoya Bhabhi had shared a group picture with him they had been in more regular touch. And then Nikhat Baaji had gone and shared a picture of her with the balloon animal and his teasing had been relentless.

So embarrassing.

"Yeah, better things to do in life like playing with imaginary pets and babies."

"Shut up. Don't you like have classes to attend, or MCATs or LSATs or GMATs and whatever to study for?"

"Cool! You're keeping track of my study schedule?"

Ya Allah, galti ho gayi! She clutched her forehead in despair. Nuzzhat decided that she'd only get some peace if she ignored him. So she did. But that wasn't acceptable to him. He called her up.

"You're really bored aren't you?" Nuzzhat asked. "That's why you're bugging me."

He sighed. "I'm sick to death of studying and pulling your leg is such a stress-buster."

"Not for me!"

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "But you do make me laugh. And I need that so bad right now."

"Why?"

"Cos. I've been up since 3am."

"Why so early?"

"I just work better at that time. But I'm going to get some cereal and plan to crash till about 10."

"Cereal? For dinner?" She asked.

"It's morning here."

Damn. She kept forgetting. "Right! But still, cereal?" Nuzzhat made a face.

"I love it. Chilled milk and crunchy cereal"it's the best comfort food."

"Hmm. I doubt it but I'll take your word for it," she parried.

"You should try it." He said with dead seriousness.

"Never! I hate milk."

"The milk here tastes pretty good. You'd like it," he said softly.

Here? I'd like it? There? "I have to go. Bye!" Nuzzhat slapped up a hand to cover her mouth. She hated when he did that. She could never decide whether he was being serious or just teasing her by adding to the wedding bells fantasy spun by their families. But a part of her didn't know whether she wanted him to be serious.

"Never!" she muttered in anger. "He really must be bored to try flirting with me."

"OK fine," he texted her back. "Then you can have something else for breakfast."

Sh*it, this was serious flirting. Having breakfast together meant that"

Idiot! Don't even think it.

"I will." She texted back. "I plan to have upma, poha and hot samosas for breakfast tomorrow. And aloo parathas, may be. Nothing beats an Indian breakfast, right here in India! G'night."

There. That should make her intentions crystal clear.

"Mmm," his text read."Sounds great. I have upma mix. Will try making it this evening."

Her heart melted like a greasy blob of butter on a hot aloo paratha.

There was no doubt about it. Se*x had become trickier. But that didn't stop it from being fun or blissed-out perfection, or even a topic of intense curiosity and discussion. As usual Asad was the more antsy one. He had a hundred questions and worries: "what if it's not safe?"

"Won't it hurt?"

"Can't the baby see?"

"Won't the baby be psychologically scarred or traumatized?"

"Jeez Jahanpanah, thanks for sucking all the fun out of it!" Zoya pouted.

She'd tried to reassure him with all her worldwide research. She'd sent him articles on it during office hours with subject headings of "NSFW (but safe for the baby!)" Allah Miyan, she had even talked to the doctor about it! The verdict was clear: intimacy was good for the mom. And what was good for the mom was good for the baby"she'd tell her ultra-cautious husband. "With a little care, it's safe all the way till my water breaks."

He had just finished rubbing lotion on her stomach to soothe the permanent itching. Zoya leaned back against him sitting between his legs. When Asad nuzzled her neck and his hands traveled up to cup her, she held up her hand and started to count off on each finger.

"Yes, it's safe."

"No, it won't hurt."

"No, the baby can't see or feel it."

"And psychological trauma be damned! Ima get me some sugar tonight, so put your head in the game mister!"

He chuckled. "My head?" He lifted her hand to nibble up her wrist and tease the inside of her elbow.

She blushed and hissed. "Looks like my research convinced you," Zoya gasped.

"Seeing you sprawled in my arms, half-naked and ready"that convinced me more," Asad murmured. She was torturing him by wearing her baby doll peek-a-boo lingerie to bed these days. "They're roomy and so comfy," she'd twirled in one tonight.

"They leave nothing to the imagination," he'd growled.

"Gee, that's kind of the point, Mr. Khan!" Zoya batted her lashes at him.

Asad groaned.

His hands and mouth were already busy finding and tracking new geographies of sensation across her body. Her bre@sts weren't as sore as they were in the first trimester, but they were tender and even fuller ... and so damn sensitive. Asad blushed each time he imagined the baby suckling her. That image burned him up. He bent his head to tug hard at her dark nipple and Zoya's moan of pleasure and arching back inflamed him even more. She'd told him that these days even the slightest of caresses had her close to spilling. "Am I normal?" she asked once. His mouth had been too busy to answer then, but he's let his body speak for him and she'd been more than willing to listen.

He grasped her hips and guided her to the side of the bed. This was one of the positions that was most comfortable for her these days. A tug here, and there, and the lace and chiffon had fallen away as intended. Asad lifted her feet to his shoulders as he took her as gently as possible. But the sight of her toes painted the palest shade of pink made him buck. He'd painted them for her last night. And her new sensitivity had bewitched him. Asad couldn't resist biting those toes now as he moved inside her.

Zoya gasped. She reached her hand out to his mouth and he bent to suck her fingers. He watched her reach between their writhing bodies and spread herself for him. Her fingers brushed against him with each thrust. It drove him nuts like she knew it would.

"Oh god Zoya!"

Asad wanted to spread her legs wider for deeper access but he didn't. However NSFW, he had read those articles she'd sent him after all. As he continued to twist and roll he removed her hand from between their bodies; he wanted to hear those hot, raw sounds of flesh slapping against wet flesh.

She whimpered.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No. Never. Oh god, right there Asad, right-there-right-there-right-there! Right! There!" Her dizzy head whipped back as she jerked. Zoya keened and went gloriously limp.

He couldn't hold on for much longer. His heart thundered in his ears. Her wild abandon always hurtled him over the edge. Always.

"God!" he grunted through labored breaths, "I can never get enough of you."

Humaira was helping her mother with the godh bharai prep and laughing her head off at the to-do list and her mother's escalating anxiety. She'd never seen Ammi so flustered. Who was this woman? The Ammi she knew was commanding and super-organized. But this woman was a bumbling mess. Even the servants weren't terrified of her any more. They dared to joke with her.

It had finally happened. Despite Humaira's worries the family was all moved back into the Siddiqui house. At Abbu's insistence, she and Ayaan were living in the outhouse cottage"it was perfectly comfortable: just near enough to be close to the big house and far enough to be a private getaway. She suspected that Aapi and Jeeju had had something to do with this arrangement.

How did Aapi know? She'd been mortified at the thought of living with her brand new husband in the same house they'd grown up in. She'd told Ayaan one night: "it would be like we never grew up. I'd feel as if we were still playing ghar-ghar."

"That was the most ridiculous game you girls played," Ayaan had scoffed. He used to throw their dolls off the roof and then dash away to be with Bhaijaan or his friends to escape Mamu's anger.

She buried her face in his shoulder. "I can't imagine coming out of our room every morning and looking at Abbu or Ammi. I'd die of embarrassment!"

"Why Humaira begum? We're married, and everything embarrassing is legal and legitimate now! So who cares! Let others be embarrassed imagining what we did!" He leered at her before proceeding to do exactly all of those embarrassing things as she giggled shyly.

"Humaira?"

Startled, Humaira blushed to see her mother staring at her. "Umm ... yes Ammi?"

"Beta, list check karo. Did we get everything? There's so much to do and you're no help at all. Bas hasti rehti ho!"

Ah yes, the list. Humaira remembered what had made her laugh in the first place. For the ceremony in the seventh month of pregnancy, they needed to get seven different fruits, seven vegetables and seven kinds of nuts"a coconut and supari were mandatory.

"Ammi, just order a pizza with seven toppings! That'll make Aapi a lot happier. Or paan with seven fillings." She knew her Aapi was weirdly craving sweet paan these days. She said it soothed her newest ailment: acidity.

"Really? She'll like it?"

"Ammi, I was kidding!" What was was wrong with this woman?

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves!" Nuzzhat hooted.

"Magnificent Seven!"

"Seven!"

"Seven Year Itch!"

"Woh Saat Din!"

"Saat Khoon Maaf!"

"Satte pe Satta!"

The girls were having too much fun at Raziya's expense. Now they were offering suggestions for films with the number seven in the title.

"Hum Saat Saat Hain!" That really set them off.

"Stop it, bahut badmashi ho gayi," Dilshad scolded them half-heartedly. Because it was the first baby in both the families, elders were being consulted left and right; and the girls couldn't resist adding their own spin and spice onto old rasms to jazz them up.

The Taekwondo classes had resumed"at the Siddiqui House this time. "I like to hear the girls' voices and laughter," Siddiqui saheb had told Asad. It also gave him time with Zoya while the girls went through their routines. The house was once again feeling lived in. It was no longer a fortress or an uneasy mansion resting on skeletons of the past. It breathed freely now, awaiting the pitter-patter of little feet, and the squeals and chatter of the next generation.

"We'll have the Quran Khwani first and then do the ceremony," Raziya confirmed.

"But we can do our dance before the ceremony, right Mumani?" Nuzzhat asked anxiously.

"Haan, haan. Of course!"

Because apparently no family function was complete without a dance any more. The parents had given up trying to talk the girls out of it. "Let them," Dadi had said finally to end all drama. "Jaan chhutey!"

"Yay!" The girls had cheered when Dadi winked and gave them a thumbs-up sign.

Nikhat was cho*reographing the Phuphi-Khala dance gala"they'd even given Dadi a special entry. They all'd been practicing for days and Zoya was dying to see them but she'd been strictly forbidden to back off.

"It's a surprise," she was told. She wasn't even supposed to know that they were doing the dance in the first place. Najma was coming over everyday pretending to go the library. But Siddiqui saheb had blurted out the secret in front of Zoya one day.

The girls had roared in dismay.

"ABBU!" Humaira had scolded him. "I can't believe you did that!"

He had covered his face saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot," at least twenty times. He really had forgotten. He had just assumed that Zoya knew. She always knew everything. She was usually the mastermind of many an escapade. How could she not know that they were planning this right under her nose?

Zoya had screamed in delight first, thrilled at the honor. But then she'd pouted when she was excluded from all the dance practice fun. It was killing her to be kept in the dark. Since Siddiqui had outed the secret he felt compelled to entertain Zoya while the girls practiced. He could see her itching to bust through the locked doors.

"Let's go see a movie," he said one day to divert her.

