ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Hai Mushkil (Updated Ch. 130 Page 90 Oct. 11) - Page 9

Chapter 43

He paced in his room.

Asad couldn't get her downcast eyes and nearly quivering lips out of his mind. How many times would he keep hurting her? But wasn't it better to hurt her a little now, than a lot more, later?

He flashbacked to the first time he had seen at the dargah and sat down heavily on the bed.

His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe.

The tortured words and tears of both his father, and her Aapi, kept playing in his mind on an endless loop.

"... I set the fire ..."

" her mother died in a fire ... screaming ..."

The words and scenes overlapped creating a fiery crescendo of torment. Together they painted a grim picture ...

Sometime between the drive home after his breakdown, and turning into the driveway, Asad's mind had made a terrifying but uncanny and startling connection.

Were the two incidents from both his and her past ...? Even thinking about it turned his blood to ice.

Were their lives inexorably linked by blood, lies and fire?

He paced again, unable to sit still.

Could his father be responsible for that scar on her arm? Finally, he had put words to his worst fear.

How could one do that to a baby? His mind flashed to an image of a baby Najma. What if someone had done something like that to their Tamatar?

His mind kept reliving the screams he heard when Zoya had her nightmares. She must have felt so much pain. He squeezed his eyes shut in agony.

Before entering the house, he had quietly asked Anwar. "When did this happen?"

"1994."

"Do you remember which month or the date?"

"Why?"

"I want to look into it to see if we can find out more about what happened."

"I think it was October. But I'll check with Zeenat."

Once home, he had called the investigator and given him whatever details he could about the location and time, and told him to rush the results. Money was no bar, this was to be done at a war footing. "Drop everything else. I'll pay for your time. I need results, fast."

Next he called the Police Commissioner to urge him to expedite the forensic investigation of the remains found in the factory. If the lab was still backlogged, he would pay to get it done privately. He would even fly in the best forensic anthropologist if the need arose.

The reports had started trickling in within the next few hours.

And it all added up; his instincts had been right.

How could they get married now? What if Zoya found out later that his father may have allegedly murdered her mother and scarred her for life? She would hate him and they would be trapped in a marriage of endless pain and mistrust.

In his heart, Asad knew that his father was no killer. But what if he was framed and made to accidentally kill someone by his bosses?

So far the only ray of hope was that the remains hadn't been identified as male or female.

May be there was no link.

But what if there was?

Somehow, in his gut, Asad was sure that there was.

He looked out of the arched window into the heart of darkness.

He shouldn't have trusted that happiness; it wasn't his due. He was to be forever robbed of it"his lot was to not just stand at the edge of light and peer in.

No, his destiny was to turn his back on the light and live in his own shadow.

But what of Zoya?

Asad needed to get away from the oppressiveness of his room.

It was dark in the house. Everyone was exhausted and had turned in soon after the guests left.

He walked outside to sit on the bench.

And saw her there.

Of course. No wonder his lovesick feet had led him here.

She still hadn't changed out of her dress. Her shoulders were hunched, and he could tell she was crying softly.

He wanted to hug her to him, crushing her in his arms. Asad swore under his breath and turned to walk away.

"Mr. Khan?"

His heart splintered at those words.

Arms rigidly folded across his chest, he pressed his fist to his mouth.

A cloud of fragrant henna wafted up behind him.

She tugged his hand, turned it over, and put something in it. The warm curved metal burned him. His fist closed around it, the stone biting into his flesh.

"Zoya," he choked.

Her simple acceptance of his silent decision destroyed him.

"Umm ... Mr. Khan?" She pressed her fingers to her trembling lips.

She still wanted to say something to him? He saw her grip her hands painfully.

She didn't know if she should tell him, or even if she would have the courage to say the words without crumbling.

She didn't want his pity, but nor did she want him to feel guilt or shame.

Zoya twisted her bare fingers, already missing the snug warmth of the ring ... and his love.

"I ... I started ... umm ..." she gulped, took a huge shuddering breath and blurted in a rush, "Don't worry please, I'm not pregnant."

She ran to get to the door leading to the house.

Unable to bear it anymore, in a few swift steps he was by her side.

Asad shook her by her shoulders. "Why don't you hate me for hurting you every time? Why are you still thinking about me when I've given you more tears than smiles?"

She slid to the ground on her knees, trying to swallow her sobs by pressing her fists to her mouth.

He couldn't. No, he wouldn't do it. They would go through it together if she let him. He gathered her in his arms and rocked her to him.

"I'm so sorry that I keep hurting you."

She clung to him but rained soft, ineffectual punches on his chest. Asad tried to laugh at that, and her punches grew stronger.

"Zoya," he grabbed her fist in his. The ring bit into her knuckles.

Still sobbing, she hid her face in the crook of her arm.

"Did I do something?" She asked through sobs.

"I'm sorry."

Zoya cried harder. "You don't want to marry me?"

He hugged her hard, hating himself more.

"I want to marry you. Only you. I love you so much. But there's something that we have to talk about first."

She stilled.

While a part of her was glad to hear that things were okay between them and that he was finally about to tell her what it was that was bothering him, another part of her dreaded the words to come. It could be only something momentous for him to be so affected by it.

"What?" She whispered fearfully.

"Your truth, my truth. Our truth!"

She wiped her tears, got up, and moved away waiting for him to continue. What was he going to say? What truth? Fear coursed down her spine. Zoya let him lead her back to the bench. Asad didn't sit by her side as she had hoped he would.

He paced before her.

"Abbu came to the office today."

She knew about this part. He had already told her last night that Abbu wanted to speak with him.

"He told me about the factory and what happened all those years ago. Do you remember they found skeletal remains there?"

She nodded.

"And then when I went to pick up Aapi and Jeeju, I asked them how you got your scar."

Zoya flinched but remained silent.

She had herself asked them this but they said they didn't know. She was sure that's what they told Asad.

"She told me that you were in a fire that killed your mother," He choked out, wanting to hold her but not daring to look at her.

Zoya was confused.

"But I thought they didn't know about Ammi or how I got my scar."

She couldn't accept that they had lied to her all these years. But this information was distracting her from the bigger shock that she had just received.

Ammi had died in a fire? The dreams? And she got the scar in the same fire?

Asad stole a look at her. It hadn't hit her as yet. She was still processing the information in a delayed reaction. And he hadn't even told her the worst of it as yet.

"Zoya, you know that Abbu set fire to that factory, right? They made him do it." He swiped his hand across his mouth in agitation, "but, what we didn't know then, was that they were threatening to kill Najma. That's why he did it."

Zoya scrunched up her face in confusion. Why was he talking about Abbu and Najma in the middle of this?

Still distracted, she said, "I told you, it had to be something big like that. It must have been horrible for him."

Only she could have this much faith. Even he hadn't believed his father earlier.

He held her shoulders and then knelt before her, holding her hands.

"I had it checked out. The fire in the factory was around the same time your mother died in a fire."

She looked at him blankly.

"Zoya ... Abbu may have burned the factory that ... your mother died in." He started to weep in her hands, "and my father may have given you that scar."

"How can you want to marry me after this? I may be the son of your mother's murderer!"

She jerked and went numb, staring sightlessly into the night.

_______________________________________________

Song in Title:

Dil Chahta Hai (2001): "Tanhayee"

Chapter 44

The glinting shards and snatches of broken images, dreams, thoughts, words and feelings strafed her.

She remembered that moment when they walked in on his Abbu in the factory, trying to re-bury the ...

... that was Ammi? ...

Ammi!

A silent scream ripped through her, leaving her gasping for breath.

... all my life ... yearning for you ... not knowing where you were buried ... you were there ... right in front of me ... like some discarded ... shattered ... limp doll ... paved over like common trash ...

I was there ... the searing heat ... left like trash ... no one to hold me ...

Ammi!

... the numbing cold ... he was there ... unburying her ... his bloodied fingertips ... crying out her name ... reviving her ... holding her ... brushing the dirt from her face ... carrying her ... tears running down his face ... wiping her tears ...

She saw his head in her lap. She felt his hot tears in her hands and snatched her hands away.

His heart cracked.

Asad reeled from her withdrawal. He knew it. She hated him. He had gambled; and lost. He raised his leaden head. That night, all those years ago, may have inadvertently forged their bond in tears and terror; it would be deliberately hacked on the eve of what would have been the happiest day of their lives.

She wiped her hands by her side, then ran them through his hair. Zoya bent to kiss the top of his head.

He looked up in shock, "Zoya?"

She was crying too.

She wiped his tears. "Asad, just hold me, please."

He surged up to sit next to her and wrapped her in his arms gratefully. Healing in each other's arms they sat huddled together, silently, for a long time.

He pulled her into his lap, raining kisses on her head, "what are you made of? How can you get past this?"

She looked up at him, and held his face in her hands. "Did you kill my mother?"

He knew what she meant and opened his mouth to argue with her. She hushed him with a finger on his lips.

"But your scar!" His hand stroked her arm to feel and remind her of the uneven bumps under her sleeve.

"It must have hurt so much!" He began to weep for her.

"Shh, it's a part of me and I don't even think about it anymore. I don't remember the pain."

She held his face, "but the pain this evening was more real. I thought it was over between us."

He squeezed his eyes shut and she sucked his tears.

"I never knew her. She died so long ago. All I have of her are the nightmares and the scar. I have her earrings, an old saree, a music box and some letters which are gone now."

She stroked his cheek and kissed his chest. "You make those nightmares go away and make me feel beautiful despite my scar."

She kissed the side of his neck, "who held on to my lost earring? You."

She kissed him on the other side, "I wore that saree when I tried to seduce you, but failed miserably."

He smiled at the memory and lifted her face to brush her lips with his.

"You didn't fail, I was already smitten, just not ready to admit it," he whispered.

"How many times did you save me? Who took care of me when we found out about my Abbu?"

She pulled his face down and kissed his eyes and cheeks.

"And if all you say is true, can't you see, we're even!"

She held up his palm to show him his scar before kissing it.

"Zoya, you are so incredibly crazy," he moaned through his tears, and kissed her tenderly.

"How can you make such beautiful and magical sense of this horror?"

He continued to kiss her hands, head, stopping to peck the tip of her nose.

"Because you are here, in my arms, crying for me and loving me. I've already lost her. Why would I turn away from the best thing that happened to me?"

Setting her down on the bench, he slid down on his knees again and took her hand in his.

"Will you marry me even if this is true?"

She nodded eagerly, and he slipped the ring on and kissed her finger.

She urged him up and kissed him greedily wanting to make up for so many lost hours and a lifetime's worth of heartache.

They sat there immersed in one another for heaven knows how long, kissing away each other's tears.

She sighed, "Asad?"

"Hmm," he brushed his lips on her temple and noticed that her eyes were moist again.

"It was killing me to think that you would hate me for being my father's son."

She placed her hand on his mouth. "I could never hate you. You are my rock, my dua."

