ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Hai Mushkil (Updated Ch. 130 Page 90 Oct. 11) - Page 13

Chapter 80

"BTW, this mirchi is already stuffed, thanks to you and Baby Ahmed Khan," she texted him just after dinner.

"You're getting slow Mrs. Khan. I was expecting you to say that 2 hours ago!" He messaged from the living room. 

The lights were back on. Asad was working on his laptop, overseeing Ayaan create a report for an important presentation tomorrow. In between, he was fielding texts from his wife hellbent on sassing him and destroying his concentration. It was going to be a big day for Ayaan tomorrow. His big chance to be in the big leagues. Humaira was more nervous for him and peeked over their shoulders every now and then. She rolled her eyes, wrung her hands and crossed her fingers when he seemed to space out. She wanted to rap his knuckles for flaking out. Ayaan, focus! she wanted to scream.

"I was distracted!" Zoya tried to save face. "And just for that, Mr. Khan, no meetha 4 U tonight! Bet you didn't expect that!" 

"That's OK, I'm in the mood for khatta now," his text retorted.

She stomped her foot. Was she really getting slow? Allah miyan, if it's true then that's so not fair! 

"Oh really, you want some imli or pickle?" she sassed back. "I thought I was the 1 who's pregnant. When's your baby due?" 

She heard him laugh and pumped her fist. Yes! Not so slow after all. 

"Same day as yours!"

Annnhhh! She mentally groaned. The man was keeping up. She must be slowing down after all.

"Aapi! Soak more badaams for me!" she harrumphed.

When Dilshad came down for water late at night, she saw Asad in the backyard, deep in thought, and pacing furiously. She watched, worried, as he ran his hand through his hair and cracked his knuckles.

"Asad? Why aren't you asleep?"

"Kuch nahin Ammi. I'm just ... thinking." 

Dilshad took at sip of her water and sat down on the bench. She patted it, inviting him to join her. "Tell me what's bothering you. Is it Nikhat?" Rashid had called and briefly told them about Nikhat's decision earlier that evening. 

Asad sighed. "Jee, Ammi. I support Nikhat. But I hope it won't affect how Najma will be treated by their family." 

"They are really nice people. From what I've heard Zeenat say about Omar's parents, and what we've seen of them, they seem warm and kind. And incredibly open-minded. Najma will be fine. That's what I told Rashid too." 

Dilshad sighed and continued, "poor child. Your Abbu told me they fear that incident with Imran seems to have scarred Nikhat in some way. My heart goes out to her. Such terrible people! And now she's scared to trust such wonderful people because of that." 

He bowed his head and exhaled deeply. Dilshad put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There's something else, isn't there?" 

"I'm worried about Zoya, Ammi." 

"Why? Has something happened?" She half-rose in panic, clutching her heart.

Asad gently pulled her back by her arm, "no, nothing's happened. But she's crying too much these days. I read about this, and Dr. Sharma also told us that it's only hormonal."

"But you're not convinced it's just that." 

"No. I think there's something deeper ... ek gham hai jo Zoya ko undar se khaye ja raha hai. I know she desperately wants to be reunited with her father. She wants him to acknowledge her as his daughter. Ammi, I know ... it's killing her that he's so worried about Tanveer and doesn't know the truth about her. She aches for Humaira to call her Aapi or Baji, not Zoya Bhabhi." 

Dilshad spoke wistfully, "now that she's going to have a baby, she must yearn for him even more." 

He rose and started to pace again. "I shouldn't have listened to her! I should've taken her to meet him as soon as we found out." 

Asad stopped in front of her. "You know Ammi, she doesn't hold her music box any more. I think she's hidden it somewhere. It's not in its usual place ... She either doesn't want Humaira to catch her with it, or, I think she's done it because of all the buzz about pregnant women staying happy and thinking only happy thoughts." 

Asad knelt before her, "She's trying to repress her feelings for the sake of the baby, and me. That's not right, is it Ammi? This can't possibly be good for her or the baby." 

"Mera bachha," Dilshad whispered, stroking and smoothing his hair. "How much is Allah going to test her?" 

He paced long after Dilshad went up to bed. Should he go meet Siddiqui saheb? Or should he just let nature takes its course? If he did go, then what proof did he really have? Why would the man believe him? Especially when they were business rivals. He didn't even have the music box to show him. Where had she hidden it?