Zoya squealed but then she frowned the next instant. Hindi movies had become a tad too risqu to be seen with her father. And no good English movies were playing except for"

Her eyes lit up.

So she took her father to see "Frozen." On the way to the theater Siddiqui laughed at a newly-received text message.

"What is it, Abbu?" Zoya wanted to know.

He showed her the screen. "No coke or junk snacks for her," Asad had messaged.

Zoya made a face. She had told her husband that they were going to see a film as a courtesy. It wasn't to have him sabotage her fun as if she was some bratty kid. Allah miyan, what's wrong with the man!

Still chuckling, Siddiqui patted her knee to calm her down. He had begun to enjoy the many animated films that his daughter had introduced him to. They'd seen "Up""which he'd loved, and several others. But his favorite was "Finding Nemo." Especially since Zoya had told him about her own history with it. It was a film about a father traveling across seas and oceans searching for a lost child. She had gone to see the film on Father's day with some friends and their family. That night at the sleepover at her friend's house, Zoya had wept quietly into her pillow. She'd wished she was Nemo, she wanted so bad for her Abbu to come find her. But he never came.

Siddiqui had wept too and hugged her tight when she told him this. The following week he'd given her a fish charm for her bracelet.

"Cool!" Zoya cried out as she removed the bracelet to clip on her newest momento. "It's Nemo, right?" she asked.

"No, that's the father," Siddiqui replied pinching her cheek. "Nemo toh tum ho."

Asad had told Zoya about Shireen's visit. She had helped him with some of the research and even called some immigration attorneys in the US to satisfy her own curiosity. But Shireen probably wanted more official reassurance. So Asad arranged for them to meet the lawyer and the immigration specialist.

Some of Shireen's anxiety dissipated after hearing that as spouses of American citizens the girls would be issued a two-year green card upon entry at a US port. A three-year permanent residency later they could apply for citizenship if they wished.

She had other questions. Could their legal status be jeopardized or called into question at any point?

Short of a criminal offense, no.

Unrestricted travel outside the country? Yes.

Finally she seemed to breathe easier. "So basically, the girls need to hang on to their passports and green cards?" She asked Asad hesitantly after the lawyer had left.

He nodded. "What is it Chhoti Ammi?" he asked when he saw her twisting her dupatta guiltily.

"I hate that telling them to be so guarded with their passports would make the girls seem anxious and distrustful of their own husbands," she admitted. "I am being too paranoid. May be I shouldn't have brought this up."

"No, your instincts were right. We are doing the right thing. I was uneasy about that part too. But we're only looking out for them. That can never be a bad thing."

"Should we tell them?"

"Yes, they need to know. Since that time in the gudia factory I've decided that the girls have the right to know everything that affects their lives. I plan to talk to them about this and also talk about financial safety nets. It's not going to be an easy conversation. But it's got to be done."

"When?"

"I was thinking right away."

"No, do it after the godh bharai ceremony." Shireen interjected. "This talk will upset them and they'll need some time to get over it. They're all so excited about the function right now, I don't want to spoil that."

"Do you want to be there when I talk to them? If you want, I can make it seem that it was all my idea."

Shireen hesitated. It would certainly smooth things over. No one would question Asad's ways or decision. It was something they'd expect from an over-protective brother.

" ... No, I'll be there too." His words about not keeping anything from family members any more had touched her. She squared her shoulders. "Let them see a mother's anxiety and desperation. They may even understand it one day."

Asad nodded. Still deep in thought he rested his hands on his waist. "May be we can tell them about their passports and green card closer to when they are leaving for the US. But I still want to talk to the family about one main thing."

Her eyes widened in fear. "What?"

"It's nothing to be alarmed about. I'll explain when we come over for dinner tonight."

Raziya had invited them for a grand family dinner on the eve of the godh bharai function, which would be held at the Khan house. Too bad, she hadn't been able to budge Asad from his earlier decision"both the ceremony and the delivery would be at the Khan house. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Hmmph.

Shireen had been on pins and needles the whole evening. She barely managed to swallow a few bites during dinner. Thanks to the usual noisy banter between the kids, no one had noticed her silence except for Asad.

Over after-dinner coffee for him and badaam milk for the others, Asad set out a number of folders on the center table that he'd removed from his briefcase.

"Bahut kha liya," Rashid complained patting his stomach. "Asad, what is this beta?" he asked.

"Abbu, I've established trust funds for the girls," he said as he handed a folder to each of his sisters. Everyone peered over their shoulders and there were multiple gasps at the numbers.

"But Bhaijaan, why?" Nikhat asked, puzzled.

"Because it's your right and it gives you the means to be independent and self-reliant. You can do anything you want with it"further studies, start a business, whatever."

Zoya couldn't contain her excitement. She jumped in and rattled off the rest of the information. "I told Mr. Khan that a part of the portfolio should be invested in stocks and bonds for long-term growth. You guys can draw a fixed monthly or annual income from it," she announced with a clap.

"Even when you're in the US," Asad added for Najma and Nikhat's benefit. It comes with a card which lets you withdraw funds."

Except for Shireen, the parents' eyebrows had crept up during this surprise declaration.

"Par beta, what is the need for this?" Dilshad asked. The girls were still processing the reality of suddenly being mistresses of their own fate"financially.

"Zaroorat hai, Ammi," Asad said. "If Ayaan and I can enjoy the luxury of making our own decisions, doing whatever, whenever we please, having full control over our lives, then so should the girls."

"But they have husbands to take care of their needs," Dadi frowned.

"But I don't"" Want them to be ever dependent on their husbands, he wanted to say.

"Dadi," Zoya interrupted him trying to soften the blow of his impending words. "Sometimes a girl needs her own spending money. What if she feels shy about asking her husband? What if she wants to surprise her husband with a special gift, or try something that's her passion"something that she's always wanted to do but didn't have the guts?"

"Hmm," Dadi seemed to give that some thought. Asad smiled. Zoya's fanciful spin had deflected the real anxiety behind his actions: what if a husband turns his back on his wife? What's a girl to do"that too in a foreign land where she has no family support? He looked up at her in gratitude and she winked at him.

Asad blushed. He glanced at Shireen and saw that her eyes were wet. He cleared his throat. "Umm, but this isn't just for Najma, Nikhat and Nuzzhat." He pulled out two more folders and handed one to Humaira and the other to his partner in crime"Zoya.

While Humaira and Ayaan gasped and peered at the papers, Zoya's eyes widened and lips pursed. She really did look like Nemo right now, her father thought with a surprised chuckle.

"But ... why ...?" she spluttered looking hurt and ready to burst into a million tears.

"It's just the right thing to do," Asad said. "You're both part of the family and no different from Nuzzhat, Najma or Nikhat."

"But Asad"" Raziya was equally shocked by this unexpected gesture.

"Mr. Khan, how could you!" Zoya threw the folder on the table and stormed out the main door. Well, she tried to storm out but given her current size, a quick and very undignified waddle was all that she could manage.

"Zoya!" Asad chased after her. He was baffled at this tantrum. What now? He thought he was doing the right thing.

"Wait up!" he turned her around to face him and grabbed her by her shoulders. "What happened? Why're you upset?"

She was crying in earnest now. "Why'd you do that? Does that mean you could leave me and you're just taking care of me in advance' "? She made agigated air quotes to drive her point home.

"Never!" he tried to hug her but she wouldn't let him. "We've been over this a million times"I'm never leaving you, nor letting you leave me. Get this through your thick head once and for all," Asad tapped and pressed a finger into her temple.

"Then why a trust fund for me! I don't need your money!" She stamped her foot on the ground after beating her fists against his chest.

Asad couldn't help laughing as she steamed and hissed in hurt anger. "Babe, I know you don't need my money. I also know that you have money of your own. But this isn't about money."

Zoya sniffed. She even unconsciously accepted the handkerchief he'd pulled out for her. "Then what's this really about?"

"It's about ..." he took the cloth from her hands and gently dabbed at her tears as he held her chin. "It's about really giving you a say ... as an equal"" He placed a finger on her lips when she tried to protest. He struggled to tell her that he was simply putting his money where his mouth was. "I know that nothing can stop you from doing what you want. But I don't want to be that guy who just thinks about his sisters' financial security and ignores his wife's needs and rights. This is not about you. This is about me doing what is right."

Aw damn. Zoya couldn't stop a re-run of the waterworks. She fell into his arms not caring if the guard or the drivers saw them. "Asad, you amaze me ... completely floor me," she said when she could talk again. "I love you."

"Are you sure?" he teased as he led her back inside. "I'm not a terrible husband trying to buy his wife's love with money?"

"I never said that!" She squeaked in dismay.

"You did run out like a bat out of hell," he muttered.

"Mr. Khan!" she hissed. "Just cos. I called you Batman once, you don't have to---"

"All better?" Raziya asked.

"Jee Aunty," they turned to answer in blushing unison.

"Shukar hai Allah ka," Raziya adjusted the dupatta on her head and went back to bustling about the preparations for tomorrow.

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi Mujh Mein Kahin"

Chapter 112

"What's so funny?" Asad asked Zoya the next morning as he got ready for work.

"Ayaan!" she said as she finished checking her phone messages. "Apparently he got jealous when Humaira was cheering for her Jeeju yesterday."

"Now that is funny," Asad remarked. "May be he needs to meet General Jeeju and Mukka Ahmed Khan--it'll make him behave for a few hours."

Zoya giggled.

"At least," she agreed as their eyes met in the mirror. "Aw Jahanpanah, you really love your nicknames don't you?"

Asad pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her from the back--doing so from the front was becoming harder and harder.

"I only love the names you call me," he nicked her ear before sucking on the lobe.

"Like Jahanpanah six packs?" Zoya hissed.

"Umm mmm ..."

"Akdu Ahmed Khan?"

"Hmmm ..."

"My shahi tukra?"

He smiled. He had nearly forgotten that one.

"Mr. Khan?"

"Love that the most," he ground his hips against her to show her just how much he loved that.

"No, I mean Mr. Khan, I thought you said you were getting late! Shoo! Chop chop, you should get going already!"

Asad frowned. "It's all your fault for distracting me," he groused. After a martyred sigh he picked up his computer bag to leave.

Dobby smacked his lips and smirked up at him.

"And, Asad?"

"What?" he turned around, grumpier than a hungry Dobby. No, there was no such thing as a hungry Dobby; it was always a hangry Dobby.

"Don't you like it when I call you, Asad?"