He kissed her desperately, a man past drowning.

"And I don't hate your Abbu either. I've wanted my Abbu for so long, will you share yours with me?"

Asad nodded in awe. What was this woman made of? How could she not hate him, he wondered.

"If it was between his child and my mother," she was wracked with sobs again, "thank god, Najma is safe. Who does something like that? Oh god, I hope I don't ever resent her. Could I resent her? I love her so much."

She rambled, but really was just begging to be reassured.

His heart caved in.

He held her, his own throat tight with tears, "never! If you don't hate my father who was an adult, then how could you resent a baby? But if I was in your place I may not have felt the same. You are something else."

She burrowed in his chest and continued to sob. He soothed her by stroking her back and arms.

Finally, she sat up and wiped her tears and his. She played with the collar of his kurta. Her hands fluttered restlessly.

"What is it, baby?"

"I started my period today." And she burst into tears all over again.

He felt her pain of loss, more so because she had faced it alone, without him by her side. They had become attached to the idea of babies. Asad held her tight tucking her head in the crook of his neck, cradling her.

"So what? We'll keep trying. It's a good thing you're not pregnant, we can have more fun trying."

"But tomorrow's our wedding night!"

He chuckled.

"Well it's a good thing that we didn't wait then right? Imagine if we hadn't already made love, how miserable we'd be!"

She smiled at that too. "We can still try ..., " she whispered hopefully.

"Won't it hurt?"

"I don't think so ..."

He laughed grabbing her to his heart again, but quickly sobered.

"When did you find out?"

"After I removed the mehendi." Her throat tightened again. His own eyes moistened.

"I wish I was there to hold you and tell you how much I love you." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her eyes and cheeks.

"I'm sorry to ruin the ceremony and hurt you so much. I was slowly dying inside thinking I had already lost you," he kissed her palms and fingertips, and breathed in the fragrance of her mehendi nuzzling her palm.

"How can I make it up to you?"

"Kiss me, love me forever."

"I will. All night. All my life."

He lifted her in his arms.

"Why are you so heavy all of a sudden?"

She punched his shoulder and kissed his cheek, "it's this ridiculous lehenga that probably weighs twenty-twenty five pounds."

He walked toward the door. "How many kgs is that?"

He waited while she bolted it from the inside.

"Umm, I don't know, about ten I guess?"

They talked in hushed tones.

He carried her to his room.

"So when you are pregnant with Zaid, is this how much you'll weigh?"

"May be. May be more."

Asad laughed softly and bent his head to nudge her nose with his.

"What if we have twins? I want twins!" She whispered happily.

He gulped audibly and she laughed softly, giving him a fierce hug after securing his bedroom door from the inside.

"Why are you so worried? You won't have to carry them!"

He set her down and kissed her.

"I would." His hand curved over her flat stomach. "In a heartbeat."

"I know," she held his face in her hands, "but," and she slid one hand down to stroke his taut stomach, "that'd be hell on my six packs that I've drooled over forever."

He threw his head back to roar with laughter.

But she covered his mouth with her hand, "Mr. Khan! Shh!" and his chest rumbled from suppressing it.

"I feel grubby. I want a shower," she said a little later.

"Unnhh!" he protested now kissing her ear and neck.

She pulled him by his hand.

"C'mon Jahanpanah, take your mallika to the hamam and shower her with some ishq and aashiqui."

"You've been watching that show on TV, right?"

He tugged at her dupatta and she helped him unpin it letting it slide to the floor.

"Umm hmm," she started to unbutton his kurta.

"Basic research to understand the life and times of the original jahanpanah!"

His laughter rumbled through her hand on his chest.

"But," and she placed her hands on her hips huffily, "I better be the only mallika in the harem, or the Jahanpanah won't have a seventh pack left."

He doubled over with silent laughter.

"And besides, you owe me."

He straightened up and sobered in a flash, "I know, I'm so sorry for earlier."

"No! You couldn't find your name in my mehendi, remember?"

"Your permanent initial on my palm doesn't count?"

"Mr. Khan!"

"OK, OK, mallika sahiba, lead the way."

She raised both her arms like a child. "No, Jahanpanah, carry me," she ordered.

He chuckled and scooped her in his arms to gently set her down on the edge of the tub.

He turned on the faucets in the shower cubicle to adjust the temperature. By the time he was satisfied, she had undressed. He helped her in and undressed to join her. Soaping each other erotically was soon abandoned. With the jets spraying against them, he backed her against the wall, hitched her up and mounted her, as she wrapped her legs around him.

"Look at me," he ordered.

They gazed into each other's eyes until they couldn't anymore, surrendering and crashing into a powerful keening climax.

"Zoyaa!"

He buried his face in her neck as she arched it against the wall, trapped between the slick tile and his thundering heart.

_________________________________________________

Song in Title:

Unpadh (1962) "Aapki Nazaron Ne Samjha"

Chapter 45

Tanu was a content woman. Her gamble had paid off. But she couldn't resist one more pay out. It was too tempting not to attempt it.

Yesterday she had waited outside his office in a burqa. When he got out of the car, she saw that he was accompanied by some minion deferentially holding his phone and papers while updating him on today's meetings.

She walked up to them.

"Maaf kijiyega?" She lifted her veil which still partially covered her face from the nose down.

He halted.

"Mujhe aapse zaroori baat karni hai."

"I'm sorry," he pointed to the person with him. "Please take an appointment." And he started to walk away.

"It's very private."

He pivoted on his heel.

"How dare you? I do not entertain women like you!" He stalked off.

"Not even when it is about your daughter?" He halted and asked his assistant to go on ahead without him.

"What do you mean?" He barked through clenched teeth.

"I mean, I have some information about your long-lost daughter."

Gaffoor Siddiqui felt the ground shift under him. His face softened for a second.

"What do you know about it?" He wasn't going to pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about. A guilty part of him always yearned to know what had happened to the daughter he had abandoned and neglected years ago for fear of upsetting the gilded apple cart.

"Can we speak more privately?"

An hour later they were seated in the deserted coffee shop of a 3 star hotel. Here he would be anonymous and the meeting still private.

"Yes, please tell me what you know," he inquired right after their drinks had been served.

She removed a bundle of letters and photographs from her bag and passed them on to him. He removed the frayed rubberband and looked at them. His hands stilled and he pressed a hand on his mouth.

"Where did you get these?" Tears fell down his face. "I wrote these so long ago ..."

"They were my mother's. She died a long time ago and this is all I have left of her. Her relatives brought me up and I have been searching for my father for years."

"Oh my god, you are my daughter?"

He looked at her in amazement. "For so long I wondered what happened to you. You must hate me for what I did." He couldn't believe how emotional he felt. He never knew that this would affect him so. He groped for her hand. "Beta please forgive me even though I am not worthy of it. I have wronged you." He was in tears.

"Let me make it up to you. Come home with me and live as my daughter so that I can make up for all my sins."

Tanu feigned tears and sniffled miserably. "I am sorry Abbu, that is not possible. You see, those relatives I talked about were not the best people. He was abusive and I finally had to run away from home to protect my honor." She cried bitterly.

"It was terrible. But sadly I couldn't save myself from this cruel world which thinks of single, young and familyless girls as meat to claw." She sobbed.

"Main apke pyar ke layak nahin hun Abbu."

"No, beta, don't say that."

"No, it's true, you see ... I am pregnant. They ... raped me."

He reeled in horror, revulsion, pity and guilt.

"I don't want to bring any dishonor to you Abbu. I am just glad to be able to call you Abbu and have you call me beta." She cried some more.

He felt terrible and yet oddly relieved. He would not have to confront his wife who would be furious. That made him feel even more guilty.

"I would have never come to you Abbu. But I need your help, now that my pregnancy is progressing."

"Don't worry about it beta. I will take care of everything." He fumbled with his phone and punched in some numbers. "I will have papers drawn up so that you can move into one of our flats in a project that was just completed. It's all yours and I will create an expense account for you."

"Thank you for the house Abbu. At least I will be able to live with dignity. But I don't think the expense account is such a good idea." She wiped her tears and spoke softly. "People at your office may begin to suspect something and I don't want your honor and reputation to be called into question because of me. It would kill me."

She sniffed again waiting for him to take the bait.

"OK, I see what you mean. You are a good person." He thought a bit. "Here's what we'll do. I will give you a lump sum of Rs. 1 Crore and that will keep everyone quiet."

"Ji Abbu. Jaisi aapki marzi."

"Theek hai beta. Come to my office tomorrow at around 4 pm and I'll have the house papers and keys, as well as the money ready for you."

He looked at her with regret. "I wish I could have done more."

"No Abbu, this is more than enough." She bowed her hear and lowered her gaze demurely.

"Can I keep these?" He asked about the packet of letters and photographs. She thought about it. They had already served her purpose, she didn't need them any more.

"Waise to yeh Ammi ki aakhri nishani theh ..." She let the sentence trail, hoping to milk him for some more.

He took off his heavily embossed emerald ring, and placed it in her hand. "This is for my grandchild, who I will never know. Allah Hafiz beta. Apna dhyaan rakhna." And he left with the bundle clutched tightly in his hands.

She gripped her hands in delight and silently exulted over her easy victory. Now she was set, she already had her ransom from Razia. May be she could try one more gamble, but she'd give it some more thought.

Leaning against the door frame, Asad had watched her hurry to her room in his borrowed tshirt and sweats with the bundle of her clothes tucked under her arm. With one backward glance and a flash of her smile, she ducked in. He had suggested that she leave them there; after all she would be moving in tomorrow anyways.

But she had said no. What if someone saw it in his room?

He had sighed and turned around to get ready to sleep for a couple of hours before everyone woke up.

Languidly he had stretched out on the bed and turned to his left. He had put his hand out to stroke the empty side; from tomorrow he would always turn to see her by his side.

Smiling, he got up to offer a prayer of gratitude.

At the breakfast table Asad waited restlessly for her to appear. Everyone was bustling about. Jeeju and he were the only ones seated. The women were rushing about in the kitchen, or from the kitchen to the table. They were chattering about what still needed to be done.

But no Zoya. Where was she? He was embarrassed to ask anyone. His fingers itched to text her, but before he could, Aapi put a hand on his shoulder.

"Aur intezar nahin hota?" she teased.

He blushed.

"Zoya won't come." His heart plummeted.

"Is everything OK?" he half rose in panic.

She laughed and patted his back. "Haan dulhe miyan, sab theek hai." She poured some juice for him and handed the glass to him, "you can't see her till before the wedding." She pinched his cheek playfully.

He felt deflated. Relief and disappointment warred in him.

Jeeju looked at him in amuse*ment. "Last few hours of bachelorhood, my friend. Enjoy, relax, and then forever hold your tongue."

Aapi swatted his shoulder and everyone laughed.

But Anwar was just getting warmed up. "I see a lot of Dhoni worship, empty pizza boxes, half-burned cakes, loud action movies and ... pyaari shayari in your future."