Asad went to bed only when he felt a pair of arms embrace him and his wife's lips at his neck. She dragged him away, complaining that she and the baby couldn't sleep without him by their side. 

When Zoya went to open the door the next morning she was greeted by a gigantic bouquet of roses. She squealed with delight. Her husband was back to spoiling her instead of razzing her. She reached her arm out ... 

Feroze peeked from behind the mountain of roses. "Hi Zoya Bhabhi! I got these for Najma. Omar's strict orders." 

Zoya's face fell. Not for her? But then she squealed again. "Najma!" she yelled up the stairs. "Special delivery for you!" Everyone spilled into the living room. New morning, new show. 

Zoya waited at the bottom of the stairs dying to see Najma's reaction. She wasn't disappointed. Najma shrieked and sobbed. Humaira dutifully took pictures and videos, as did Feroze. 

"But he hasn't reached home as yet. How did he contact you?" Najma inquired of her brother-in-law after wiping her tears. He had called her when he landed in Dubai. There was a five-hour wait there and then a sixteen-hour flight to San Francisco. 

"He told me before leaving. I was instructed to buy the biggest bouquet of roses today and appear at your doorstep to take you to Khala's house where you are to spend the rest of the day with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. They've been told to spoil you rotten and treat you like a princess." In fact, Omar had ribbed him about may be having Najma bring Nikhat with her for company, but there was no chance of that now. 

Najma blushed with pleasure.

"Haww Tamatar, this is your big test! You better be on your best behavior and represent the Khan family well. Aakhir humari izzat ka sawaal hai!" Zoya teased.

Feroze grinned. She offered him a drink and snacks as Najma went to get ready for her big day at her sasural, Cinderella at the castle in the absence of her Prince Charming. Dilshad and Aapi clucked loudly and followed her to wave their maternal magic wands. Humaira, the trusty photographer and videographer charged after them to memorialize the moment for everyone's favorite Jeeju. 

"How are you doing Feroze?" Zoya asked cautiously. Asad had told her about Nikhat's decision. Admiration for Nikhat had warred with regret that she was missing out on being with such a nice guy. She had met Omar's cousins as kids at birthday parties and religious holidays back in the US. He was the older, quieter and shyest one. The observer and confidant, and everyone's secret keeper. And he was also the one with a wicked sense of humor once he became comfortable around people.

If only ... 

Feroze ducked his head and she saw his smile slip. Her heart melted for him. These Khans! Breaking hearts all over the place. 

"I'm fine ... Bhabhi. Thanks for asking." 

"Call me Zoya. And I'm sorry it didn't work out with Nikhat," she said softly. She wanted to blurt out about Imran, assure him that Nikhat was neither heartless nor a snob. She wanted to ...

"Me too," he sighed. 

Impulsively, she went to the side table and picked up the address book, a pen and post-it note. 

Asad would totally kill her. Thank god he'd left early today!

Checking the address book she wrote something and then handed him the note. 

"She's going to be here all day. Talk to her." 

He looked at her and then at the paper clutched between her fingers. And then slowly he took the yellow scr*ap and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

"Wish me luck." 

"You won't need it," she patted his knee. "Keep me posted," she said hurriedly as everyone trooped down the stairs. 

Nikhat was loving it in Abbu's office. At first everyone treated her with kid gloves but when they saw that she wasn't about to be coddled and oohed and aahed over, they all went about their business and left her alone. Abbu's secretary had given her some simple computer tasks that she wasn't completely bored with as yet.

She had silenced her phone and ignored the thousand and one frantic text and voicemail messages from Ammi and Nuzzhat. Even Ayaan bhaijaan had left a few teasing notes. Zoya Bhabhi has sent a simple, "I love you and am so proud of you. Good luck." It warmed her head to toe. Humaira had sent her an inspirational quote and Najma had called to talk to her. 

"I would have loved it if things had worked out. But you know that both Omar and I love you so much, right?" Najma, like the rest of the family, heartily approved of how close Omar and Nikhat had gotten. The two of them were the perfect foils to one another, sharing an odd and unexpected kinship. Nikhat felt so guilty when she saw Najma's name flash on her screen. Allah, please don't let Omar hate me! 

