Dilshad did get her wish in the end. The wedding and its attendant functions were lavish and remained the talk of the town for a while.
Najma's Facebook album on her Bhaijaan's wedding stole hearts and earned dozens of likes and loves across the country. The story of Zoya helping out an auto-wala who later insisted on giving the bride a ride in his flower-bedecked autorickshaw for the nikah ceremony had gone viral. The photograph of a beaming Zoya emerging from the auto in her bridal dress while Zeenat and Dilshad held the veil over her head had even been published in the city mid-day paper. Apparently this has started a new trend much to the autowalas' delight: young women had fallen in love with the idea of a scooty-doli resplendent in full ethnic decor.
This picture now hung across from their bed: enlarged and framed and even signed at the bottom with Mahesh Bhai's name--the auto driver whom Zoya had helped.
The newly-weds had argued over its placement though.
"If you must, it should ideally go over the wall behind the headboard," Zoya had said. She wasn't sure she liked such a big picture of hers in the room. Why not their wedding photo instead? She especially liked the one where he was feeding her barfi right after they'd said Qubool Hai.
She'd made sure that picture sat on her bedside table.
"No," Asad had said very firmly. "I won't be able to see it then."
"What's there to see?" Zoya asked, not upset at being contradicted at all. Would she ever get tired of being so cherished?
Nah!
"This way it'll be the first thing I see when I open my eyes."
She'd swayed in his arms loving the way he nuzzled her neck. "Really? You want to see a picture of me when you open your eyes?"
"Unh-hmm," he breathed against her throat.
"Why not just turn to the side and see the real thing?"
He blinked and raised his head. He would never tire of waking up next to her. Asad flicked her nose with a finger and planted a kiss on her mouth. "Because with you next to me we'll change and grow old together ... but this picture ..." They looked up and saw themselves entwined and reflected in the glass. "This picture reminds me of triumph and grace ... it's a trophy of what we've won ... and overcome. A promise of hope ... Of love."
He loved this picture of hers so much. The upturned face giddy with joy, the brilliant smile and deep dimple, the promise of a million giggles ... the red and green of the bridal veil ... the smoky kohl of her eyes contrasting with the pearls of her jhoomar ... It was that moment when she was coming to be his. Forever. The picture was best things and blessings come to life--all tied up in a rainbow.
Zoya raised her hand now and turned his face to look at her. It was late--tomorrow would be a long day. He kissed her palm which still blushed from the lacy mehendi. "Mr. Khan, I'm not going to be jealous of my own picture, right? You'll look at me also once in while, won't you?"
Asad laughed softly. As if he could look away. He'd been scared to even blink during the nikah. What if she wasn't there when he opened his eyes? It had taken half the honeymoon to fully assure him that she wasn't going any where, that she wouldn't vanish into thin air. That she'd be right there next to him when he woke in the morning ... right there when he fell asleep the following night.
Too much had come between them. Too much had threatened to keep them apart. And for a while he'd harbored fears of losing her--even up until he'd heard her say, "Qubool Hai." But once he heard those two words he'd breathed easy. Life had given him a second chance. He'd begun to trust again. And hope. May be he did deserve some of the blessings that now crowned his head.
He heard her sigh and folded her closer.
"Asad?"
And he wouldn't ever tire of her calling him by his first name. "Hmm?" He raised her hand to kiss his wife's hennaed knuckles. Ammi was right to insist on all the nikah rasms--he loved to trace his fading name on her palm with his thumbnail... he loved how she hissed each time he did it. They had joked about getting their names tattoed on each other's palms ...
And it was only right to have Aapi and Jeeju bless them at the wedding ...
"Thanks for helping me trace my father's address and phone number."
Once he'd found out about why she'd come to India he made it his mission to re-unite her with her father. It hadn't been easy: the clues she carried with her were a generation old--people had moved, old ties weakened or erased. But with the help of investigators they had been able to put some pieces together. Tomorrow they would be going to Indore to meet the man who might well be her Abbu. Zoya was nervous ... but not exactly falling apart at the prospect of possible rejection or paternal indifference.
Because now she had Asad.
She had their Ammi and Aapi and Jeeju by her side. She had already found what she'd set out to find. And much more. Anything else would be bonus. If her father and his family accepted her into his life she would welcome him in hers. And she would survive, move on, live a full life, if he didn't.