He choked up.

Aapi rested her hand on his shoulder and wiped her own tears.

"Anwar, don't you dare make me cry today. I am saving that for tomorrow."

Asad raised his coffee cup in silent salute to his future brother-in-law already looking forward to a lot more besides that. He felt emotional himself. Thank god she had Aapi and Jeeju's fiercely protective love growing up. No wonder she had grown to be so strong and beautiful. He felt tears prickle his eyes as they locked with Jeeju's. Anwar nodded slightly, knowing that he wouldn't have to tell Asad to take care of their baby. He already was doing such a fine job of it.

They heard the rumble of motorcycle engines and Asad's heart lifted. The twins were here! Najma ran to get the door and he smiled.

The door to Zoya's room opened partially. He could see her shadowy outline behind the frosted glass. She was jumping up and down in agitation.

"Aapi, not fair! I am hungry and bored and everyone else is having fun!"

Aah, if only he could march into her room, slam the door shut, scoop her into his arms and breathe in her scent.

Just a few hours more, he consoled himself.

Omar and Ayaan spilled into the room dumping their helmets wherever they landed. Zeenat squealed and Dilshad laughed.

Zoya harrumphed in frustration and slammed her door.

"Tum dono aate ho, to lagta hai ki zindagi aa gayee," gushed Dilshad.

Omar was hugging Jeeju and Aapi kissed him on his forehead.

Dilshad brought Ayaan forward. She was straightening his shirt and fixing his hair and he was resisting the clean up. "Zeenat, Anwar, kal acche se nahin mila payee thi, yeh mera chhota beta, Ayaan. Looks like he slept in these clothes but we still love him."

"Raabert?" Anwar asked and Ayaan's eyes twinkled.

"Ji, aur aap Mona Darling ke Hitler bhai hain shayad?" Anwar roared with laughter.

"Bhai, humnein to suna tha ki Hitler aapke bhai hain!"

Ayaan loved him already. "Theh, par ab nahin hain. Ab inke par kaat diye gaye hain and he's cuddlier than Winnie the Pooh."

Asad turned beet-red and lunged to grab Ayaan who easily dodged him, having played this game a hundred times before. He went in search of food. Najma was already heaping their plates. He parked himself at the table.

"Wash you hands at least," she scolded him.

He wiped them on the side of his clothes and held them up to her for inspection. "Pass?"

She blew her breath out and rolled her eyes, "fail, but here you go."

Zoya's door opened again, "AAAPIII!"

"Ya allah, yeh ladki," lamented Aapi.

She looked apologetically at Dilshad. "Mujhe maaf kariyega Aapa, par yeh toofan ab aapke hawale karti hoon."

Both Dilshad and Asad smiled at the truth of the statement craving to be the permanent recipients of Typhoon Zoya.

Anwar interceded, "Zeenat, khabardaar jo mere cheetah ko toofan kaha toh. She is much bigger than a toofan, she is a firestorm." He bit his tongue in anguish, just realizing what he had said. Aapi's eyes filled and Asad's blood ran cold.

Anwar covered his face in shame.

Dilshad looked at them fearfully. "Zeenat...?"

Asad was the first to recover. He put his arm around their shoulders and herded them away from the others. "Aap fikar mat kariye Jeeju. Main apke toofani cheete ka poora dhyaan rakhunga aur zyada garajne ya barasne nahin doonga," he soothed.

Anwar breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed Asad by his waist gratefully. "Koshish aachi rahegi beta, but I can guarantee 100% failure. Been there, done that."

They all laughed.

But typhoon Zoya was still bubbling and boiling, frothing and fuming. She hated the solitary confinement. Everyone was outside having fun without her. They were all laughing and yucking it up, and here she was under room arrest.

She opened the door again and yelled, "OMAR!!!"

Omar chuckled, grabbed his plate out of Najma's hand, winked at her and went to entertain the queen bee.

"Coming, Mallika-e-Hind," he groused.

Asad blushed remembering her words from last night. He ducked his head when he saw Jeeju look at him quizzically.

Anwar had never seen a grown man blush this much. Aah, to be young and in love.

Shukranallah!

Ayaan loaded on more food, tucked napkins and soda cans under his arm, and followed Omar. Dilshad shook her head as she saw him drop napkins and spoons in his wake. Najma grabbed her own plate and ran in after them. The door closed behind them.

It was Asad's turn to feel left out now. They were all seated in the living room having coffee and tea.

Aapi patted his knee in commiseration. "Mere saath bhi aisa hota tha. These two would live in a bubble in which I was never invited. There were jokes that I never got, and they talked in some kind of coded language where I was sure that they were making fun of me."

Dilshad rushed to reassure him, "don't worry, the girls will be here soon, and Zoya can have them and then the boys can join you."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that the boys would rather be with the girls, himself included.

Anwar smiled smugly. "Yeah, there was a code language and I will make sure to pass it on to your kids, because summers they will be spending in New York."

No way! said Asad to himself, not without their parents, they won't.

Anwar looked at him knowingly. "I know," he said softly. "It was really hard for us to say yes to her coming and living here on her own. Thank god, she found wonderful people like you."

I wasn't wonderful to her initially, he thought with a pang. You don't know how badly I treated her, he wanted to say and beg for forgiveness.

I put her in harm's way ...

I hit her for shielding my mother ...

I may have gladly left her in jail for protecting my sister ...

If anyone treated my daughter that way ... I would kill him.

Asad ducked his head, heavy with remorse.

Thank you Ammi and Tamatar for looking after her, because I kept driving her away.

Today was such an emotional roller coaster ride, thought Asad. His blood ran cold again as he thought of seeing her for the first time, dressed as someone else's bride.

He had very nearly let her go away from him.

Asad excused himself and went to his room. He wanted to offer prayers once again in gratitude and humility.

As he kneeled with the handkerchief tied on his head, the words from the sufi Qawwali at the Dargah that day echoed in his ears. They were the words from when he had first seen her. When he had fallen irrevocably in love and asked for something even without knowing it.

"Meri minnat pe karam tera agar ho jaaye,

Toh yahin poori meri Eid ki mannat hogi"

Ammi had asked him about the wedding preparations and if he wanted something special added today. Asad had only asked for the troupe from the Dargah to sing that Qawwali at the occasion.

He was blessed, the gloom had parted to make way for love and hope. He did have his heart's desire. He couldn't have asked for more.

_______________________________________________

Song in Title:

Fiza (2000), "Aaja Mahiya"

Chapter 46

After lunch, the girls had shooed the men out of Asad's room to supervise the decoration of the room for the wedding night.

Zoya was at the parlor with Aapi. She had gone very reluctantly. She didn't want to miss any fun that everyone seemed to be having without her. It was all so unfair that she couldn't enjoy the fun at her own wedding.

Then, she also missed her jahanpanah. But somehow, by tacit understanding, they had refrained from texting or talking to each other today.

More to savor each other after the ceremony.

The girls were giggling and blushing, and cracking jokes in whispers, so the workers wouldn't hear them. Ayaan and Omar trooped in through the window and sat on the sill.

"So girls, what's up?" quizzed Ayaan impishly.

"Ayaan!" squealed Humaira happily, "what are you guys doing here? You should be keeping Asad bhaijaan company."

"Asad doesn't want our company. He sent us to supervise you all so that you don't over do the girly stuff," lorded Omar.

Asad had said nothing of the sort, but Ayaan nodded his head in agreement. He walked over to grab the guitar from its stand.

"We'll go, if you want?" Omar asked sweetly, his head tilted to the side.

Ayaan was not happy with this. He frowned and was about to thump Omar's back for even bringing it up, but was saved the hassle.

"No!" Najma shouted, and then blushed, "it's OK, you can stay and help."

"Ohhh really?" teased Nuzzhat. "Fat lot they'll help! They'll only get in the way."

"That's OK, Nuzzhat," Humaira butted in, "we'll be fine. May be the guys can ..." she looked around the room. Bhaijaan's room was too neat and tidy. Not a smudge or speck of dirt anywhere. What work could she assign these two?

"I know," chimed in Ayaan, "I'll play music while you girls finish up."

"Great!" smiled Humaira.

"And Omar can help Najma make the bed with these sheets that badi Ammi gave us," came Nikhat to the rescue.

Omar looked at Nikhat gratefully. He would have suggested the same if she hadn't mentioned it. "Just for that, Nikhat," he whispered in her ear, "I will leave you in peace and won't bug you about my awesome cousin."

She laughed and said an exaggerated, "thank you, Allah miyan!"

Everyone laughed at how easily Zoya's pet phrase had become a staple at the Khan house.

"And remember, Omar," said Nikhat playfully, "this is a test." Najma blushed.

Asad kept looking at his watch surreptitiously. Damn, still so much time left. He was also worried about Zoya. He wouldn't be completely at ease till she was back home safe. Tanveer was still out there and he didn't trust her vindictiveness. He had had extra security placed around the house at his father's behest and also sent a bodyguard with Zoya and Aapi.

Some gut instinct had told him to continue having her followed. Till she left the city, he would not relax his guard. As if on cue, his phone rang.

The PI.

"Yes, Rakesh?"

"Mr. Khan, I have already emailed you a detailed report, but I wanted to touch base since this case is at a highest priority right now."

"Miss Tanveer has been quite active since she left your house. And the factory that you asked me to look into? Owned by an S. Siddiqui. It was hard to pull out the name because it was buried behind dummy corporations. I will be sending you more details as I get them. I also wanted to congratulate you on your wedding today."

Asad thanked him and went to retrieve his laptop so that he could look at the report to see what Rakesh meant about Tanveer's activities.

His room was a beehive of song, dance and laughter. Omar was teaching Najma some dance step, his arm around her waist, looking into her starry eyes.

Ayaan was playing the guitar, his foot propped on the settee and Humaira was looking up at him adoringly.

The workers were nearly done with the strings and garlands of white flowers around the bed. Asad blushed just looking at it. He turned his face away in embarrassment.

Damn, his sisters were here.

Ayaan pounced on him. "Bhaijaan," he hollered.

Omar and Najma jumped apart.

"See how much work we've done for you. Aap toh aaj ke baad humein bhool jayenge, but you have to treat us to a lavish party afterwards."

Nuzzhat rolled her eyes. "Ayaan Bhaijaan, the Waleema will be the party."

"No! That'll be all boring, grown ups, Indian clothes, Indian food. We want to go to a club and go dancing all night long."

The girls squealed and shouted with delight. "Yes, yes, please bhaijaan," pleaded Najma the loudest.

But Nikhat was the first one to sober them up, "Tai Abbu and Mumani would never let us do that."

Humaira nodded glumly.

"Besides," Omar piped up with a devilish gleam in his eye, "Asad and Zo may not want to stay the night up with us."

Asad's face flamed. He grabbed his laptop and fled from the room after mumbling, "shut the hell up, Omar."

Raucous laughter followed.