Nikhat assured everyone that she was fine. Asad bhaijaan had come to pick her up and take her to Abbu's office. He gave her a small bunch of flowers, "Zoya sent you these. I think they are from our backyard." 

She'd buried her face in them inhaling the sweet scent and he'd hugged her sideways and kissed the top of her head, "have a great day! And remember, if you hate it here, you can always come work for me! We're bigger and better!"

"Bhaijaan!" 

Remembering Ayaan bhaijaan's first day at work, she had expressly forbidden Ammi to send lunch. "I'll eat with Abbu, please don't worry about me, Ammi." 

She sighed with pleasure. This wasn't so bad. For a second she thought about Feroze and felt a pang. "No, it's for the best," she told herself. She got back to work after checking the clock. Half an hour before everyone broke for lunch. She wanted to run something by Abbu when she joined him then. 

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. It was Mala from the front desk. 

"Ms. Khan, Ma'am, there's someone here to meet you." 

"Who?" 

"He won't give me his name. But he's been waiting for a long time. The guard wouldn't let him in. When I stepped out, he explained that it's urgent. He seems well-dressed and from a good family. So I thought I'd come up and tell you myself."

Nikhat just knew. Her heart chugged and thumped. Oh god, what now? And on her first day at work too! She thanked Mala and rose to face him. For a fraction of a second she had been tempted to tell Mala, "tell him I'm not here."

But no. She owed him at least this much.

He leaped up from the chair as soon as he saw her descending the steps. His helmet nearly went flying.

"Hi," Feroze said shyly.

She smiled tremulously.

"Umm, I'm sorry to bother you here. I shouldn't have come." He gripped his helmet tight. 

"No, please, it's OK. Have a seat." She led him to a nook with potted plants and two comfortable chairs. 

"Can I take you out for coffee? Please?" 

She wanted to go. But she didn't want to go. If she didn't go, it would all end here. She'd probably never see him again. If she went with him, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be that clichd jhatt mangni, patt byaah. She wasn't the kind to flit from romantic dalliances to flings. If she went out today, it would be a permanent declaration of a lifelong commitment. 

"It's fine. You don't have to. We can talk here." And he took a seat. 

She had seen the light leave his eyes and it had done something to her heart. Had he been hurt by her reluctance? Did he actually like her? 

Oh god, what are these feelings? 

She sat too and waited for him to say something. She felt too tongue-tied.

He seemed to make a sudden decision. "I just wanted to know why you said no," he asked simply, calmly, with no rancor or recriminations. 

He was dying to ask: was it me? I thought you liked me. I liked you. I like you. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. I've never done anything like this before.

But he remained silent. He wanted her to answer without him trying to fill in the uncomfortable silence between them with defensive excuses or pleas. 

Nikhat looked at him. He looked so vulnerable. Had she hurt him by refusing him? Did guys feel this way too? 

"I ... I want to study and work. I don't think I'm ready for marriage yet."

"Women study and work even after they get married. Najma"-" 

"I know Najma will study further. But it's different for her. Theirs was a love marriage."

"Ours could be too," he whispered roughly.

Her eyes flew to meet his. She saw hope and fear and something else blaze in his direct gaze. She blushed and lowered her lashes. He looked down at her bowed head and made a split-second decision. Where had all this boldness come from suddenly?

"Let's get some coffee, or ice cream, or ... whatever you wish." he stated more firmly this time. 

"OK," she whispered.

He held the door open for her. "Do you want to get your bag or ... tell uncle?" 

She looked up at him blankly and then at her empty hands. She looked up in confusion at Mala at the desk. 

"Go ahead Ma'am. I'll tell sir," she reassured her. 

She was rooted to the spot. 

"Nikhat?" Feroze held out his hand to her. 

She looked down at his open palm and slipped her hand into his. She felt him tug her toward him and allowed him to lead her out. In a daze she watched him mount his bike, secure his helmet and turn to her. She sat in the backseat and bravely slipped her arm around his waist. 

Ya Allah, what am I doing? 

Was she just experimenting with something new and forbidden? Would she do this with just anyone? If Imran had come up like this would she do the same? Unconsciously she clutched his shirt. Her friends would sneak out on dates with boyfriends. Is this what she was testing and trying on? 