Those lips curled into a slow smile--its beam colliding with the gleam in his eye. Setting the bag down on the chair he pulled her back into his arms. "I love how each time you call me Asad it's a shared secret between us." He brushed his nose against hers ever so lightly and Zoya sighed. "And a promise ... it's as if you re-christen me ... re-make me ... make me all yours, all over again."

"Good, I've been told that Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai!" she managed to retort smugly before he silenced her with a kiss.

"Say my name," he whispered against her lips.

"Asad."

"Again."

Her voice dropped becoming breathier. "Asad," she rasped.

"Good girl. But I love it even better when you say my name as you're about to come."

She moaned. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Any more talk like this and you really will be late."

He snickered. "No, really. It drives me crazy!" He sucked on her upper lip and it drove her crazy. "Those added syllables ... the throaty purrs and cries are just mmm, mmm delicious!"

"Asad, go! ... no ... don't," she sighed and he was disarmed"clean bowled.

He rocked on his heels and removed his tie. "Screw it. So I'll be late."

She was too turned on to laugh or crow in victory. Zoya's eyes glazed over as she watched him undress. Her eyes followed his hands as they skimmed his belt buckle. Her blood simmered.

"I nearly saw your seventh pack that day Jahanpanah six packs," she teased softly.

"Yes Mrs. Khan, you did have a terrible habit of walking in on me at the worst times!"

"At the best of times, you mean!"

Asad's eyes darkened.

He framed her face in his hands; his knuckles brushed her swollen lips.

"That one time when you tripped and ripped my shirt buttons open? ... God! For a second I could only think of what I wanted to do to you. What I wanted you to do to me ... this mouth ..." He bent his head to drug her with his kisses. "I must've had at least half a dozen cups of coffee the next morning."

"Why?" Zoya asked in distracted puzzlement.

"Because I didn't sleep a wink that night. Each time I closed my eyes I had visions of you ... under me ... kneeling in front of me ... naked and hot and wild ... calling my name."

Zoya moaned and her head fell back, "oh God Asad! You too?"

He sniggered in satisfied revenge and shut her up for good. There really was no time to waste on banter and what ifs and if onlys.

Nor on foreplay.

Dobby felt a hangry fit coming but then he got distracted by the purple and black bra that sailed his way.

The blood rushed ... skin burnished.

Their slick bodies shimmered ... marinating in the soft sighs and groans that filled the room.

Teeth skittered ... a hickey bloomed.

It was in the car that he realized that he'd forgotten his tie. Asad hoped he'd find a spare one in his office because otherwise the entire world would see his wife's possessive brand on him.

And they'd know exactly why he was late.

A notification pinged on his phone.

Thanks to his wife he even got honked at when the light turned green at the signal. Because he'd been too busy drooling over the latest selfie of her: a silhouetted Zoya was leaning forward, her lambent body in shadow. Her eyes still looked drugged. Tousled hair fell over her bare shoulders. She wore nothing except his loosely knotted tie--one end caught between her saucy teeth.

"Tied up in you," her text sassed in infinite longing.

Vixen!

Back home in San Fransisco Omar was bouncing off the walls.

Najma would be leaving for the US in a week. She was ecstatic and miserable at the same time. While she was able to share her misery with her mother and crib about missing the delivery and not seeing her niece or nephew, she hung around Zoya to ask eager questions about America--what will I do all day long? I won't know anyone! What if everyone thinks I'm dumb? Will I become fat?

"Join a gym or go walking and biking!" Zoya responded easily. "There are so many things to do. Public libraries within walking distance, parks, community centers that offer classes on everything from pottery to yoga to tennis ... walking trails ..."

"Is it safe?"

"Very! But still, always have your phone with you, call 911 if there's any trouble."

"It's that easy? The police don't hassle you? Don't take forever to get there?"

"Nope! Their response rate in getting to the scene is 5-7 minutes--at least officially." Zoya sighed. "Look, I'm not going to lie. The police in the US are known to be trigger-happy. They also may not seem minority-friendly." Her eyes grew remote. "Specially lately ... it's as if there isn't a day when you don't hear about an officer-involved shooting. The system isn't always fair. But generally, you can count on them. Omar will let you know more about the specific area you guys are in. I hope you never have to encounter them though," Zoya said as she kissed Najma's forehead.

Asad walked in just then from office and stood still as he heard them talking. He cleared his throat.

Najma looked up guiltily. "Hi Bhaijaan! Zoya and I were just talking. I'll let you freshen up," she rose to leave.

"No Najma, stay," Asad told her. "I ... we want to talk to you." He looked at Zoya and she pulled her sister-in-law down to sit by her. She understood what Asad wanted to say. They had discussed the subject often and wondered about how to broach the topic to Najma. This looked like the perfect moment.

Najma's eyes widened. She looked from one to the other sensing some kind of a grim revelation to come. "What is it? Is everything OK? The baby? Omar?"

Najma's eyes filled. Dread soaked her gut. Instinctively her hand grabbed the dupatta end to cover her mouth with it--if she stopped saying her fears out loud, then nothing bad would happen, right?

"No, no, Najma, everything's all right! We don't mean to scare you." Both Zoya and Asad rushed to reassure her. Asad strode to the closet from which he withdrew a folder.

He pulled up one of the chairs in the room and held her hand. "Don't be scared. We just want to talk to you about how to take care of yourself in the US."

Najma frowned. "Take care of myself? What do you mean? Omar will be there to take care of me."

"Of course." Asad answered. "But this is a just-in-case kind of precaution." He handed her the folder.

Curious, Najma flipped through it. Nothing made sense. It had a photocopy of her passport and her trust fund card. On another sheet were names, addresses and phone numbers of local mosques and a couple of Bhaijaan's friends who she knew were settled in the US. Good. Zeenat Aapi's numbers and address--cool!

But lawyers? Doctors? Immigration specialists? A women's shelter and organizations?

Baffled, she looked up at both of them again. Alarm bells were setting off in her head once again.

"Zoya? Bhaijaan? What is this?"

Zoya still held her hand and Asad bent to clutch the other one. "We know that Omar loves you. We only wish you the very best and all the happiness in the world. This is just a back-up plan to have if something goes wrong."

The folder slipped from Najma's nerveless hands. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks. "What are you saying Bhaijaan? How can you even think that!"

"Shh!" Asad hugged her to him. He hated doing this. She'd been so happy just a few minutes ago and he'd come and burst her bubble with fear and mistrust.

He wiped her tears. "You trust me, right?"

She nodded her head and her tears splashed on his shirt. "I never want to see you in pain. I'll kill anyone who makes you cry."

"Bhaijaan!" Najma protested.

"No, listen," Asad continued. "We all love Omar and know that he's a gem of a person. But I can't let you leave and go so far away from us without giving you some kind of a backup plan or safety net in case of ..."

He lifted her fist to his lips and kissed it. "You saw what Ammi went through. But you didn't see what I saw because I was older. If I can help it, no woman in our family is ever going to go through that again!" Asad exhaled. He felt humbled.

Thank god Chhoti Ammi had brought up this issue and made him realize that because of their parents' past their generation had the responsibility (the possibility?) to be even more alert. They had the tools and knowledge to not let history repeat itself"to knock history flat on its back if it even tried.

Najma's head fell into the crook of his neck. She was beginning to understand some of his concerns too.

Typical Bhaijaan!

She nearly smiled. Bhaijaan was just being Bhaijaan--his usual over-protective self.

But she cried harder when he went on.

"You will keep this safely with you where you can have access to this folder 24/7. Take pictures of each page with your phone. Zoya and I have already done that with ours. As soon as you get the green card stamp or whatever, make a copy of that immediately and keep it safe in here. Email or message the picture of that to us too."

"But ..." she still didn't want to believe that he could be right. Why were they saying these terrible things?

"No Najma. I'm going to put my foot down on this one. You will, you must do this. For me."

Asad couldn't sit still anymore. He shot up to pace about the room in repressed fury. "I hated Abbu for nearly twenty years. I should have hated the system more and done something else besides keeping you and Ammi over-protected and locked in a golden palace. We are incredibly lucky that Omar and his family are beautiful, wonderful people, but still---"

Zoya cupped Najma's tear-stricken face in her hands. "Your Abbu is a wonderful person too but terrible things happened. Both your Ammi and Abbu paid a steep price for it--you and your Bhaijaan did as well."

Zoya's eyes welled up too. "What Mr. Khan is trying to say is that, this is his way of making sure that you can protect yourself, watch out for your rights. And never ever feel helpless! Remember we saw that show about those Indian girls who got married to green card holders or US citizens and were mistreated when they got there? Aapi knew someone--she was really smart and strong"a PhD., teaching at the university. But her husband broke her arm once and locked her out of the house. Thank god she divorced him and is back in India doing really well for herself now."

She kissed Najma.

"I hope nothing bad ever happens to you. But we just want to give you the tools that will add steel to your spine--please let us. This way no one will be able to mess with you! They'll be like Allah miyan, don't take pangas with this girl!' And then when they find out about your Wolverine hulk Bhaijaan---!"

Asad smiled. Trust his wife to put it in just the right light--truth clad in sparkly hope topped with fantasy sprinkles. What else could he ask for. "Yes," he added. "This isn't about mistrusting Omar. Never! This is about ..."

"It's about giving you steel-plated armor so you won't be dependent on anyone." Zoya jumped in again and Asad shook his head. Why bother? She was much better at painting a clearer picture--bedazzled with glitter.

"You will be the mistress of your muqaddar instead of its victim--a super woman. A Jhansi ki rani!" Zoya clapped her hands and almost bounced in delight.

Najma giggled through her tears and Asad's smile widened--being interrupted by his toofan express of a wife didn't matter; what mattered was that Tamatar was back to being her rosy self.

"Zoya, looks like you've opened a Jhansi ki rani ki dukaan!" Najma teased.

Zoya looked up at Asad and grinned. "Yes, totally! I plan to start a factory that'll manufacture Jhansi ki ranis! Now listen, learn driving ASAP and send us a copy of your license too." Zoya held up a hand to shush Najma when she tried to protest again.

"This isn't about Omar, remember? We love him--I've known him longer than I know you guys. Bachpan se! This is about you--just you! Till the world changes to become safer and more equal for women, we'll be a power-team and have each other's backs, deal?"

"Deal," Najma promised as they both shook hands on it and bumped fists.

"So you promise to come to my rescue if my husband troubles me?" Zoya asked as she batted her lashes at her husband in question.