The siblings were in complete awe of Omar. After Zoya, he was the only one who could stand up toe to toe to the Mukka. And if they wanted to go to a club, Omar would be the guy to wrangle a way in for them. They crowded around him begging him to think up a plan.

He stretched out on the settee like a maharaja.

"Hmm, I will need some adrak chai and mirchi pakoras to jumpstart my brain."

Najma smiled. She moved to go to the kitchen but Omar held her wrist. "Ooh," cooed Nuzzhat and Humaira. Ayaan kicked Omar's foot with his own. "What the hell, man?"

"What?" Omar asked innocently, "can't I be romantic with the girl I'm going to marry?"

The room erupted in claps, cheers and squeals.

Asad heard the noise outside and smiled. He looked at Anwar, "it's time to talk to Omar's parents."

Anwar nodded eagerly. He had caught the sparks between the two. Zeenat had been ecstatic that her trickery had nudged not one, but two kids into matrimony. She already had plans for Nikhat.

"Main Zeenat ko bolun Hana se baat karne ko?" Anwar offered. "She will be very happy."

"Who?" asked Asad in jest, "Aapi or Omar's mom?"

Anwar laughed, pleased to see Asad lighten up with him, "Zeenat even more than Hana, I'm sure."

Dilshad pressed a hand to her chest, "please Anwar, one child at a time."

Asad had opened the report by now and was frowning.

Why had Tanveer gone to the Siddiqui house a few days ago? He also saw an address to a prestigious office complex listed as one of her later visits. If he wasn't mistaken, the Siddiquis had their head office in that building. He remembered that the name on the factory was also a Siddiqui. He couldn't understand how Tanveer was connected to all this.

This was not good.

The report had included a photograph of a woman in a burqa talking to Gafoor Siddiqui. It also indicated that the two had then met later at a coffee shop. Another couple of photographs and a recording were attached with the document.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. What was her new con?

He called the bodyguard to ask about where they were. "We're on our way," the man answered, "and, so far so good." He breathed easier.

Next, he called the investigator. "Those photos in the restaurant? Get me enlargements of the papers they are looking at."

He paused to listen as Rakesh told him that Tanu had just left the same office complex with a rolling bag.

He disconnected the phone and went back to watching the brief video. Although the conversation couldn't be heard, he could see the clear sequence of events. It had to be blackmail. She had done it before.

He began to pace, his brain processing details a mile a minute.

"Kyun bhai, itni bekaraari? She'll be back soon." Anwar teased.

Dilshad's phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, "Asad, Zoya aa rahi hai. Go to your room now."

Thank god! He sighed in frustration and longing, but got up to obey Ammi.

In his room the teasing and chatter was still afoot. He still avoided looking at the bed but watched them all from the door. They didn't know that he was there. Only Nikhat knew and she smiled as Asad put a finger to his lips.

The girls were trying to convince the boys that they had just eaten lunch. How could they want pakoras right now?

"Because we feel like it. We are manly men with big appetites, who can eat whatever, whenever," explained Ayaan.

Ayaan was also trying his best to rattle Omar about Najma, but the latter was unshakeable. "Bhai ko yeh love story ke barey main pata chalega, toh Omar ka kachoomar bana denge."

"Asad already knows." Omar countered, admiring his fingernails. "Or at least he guesses." Najma had gone pale with anxiety.

"And he's going to be too distracted anyways," Omar assured Najma.

"Then it's OK," Ayaan kidded, "the wedding cards will say Tamatar weds Jhoomar'."

The girls laughed and Najma threw a cushion at Ayaan.

Asad had one ear trained to the main door. He heard her come in and everyone exclaim in the living room. He breathed a sigh of relief and gently closed the door.

"Nahin, bhaijaan," gushed Nuzzhat, " it'll be like they do with celebrity couples, like Brangelina, they will be Tamatomi'!"

"Sounds like an Italian dish," scoffed Ayaan.

"So that's fine," spoke up a serious Nikhat with a deadpan face. Everyone looked at her. "Italian food uses a lot of Tamatar!" Asad smiled.

Everyone loved it, mostly Omar. "And Omi likes tamatar, specially in Italian food," he said, sealing the deal. Nuzzhat nudged and elbowed a tomato-red Najma.

"And besides, you guys are trying too hard," grinned Omar. He had seen Asad in the doorway. "I've heard much worse. Your nicknames for me are too tame. My friends in school used to say Omar with a bon-"

"OMAR!" bellowed Asad. He was squeezing his temples in despair. Omar shot up from the settee and chuckled unashamedly.

Asad looked at him, trying his best to threaten him into silence with his narrowed eyes. But Omar was Omar. He shrugged and settled back down.

"Girls go to Zoya's room, she's back."

"Bhaijaan, I hope you didn't sneak a peek." Nikhat teased.

"No," he said shyly.

"Aw, you should have," said Nuzzhat.

"Dekh lenge, dekh lenge," Ayaan bantered boldly. "Why else have we worked so hard to decorate this room for the newlyweds? Ek doosre ko dekhne ke liye hi!"

The girls giggled, took a last look around the room and began to leave. The workers had already left, having completed their work unsupervised with the six of them underfoot.

The only thing these kids had done was heap a pile of rose petals in the middle of the bed in a giant heart shape.

And this was after the longest argument of whether a heart was too cheesy.

Why not just petals randomly strewn on the whole surface? Not as obvious.

But this was the bridal bed and everything about it was meant to be obvious right?

"So should we make a giant square in the middle of the bed? Ayaan had mocked.

"Perfect image for Asad," announced Omar.

"Hah, good luck getting all the sides perfect," kidded Najma. "And till it isn't perfect, Bhaijaan won't do anything else."

They had doubled over with laughter at that. Nikhat had covered her eyes in embarrassment but grinned nevertheless.

And then there was a period when Ayaan had showered Humaira with the petals and then he and Nuzzhat had engaged in a petal fight. The heart shape was decided upon due to necessity. All clumped together they didn't look as wilted as they did randomly strewn about.

And besides, Zoya would love the over the topness of the heart.

"By the way, you guys did absolutely nothing," Nuzzhat glared at Ayaan as the girls filed out under Asad's watchful glare.

"And wow, you did so much!" He retorted throwing up his arms in the air.

He tried to follow them out but Asad slapped him upside his head.

"Bhai," he rubbed his head.

Asad turned around to yell at Omar for his corrupting influence. But Omar had already sneaked out of the window and was slouching just outside, one hand in his pocket. He looked Asad dead in the eye, made a lazy peace sign with his free hand, and strutted off.

Asad couldn't help laughing aloud. All of a sudden he had a vision of Najma's toddler sons: miniature goons with baseball caps turned around, tiny high tops, and butt cracks peeking through saggy baggy pants.

_______________________________________________

Song in Title:

Duplicate (1998), "Mere Mehboob, Mere Sanam"

Chapter 47

Zoya was in a Zen state.

For the first time, for as long as she could remember, she craved solitude. She didn't mind that the chillar party was not around her, or that she wasn't plugged into her iPad or iPod.

She twirled around the room on her toes, stretched out on the bed and breathed deeply.

In a few hours she would be Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan. She swished and swirled the name around in her head.

Nah! Not Mrs.

Too Auntyji types.

She rolled over on her stomach holding her chin in her hands.

May be Ms.?

And then to be Zoya Khan or Zoya Farooqui-Khan or to just stay Zoya Farooqui?

Damn, why didn't men have to figure these things out.

But one thing was decided: she would only allow Mr. Khan to call her Mrs. Khan. And on special occasions only.

She turned to look at her bridal dress. A magenta lehenga with a navy border and a full sheer-sleeved blouse laden with kundan and seed pearls threaded through silver and gold work. She touched and hugged the bridal dupatta that Phuphi had specially presented to her.

A heavy diamond jewelry set from Aapi and Jeeju, and millions of glass bangles and gold bracelets crowded the dressing table. Allah miyan, would she even be able to take two steps in all this? What if she tripped? She felt panic rise in her. But Mr. Khan would be there. She smiled.

She looked around the room.

Her eyes fell on her mother's jewelry box. Sitting up, she reached out to pick it up and place it in her lap. She touched the earrings for good luck and slipped them on. Next she picked up the spherical music box and opened it to listen to the familiar haunting melody.

Zoya fingered the two dancing figures lovingly.

She whispered softly, "Ammi, Abbu, I am getting married today to the best man in the whole world. I wish you were here. You would see how much he loves me."

Her tears fell on her hands.

On her ring.

She stroked it and touched her hand to her heart, bowing her head in silent gratitude and prayer.

A little later she got up to pack her bags and smiled. Allah miyan, how many times had she packed her bags to leave this house! She did something that annoyed his holiness, and then he yelled at her through gritted teeth, and she packed.

She even left sometimes.

And then he brought her back after much gritting of teeth and clenching of fists.

She grinned, hugging herself. She reveled at the thought of those teeth on her neck and those fists in her hair.

And now to find permanent residence in his room. Hah! Jahanpanah never stood a chance. Zoya Farooqui Khan kucch bhi kar sakti hai!

There, that had a nice ring to it.

She needed to dance some more.

By the evening the entire house was abuzz, although only close family had been invited. They could invite half the city for the Waleema later, Asad had told his mother; but the wedding he wanted strictly family only. With Tanveer on the prowl, he didn't want to risk any threats or unknown circumstances beyond his control.

Today, the security had been tightened, more so than other days. Tanveer's photograph had been circulated among the security personnel and female guards had been appointed to identify women clad in burqas.

He was not going to let that woman within a five-mile radius of his home and family. He still shook in anger and horror whenever he remembered how narrowly Zoya had escaped serious injury. How dare she! In front of his eyes!

His blood ran cold.

Tanveer was a scorned and desperate woman, and would do anything to get back at them, and Zoya in particular.

Over his dead body.

That night at the Khan Villa, lights twinkled and glowed, camera flashes worked overtime, heaps and strings of fragrant flowers carpeted and draped every visible surface inside and out.

Rashid's eyes teared up as he entered with Shireen and his Ammi by his side. There was much to be grateful for. He lovingly carried the sehra that he would tie for Asad. To see the childen's bond getting stronger was indeed a treat. For the past three or four days, they had hardly seen their kids at all because they had been permanently camped out here.

They were welcomed warmly by Dilshad and introduced to Zeenat and Anwar. Gifts were put away, drinks offered and they were all seated as guests of honor.

The troupe performed the Qawwali and Asad's heart felt full. He wore a raw silk navy sherwani, starkly elegant, without any frou-frou adornment.

Ammi had forced a black brocade-edged stole on him, "lagna chaiye ki tum dulhe ho," she had scolded.

Ayaan was more flamboyantly dressed in a maroon sherwani and Omar was resplendent in white.

The musicians began playing the shehnai.

He took his place, heart hammering and eyes searching. Rashid and Anwar stood by him along with the beaming Qazi. Through the sehra and the sheer curtain, Asad saw Aapi and Ammi escort Zoya, while the girls held the bridal veil over the small procession.