She felt confused. She wasn't the kind. She had haughtily defined herself as too old-school. Too sure that she'd never be those types who sneaked around behind their parents' backs and led double lives as goody-two shoes at home and risk-taking rebels outside.

But she felt bold too. 

She wanted to see where this went. She felt in control. Her fingers started to loosen their tight hold on his shirt. And she felt his palm press down on the back of her hand. He pulled over to the side of the road and removed his helmet. 

"I have no idea where I'm going. Do you know where we can find a good place to talk?"

"When are you leaving for New York?" were her first words to him after they placed their order. 

He looked at her in surprise. Why are you really here, she was asking. 

"When I've convinced you to give us a chance."

He saw delight bloom in her eyes, but then, just as swiftly, they were shadowed by pain.

"Why? Is it because I was the first girl to say no to you?" She asked defiantly.

He chuckled self-consciously. "You aren't the first!" 

She felt raw acid course through her. Whoa! What was that? Jealousy? 

What nonsense! 

"Did you go after every girl who said no to you?"

"No. Just you." 

Now that felt really nice. She didn't want to explore why as yet. 

But then she frowned. 

"Why? Am I that easy to demand an explanation from? I hurt your ego because you didn't expect a girl like me to say no, right?"

"Wrong. At first I thought it was because you didn't think me worthy of you." 

She nearly snorted. Him worthy of her? Never in her life had she ever wondered if a guy would be worthy of her. It had always been about if any guy would even like her for herself. 

"But now I know it's not me you turned down, but some vague idea of marriage which you see as unequal or repressive." 

She gasped. How had"-? 

"And you are here to convince me otherwise?" She asked more playfully now. He was right. That's exactly what she feared an arranged marriage would be like. Asad Bhaijaan's and Najma's marriages seemed hauntingly beautiful, but she was sure that would never happen to her. 

She was ordinary. 

But her darkest fear went deeper. She had never fully admitted it even to herself. She loved Abbu to pieces, but she wondered if he could leave someone as beautiful and graceful as Badi Ammi, then there was no way that she, a plain jane, stood a chance to save her marriage even if she did end up marrying. On bad days, she thought: who would want to marry me? On worse days: why would someone want to stay married to me?

She didn't want Feroze to breach her carefully erected walls of tangled insecurities and self-defense. 

But he did. 

"What happened Nikhat? Why are you so scared of marriage? Someone hurt you. You've taken their rejection to heart."

Her eyes widened and teared as she looked at him in panic; the wall came crashing down. Woodenly, unexpectedly, the words spilled out. 

She had been engaged not long ago. She thought she had no choice. She thought she should be grateful that someone was willing to marry a dark-skinned girl like herself. She thought he actually liked her. For a moment she had allowed herself to dream dreams and weave fantasies. She had made herself perfect in everyway: she could sew, cook, bake, paint, dance, run a house. She had tried her best to compensate for that one glaring defect. 

But it had all been an illusion. 

She wasn't a person. She was a damaged marker of her parents' and uncle's wealth. Just an unfortunate carrier of a name and legacy. His mother missed no opportunity to remind them of their charity in choosing her despite her darkness. Each visit was punctuated with suggestions for trying out new whitening creams and technologies. And he had betrayed her by carrying on with another woman on the side. 

She was fair. 

She was beautiful.

She was also pregnant. 

Nikhat fled to the restroom to break down into tears. She had never said these words out loud to anyone. She didn't want to upset her parents or siblings. Only Dadi knew a little bit about how wretched she felt. 

When she stepped out she saw Feroze pacing in the empty hallway, just outside. He handed her a water bottle and his handkerchief, both of which she accepted gratefully. 

"He's a bast*ard!" He spat out. Nikhat's eyes flared. Not the language she thought she'd hear Feroze use. Omar may be. No, for sure. 

But not Feroze. 

"And not just because he stepped out on you. Because he didn't stand up for you!" 

How did he know Imran didn't stand up for her? 

"How do you know he didn't"-?" 

"If he had, his mother wouldn't have had the nerve to say those rotten things to you! Say no to me, but don't let scumbags like that dictate what you think of yourself." 