Najma laughed more when she saw the expression on her brother's face. "Umm, Zoya, I'll have to think more about that!"

Zoya made a face as Najma and Asad bumped fists and high-fived now.

"By the way Najma, your Bhaijaan has also talked to both Maulvi sahebs and Imams at the mosques in your area," She winked at her nanad.

"Oh god," Najma groaned as she slapped her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She'd be notorious even before she stepped in the country.

Gee thanks a lot, Bhaijaan.

So embarrassing--he always did that. Even the first day she went to college: he'd already talked to the prinicipal and her professors. In person.

Najma looked up in alarm at her bhabhi.

Zoya nodded knowingly. "Umm hmm ... on Skype!"

"Nooo!"

"Yeees!"

"Umm Zoya, on second thought, yes I will support you against anyone who troubles you! You let me know and together we'll kick butt!"

"Shabash mera cheetah!" Zoya crowed.

"The Hulk? Really?" Asad asked after Najma left; his lips twitched in mock-anger.

He loosened his tie after hanging up his suit jacket. No, he hadn't found a spare one in his office closet. He had made Prasad give him his. Thank god! And a blushing Prasad had only been too eager to please.

"Hunk! I meant hunk!" Zoya cried. "Heart-throb wala hunk! But obviously I couldn't say that in front of your sister!"

"Good girl. Now come here and give me a hug so I can say hi to the baby."

She did, but only after dislodging Dobby who felt increasingly proprietory over Zoya's belly these days. It had become a favorite roosting perch of his and he often purred in confusion when batted by the baby's kicking from under him.

"By the way," Asad said. "We owe Prasad a brand new tie no thanks to you!"

You're welcome!" Zoya quipped brushing her nose with his.

Baby-proofing Dobby had been on the list of pre-baby projects too. In her research Zoya had found much on the myths and reality of raising babies with cats. Raziya had expressed fears of the cat being jealous of the newborn and probably scratching it or sitting on it. Why not shift Dobby to the Siddqui house, she recommended.

But Zoya didn't like that idea. And Asad hadn't taken too long to agree with her. Life would certainly be easier without Dobby.

But not the same.

So in the sixth month itself they had begun to acclimate Dobby by playing baby sounds and cries randomly to get him used to having the baby around. Both she and Asad now applied baby lotion to their hands before petting him or playing with him--to get him used to the smell of the baby this way. And Asad was beginning to spend more time with him so that Dobby wouldn't be jealous of Zoya's time with the baby. The bed was already off-limits for the cat--the squirt bottle now a nasty nemesis. And if he did misbehave too much, then yes, Dobby was headed to the Siddiqui house for a lambi judai timeout.

In between cleaning his paw Dobby watched Asad kneel to kiss Zoya's tummy and murmur daddytalk. Baby sounds played on the iPad. The cat hopped on to the rocking chair. He had come to like it now and often jumped up on Zoya's lap when she sat in it. But in the first few weeks he must have lost one of his nine lives when his tail was nearly lopped off by it as Zoya tested it out.

The rocking chair had been a surprise for his wife. Asad had ordered it to be delivered in their absence when he'd taken her away for their anniversary night last month. They hadn't really planned anything beyond a dinner and a drive to their favorite hilltop vista point. But Siddiqui Saheb and Raziya had insisted on the getaway and given it to them as their treat.

"We couldn't be a part of your wedding," her Abbu had patted her head. "This is our belated wedding gift."

When Zoya had begun to protest, Raziya had glared at her and put a finger on her lips to mime shutting up. "Chup!"

"But---!

"Bas! We've decided and it's final! Ya Allah, yeh ladki! Why are you always so contrary?" Raziya had scolded. "I'll tell Zainab," she muttered. She remembered Zeenat's words. There was a lifetime to look forward to of a contrarian Zoya--and then a new generation of mini-Zoyas.

Insha'allah!

When Zoya pouted Raziya had pulled her in a hug and kissed her forehead. "Enjoy this time. When the baby comes you'll be exhausted." She slicked the hair back on Zoya's forehead. "The first few weeks are the hardest. You'll feel that you're nothing but a machine. Your relationship with Asad will change too. I'm not saying that it'll happen to you, but sometimes men get jealous of the baby."

Zoya's eyes had widened in alarm. They both had glanced at Asad right then who was talking with Siddiqui Saheb. They were discussing plans and designs for the crib. Dadi had forbidden the assembly of the crib before the baby came but that didn't stop the men from getting the supplies ready. Siddiqui Saheb was already carving parts of the head rail. He was doing this despite protests from his daughter about the state of his hands. Rashid was helping with planing and varnishing. It was as if it were an unsaid atonement for both fathers--a necessary penance for these hands before they held their grandchild ... and touched the face of true grace.

"Jealous? Nah! That would be too incredibly foolish for Akdu Ahmed Khan!" Zoya had announced and Raziya had laughed.

But Zoya now understood the deeper significance of this gift. It was their one last chance to enjoy their time alone as a couple. Once the baby came they'd have to plan hard to wrangle rare moments like this.

A luxury hotel and spa ... couple's massages ... candlelit dinner on a private terrace ... millions of roses in their room ... It would be the perfect bubble of privacy and intimacy ... the perfect celebration of their pre-baby togetherness. They had bachelor and bachelorette parties didn't they, then why not a pre-Ammi and Abbu party? If you went a little crazy celebrating going from single to double, then why not, double to triple?

Asad hadn't been able to resist showering her with rose petals before they'd made love that night.

"You love doing this, don't you?" Zoya had teased him. Her fingers drew his face, tracing over his eyelids and nose and lips.

"It's our thing," Asad reminded her. "From our second meeting to now, flowers have loved being a part of our story."

Asad had picked a rose and similarly traced the features on her face with it.

Their anniversary gifts to each other had been unusual. Asad had debated about a heart shaped charm for her bracelet. But hearts were too overdone.

He'd finally settled on a rose gold infinity charm for her bracelet instead. It could also double as a pendant if she wished. But knowing Zoya he knew she'd wear it most on her bracelet.

He'd also given her a Yin and Yang charm on the thinnest of gold chains. He had to keep it simple. Any thing studded or jeweled and it would never see the light of day. "The chain is for when you want to wear this or any of your charms as a pendant."

She'd happily jiggled her wrist to make the charms dance. "That's us, right? Yin and Yang!"

"Soon we'll have to get you a brand new bracelet for more charms," Asad had teased.

"Umm ... may be when the next baby comes?" Zoya had cocked her head to the side and Asad had nearly gagged. She'd laughed richly up into his face.

When they'd returned the next day he'd held her back and whispered in her ear, "there's one last surprise."

Zoya had bounced in glee when he'd slipped a silken blindfold on her eyes. "Mr. Khan, please tell me you don't always carry that around with you!"

"On some days I have to," Asad said as he led her into the room. "It's multi-functional--I can use it to blindfold you, gag that mouth of yours, or bind your hands as need be."

"Asad, that's so mean! But wow, I love the way you think--we'll try all those tonight!"

He pushed her down gently into the upholstered rocker. Her hands gripped and then ran down the plush sides. "What!"

He swiveled it and Zoya flung the cloth off her eyes. "Oh my god, this is so perfect. So comfy!"

Asad knelt by her side at eye level. "I know it's been hard getting up and sitting down."

When he was around he always offered her his arm but on her own she scooted to the front and then twisted sideways to haul herself out of sofas and couches. In fact these days Zoya preferred to sit on the dining chairs--higher, straight-backed, and not as deep--they were just easier to get in and out of.

"And we can use this later when the baby comes, for midnight feedings and whenever I want to rock the baby to sleep and you're too tired."

"Promise?" Zoya asked.

"Koi shaq?"

She stroked his cheek. "I can't wait to see you be the best daddy in the whole wide world! On some days I'm even sure you'll make a better mom than me. But you know what, Aunty was saying that sometimes husbands get jealous of babies. Will you ever get jealous of the baby?"

"I might."

"Asad!" Zoya gasped.

He laughed softly and nuzzled her. "You'll have to promise to look up at me too once in awhile. What if you get too lost in the baby and forget that I exist?"

"Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Like that could EVER happen!"

Her gift to him had been priceless--it had left him speechless. No one had ever done anything like that for him. She must have spent hours making this!

Zoya had actually had a lot of fun doing it. "It's really for the baby," she'd whispered when he'd looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears.

Somehow she'd painstakingly created a thick leather-bound scrapbook with pictures and collages of him as a baby and a young boy. It was really hard to find pictures of him from his high school and college days. She'd made frantic facebook appeals to his friends, classmates and cousins to send her pictures. Thank god Ayaan had some great pictures with his favorite Bhaijaan. But the best part was that she had been able to add sound to the scrapbook! She had gotten Aapi to order sound strips and then ship them over and then had Dadi, Rashid, Dilshad, Ayaan and the girls record messages or comments for each picture.

On the first page, in ornate calligraphy, she'd hand-transcribed a quote from Khalil Gibran in Urdu and its English translation:

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

There were other pages in the book dedicated to pictures of school awards and trophies, ribbons and badges and even snippets of some of his essays and schoolwork. There were report cards and an array of glowing teachers' notes. In fact, she'd even managed to track down a teacher of his! It was his English teacher who had once found him too boring to win a girl's love.

Zoya had got her to record a message for Asad.

"Hello, roll number 7, seat number 3, standard 4th B," Mrs. Braganza said in the recording. She went on to remind him of his love for frogs and apologized for ever thinking that no girl would marry him. "Looks like you proved me wrong." She went on to bless both of them and wish them the best.

"Aw, my Akdu was once a frog prince!" Zoya teased him as he listened to the recording again. She had wanted to include so many of their special moments ...

But she'd save that for later, for a more private album!

For their eyes only!

But still, she hadn't been able to resist a few pages on his life since she'd entered it and made it "roshan* and gulzar," she'd written and added a footnote to explain the asterisk: "And I don't mean Hritik Roshan either!"

There were cheerful captions on these pages along with more profound quotes interspersed with quirky Zoyaisms. Gibran's quote on marriage "Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music" had been annotated with a sound strip which when pressed blared out Zoya singing: "maine mari entriyaan re, dil mein baji ghantiyaan, tang! tang! tang!"

Asad had thrown his head back to laugh uproariously when he saw the caricatures and memes. Where had she even got someone to do this? This was genius!