He watched her come closer and closer.

Before they came to seat her opposite him however, Nuzzhat and Najma jumped in front of Zoya, barring her from moving forward. Humaira joined them too.

Everyone stilled. This was new and off-kilter.

Asad nearly slapped his forehead. His siblings had gone completely mental. He was surprised Ayaan and Omar weren't up there with them. But Ayaan and Omar were right next to him enjoying this spectacle.

They stood up to bait the girls, "Hey ladies, get out of the way. Stop being annoying kabab mein haddis."

People sniggered.

The girls weren't to be cowed. "First, bhaijaan has to pay a ransom, only then will we release his bride."

Dilshad was alarmed. Oh my god, these kids would offend the elders and ruin everything. She looked at Badi bi.

Badi bi was laughing in delight. She was thrilled to pieces; in her village, the girls' side would do something similar to delay the nuptials. In fact they would hold back the baratis with sticks adorned with flowers till they were paid up.

Dilshad looked up apprehensively at Qazi saheb. He looked placid enough and was even smiling. She breathed a little easier.

"What nonsense!" exploded Ayaan. "You are the dulha's sisters not the mafia, or even from the girls' side for that matter!"

Zoya was loving this and giggling while trying to hold onto Aapi's arm; Zeenat was just as frazzled as Dilshad by this unexpected derailment.

"Whatever, we aren't moving till we get to collect a toll tax."

Omar piped in, "they are absolutely right, Ayaan. After all they are getting a brand new bhabhi who might torture them and make them work as maids and slaves. They are totally entitled to a troll tax!"

"Omar!"

Everyone turned to look in amazement at Nikhat.

She had draped the bridal veil over her arm, and come forward to stand next to the girls.

"Stop giving our bhabhi ideas! What if she doesn't let any of her nanads get married because she gets addicted to having us as her maids!"

She admired her fingernails imperiously, "especially her favorite nanad?"

She looked up at him, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Meri Maa," he helds his ears in apology.

"Aur shayad saali, aur bhabhi bhi, nahin?" she teased him, co*cking her head to the side.

He joined his hands together and bowed his head before her in supplication.

Asad looked up from his hands which had been clutching his head in despair a second ago.

Someone had just shut up Omar?

Nikhat?

Subhanallah!

A bemused Qazi saheb was shaking his head now. More weddings? Wonderful!

The grown ups were laughing, and Zoya was trying to look over her nanads' heads to see how Asad was surviving this improvised interruption.

Someone started clapping. Asad turned around and saw his father beaming proudly. Shireen, Anwar and Badi bi also joined in appreciating the youngsters' spunk and playfulness.

But for Rashid, just to see Nikhat stand tall like a lioness, made his eyes moist.

He gratefully emptied his pockets, Anwar and Asad too, and Omar chipped in some crumpled Dollars and Rupees.

Ayaan held up his empty pockets in triumph.

Omar thumped his back, "saale, teri bhabhi ko hostage banaya hai!"

He loved calling him saala.'

"Chup oye, tainu jeeja kinne banaya, bhutni ke?" he taunted his future jeeja.

And the wrestling started. The photographer and cameraman gleefully captured this on film for posterity.

Oh god! This time Asad did slap his forehead. The mashed mogra flowers released the most heavenly aroma. He couldn't even yell at them. It was his wedding for god's sake! And the six mental dwarves were busy doing dash mein bumboo left, right and center!

He sighed blissfully. Six months ago, he couldn't have imagined something like this happening at his wedding. He would have been livid.

Now? He was happy enough to land on his feet each time Zoya or the munchkins threw him a curveball. And he looked forward to a lifetime of this madness and mayhem.

Rashid and Anwar broke the demented groomsmen apart and returned to the money collection, still laughing.

This wedding was turning out to be the most glorious circus.

Meanwhile, Badi bi made a big show of removing her rings and bangles, Shireen gleefully followed suit, and the ransom was paid off. Badi bi decided instantly that this would be a new family rasm for future weddings.

The loot gathered in Nuzzhat's dupatta, the girls finally parted to let Zoya come forward.

They seated her opposite him, low-fiving their bhabhi to be. It had been her idea after all.

He should have known.

If it wasn't Omar, then it could only have been Zoya's masterplan.

Her face was covered with an ornate veil. The girls adjusted it and her lehenga as each one hugged her. Dadi stepped forward to kiss her on the head and bless her.

His heart was full and eyes damp.

She had said they were even.

But he knew that they would never be so.

She didn't know what she had given his family, and he knew how much his family had taken away from her.

The ceremony was simple and elegant. The fathers' names and Mehar were read, and verses from the Quran repeated. Asad was happy and honored to hear Jeeju's name as her adopted father's name.

The parents had tears in their eyes. Aapi was close to sobbing. Zoya had to hold her hand in both of hers to calm her down.

Assured of the groom's consent, the Qazi then put forth the proposal to the bride.

Reading aloud her full name, he asked "kya aapko yeh nikaah qubool hai?"

He waited for her consent. So did everyone else with bated breath.

Omar sniggered, and Asad smiled and shook his head, knowing exactly what she was up to.

He felt exhilarated.

Aapi, on the other hand, was having palpitations. Ya Allah, yeh ladki! She nearly groaned. Not again, please god, not again.

She shook Zoya's hand hard. "Zoya," she whispered angrily, "I will kill you."

Anwar wiped his brow, but he had a little more faith in Zoya than his wife.

"Zoya!" hissed Aapi, nearly apoplectic.

Zoya giggled.

Asad grinned.

"Qubool hai!"

Ayaan and Omar whooped. And the room exploded in spontaneous laughter, cheers and applause.

"Mubarak ho," everyone called out.

They were fed sweets. And then, one by one, Dilshad, Badi bi and Shireen came to kiss her head and offer blessings.

Aapi was sobbing in Omar's arms. Anwar walked over and patted her shoulder, "Issme rone ki kya baat hai," he joked tearfully. "Iss wale kamre se uss kamre mein jaa rahi hai!"

While the rest hugged and exchanged greetings, she lifted her veil to sneak a peek at her newly minted husband, and he lifted the strands of his sehra to look at her.

She gasped with delight when he winked at her.

Nicely done, Mr. Khan! Just for that he'd get some extra sugar tonight.

She blushed.

He rose to take blessings from dadi, Aapi, Shireen and finally Dilshad. Asad hugged his mother who was crying softly. He lifted the sehra so that she could kiss his forehead and pat his cheek. His own eyes moist, he wiped her tears.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Asad turned around to see Zoya.

"Can I hug my Ammi too?" she asked cheekily.

Dilshad smiled through her tears and hugged Zoya tightly to her heart.

Zoya sobbed now. Finally, something she had yearned for all her life: she was in her Ammi's arms.

Dilshad led her bahu to the couch and signaled Badi bi and the girls to join her. They wiped her tears and fixed her make-up and veil. They kissed her cheeks, but then they had to wipe off the lipstick marks. More hankies were produced.

By now Zoya was giggling.

Dilshad gave a jewelry box to Dadi, who placed it in Zoya's hands.

"Yeh tumhare liye, hum sabki taraf se."

Zoya looked at Badi bi shyly. Her gifted earrings she had already worn at the mehendi function.

She asked her, "Yeh aapka hai?"

Badi bi nodded. "Tha. Meri shaadi ka, jo phir maine tumhari saas ko diya tha uski shaadi par."

She beckoned Asad to sit next to Zoya. Dadi went on to supervise their feeding each other sweets. They blushed feeling embarrassed being the center of attention as their breaths quickened with their lips brushing against each other's fingertips.

Afterwards, dadi directed him to remove the necklace Zoya was wearing.

His fingertips brushed against her nape and she blushed again. The necklace was placed in a box that Aapi was holding.

Through tears in her eyes she said loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "ab yeh tumhe main godh bharai ki rasm pe dungi."

"Aapi!" Zoya whispered, mortified more so for Asad than herself. She knew he would be beetroot-red by now.

Everyone laughed.

Asad was already regretting that he had removed the sehra and that he had nowhere to hide. But as he concentrated on the image of a pregnant Zoya, he smiled.

Dadi next gave him the ornate necklace she had worn at her wedding, given to her by her mother-in-law. He leaned in to fasten it around her neck under the dupatta. She could smell his cologne and feel his breath on her as both his hands moved to the back of her neck to fasten the necklace. She dared not look into his eyes for fear of not being able to look away.

He took his time adjusting it in the back, and then the front, making it just right, centering, patting it in place, and then unsnagging it from her dupatta.

With bent gaze and reddening cheeks, she smiled. Trust his OCD to kick in.

But she didn't mind. She could sit here all night. Oh well, may be not all night. She flashed her eyes at him and he pulled his hands back.

The room erupted in laughter again.

"Bhaijaan, it's still not straight," suggested Ayaan.

_______________________________________________

Song in Title:

Unpadh (1962) "Aapki Nazaron Ne Samjha"

Chapter 50

Last night she had told him that she wanted to visit the dargah on her first day as a new bride.

But by mid-morning, the newlyweds' simple visit to the dargah had snowballed into a family procession with plans for a lakeside picnic later.

Asad mentally rolled his eyes and slapped his head. Why not just call it the Waleema and be done with it, he groused to himself. There was no way he was going to get any alone time with his bride the whole day. The bandar baraat would accompany them every damn where.

And the night was just too damned far away.

All morning he had seen her load up on multiple cups of coffee. He blushed and smirked thinking of having kept her awake most of the night. But when she placed his mug before him, he saw her sleeve ride up to expose her wrist.

He felt terrible.

Carrying his coffee mug in hand, he made some phone calls.

"Asad!" Dilshad called, "stop working. You're off and on your honeymoon." She scolded.

He held up his hand as he continued talking.

Anwar piped up, "speaking of a honeymoon, we were planning to give Zoya and Asad a trip as a gift."

He looked fondly at Zoya, "beta, kahan jaana chahoge tum dono?"

Zoya bent her gaze shyly, "voh ... actually ... Jeeju ..."

Dilshad started to laugh. "Allah, ab ye bhi!"

Zoya looked toward her husband for help, but he was still on the phone. She'd have to bite the bullet.

"Ermm, Jeeju, Mr. Khan has already done the bookings."

She wasn't sure if that was true, but wasn't being married about covering each others' asses? Hmm, speaking of which ... she got distracted and shook herself out of her s*ex haze.

Zoya, focus baby.

"Ooh, bhabhi, where is bhaijaan taking you?" Nuzzhat asked, agog with excitement.

"I don't know. It's a surprise."

Oh god, this covering up was too much work.

Thank god Omar was preoccupied, thought Zoya, otherwise, by the time Asad was done with his phonecall, everyone would be going with them on their honeymoon, and Jahanpanah would kill her.

But then there was always Ayaan to pick up the slack, "can't we come too?"