Everyone, Ammi, Dadi, Abbu, Ayaan and Asad Bhaijaan, had all said the same thing. But that was because they loved her, she was family. But hearing Feroze say it, meant a world of difference. 

Her heart lifted. She beamed up at him.

"Get out your phone," he ordered. 

She blinked. "I don't have it. I left it at the office. Why?" 

"Here, take mine. Have you seen Jab We Met'?"

She nodded, perplexed. 

"My sister forced me to watch. Call that ass and call him every swear word you know." 

Nikhat gasped and then grinned impishly. 

"Seriously?" 

"Seriously!"

And his earnest outrage on her behalf and his cheerleading just got to her. It hit her right in the gut. She punched in Imran's numbers surprised that she still remembered. 

"Imran? This is Nikhat." She looked into Feroze's face for courage. He nodded and lifted his chin. 

"I wanted to call you and tell you that you're a ... a weasel, an ass ... a gadha, suar, ku*tta, kam*ina  ullu ka pattha!" Her voice grew stronger with each word. "Did you think your rotten mother and you could walk all over us? Over me? You smarmy son of a bi*tch ... you luchha, lafanga, cheapster ..."

"Ass*hole," prompted Feroze.

"Ass*hole!" she repeated. 

"Di*ckbag," he suggested. 

"Umm ... Di*ckbag!" 

"Major scumbag!"

They continued to collaborate as they poured over every bad word in their mental thesaurus and urban dictionary. 

"Loser!"

"Jerk!" 

This was fun. Especially since she could hear Imran sputtering at the other end. What a moron! He didn't even hang up!

"Douche!" 

She repeated it not even knowing what the words meant anymore. 

"Sh*itface!" 

"Asswipe!" She choked at that one. 

"Devil's spawn!" She loved that one. It was perfect. 

She remembered what Ayaan Bhaijaan had called his mother once. "Bhainseena ka toota hua seeng," she yelled. 

"Teri maan ki"-!!!" she shouted for good measure and covered her mouth guiltily.

She felt exhilarated. Vindicated.

Grinning, Feroze took his phone from her and held up his hand in the air to high five her. She smacked her own palm against his. 

They walked out, giddy and guilt-free, half-drunk coffee and cappuchinos long forgotten. 

A young girl with a heap of balloons ran up to them, "Uncle, uncle, aunty ke liye balloon kharido, please!" 

Feroze looked at Nikhat and pulled out his wallet. And he bought all the balloons she had. 

Replacing his wallet, he gave Nikhat one balloon from the bunch. "I read this somewhere. Imagine this is one of your biggest fears. Release it." 

Smiling, she closed her eyes and let it go. They both watched its trajectory, wishing upon it. It floated and bobbed in the air. It brushed against a branch and an electric line and snaked higher. 

He handed her another one. "Your biggest doubt." 

She released it too with a laugh. It snagged on a branch and then popped. She giggled. 

"Your anger."

She looked up at him in surprise. Anger? She had never articulated anger before. If she ever felt the emotion, she suppressed it. Nice girls weren't supposed to be angry. 

With a delirious sigh, she released her anger into the universe too.

"Your insecurity." She grabbed two-three more from his hand and released them together, nearly hopping and skipping. He laughed. Her glee was contagious. By now little kids had surrounded them and were clapping for each balloon that broke free.

He handed her another, but she stayed his hand, "your turn now."

She repeated the same instructions, and watched his face as he let each go.

She took one balloon from him and handed it to a little boy, "for hope," she said. 

Following her cue, Feroze handed one to another child, "for new beginnings."

"For ... friendship," she said softly.

"For fun!" he responded, as a little girl squealed and skipped off with his balloon. 

"For teamwork," sighed Nikhat.

"For champions," a little boy beamed a toothless grin. 

"For ... yes," she said loud and clear. She waited for his reaction.

Feroze blushed but remained silent.

"Feroze?" 

"That's way too soon! Sorry," he said distantly. "I don't want your gratitude or pity!" 

She gasped. What! 

The string in her hand released from her feeble grip.

He distributed the remaining balloons quietly and walked over to the bike. He donned his helmet and waited for her climb on. 