"You actually told someone about us ... about these moments?" He should have been horrified. What must have the caricature artist thought about when his wife had made this strange request! But this was just too perfect! Memorable moments forever captured in just the right momento.

Asad hugged her tightly dropping a kiss on her head.

As he flipped through more pages he nodded in agreement and approval at more Gibran quotes.

And stand together yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Yes, that's what made their marriage work, right? Not swallowing each other up in a tempest of ego clashes no matter how different they were. Being whole and complete and letting the other be equal and complete too: being the Yin to the Yang--and forever caught up in an infinite embrace.

He might have been wary of hearts being overdone; but his wife certainly was not. On the last few pages she had collected all their favorite shers and love poems from Rumi, Ghalib, Neruda, Faiz Ahmed Faiz and many others, and made collages in giant inter-twined hearts. Asad grinned. Oh well. Come to think of it, hearts weren't that terrible, right? Not cheesy at all.

This was hysterical.

As an added bonus Zoya had dragged him to meet his teacher the next day.

She thought that Asad would be embarrassed to meet Mrs. Braganza, and that too with an obviously pregnant wife. But Asad had stood taller and wrapped his arm around her snugly.

"This is my wife," he'd introduced her. "I would have still been that boring perfectionist if she hadn't come along." ("Or stepped in front of my car," he muttered for Zoya's benefit only).

Back in the car he had exhaled loudly.

"A blast from the past, huh?" Zoya joked.

"Those days were tough," Asad said slowly. "And Mrs. Braganza was tougher. But I think she pushed me harder because she was fond of me. She had higher expectations from me."

Zoya stroked his hand on the gearshift. "I'm sorry, baby. I thought it would make you happy. I didn't mean to bring you down."

He turned around to face her. "No, I'm fine."

"Asad?"

"Hmm?" He was merging into traffic.

"When the baby comes you will take a six week-long paternity leave."

"Six weeks? Isn't that a little extreme?"

"No," she sniffed. "And as the baby grows older I order you to do every crazy and silly thing that kids do without worrying about the mess."

"What!" Asad laughed. "But why?"

"Because I want you to have the childhood you missed," Zoya choked through tears.

He pulled over and tried to hold her as best he could. "Hey," Asad soothed. "Where did that come from?"

"I want to punch everyone in the face who made life hard for that little boy who played with frogs, marbles and tiger masks."

Asad thumbed the Yin and Yang charm on her bracelet. "If that missed childhood gave me what I have right now, I'd go through it all over again"e v e r y single minute of it."

He held her tighter as she sobbed into his shirt.

A week after the godh bharai ceremony Zoya had howled louder.

"What?" Asad asked through a smile. "I thought you'd love the surprise!"

"How could you!" she screeched in a full-blown tantrum. She had wanted to fling herself on the bed dramatically. But that had been impossible given her delicate condition and indelicate temper.

Zoya bawled even louder.

Asad shook his head. He thought she would fall into his arms and kiss him breathless--ecstatic with what he had managed to do for her. Just for her. He would surely get some sugar tonight.

But here she was being a hormonal drama queen.

For months he had been arranging this. It hadn't been easy. He'd sent many feelers around, told Prasad and Ayaan to be on the lookout. Finally they'd found out that Mahendra Singh Dhoni was going to be in Bhopal for an exclusive charity event. Somehow Asad had been able to wrangle passes to attend. He had known of his wife's crush on the Indian skipper well before their nikaah after all.

Last year they'd even had one of their famous all-American and Bhopali blowout fights because of Dhoni. First she had humiliated him by beating him at a cricket trivia quiz. Both Ammi and Najma had found that hilarious. Then, despite his strictest of instructions, Zoya had snuck away with Najma to watch a live cricket match. He'd seen them cheering and dancing on TV for god's sake at one of Dhoni's signature helicopter shots that lobbed the ball well over the stands!

Incredibly foolish!

And to top it all, she had lied to his face and got Najma to lie too! Pretending to go shopping indeed! He'd tripped her up with a trick question: and how many runs did Dhoni score? An over-eager Zoya had gushed and spilled the beans. He'd been livid. And in his usual Jahanpanah-mode he'd said unforgivable things to her.

Asad frowned.

He'd made her cry that day. She had even left home and he'd had to go after her and rescue her from Bhopal's finest gundas yet again. Thanks Dhoni. Not!

And still he had tolerated his wife's "unhoni ko honi kar de, honi ko anhoni" nonsense! Quite graciously in fact.

Which husband would buy a rival's jersey just to please his wife? Just to see that dimple glow on her face?

And now, in a fit of magnanimity, he had even arranged a meeting with her rockstar and here she was having a nuclear meltdown.

"Zoya? Wha---?"

She punched a pillow and threw it at him.

Asad was helpless with laughter.

"But what I have I done? At least tell me meri ghalati kya hai?"

"Look at me!" she hollered. "I'm as big as a house. You did this on purpose. You want me to look like a bloated battleship when I meet my Dhoni!"

"Zoya, come on babe---"

"No you've always been jealous of my love for Dhoni!"

"Please! Jealous, my foot!"

"This is your revenge!"

Asad couldn't help himself. He laughed so hard that he rolled off the bed.

"Mr. Khan!"

"No, you're right," Asad wiped his streaming eyes. "I did plan it all. I knew he was coming this month so I got you pregnant last year just to make sure that he would see you in this condition. Yep, I'm such a super planner that world class cricketers bow to my mating schedule."

Zoya sniffed. "I didn't say that," she muttered. Her hair still fell over her face.

"What? Sorry, did you say something? I couldn't hear because I'm cheering so loud at my diabolical plan's success."

"I said ..." She sniffed and sat up to wipe her face on her shirtsleeve. His shirtsleeve actually.

"You said?"

"I said I'm sorry, OK?" Zoya flung another cushion at him. "But you can cancel the meeting. I'm not going to let him see me like this!"

"Zoya, come on! You can't do this. Do you even know what strings I had to pull to arrange this? He meets thousands of fans every day. Do you think he cares how fat or thin you are?"

"He might not, but I dooo!" Zoya went back to wailing.

"Aw, come here baby," Asad sat down by her and tucked her head under his chin. "You are so beautiful. And no one thinks you're fat. If they do, they'll have to meet Mukka Ahmed Khan. But you have to admit it was some brilliant revenge, right?"

Zoya giggled but it sounded more like a sniffle. "Really Mr. Khan, you have a mating schedule? Is it like a timetable? Do you get alerts on your phone? When was I going to be informed about it?"

"You've been penciled in for tonight after dinner."

"Penciled in? I better be all over it, and that too with a permanent marker!"

"You are. On my heart, and here." Asad extended his palm.

"Oh really?" Zoya snorted.

Nonetheless she kissed her initial on his palm as she always did. It was a ritual. A cherished one. "You love brandishing that in my face don't you?"

"Of course! As if you don't use your puppy face to manipulate me?"

"Besides," Asad continued. "This scar is my trump card. My ace of spades--hukum ka ikka!"

"Please, Jahanpanah is nothing but his begum's ghulam! And there's been a change of plans. I want me some mating right now--pencil that in on your schedule!"

"Jo hukum mere aaka."

"Nice punning skills, Jahanpanah!" Zoya kissed him hard on his mouth in reward.

"Should I let Dhoni know?"

Zoya arched an eyebrow. "What, that he's been bumped off our royal schedule?"

"That I'm jealous as hell of him," Asad breathed against her skin.

"You're crazy!"

"About you," Asad teased.

"But did you really get us passes to meet hot, happening, Mahendra Singh Dhoni?"

"Umm hmm. Though why I bothered I don't know," Asad groused. "Hot and happening hoga apne ghar mein. He better stay out of my bedroom and your head! I'm going to tear up those ridiculous passes. What was I thinking!"

"I love you, Mr. Khan."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! Why would I say it otherwise? Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan? Do you really doubt m-----?"

Dhoni bear drooped. Dobby swatted him off the settee and well over the stands.

His fans cheered: Chhakka!

Twitching his tail, the cavalier cat curled up for his sixth nap of the day. Or was it the seventh? Who knew.

He winked at Asad.

Song in title:

The Dirty Picture (2011): "Ishq Sufiana"

Chapter 113

"How long did you take to make this?" Asad asked as he thumbed through the pages of his scrapbook for the hundredth time.

"I can't even remember. I was planning it forever, but I think I might've started making it just before Mangalpur, Part Two,' " Zoya said using air quotes.

She loved to watch him pore over her gift. He had been doing that almost every night since she gave it to him. Zoya laughed when she heard him mutter, "I'm beginning to fall in love with Mangalpur!"

"So should we go back there for our second anniversary? Apna Dhaba, here we come!"

"Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mrs. Khan? Never in a million years! Besides, this time I might actually break Chhotu's bones."

Somewhere in Mangalpur Chhotu's left eye twitched madly.

"Did you read the article I sent you, Abbu? Wouldn't that be a great thing to do at the university?"

"Haan beta, I passed it along to the board. We'll discuss it at our next meeting. In the meanwhile see if you can prepare some talking points that'll convince them."

Although she'd taken a backseat from all the work being finalized for the university program to fight against se*xual violence, Zoya was still its research backbone. And just yesterday she'd come across a study done by Canadian researchers: when educated about risk and trained to recognize triggers, and fight back, the incidence of rape could be lowered. It was just the empirical evidence they were looking for to convince nay-sayers and doubters.

Zoya had contacted the researchers hoping to replicate the study's success.

Already they were getting inquiries and pledges from some girls' colleges across the country. With the help of some other local women's organizations they were also drafting a petition to the state legislature--Madhya Pradesh was after all one of the states in the country with the worst track record on women's safety. A recent statement by sports star Saina Nehwal had drawn more attention to the crisis. They were trying to get her on board as a celebrity spokesperson. Aamir Khan too had chosen Bhopal as the epicenter of the issue by launching a one-stop crisis center helpline called "Gauravi."

Awareness was growing; and so was the will to ignite real solutions.

The Mangalpur incident earlier in the year had made them all aware of the raw power of social media to shine a spotlight on an issue and force official action. Given Zoya's expertise she was concentrating on web design and social networking--she wasn't the twitter, facebook, instagram and whatsapp ki rani for nothing.

For now Humaira had taken over from Zoya in coordinating the logistics for a program that would be one of its kind in the country. With Nuzzhat's street theater troupe they were already advertising the necessity of such intervention on school and college campuses and local malls.