Humaira punched his shoulder.

You go girlfriend.

The packing for the picnic was nearly done. They would pick up hot food and pizzas on the way after paying their respects at the dargah.

"Umm, Ammi, I have to take Zoya to the immigration office to finalize her papers."

There was a universal groan of protest.

"We got the appointment for this afternoon. So we won't be able to join you for the picnic but we'll go to the dargah."

Zoya pouted the most. Here she was diligently covering up for him and he springs this on her. So boring to go a government office on the day after her wedding and to miss out on all the family picnic fun. She looked unhappily at her husband ready to beg him to postpone the appointment. But he looked at her without blinking and imperceptibly jerked his chin.

Hmm, jahanpanah and his secret head signals, she harrumphed.

What was he up to now?

She decided to hold her tongue, but did so very impatiently.

Not fair!

Allah miyan, and then there was Aapi.

Aapi was still on and on about wearing more jewelry. "Kada to pehen lo kum se kum."

Why wasn't the rani haar enough? Did she have to go out dressed like a Christmas tree?

Asad told them to go on without them; they needed to complete the formalities for acquiring a marriage certificate first, and would meet them at the shrine later.

This bought them some much needed alone time at last.

Pleased with himself he put the mug to his mouth to finish his coffee. The next minute he choked and sprayed it all out when Ayaan proclaimed, "Bhaijaan, we all are going with you on your honeymoon."

In the car he held Zoya's hand. "Tired?" He kissed her hand.

"Not really." She covered up a yawn.

"I'm sorry baby," he kissed her hand again.

"Why?" she looked at him in alarm.

"What happened?" She narrowed her eyes, "what did you do?"

"I hardly let you sleep last night and was such a brute. Look at the bruises on your neck and wrists!"

He kissed her wrist feeling wretched.

"Asad, no!" She grabbed his hand to hold it against her heart with both of hers.

"Last night was beautiful," she breathed, now kissing his hand.

Her voice became husky, "and each time I look at these bruises it reminds me of how I got them, and makes me wish that night would come soon so that we can rinse and repeat."

He chuckled. "Rinse and repeat? So no s*ex strike?"

"Not tonight," she promised, lacing her fingers with his.

He reached into his shirt pocket. "Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

When she opened her eyes, her dimple flashed, "I have the bestest and sweetest husband in the whole wide world."

He gently slipped on her mother's earrings for her and then started the car.

"Finally, I have you to myself. And look at all the strings I had to pull."

"What do you mean?"

He grinned. "We'll go to the dargah because you wanted to. But after that we come home so you can get some rest."

"What? No immigration office?"

"Nope, just an excuse."

"Mr. Khan! You're becoming too good at lying. You better not ever lie to me!"

"Never, Mrs. Jahanpanah."

She giggled. She loved how he now embraced her nickname for him so wholeheartedly.

She took off her heels, turned sideways to face him and tucked her feet under her, wiggling her butt to get more comfortable.

"Buckle up," he reminded her.

"I don't need to rest when we get home." She said softly after obeying him.

"You will. I want my wife fresh and rested when I make love to her all night. And, you'll need all your energy to scream my name each time," he teased.

He turned to look at her not getting a response, and smiled indulgently.

One hand tucked under her cheek, she was fast asleep with her head curled into the seat back.

He slowed down and drove around in circles before finally parking in front of the dargah.

He turned around in his seat to look at her. She looked so angelic. The dark crescents of her lashes dusted her creamy cheeks as she exhaled softly. Her hands were still dark from the lacy mehendi.

When she woke up with a start, it was her turn to smile.

"Poor baby," she said to herself.

Her husband had dozed off, hair flopping over his forehead and cheek stuck to the seat back.

She saw Ayaan coming towards them and reluctantly shook him awake, thumb lingering on his lips. "Asad, wake up."

He rubbed his eyes. Aww, wasn't that the cutest sight, she thought.

Ayaan came bounding up to them. "Ho gaya?"

Asad gave him the look: eyes narrowed, furrows between his brows.

Ayaan grinned, "oh ho! One-track mind! I meant the marriage certificate!"

"Almost," Asad hedged back. "They've called us again in the afternoon."

He wanted to leave no open time for his family to suggest that they join them for the picnic instead.

Zoya coughed, unsuccessfully covering up a giggle.

He loved that sound.

He physically turned Ayaan around, "chalo."

He looked back at Zoya. She was rooted to the spot.

He was by her side in a flash. "What happened?"

She looked up at him and then at Ayaan. "umm, nothing. You both carry on. I have to text phu... I mean Ammi about something."

Asad folded his arms across his chest suspiciously. "Ayaan, go," he ordered.

Ayaan grinned goofily and wagged his eyebrows at Zoya. "Mona darling, humse kya raaz chhupana!"

"Ayaan!"

"OK, OK," he ruffled his hair, "jeez, you guys."

He took a step back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Mona, tu Akdu se shaadi kar ke, maha-bore ban gayee hai!"

He ran before the Mukka could grab his collar.

He looked at her, waiting.

"Mr. Khan," she whispered in embarrassment. "I just realized that I'm, umm ... on my period. I shouldn't go in."

His eyes widened. "Why?"

"I ... we ... just don't. Please you go. And offer a phool chaadar on my behalf too."

He took her arm and walked them back to the car. "No, we'll do it together when you're done. Let me take you somewhere else instead."

"But what about everyone else?" she panicked.

"Text Ammi or Aapi that we had to go back to the lawyer's office."

As he started the car, she grumbled, "Allah miyan, let's count the ways how this is all so wrong."

She held up her hand and counted off with her thumb, "one, making me a lying accomplice. Two, at a holy place of worship."

"Three ..." He grabbed her hand and bit her finger, then sucked on it.

"Four ... He kissed her palm and snaked his tongue out to lick the center.

She settled back with a happy sigh.

On the way, she told him about Omar. He had noticed their long faces and now understood why. He kept quiet, knowing that his wife would have already drawn up plans to interfere and make things right.

He would just be needed to sign on the dotted line and play the hired muscle.

"So how are you going to fix this?"

She opened her mouth to eagerly share her ideas and then looked at his expression.

She frowned.

Oh really? He thought her fix-it-tiveness was funny. She crossed her arms across her chest and huffed looking out the window.

He tickled her at the waist.

"Mr. Khan! I'm not talking to you!"

"OK, then I'm going on a s*ex strike!"

She gasped, and then laughed with delight.

"Yippee," she clapped her hands, "I'll get a full night's rest now. So let's join the picnic after all!"

He pouted.

As they neared their destination her eyes misted and she smiled through her tears. She leaned over and kissed his cheek as he parked.

"I love you, and" she brushed her lips over his, "Jahanpanah, you are going to get very lucky tonight," she promised, and hopped out.

She knelt by her father's gravesite after they had reverently placed the chaadar and offered flowers. Raising her palms she felt his shoulders rub against hers and sighed in contentment.

He watched her bowed head and looked around warily. Though his lawyers had updated him on Tanveer's legal woes, he still couldn't rest easy in public spaces.

Assuring their safety, his mind wandered. He looked up at the gravestone to read her father's name and the date of his passing.

A crow cawed raucously in the tree above, and smaller birds scattered in alarm. Cars honked in the distance.

Closer, the Muizim called for prayer.

A ping of awareness gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. He looked at Zoya's covered head, and then back at the gravemarker.

The hair on the back of his neck stood.

His eyes widened.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

He rose and whipped out his phone and reviewed the video of Tanveer and Mr. Siddiqui taken by the investigator's team. He carefully watched the sequence of actions. The old man seemed aloof and angry in the beginning. But his body language immediately altered as soon as he opened the paper bundle she gave him. His hands trembled and when Tanu started to speak through her tears, his face softened, and he bent forward to grasp her hand.

Asad watched the video several times, each time his suspicions becoming more and more concrete.

The old man didn't seem resentful or angry. Wouldn't he be, if it was blackmail?

In fact he looked ... regretful, and hopeful at the same time.

When he removed his ring to place it in her palm and then curl her fingers over it, Asad knew.

He staggered on the uneven ground.

Omar followed Najma as she wandered listlessly by the lake, picking and twisting leaves in her restless hands.

"Najma." She halted but didn't turn around. She had seen him in an intense conversation with Nikhat by themselves, and her already chafed heart was now numb with grief.

"Why are you by yourself?"

"Umm just like that." She plastered a smile on her face. "I was just thinking about my application for a Masters Program at the University and whether I would be accepted."

She flung the crushed leaves away with more force than necessary.

"I didn't know you wanted to study further."

Her breezy coldness made him awkwardly self-conscious.

There's a lot you don't know about me, she thought grimly, but said nothing.

"Umm, have you thought about applying in the US?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

"No," she replied. "I could never think about going so far away from my family."

He turned her around by her arm, "not even if I asked you to?"

She looked down, and then away, hopeful and yet despairing.

"Why ..." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, "what are you trying to say, Omar?"

He sighed and pushed his hands in his pockets. "You know what I'm trying to say."

"No, I don't."

She was angry now.

"I know you've flirted with me since day one after you were done flirting with Zoya. I too got swept away in the romance of it all and thought that may be ..."

She was dangerously close to tears.

"But now you are flirting with Nikhat. You say you are leaving tomorrow. I hope you had a fun summer fling in India and can go back to being a hotshot in the US!"

She turned to run to hide her tears and was jerked into his chest.

"Shut up Najma, just shut the hell up!"

He kissed her softly.

She struggled against him, more angry than ever. "Don't touch me! I refuse to be one of your desi conquests!"

She kicked at his shin.

"Najma! Stop it." He held her face in both his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs.

"Idiot girl! Haven't I told you I love you?"

"You told Zoya also you loved her. You throw I love yous' around like a dog sheds hair. Why should I believe you? I'm sure you've said I love you to a million girls in America!"

He shook her by her forearms, "Najma stop twisting everything I say. Just because I was born and raised in the US doesn't mean I'm a sl*ut!" he growled through gritted teeth.

"And yes, I do love Zoya. But," he lifted her chin, "I'm in love with you."

He bent his head to kiss her more fiercely this time. His arms tightened around her and she melted against him. As he parted her lips with his tongue, her head fell back in surrender. He whispered hoarsely against her soft lips, "marry me."

She blinked her eyes open and pulled back. "Apply for a Masters at UC Berkely or Davis, and be my desi wife."

She hid her face in his chest.

"Toh main haan samjhoon?" he asked as he held her tight and bent to brush his lips against her ear.

She nodded.

"No?" he teased. "Then do me the honor of forever living in sin with me as my mistress."

She kicked his shin again.

"Ouch! Abhi se you are dominating me. May be we can try whips, handcuffs and blind folds when we are married?"

"Omar!" She was too shocked to be embarrassed.

"What? I thought every girl wanted her own version of 50 Shades of Grey'!"

She had had enough of his tormenting ways and tried to run away.