She'd loved her husband's outrage on her behalf--and that is what had clinched everything for her. All her life she'd wondered--why didn't her father seek her out? Zoya had never expressed this fearful yearning to anyone. But the first thing out of Asad's mouth when she told him was: "How dare that man not come looking for you? What's wrong with him?" When she had rushed to her father's defense Asad had shrugged and said: "he doesn't deserve you. He turned his back on you and he has no idea what he missed out on. What a loser!"
"Asad!"
And the universe had righted itself at his words. At this point Zoya didn't even care any more if she actually found her father, met him, was or wasn't accepted by him. In fact she actually worried for her father.
Because Asad had told her in no uncertain terms: "If that man hurts you, he'll end up hurting a lot more. I'm not going to stand around and watch him belittle you. He'll have me to deal with."
"Nervous about tomorrow?" Asad asked now breaking her reverie.
"A little. But I feel more nervous for my Abbu," she said, not too smugly.
"Why?"
She held his hand up to her lips, "Asad, promise me you won't hit him or anything?"
He yanked his hand out of hers. "I refuse to make any such promises. If he asks for it, he'll get hit."
After the Tanveer episode Asad had made one major promise to himself: he would not stand for bullsh*it from any one any more. Not when it came to him. And especially not when it came to his family. He'd come this close to losing it all. He would die defending their happiness. In fact he was taking the adage "keep your friends close but enemies closer," too seriously. He was keeping tabs on Tanveer--he'd keep doing that to ensure she didn't rear her ugly viper's head to sting them ever again. He'd also made surreptitious enquiries about Akram and his family. Once bitten twice shy wasn't just a clich as far as he was concerned. He'd learned the hard way: evil existed in this world. Evil could sometimes do a lot of damage. And if you couldn't completely eradicate evil you could at least keep it caged and tied up in litigation. Almost every night he'd look down on Zoya's sleeping form in his arms and pledge: this, I'll protect.
"Asad!" Zoya hissed at his Akduness--though truth be told, she wasn't really upset by it. His Akduness on her behalf warmed her inside out.
He sighed, "relax, I'll try to behave."
"Promise?"
"No promises. But I'll try."
"Why can't you promise me this small thing?" Zoya pouted prettily, knowing full well how it affected him.
"Because when it comes to you I find it really hard to behave."
She giggled and wiggled in his arms. "Really hard, huh?"
"Really hard." He ground against her butt making his intentions clear. "Now that's a promise I can make. And keep."
Asad swung her up in his arms to carry her to their bed.
Making love to each other was still new. Making love every night in their room, their bed, was the best part about being married. "Bite me" had become code for quickies. On their suhaag raat Asad had told her about all his fantasies. How that one touch that one day, had ignited a seeded ember. How he wanted to take her against the kitchen counter ... how he'd lick strawberry jam off her body in slow, painstaking detail. On their honeymoon he did get to relive this fantasy--but it hadn't been slow, and they hadn't been able to wait long enough for him to lick her off completely. But they had used chocolate sauce the next time--with more economy and efficiency.
And by the time they graduated to whipped cream ...
"Asad?" she stroked his chest later in the dark. She knew he wasn't asleep.
"Hmm?" he ran a lazy thumb down her bare back and she shivered deliciously. Something heated and stirred in him.
"I love you, I love our life, every single moment we have together!"
"I know." He kissed her shoulder and then bit it--reveling in her hiss. "But why tell me this now?"
"Because tomorrow things might change ..."
Asad pulled her closer to tuck her under him ready to get started on some more biting and licking. "Nothing's going to change. And even if it does it'll all be for the better."
"Promise?"
"Promise." This, I'll protect.
The new clock at his bedside flashed the midnight hour. Just before his eyes closed he smiled at her wedding gift to him--it was the gift that kept on giving. Somehow, somewhere, she'd found a way to turn that broken, I'm-sorry-on-a-pink-Post-It-and-Hello-Kitty-taped phone into a timeless keepsake. Sadly he wouldn't be able to carry it around with him as a good luck charm any more. Because now it'd been poured into a solid cube of clear acrylic with a digital timepiece fitted into it.
Tomorrows would be todays again ... everyday.