They were hoping to launch their first three-day seminar and workshop at the start of the coming academic year. The mushrooming waitlist was both exhilarating and terrifying.

What if they failed?

While Nuzzhat's college had become the laboratory for this social experiment Zoya had wanted to extend the tools of empowerment to the kids at the orphanage. The on-site computer center construction was done, the first classes already underway.

This was Zoya's real baby--teaching the kids coding and programming. In America tech firms like Google and Apple were offering free coding classes for women and minorities, an initiative called #YesWeCode was blazing a path to connect tech and social justice leaders to train urban youth. Then why not try to get these abandoned kids in a little corner of Bhopal started early? Some of the kids had shown a remarkable aptitude for tech. Fingers crossed, if she could sustain the momentum for another year she'd think of hosting her own youth coding bootcamps and hackathons. She was in thoroughgoing agreement with that article in Bloomberg Businessweek, "the world belongs to people who code. Those who don't understand will be left behind."

Nope, nobody was going to be left behind. Not if Zoya Farooqui Khan had her way.

Zoya sighed as she closed her laptop and stood up to gaze out of the arched picture window. Her hand massaged her lower back more out of habit than necessity.

She itched to do so much more. Being stuck at home for all these days grated on her. Once the baby came she'd have to take a full-time sabbatical from her two pet projects.

She ran a restless palm over her stomach. "Only doing all this for you, baby," she whispered. I want you to come into a better world where the powerless have ... a voice ... a kickass support system ...

No, that wasn't completely true.

She wasn't just doing this for the baby.

She was also doing this work for herself. She was born to do this. And Asad agreed. When discussing a name for their organization he hadn't hesitated in suggesting: "just call it Jhansi ki Rani Foundation!'"

She'd loved that too.

"Aww, that's perfect! MA! Though I would have wanted it to be Jahanpanah and Jhansi ki Rani Foundation. JJKRF!"

Asad's eyes had shuttered. "Babe, JJKRF already exists. Its paperwork is our nikahnama." His lips had quirked and he did that head shake thingie to point to the bed. "This bed is the head office of the foundation and this is our first campaign," he said as he bent to kiss her belly.

"May be, we need to schedule a meeting for our foundation, hmm?" Zoya teased.

"Oh, a mating you mean. Done!"

"Asad!" She couldn't help giggling. "You're so bad and becoming badder by the day."

"Let's discuss my performance review in the conference room," Asad pulled her to the settee after shucking off his kurta. " ... and I'll show you how bad I can really be. You be the secretary and take notes." He proceeded to unbutton her shirt.

"Please Jahanpanah, your sexist fantasies need to end right here. I'll be the rival businesswoman who threatens your empire," Zoya ran a fingertip down his chin and throat to plant a row of butterfly kisses on his collarbone.

Asad hissed when her tongue flicked out to lick him and her teeth bit down before sucking on his skin. Uh oh. The smitten capillaries burst again and another hickey loomed. These days a swollen Mrs. Khan was bent upon marking her territory.

"A primal businesswoman who's becoming a vampire, you mean," he muttered before tucking a finger under her chin to lift her face and kiss her deeply. She moaned, thrilled with the kiss ... and the smartass wordplay.

The pages on Aapi and Jeeju were done for the baby book. And with help from a local book binding service the refurbished baby book looked seamless; it was as if the newly-added pages always belonged there.

As planned, Zoya had also made a scrapbook for Najma for her to take with her to the US. Like Asad's it too captured all the moments of her life as a baby and toddler right up to her nikaah. Working secretly with Dilshad she'd tried to make it a memorable parting gift.

And it had been fun to listen to Ammi tell stories about Asad and Najma as kids while they worked together. In fact, Zoya had even recorded her long sessions with Dilshad on her StoryCorps app. What better way to make new memories for the next generation than to record their parents and grandparents' voices and stories! She'd share the link with Najma later so that when she felt lonely or missed her mom, she could click on it and listen to these conversations.

Dilshad had become teary-eyed reminiscing about the past. While the current happiness had sopped up most of the miseries of yesterday, some forgotten spasms resurfaced now and then.

"A neighbor of ours took this photo and gave it to me," she said of a picture that showed a little Najma riding piggy-back on her brother's shoulders. Zoya had included the picture in her husband's scrapbook too.

"How old is she in this one?"

"About five. Najma loved it. Whenever she'd get upset or hurt, Asad would tickle her and carry her around the neighborhood. Everyday was a new adventure. They would pretend to be tourists or explorers or archaeologists, or even detectives. People would smile looking at them."

"Allah miyan, how cute!"

"When he returned from school and finished his homework he would teach Najma everything he'd learned that day." Dilshad smiled. "He brought broken pieces of chalk from school and used the wardrobe door as his blackboard."

"Thanks to Mr. Khan, she was probably the only kid in her kindergarten class to be learning at a fifth-grade level," Zoya mused as she touched the edges of another photograph of the siblings.

She listened, rapt. This was such a gold mine of Jahanpanah history and research! Zoya re-checked her app to see if it was recording correctly. A hand crept up to rub her tummy in circles.

A glimmer of a smile broke through Dilshad's tears.

"Pata hai, Zoya? Asad would read books and comics and tell Najma these fantastic stories about faraway lands. He'd make her laugh. I don't know what I would've done without him. If she had any kind of a happy childhood it was because of Asad. I was too stressed and busy in those days."

"I was so wrong about him in the beginning, Ammi. Why didn't you tell me all this? I called him emotionally challenged, patthar dil and what-not!"

"Sometimes telling isn't enough. You have to find out for yourself. And he was wrong about you in the beginning too"so you're even! So many times I told him how wrong he was about you. But neither of you was ready to listen to reason in those days! You had to knock heads like two mountain goats not willing to give the other an inch."

Goats who'd morphed into horny bunnies, Zoya sniggered to herself. "But he really was Akdu to me, wasn't he? Always on his high horse, gnashing his teeth about tehzeeb and tameez! How women should behave and dress--Oh. My. God. Ayatollah Ahmed Khan handing down farmaans and fatwas for Ms. Farooqui!"

Dilshad covered her face. "Allah! I don't know where he picked up those quaint notions from!"

"Probably from all the books and comics he was into!" But their smiles slipped somewhat.

They knew exactly where Asad had picked up those terrible lessons from. For a young boy who had taken on the mantle of a self-appointed protector for his mother and sister, hyper-conservatism may have seemed the only logical refuge. And as he'd grown older, the concrete vault around his heart had only been more reinforced.

"Ayatollah!" Asad couldn't freaking believe it. Another nickname? And by god, this had to be the worst of the lot.

Zoya groaned silently.

Funny how that teeth-gnashing thing made a comeback.

Shoot ... she should have edited that recording before eagerly getting Asad to listen to it. But she just wanted to show him how the app worked and how cool it was that Ammi was talking about him and Najma when they were kids.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!" she rushed to soothe his ruffled feathers ... and hackles. "My bad!" she held her ears and made kissy faces.

When he still wouldn't relent Zoya huffed. "Allah miyan what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Do you remember your temper from those days? You were like a constipated dragon that had swallowed a volcano!"

"Your daily tehzeeb lectures were pretty insane too. Hmm ... let me see ... who was it who said: numaish paschim ki ada hai, sha*ram purab ka gehna. Iss mulk mein auratein issi gehne se sajti hain?' Jeez!"

Asad covered his face with an exaggerated groan. "But Ayatollah? Constipated dragon? What the hell, Zoya?"

"Fine, you've been demoted." She kissed him in apology. "You've come a long way, baby. Me too, I guess. We were both so Pride and Prejudice.' "

"So now I'm Mr. Darcy?" Asad asked, a smug eyebrow raised. "Thank god! At least that's much better than---"

"Mmm ... I love that! My own Mr. Darcy! Though you know, you were mostly the pride AND the prejudice!"

"And you were musibat AND mushkil," Asad struggled to find suitably alliterative smack talk.

"Please, I was your muqaddar! AND murad! Your minnat, AND mannat! And you better not forget it, Mr. Khan!"

Damn, she was good.

That cheeky reference to the qawwali at the dargah when he first saw and fell for her, was sheer brilliance.

There was no competing with that agile mind of hers! And not to forget the wicked winking dimple.

She was always way better than him at pretty much everything. And way righter too.

Damn.

Seeing off Najma at the airport had been a hot teary mess. This ruksati was so much harder to bear. Dilshad and Ayaan were going with her to Dubai to make sure she got on her US-bound flight safely. Asad would have gone too but Zoya was close to her delivery. Although her due date was still a few weeks off, no one wanted to take any chances.

Asad hugged Najma to him as both she and Zoya sobbed at the separation"lambi judai sure was a bit*ch.

"Apna khayal rakhna and always remember, we're here for you," He whispered through a choked throat.

"Tell Omar to behave himself or super jodi Mr. and Mrs. Khan will knock his teeth in," Zoya added.

Najma smiled.

"Be happy, be you," Zoya kissed her forehead. She whispered their favorite mantra from "The Help" in her favorite sister-in-law's ear: "You is Tamatar, you is smart, you is kind, you is important."

Najma hugged Zoya sideways and repeated the version that she'd crafted just for her favorite Bhabhi: "you is cheeky, you is my best friend, you is smarter and kinder."

Heads together they wept. This was so unfair. Why couldn't San Francisco be closer to Bhopal?

Najma kissed her fingers and placed them on Zoya's stomach. "Bye baby, Phuphi loves you so much. I'll see you soon and spoil you rotten."

"God promees?" Zoya asked.

"God promees, hum sach kehta hai!" Najma sang with her fingers clutching at her throat, echoing yet another favorite Hindi song of theirs.

Miserable arms around each other, Zoya and Asad watched Tamatar walk away from them to start a brand new life. When Najma turned around for a last goodbye wave she jiggled her large handbag for Zoya's benefit. In it she was carrying her scr*pbook and customized snow globe. She'd lose herself in them on the long flight all the way to the US--it was a slice of home she was carrying with her over the impersonal continents and oceans; and this cargo was just as treasured as her copy of the holy book.

She shook the snow globe over Asia and then Europe as the airplane thundered farther and farther away from home. Thank you, Zoya. The sparkly snowflakes rained and dusted over her favorite family photograph that Zoya had inserted in there. The snow globe was a special surprise that she'd left by Najma's breakfast plate yesterday morning.