"I am not going to the US with you, ever."

He tugged at her wrist. When she turned around, he was on his knee.

"I don't have a ring as yet, but Najma Ahmed Khan, will you celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary with me under the stars right here, by this lake?"

She started to cry and he rose to hold her, "I got so scared when you said you were leaving tomorrow."

"Silly girl, you didn't even listen to what I was trying to say." He lifted her chin, "if you had stayed long enough, you'd have heard that I am leaving early so that I can talk to my parents about you."

"What if they don't like me?"

"They'll love you."

Later he had laughed, and told her about his conversation with Nikhat. Nikhat had earlier pulled him aside and nearly bitten his head off.

"If you so much as hurt a hair on Najma's head, before Ayaan and Asad bhaijaan kill you, I will slowly pull each fingernail of yours to inflict maximum damage."

Omar chuckled and kissed a shocked Najma, "hmm, may be the Khan girls do have some dominatrix issues!"

Najma punched his chest, ecstatic with Nikhat's super-sister avatar.

"Omar," she twisted his ear and he yelped, "please tell me you haven't read that book!"

"No, but may be you should?"

He groaned through laughter as fists rained on him.

__________________________________________

Song in Title:

Fanaah (2006), "Mere Haath Mein"

Chapter 51

"Mr. Khan you are an evil genius!" she gasped.

"But I don't know how I am going to ever face them again."

She couldn't believe what he had just pulled off.

Two days ago, she had assumed Ayaan was just kidding about everyone accompanying them on their honeymoon.

But somehow that idea caught on like fire.

Now that Omar was back to his old self having re-charmed Najma off her feet, his demented collaboration had added more psycho impetus to the project.

One universal truth had quickly emerged: When Ayaan and Omar ganged up with the power puff girls under their wing, they were unstoppable.

Even Zoya didn't stand a chance.

She was partially disappointed that they wouldn't get their own holiday where they could do what they wished, when they wished.

Not leave the room at all, make love on the balcony at midnight, or in the jacuzzi, or wander around the anonymous city lost in each other.

She would wear lingerie that left nothing to the imagination, and even wander naked in the living room suite to sit in his lap as he watched the news.

The TV would be forgotten as she screamed his name.

Over rims of frothy cappuchinos they would gaze into each other's eyes, play footsie under the table, may be even dance, or swim under the stars, among complete strangers, fragrantly cocooned in their heady romance.

But another part of her was equally caught up in the excitement of a glorious family trip and adventure. This time she wouldn't be the sad outsider who constantly felt like the fifth wheel and yearned to be part of this magic.

This time she would be the rightful center, cherished by her new family and spoiled rotten by her besotted husband.

This time she would rightfully share a room with her husband and have him drive her crazy with need as she muffled her screams of joy instead of tears and sobs.

So what if they didn't go the Taj and watch it in each other's arms on a full moon night, they could still dine at the Taj Mahal hotel and may be even catch a celebrity or two if they stayed late enough.

They were all to go to Mumbai where Omar's parents would join them.

Rashid, Shireen and Dadi too would join the extempore festivities.

Ayaan was ecstatic.

Finally, with so many elders tripping over each other to eagerly keep in-laws happy, bhaijaan distracted in his love fog, they just might be able to con their way into clubbing.

And in Mumbai!

Freaking awesome!

All through the Waleema, plans for the family trip kept getting more and more elaborate. The family trip would be a celebration for another upcoming wedding.

The Waleema had become the staging grounds for a small engagement ceremony. While the newly weds were showered with gifts, the newly engaged couple were showered with blessings.

That morning Omar had snuck Najma away to go ring-shopping after having introduced her to his parents via Skype.

His parents had already become familiar with the Khans because Zoya had oh-so casually shared videos of her mehendi and nikaah when she called to thank them for their gift.

She had even given them a video tour of her brand new home, animatedly introducing her husband, sister- and mother-in-law.

Next Aapi had set up the assist by gushing to Hana about how blessed Zoya was to be married into such a fine family, and how wonderful it would be if Omar got married into the same family.

And at last, they could still turn their friendship into a rishtedaari. Wouldn't that just be the cherry on top?

How could Omar's parents resist this charm offensive? Especially when their only son clearly couldn't seem to stop smiling.

They had eagerly given their blessings dazzled by Dilshad and even more so by Najma who blushed all through the video chat and never once looked up. They laughed aloud when they saw her slap Omar's arm when he got too rambunctious for his own good.

She had looked up at her future in-laws in shock, blushed harder, and run off. He had joked later about her violent streak; she was the jahanpanah's sister after all.

This had earned him being clocked again.

His parents had continued chatting with a tearful Dilshad and Zeenat afterwards about panicky last-minute preparations; that conversation had lasted well over an hour. Dilshad could tell where Omar got his smarts and charm from. His mother was serene and quietly witty, her dark eyes framed by laugh lines; and why not, his father was a booming laughter powerhouse.

Zoya couldn't contain her excitement. Allah miyan, what a riot it would be!

Even the car ride to the airport had been wildly entertaining. Ayaan had got everyone singing "Pyaar Tumhe Kis Mod Pe Le Aaya," in a deliberate foghorn voice.

Humaira and Najma, squeezed in the last seat, had blushed when Ayaan and Omar turned around and belted, "battiyaan bujhane wali jaane kab ayegi!"

And Zoya had loved singing, "shor na machana warna bhabhi jag jayegi." Even Asad hadn't been able to resist a chuckle at that.

The SUV had rocked on its wheels as they all sang, as besura as possible:

"Pyaar tumhe kiss mod pe le aaya, haye.

Ki dil kare Haye!

Haye!

Koi ye bataye kya hoga!"

They had pulled up at a traffic light just then, and even passengers in neighboring cars were smiling looking on at this tomfoolery.

At the airport, Asad had herded everyone toward the gate, reminding them that they weren't able to get all the seats together. The chillar party had merrily gone on ahead with Dadi, followed by the scolding parents.

In the chatter and buzz no one had noticed that the newlyweds hadn't boarded the flight.

He had whisked Zoya on a flight to Agra instead.

"I told Ammi and Jeeju," Asad told her, holding her hand in his as the flight took off.

She stroked his arm with concern.

"Asad, we could have stayed at home. We didn't have to come. You are so tense."

He had looked preoccupied and pensive all of yesterday and the day before. Zoya had asked him about it a couple of times but got no clear response.

Finally she had framed his face in her hands and issued an ultimatum: "Asad, I know something's bothering you."

He had lowered his gaze and swallowed.

She had kissed him firmly on the mouth, "the old Zoya would have pestered you till you came out with it. But, I am going to trust you to tell me when you're ready."

He had nodded imperceptibly, sighing in relief and hugging her tight.

It was then that he'd recalled that moment of piercing clarity at the cemetery.

He had looked back at her as she rose after lovingly tracing the contour of the stone and adjusting the chaadar.

He had wanted to shout, "that is not your father!" but he choked on his own spit, his throat raw with suppressed tears.

When she turned around and looked up at his face, she had looked haunted. "Asad?" She had rushed to his side. "What happened?"

His eyes were unfocused; hers were wide with alarm.

"ASAD!" she felt his forehead and then wrist. His hand was ice cold.

She had held his face exactly as she was doing now, "Asad, don't you dare do this to me again. Talk to me!"

She pressed her lips to his. After a second his arms went around her to clutch her desperately.

"Please talk to me, Asad. Don't shut me out!" she had begged.

He'd pressed his forehead to hers and held her face. "Do you trust me?"

"More than anything in this world," she had whispered, terrified about what he was going to tell her.

But Asad couldn't tell her. He was either the biggest coward in the world or the worst liar.

Once home, he had contacted the investigator again. "Rakesh, I want those enlargements right away. And," he brushed his hair off his forehead, "I need you to do a full bio and profile on Gaffoor Siddiqui at this address."

He paced angrily and snarled through gritted teeth, "I want to know everything there is to know about his entire life, if he sneezed yesterday, what he ate for lunch five weeks ago."

He continued to dictate, "I want to know about dates when he travelled out of the city or country, destinations, where he stayed, with whom, this year, twenty years ago, whatever. Every bloody detail, as soon as possible."

He had flung the phone on the bed once he was done and wiped his face with both hands.

It all made absolute diabolical sense.

He now knew with terrifying certainty, whose skeletal remains were found in the factory and why his father had been scapegoated as the alleged murderer and arsonist.

And he knew why Zoya was at the factory that night, and why she needed to be eliminated.

His heart twisted in abject terror and revulsion.

His sister and wife were victims and pawns of a great conspiracy hatched eighteen years ago. Those filthy bast*ards had threatened one child's life to orphan another, and roast her alive in order to cover their cowardly tracks.

He had been unable to breathe. His chest burned.

That night Zoya had held him in her arms and made love to him as he clung fiercely to her, crushing her possessively to him and burying his face in her hair.

"Zoya!"

She wrapped her arms around him, whispering a teary litany of love and comfort while her heart hammered with worry.

She had stroked his forehead with her soft fingers while raining a thousand kisses on his face.

"I love you, I'm right here baby. I won't let anything happen to you," she had promised over and over again.

One hand had rubbed his chest in circles across his racing heart.

She knew he would tell her when he was good and ready.

Right now he needed time alone with his demons before he slayed them and returned to her.

She'd be waiting with open arms.

___________________________________________

Song in Title:

Race (2008), "Pehli Nazar"

"Pyaar Tumhe Kis Mod Pe Le Aaya" Satte Pe Satta (1982)

Chapter 52

Ayaan was slack-jawed with awe. Whoa! Bhaijaan was major badass! Mona darling sure had done a number on Akdu Ahmed Khan for him to become so crafty and cool.

He ruffled his hair and thought about whether he had changed in significant ways since falling hard for his little miss sunshine. He was looking forward to stealing away with her and spoiling her during this trip. She had loved his stories about his trip to Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra.

He had urged Humaira to pack her skirt and boots so that she could go dancing in them with him.

He grinned happily as he entered Dadi's room in the en suite. Ammi wanted him to remind her that they would be going down to dinner soon.

He heard a murmur of voices.

Abbu was there too then.

He halted, glued to the spot as he heard Abbu's raised and angry voice.

"Ammi, I refuse to give in to that woman's blackmail any more."

His voice rose and fell as he paced furiously.

"She is the one who forced us to accept Haseena bi's proposal. Yeh to accha hua ki Asad ne sari asliyat saamne la kar humari Nikhat ko bacha liya. Otherwise her life would have been ruined."

"I agree Rashid. But how are you going to convince Shireen to leave that house? Are you willing to tell her the truth?"

Ayaan felt his world tilt on its axis.

What was going on?

Blackmail? Leaving the house?

Why?

"Yes, I am working on it. I already told her about Imran and Tanveer and how Ayaan paid off Firoze with money he got from bhabhi. She was shocked to find out that she had the nerve to blackmail Ayaan into marrying Humaira for that money."

He swore savagely under his breath.

"I have some evidence of their creative bookkeeping that could convince her more. They have some shell companies in Shireen's name, so that if they were ever caught, they could make her the scapegoat."

Dadi gasped loudly and shuddered, "itna ghatiiyapan! What about Shireen's kids if something terrible had happened?"

"Kya hota Ammi? Humpe apna ehsaan jatate, aur apni meherbaniyon ke bojh se humein zindagi bhar ghulam bana lete."

He continued pacing, "but we have to get out before that woman gets Ayaan forcefully married to Humaira. I refuse to sacrifice my son to her so that she can continue to blackmail us for the rest of our lives. It's time to make a clean break."

He heard Dadi sigh. "Bechari Humaira. She's been in love with Ayaan since she was a little girl. It's tragic that she'll have to pay for her parents' sins."

"Haan, Humaira acchi ladki hai. But, we cannot enter into any alliance with that family. They are poison. She's kept me under her thumb for too long. I agreed earlier because I was a coward and she threatened to harm Dilshad and the kids. But now all my kids have grown up, they can stand strong by my side and together we can take them on."

Ayaan stumbled blindly out of the room. What new evil had mumani perpetrated now? How could her actions be standing in the way of his love for Humaira?

Here he had secretly hoped that they too could soon announce their engagement. Wouldn't it be cool to get engaged at Najma's wedding or Waleema? It could be a cool new Khan tradition: ek nikaah ke saath, ek sagaai free!

He had toyed with several ideas of proposing to Humaira. In fact, he was planning to run them by Omar and Zoya soon.

He reeled.

He was livid with heartache and raging hatred.

He punched in her number. "You have been blackmailing my father for all these years? You repulsive hag!" he ranted.

"Ayaan yeh kya badtameezi hai?" he heard her shaken response.

He laughed sarcastically, "badtameezi? You foolish woman, you wanted me to marry your daughter? And now, when I have actually fallen in love with her, Abbu and Dadi have decided that they will never let me be married to your daughter, Razia Siddiqui."

He wiped his brow angrily, "and you know what? I don't blame them! How can I marry the daughter of parents who destroyed my father's life and who would have thrown my Ammi under the bus to save their own sorry skins? You even threatened badi Ammi and Asad bhaijaan!"

He laughed in despair and pain, "I hope you see the horrible irony in this, you pathetic excuse for a woman! Your evil ways have finally managed to catch up with you and ruin your daughter's life! Thanks a lot, you blood-sucking witch!"

He slammed his fist into the wall.

Razia crumpled to the floor.

Tanveer was rummaging through her old purse. She was downsizing and getting ready to fly the coop. She had paid Imran some of her money, but was still unsure of whether he was her last hope in snagging a father for her baby.

The eternal optimist, she was still keeping her options open.

You never know.

Her hand felt a bump in the lining. Curious, she fished around and retrieved a slim black cartridge, the size of a postage stamp.

Her eyes gleamed.

Now wasn't this just the perfect stroke of luck!

That jail scare had happened for a reason after all.

She gripped her jackpot tightly and lay back on the bed, hugging herself with delight.

How could she have forgotten this golden goose? They must be right about pregnant women losing vital memory cells!

Razia was heartsore and furious!

Her carefully laid plans were in shambles like a house of cards.

How dare that b*tch show her blackmailing simpering face around here? She should have never brought her on board and embedded her in that household.

She should have known that this one was bad to the bone. And now, once again, a major thorn in her side.

"I could turn it over to the police but where would the fun be in that," Tanveer purred.

"Soch lo bi, yeh agar Asad Ahmed Khan ke haath lag gaya toh tumhari khair nahin." She had laughed baring her teeth, and gleefully mimed the action of a knife slitting her throat.

"He has impoverished the Qureshis for messing with his step sister. They will never be free of legal battles and court hearings for the rest of their lives."

"Tanveer, I don't have time for this. Just name your price and get the hell out of my house." Razia had snarled through teeth clenched tight to prevent them from chattering in terror.

"Two Crores."

"Are you crazy?" She had snapped, "I don't have that much money lying around."

"So? Ask your husband. He must know about the blood on your hands I'm sure, and would want to save his own sorry ass."

After a bristling silence, Razia had croaked, "but how do I know that you haven't made other copies?"

Tanveer got up and laughed again. "You don't. That's the beauty of it."

"Tomorrow at eleven in Cabin 45 by the lake."

And she slithered off.

He was done playing fair. He had greenlighted the investigative team's search of Tanveer's new residence two days ago.

Armed with the latest findings and evidence he had decided to tell Zoya everything.

Not the honeymoon of their dreams certainly, but far more critical to their happiness and sanity in the long run.

After checking into their room and freshening up, they were perched on a pristine white leather sofa. The view was breathtaking out of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Yamuna and the Taj glimmering in the setting sun's rays.

She was in his lap, ear to his heartbeat, playing with his fingers in her lap.

She could almost hear the gears in his head whirring. It was as if he was doing a mental version of his "voh ... actually ... main" mode.

"Asad?" she kissed his knuckles and lifted her head to nuzzle the crook of his neck.

He sighed heavily and intertwined his fingers with hers.

"Zoya ... I don't know where or how to start."

She gripped their joined hands to her heart. "Just say it and it'll get easier."

Suddeny she swivelled in his lap in alarm, "oh my god, is Ammi OK? You're not dying of cancer, right?" The idea had just come to her and left her choking with horror.

He patted her back with his other hand, shaking his head to reassure her.

And just like that ... in a flash she had put everything in perspective and made it so simple: Ammi and Najma were fine, in fact happier than never before. His family was together, and they both had their health and were weaving dreams of raising a family.

Nothing else could possibly matter.

He kissed her tenderly and Zoya sensed him relaxing for the first time in two days.

"Pakka?" she confirmed.

"Pakka!" he affirmed.

She breathed easier.

"You are magical, you know," he murmured in her ear. "You do have some super powers that I hope you'll pass on to our kids one day!" She laughed, delighted with his playful tribute.

"What brought that on, jahanpanah?"

He reached for his phone. "I've been having Tanveer followed since she left our house."

Zoya frowned. This was all about that witch! What had she done to upset her jahanpanah now? For two days in a row? She'd kill her!

She gave him her full attention.

"This is a video of her from last week."

She watched, mystified and then gasped.

"Mr. Khan! Those letters and pictures are mine!"

He had even shown the enlargements of the photographs to Zoya to confirm this.

"But why is she showing them to this man? Who is he?"

He looked pensive. "He's Humaira's dad."

"What? But how does he know Tanveer?"

He gripped her waist hugging her to him, "I don't think he knows her. He met her for the first time that day."

"But Asad, in this last part he seems so emotional. Look, he even tries to hold her hand. He must know her from before!"

She had viewed the video about half a dozen times.

Zoya was beginning to put the pieces together. "It looks a lot like blackmail. And if she's using those letters, then Humaira's dad must know something about my father and mother, right?" She asked hopefully.

"But how did she know to steal my papers? What does she know that we don't?"

Zoya was thinking aloud now. "If only we could tell what they were saying." She leaned against him in frustration and then sat up quickly. "We should get a lip reader," she kidded.

Asad looked at her with admiration. "May be. Are there such experts?"

"They have them on cop and legal shows!" she replied, eyes glowing with determination.

Zoya was excited, "you call the investigator. Meanwhile, I'll do my own research." She tapped on her iPad after retrieving it from her bag.

He smiled ruefully. Only his wife would think detective work on her honeymoon was such fun.

He sobered quickly, still terrified of telling her more.

He brought out a manila envelope and handed her a black computerized chip. She looked at it suspiciously.

"They recovered this from her house and made a copy of the audio recording. She had two other copies. "

"Back up just a minute. She has a house in Bhopal?"

He nodded with eyebrows raised. "Just got it, paid in full, posh high-rise building, top of the line upgrades."

"She can afford that?"

He looked at her. "We think she blackmailed her way into it."

"Wow! That must be some secret!"

His heart broke. If she only knew.

She saw that he still had his hand outstretched.

"Why does this look so familiar?" Zoya spoke distractedly.

He sat next to her, "because it's similar to the chip from Najma's doll that we lost and then found."

"Tanveer had this all this time? But why? We heard it and it had only Abbu's voice on it."

He felt humbled that she still insisted on calling his father "Abbu" even after knowing what he may have done

"I think that was a fake. This may be the real recording."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "What? Why? What's going on, Asad? How is she involved with any of this?"

Her eyes narrowed and she continued as if talking to herself. "She did turn up exactly at the time of the case against Abbu. She was also the one who claimed to have found the doll. Have you listened to it?"

"Not as yet. I thought we'd listen together."

While he pulled up the converted audio file on his laptop, snuggled next to him, she was still talking, working out the pieces of the sordid story.

"So she steals my letters and also the real recording. She blackmails Humaira's dad and possibly someone else with the chip and sabotages Abbu's case. She's been working against us since day one? Did someone plant her in our house to get this, or is she the mastermind?"

Asad felt terrible.

Part of his moodiness over the past two days also had to do with blaming himself for his cruel words to Zoya during that period in their lives. She had firmly believed in his father's innocence and mother's faith. She had tried to reason with him, nag him and even trick him, but he had been adamant about his beliefs. Instead, he had relentlessly belittled her words and actions, humiliated her as an unwanted misfit, and degraded her as an outsider who had no right to interfere in his family's affairs.

Worse, in trying to fight his growing attraction to her, he had extolled and paraded Tanveer as a paragon of virtue and modesty. Too often he had fallen victim to Tanveer's veneer of manipulated innocence and rushed to blame Zoya for the smallest of engineered offenses.

He still couldn't get over how, not even once, had Zoya uttered a harsh word against Tanu, or even himself. Sure, she had given him many nicknames but they weren't meanspirited. But he had been mean. Cruel, in fact.

Only now he knew how she was an expert at hiding her tears and grief from everyone.

Asad still couldn't completely forgive himself.

He put the laptop aside and gathered her in his arms. His eyes were moist; his heart heavy with remorse and gratitude.

"Asad, what aren't you telling me?" she spoke into his neck, her lashes fluttering butterfly kisses across his skin.

His pulse leaped.

They looked at each other.

And laughed.

"Now?" she asked, half in jest, more surprised.

"Now," he carried her into the bedroom. "This is more important than everything else." He kissed her greedily.

"Everything will be fine?"

He hesitated, "it will be because I'll have you by my side."

"Mr. Khan," she sighed, "I never knew my jahanpanah could be so romantic."

He put her down and held her tight against him, "me neither," he whispered against her lips. "Sab apka asar hai!"

"I love this side of you," she breathed, swaying against him dreamily, arms clasped around his neck.

He ground his erection against her, "and this side?"

She threw her head back, giggling and swinging in his arms, "umm hmm, specially that side!"

______________________________________

Song in Title:

Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna (2006), "Mitwa"