She loved it so much! Getting Bhaijaan to pose for this picture had been the hardest thing to do. She and Ayaan Bhaijaan had begged and pleaded with him. "Just one, please Bhaijaan!" He had agreed only when Zoya gave him the look. And only to erase that tiny frown that had appeared on Ammi's forehead.

"What a sweet picture! Is that your family?" the aunty sitting next to her commented.

"Mmm hmm," Najma said softly as she watched the falling flakes. "I'm going to miss them so much!"

"Who is that?"

"My Bhaijaan, our rock. No, our family's bedrock. You know what, he didn't always use to smile like this ..."

Zoya had to force Asad to go to work these days and not come rushing back in the evenings. "I want you here when I really need you and that'll be when the baby comes. I don't want you here standing on my head and lecturing me about safety and health and diet! Sheesh, you may as well put a nanny cam in here to monitor me like a prisoner!"

She frowned when she saw the speculative look on his face. "No, I was kidding! Please, no nanny cam!"

"But what if you need me? The contractions start, or your water breaks?"

Zoya sighed. She didn't know which was better: a clueless husband or an over-informed and hyper-vigilant husband. And to not even have Ammi and Najma to be a buffer between her and her Akdu's escalating anxiety!

Pure, unadulterated na-insafi this was.

"Mr. Khan, you'll be just a phone call away. Stop being so paranoid."

But he'd put his foot down. He'd work from home till Dilshad returned from Dubai.

"Fine!" Zoya pretended to be miffed. Secretly she was thrilled to have him all to herself. Besides, she knew that he missed Tamatar terribly but had no emotional vocabulary to talk about it. "But you better not deduct these two days from the paternity leave!"

Asad looked up from his laptop to argue.

Zoya wagged a furious finger in warning. "Or you'll be on the longest sex-fast of your life, mister!"

Asad's heart sank. "Fine!" he groused. "And she dares call me Ayatollah!" He still hadn't gotten over that slight.

"Mr. Khan, I heard that!"

"Good girl, just checking to see if you needed a hearing aid!"

"Hmmpphh! Watch it, or you'll be needing a walking aid."

Asad spluttered.

"You're flirting with fire, you know," she mock-scolded him. "I'm this close to declaring a sex curfew!"

"Nooo!"

"Exactly ... just as I thought." She batted her lashes at him. "Now, how about that massage you promised me?"

Asad's eyes lit up.

Raziya had given Zainab a full oral report of the godh bharai ceremony and the hoopla led by the kids. She flipped through the pictures on her camera commenting on each. Now she was busy making lists for the delivery and childbirth.

But she couldn't resist one more complaint against their damaad. "Asad is just not budging. Won't listen even to Siddiqui Saheb or Rashid. Hadd hai! It's a parent's right to bring their daughter home to take care of her in these days. Zoya's right to call him Akdu."

She rubbed the stone and smiled.

"But he's a wonderful husband. You should see how well he takes care of her. Humare zamaane mein aisa nahin tha! Husbands were scared to stand by their wives and worried about being seen as hen-pecked. May be if Siddiqui Saheb had been firmer my insecurity wouldn't have ruined everything ..."

Her conscience rumbled.

" ... thank god she has him. For every pain and tear I gave her, Asad stands up to shield her ten times more! You would've been so proud of him."

Raziya closed her eyes and raised her hands in prayer.

But dread still continued to nip and chip at her heart. And she could only share this gnawing fear with Zainab.

" ... I'm scared ..." she whispered to her confessor as if terrified that saying it aloud would make her fears come true.

"What if ... ?" she couldn't bear to go on; not even tell Zainab about her deepest, darkest worries. Looking back at the past yielded nothing but a dizzying vertigo of regret.

A passing squirrel stood up on its hindlegs and stared at her, its tiny hands arrested in mid-air.

Should she just say it? But what if it came true?

The squirrel's whiskers twitched knowingly.

"She needs you most at this hour. When the baby comes what if Zoya sees me and hates the sight of me? I can't go in front of her! I wish I was dead!" She burst into tears.

For days Raziya had been harboring a new anxiety. She felt frozen in panic, was often lost in thought and ate sporadically. Her blood sugar dipped and spiked like a volatile stock's price index; her body felt clammy; her gut clammed up.

She felt a woman damned.

Yes. She deserved it.

They had all gone way too easy on her. She had been spared the true kaffarrah of a sinner. She should have been publicly stoned or lynched for her sins.

She certainly had no right to be in the presence of a child whose mother she had scarred and whose grandmother she had slayed. Would she die on the spot, struck by lightning if that child raised its eyes to look into her face? They would be the eyes of god ...

What would that child see when it stared into her guilty soul?

A week later and Zoya could see that Dilshad missed Najma terribly. She tried to hug her mother-in-law from the back.

"Do you want to see her nikaah video?" Zoya asked softly.

Dilshad sniffed. "That'll make me cry even more," she whispered.

"Aww."

Zoya pouted. Her mind raced trying to find ways to cheer Dilshad.

She snapped her fingers.

"I know! Let's have a missing Tamatar party!"

Dilshad frowned. "What's that? And I really don't feel like having a party."

"Ammi, it'll just be the two of us. First we'll make her favorite foods ... watch her favorite films ..." She nattered on making plans and Dilshad smiled for the first time in many days.

If she dared stay sad any longer her bahu would make it her mission to plan new and unique forms of entertainment for her. And Zoya's missions had all the finesse of a puppy in a candy shop. There would be side-splitting laughter and a cuteness overload. And a big fat sticky mess.

Thank god!

She looked up as Zoya dragged her towards the stairs and up to Najma's room.

"Beta, be careful! Asad will kill me if anything bad happened to you." She cautioned. "Kahan le ja rahi ho?" She picked up Dobby so that he wouldn't trip them up in his collaborative enthusiasm to gatecrash the party.

"Please Ammi! Just trust me."

Dilshad's eyes widened in alarm. She remembered Asad's favorite warning about his wife: "be very afraid when Zoya says, trust me!' "

Allah!

"Let's play with Najma's things! It'll be such fun."

Play?

"Remember you promised that you'll show me Mr. Khan's and Najma's baby clothes. And I want to play with her dollhouse. I love it so much! You have to tell me all about it again."

And Dilshad let herself be diverted.

Funny, how for nearly 10-15 years they'd kept silent about those days of the kids' childhood but now it was as if she was talking about it everyday. And in the retelling, the happier memories broke through the surface clearing away the cobwebs and clutter of the sadder ones.

In the past few weeks they had already donated Najma's gently used clothes and accessories to the older girls in the orphanage. After all Najma couldn't take all of India in two suitcases with her to the US. Hana had told them that everything Indian was now available in America. "Just bring what you love and need," she'd told Najma over the phone.

"Tell me about her favorite red suit," Zoya encouraged Dilshad. Najma had refused to part with that. The dollhouse was sitting on the desk--Zoya pulled up the chair to settle in it.

Dobby promptly hopped up in her lap.

"Asad got that designer suit for her on her fifteenth birthday. He'd been saving up for months! Things had just started to get better that year. She was so happy when he let her have a little party with her friends."

Zoya stroked the slightly-warped sides of the dollhouse as she heard the note of pride in Dilshad's voice. She'd already peeked through the tiny door and windows. This past month, she and Najma had freshened up the miniature furniture and re-papered the walls. Siddiqu Saheb had promised to build brand new furniture for it.

"Ammi, I hope Tamatar's friends didn't make eyes at Mr. Khan! I'd pluck their eyes out, right Dobby?"

He gave it some thought and agreed.

Dilshad laughed. Thank god for Zoya! No longer were those dusty memories tinged with pain; they were now edged with the sun, freshly cropped with dimples--refreshed just like that dollhouse.

"I love this dollhouse so much," Zoya mused. "Tell me again how long he took to make it."

As Dilshad got ready to retell this oft-repeated story Zoya held up a hand. "No, wait, wait, let me record it."

Out came her phone and on went the app.

"I was really mad at Asad for bringing used cigarette boxes and gum wrappers home. He told me not to worry, that he'd make---"

"Aaah" Zoya cried.

"Zoya? Kya hua beta? Are you OK?"

"Ammi, it hurts!"

"Where? Abhi? We still have 10 days before your due date!" Dilshad's mind had gone blank. She tried to recall Asad's instructions and daily reminders. She rushed to massage Zoya's stomach; it was tight as a drum.

Dilshad gasped. It was time. The baby wanted to join in the play and gatecrash the missing-Tamatar-Phuphi party.

But Zeenat hadn't even come yet--she'd be landing tomorrow. How could it be time?

Dilshad's poise vanished; dread flooded in.

When they had done rehearsals for this moment at Asad's insistence as he timed them with a stopwatch, Zoya had always been on the ground floor.

Oh my god!

Dilshad's panicky fingers remembered to call Asad on his cell.

"Ammi?"

"Asad? Asad, it's time. She's having contractions!"

Asad slipped into General Jeeju mode. "Ammi, it's OK, we've practiced this. Just stick with the checklist. Start timing the contractions, I'll be there in 20 minutes." He paused as he heard squawking noises from the other end. He was already rushing out the door. "Why are you crying? Is Zoya OK?"

Dilshad sobbed in panic. Even Zoya got worried as she tried to breathe through the pain. "Asad!" his mom cried. "We're upstairs!"

He was there in under 12 minutes.

He'd scold them later for being upstairs. Right now they had to make sure to walk Zoya carefully down the stairs as she moaned through the pain. She had made it half way down the landing by sliding down on her butt step by step. A worried Dilshad hovered around feeling useless. When Asad had burst in through the main door Zoya was breathing hard between the waves of pain.

This was still early labor and the contractions were 17-20 minutes apart. But soon they'd have to leave for the hospital. Thank god they'd already packed a maternity bag last weekend--also at Asad's insistence.

He had already contacted her doctor.

As he sat her down on the rocking chair, Zoya gripped his hand. "Asad, I'm scared!"

"Shh, there's nothing to be scared about. I'm here," he faked confidence now. But when he'd heard Ammi cry on the phone the bottom had dropped out from his stomach.

"No, I mean, this is it. There's no turning back now!" Zoya panted. "We're going to be parents. What if I'm a terrible mom!"

Some of the stress left his body; he actually laughed.

"Mr. Khan, it's not funny!"

He kissed her nose. "Shh, you'll be perfect. Now let's concentrate on breathing through the next one, OK?" He put the bags in the car before coming to get her for the slow drive to the hospital.

Thank god she had Asad, she thought for the millionth time. How did women do this alone? How did her Ammi go through this all alo---?

No, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't go down that road.

Zaid or Amna, whoever's in there you better be healthy, she thought before all thoughts were swept away by the next rolling spasm.

Asad had his own fears.

With the coming intensified contractions would his wife turn into one of those pregzillas you saw on TV who raged against their husbands and yelled "you did this to me!" at them?

He glanced at Zoya sitting in the back seat with Dilshad murmuring soothing words and stroking her hand. She wiped Zoya's forehead with a damp washcloth.

At the red light he looked back at Zoya again. He could tell by her strangled moans that she was holding the screams back. Tears ran down her face.

His eyes stung.

He had his answer.

No, she wouldn't be one of those wives yelling and clawing at her husband. The silly woman was actually trying to hide her pain from them and being a goddamn Jhansi ki rani!

Before helping her into the wheelchair brought by an attendant Asad held her to him. "Stop trying to be a hero," he whispered in her ear. "You can yell at me or hit me if you feel like it."

"I don't feel like it," she sobbed into his shirt. "I love you. Thank you for being here."

"Zoya? What is it, babe?" This was not like her at all. "Why are you crying? Is it hurting a lot?"

"It would hurt a lot more if I didn't have you here with me."

"Shh, why wouldn't you have me here? Where else would I be? Come now ... be careful. And breathe!"

It was a few hours later when the pain got much worse and he heard her calling out for her Ammi that he understood. Thank god the epidural had been safely administered. Earlier he'd been skeptical of it; why add an unwanted layer of medical complication?

But now he breathed a sigh of relief.

He couldn't bear to hear her muffled screams. He couldn't bear to see her bite down on her lips ... her knuckles ... again and again. It was that typical Zoya gesture of wanting to protect him from worry that brought him to his knees again. Sometimes she was too fierce for her own good.

And why was he even surprised?

That moment when she had every right to be the drama queen, his wife, ever the unpredictable contrarian, decides to be the silent suffering martyr.

Incredibly foolish.

He had wanted to crush her in his arms but the nurse bulldozed him away.

The rest of the family was here. Ayaan had got a traffic ticket for speeding to get to the hospital. He hadn't stayed to argue or charm his way out of it. Not worth it. Siddiqui Saheb was wearing down the corridor tiles with his pacing.

Shireen and Dilshad clutched hands. They had already traded stories of the labor times of each of their kids. Of course Ayaan had taken 21 hours and Nikhat had been trouble-free.

Raziya huddled listlessly in one of the chairs offering silent duas and pleas. When they'd been told of the sudden crash in Zoya's blood pressure after the epidural, she'd prayed relentlessly: take me, keep her and the baby safe.

Zainab watch over her, please! I'm sorry ...

Unaware of her Jeeju's churning helplessness and mom's quiet despair, Humaira was rabid from excitement and pride. Her eyes still shone seven hours into her Aapi's labor. Even the prospect of more waiting hadn't dimmed her delight. She randomly hugged Nuzzhat or her mom because she couldn't sit still for more than five minutes.

The women had been allowed in to visit with Zoya for half an hour. Raziya had hung back. What if Zoya recoiled from her? But she hadn't been able to resist a glimpse of her either. As everyone filed out of the room, she gripped Zoya's hand in hers and raised it to her eyes. "Zainab should have been here, not me," she wept. "I'm so sorry, so sorry ..."

Zoya cried too. Yes, she missed her Ammi so much right now. She wanted her by her side so bad. For a second she felt anger at the loss and nearly turned away from the woman who had engineered it.

The nurse tried to hustle Raziya out. "Please, patient ko aaram karne dein," she ordered.

Raziya tried to slip her hand away to leave but Zoya gripped it tighter. "Aunty, I miss her so much. Why did she have to die? Why can't she be here to see my baby?"

Raziya fell on her knees. "I wish I would've died. I wish Allah gave me a thousand scars and all of your pain. Allah mujhe dozakh ki aag se bhi na bachaye!"

The nurse tried to shoo her out. "Please, you are upsetting her. It's not good for her in this condition."

As the door closed on her face Raziya saw a distraught Zoya weeping helplessly. She saw Asad talking outside to another nurse and grabbed his sleeve. "Please, go to her," she urged him through tears. "She needs you."

And turning away Raziya raced down the solitary stairs and out of the hospital doors. Her mind didn't know it but her steps dragged her to Zainab's side.

"If you want, I can ask her to stay away," Asad held Zoya. She'd calmed down in the circle of his arms.

He knew she was feeling fragile. "You have every reason to resent her. Anyone would understand that--even her."

"I don't resent her," Zoya murmured. "I just wish things had been different."

Asad raised her hand to kiss the bruises. "I know."

"I mean, so many times I see glimpses of my Ammi in your Ammi," Zoya continued softly. "And don't laugh OK ... ? Sometimes I see Ammi in Aunty too. All those godh bharai things, Ammi would have done it just like Aunty. I know she visits Ammi's gravesite almost daily and tends to the flowers and offers chadars. The caretaker there was telling me that she spends hours chatting to herself by Ammi's side."

Asad brushed his lips against her temple after pushing her hair back. "You are incredible, you know?"

"I don't know ... At some crazy moment I wonder if Ammi's spirit ..." Zoya sighed. Her hand stroked her tummy. "I just want our baby to be healthy ... and happy, surrounded by---"

The nurse knocked and they disengaged. "Insha'allah," he whispered. "And I don't know if your Ammi's spirit is anywhere else or not, but I do know that you are your Ammi's spirit." He rested his palm on her stomach. "And mine. I can't tell you how proud I am of you, how much I love you."

"Sir, if you could please step outside, we have to check for dilation."

The baby seemed reluctant to come today. They'd been waiting for hours and Zoya was tired from watching TV and tapping through her iPad.

But she had to flash her eyes at Asad when he dared to ask the doctor if the epidural had somehow made the baby sluggish or prevented his wife from pushing the baby.

Oh really, Jahanpanah?

Don't you dare, her eyes warned.

Allah miyan, he had already made too much of a scene on vetoing any talk of a C-section. Asad had rattled off all the literature and stats he'd read up on it and his wife had shaken her head and hidden her face. Jeez, Dr. Jahanpanah was on the scene and ruling court.

If she tried hard enough, she'd possibly hear him proclaim, "Order! Order!" before he passed judgment.

She glared at him. You're scaring the baby, Zoya's slitted eyes added.

But Asad was on a roll.

He'd already asked a thousand questions about the early delivery"would the baby be OK? Would the lungs have formed properly? What if it meant that something was wrong?

Earlier, in private, he'd even expressed his worry to Zoya, "may be we shouldn't have made love last night."

She'd rolled her eyes. "Please Mr. Khan, just settle down, OK? You've read up on this more than me. But trust me, babies come early sometimes. In fact Ammi said that you came a week early too. The baby's just following in your footsteps."

She smacked her head as she realized something.

"Oh my god, it IS following in your footsteps! Mr. Khan do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"It means that very soon we'll have a mini-you stomping around the house."

Asad paused and looked at her in irritation. "I do not stomp!"

She tilted her head and looked at him archly. "Oh really? Soon we'll be joined by a mini-Akdu in diapers! No wait, a chhotu Jahanpanah!"

Asad snarled. "No Chhotu! Never chhotu!"

Zoya laughed at his tantrum. How quickly that nerve on his forehead arced and danced! Soon he would be stomping. "Yes, a chhotu Jahanpanah," she crowed.

"Zo---!"

"I can't wait!" Zoya squealed as she clapped her hands.

May be that's just what the baby needed to hear.

Asad was once again unceremoniously thrown out of the room as the nurses rushed about with the supplies. Outside, Humaira was dispensing hand sanitizer by the gallon. "No one's going near Aapi or the baby loaded with filthy germs," she declared in her best General Jeeju imitation.

"Haan haan why not, I don't know how you kids survived because hamare zamaane mein toh hand sanitizer nahin tha!" Dadi teased her grand-bahu.

Rashid laughed in giddy delirium.

Zoya would not remember much of what happened next but she would never forget the baby's first hearty cry. Oh yes, the lungs had formed all right, Mr. Khan.

When Asad was ushered back into the room the baby had been cleaned up and swaddled in its receiving blanket and cap; it dozed in Zoya's arms who was crying softly. Asad leaped over to whisper the adhan in his son's right ear before kissing Zoya's tears away.

"He's beautiful," an awed Asad said tracing the baby's features with his finger. He drew an enchanted circle around his son's face and gently traced the fluttering eyelids, the button nose and petal lips.

Asad's own eyes were damp. He rested his forehead against Zoya's temple and let out a soft gasp as the baby's tiny fist clenched its daddy's thumb. The white edges of its paper-thin miniature fingernails gleamed--slivers of the moon at each tip.

"Manicure kara ke aaya hai," Nuzzhat would say later when she would first lay eyes on her nephew"after both its Dadis and Par-Dadi had counted all the perfect little fingers and toes.

No doubt that pronouncement would make Ayaan mad. "He's not some prissy-ass metrose*xual! He's a Khan, a sher, OK! Aur issi baat par ek sher ho---"

"Nooo!" Everyone would yell and wake up the napping baby. He would roar to silence his fans.

Asad and Zoya looked down at the closed eyes and rooting mouth. She too traced his cheek and lips with her knuckle, "welcome home, Zaid. You is gorgeous," she whispered lifting him to brush his nose with hers.

The door was flung open and she looked up.

"Aapi!"

"I came straight from the airport. Allah miyan, my baby!" sobbed Zeenat.

A startled Zaid roared to give his mom and Nani some healthy wailing competition.

Keep it down guys, he seemed to say. It's been a rough ride.

Or at least that's what Zoya imagined him saying as she rocked him.

And each time her son dozed she would watch his rising and falling chest just like she watched his father's and sing softly: in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.

Wimoweh ... wimoweh ... wimoweh ...

Or as they used to sing the song from "The Lion King" when she was a kid: a whim away, a whim away, a whim away, a whim away ...

Whoa.

She was a brand new spanking mama and no longer a kid.

It scared the crap out of her.

But only until she looked up into Asad's face as he held Zaid. Thank you Allah miyan, she would never tire of this sight.

He looked at her just then; their eyes met and held.

"Congrats Jahanpanah, you're Abbu Ahmed Khan now," she whispered.

She cried too as his eyes filled.

No, she would never be alone. Asad would be right there next to her.

Song in Title:

Bachna Ae Haseeno (2008): "Khuda Jaane"