Nikhat felt disoriented. Had she offended him? Didn't he like her any more? Her heart plummeted and shoulders drooped. She looked up into the sky one last time. She saw tiny colored dots getting tinier. Their fears, doubts, anger and insecurities floated away. Their hopes, friendship and fun were clutched in tiny grubby hands not a few feet away. 

Her chin lifted and shoulders squared. 

He dropped her off at the office. 

"Thanks," he said shyly. "And I'm sorry for taking you away from work for so long." 

"Give me your phone," she ordered. "I have to make an important call." 

He handed it over obediently. She called her number and left a missed call. Handing him his phone she said, "now I have your number, and you have mine." 

"You're going to study and work, and in a few days, I'll be going back to New York to teach a summer class on International Relations. What's the point?" he asked looking away. 

She looked at him archly, "International Relations IS the point. You'll take me out for lunch tomorrow. Half a cup of coffee doesn't qualify as a date for a girl like me!"

"And if I say no?" 

"You're a Ph.D. and already working. You don't get to say no," she said cheekily. "I'll be waiting here. Tomorrow, high noon." 

She didn't know how hard she was gripping her hands, or how deep her nails were gouging her palms till she saw his eyes light up and lips curl into a full smile. 

Wait, was that actually a dimple in his cheek and chin? OK, the kids better inherit that! 

"Yes ma'am!" he replied simply.

As he kickstarted the bike to leave, she tapped his shoulder. Again, she wondered at her own audacity. He lifted the visor. 

"Feroze?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You're such a liar! I can't believe any girl said no to you!"

Their eyes met and held for a long time. He turned the bike off and pulled off his helmet. "They did. But they may have regretted it after finding out what a prize catch I am!"

Her laughter pealed across the parking lot. "Will I have to fight off a long line of no-sayers and regreters?" 

"Probably," he counted on his fingers and she slapped his shoulder. "Four or five of them. But you could do it with all the gaalis you know." 

She leaned back weakly against the bike as she doubled over with laughter again. 

Nikhat held out her open hand, "done!"

He looked at her open palm. Qubool hai? He low-fived her. He wanted to pull her by that hand into his arms and plant a kiss on her lips. 

Too soon?

May be tomorrow.

"I think the bigger question is: how many said yes?" She asked, an eyebrow raised, still not wanting him to leave. 

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." 

"Feroze! All that 'main bechara' charm was just to reel me in?" 

He shrugged, "it worked, didn't it? See? You're putty in my hands." 

"You"-!" 

"Luchha, lafanga, ku*tta"-?"

She rushed to put her hand on his mouth. Both blushed. She jerked her hand back as if burned and clenched it. A plesant and comfortable silence stretched between them.

Nikhat hugged herself. "What a first day at work!" she quipped. 

"Just imagine what your first day back at school will be like." 

"Really interesting, if I had you for my professor. And I'm such a good student too!" 

She gasped, unable to believe that she had actually said something like that. Where had THAT come from? Her hands flew to muzzle her mouth. Good god, what was happening to her? Who was she?

"Miss Nikhat Khan, I do believe you're flirting with me! Besides, it's against policy for professors to date their students, even the best ones. You'd get me fired. Then we'd have to make do on your salary alone!" He fastened his helmet and roared off. 

Rashid watched from four floors above. Is that why she had said no to Feorze because she liked someone else? He had told the guard to buzz him when they came back after Mala came to tell him that Nikhat Ma'am had gone out for coffee with someone. He had pressed her for more details, but that's all she knew. He nearly called down to order the guard to note down the bike's license plate number. But no. He trusted Nikhat. And having the guard snoop around would just make the staff talk and speculate among themselves.

He couldn't see the boy from up here, but he saw her body language. She looked happy and confident. Her shoulders were thrown back and her head was held high. She actually touched him and laughed with abandon. He had rarely seen Nikhat laugh like that. He saw him slap her hand in a breezy low-five, and then her hand lifted to his mouth! His Nikhat? So free and at such ease with a young man? Rashid continued to watch as the young man rode away and Nikhat's eyes followed him. She crossed the lot and entered their office building, a spring in her step.

Rashid was happy for his daughter. But he was worried too. How long had she known this man? Why didn't she tell them? Was he a Hindu or Christian boy? Would that matter? Yes, and no. 

She had kept track of his meetings by chatting up Prasad. At around 2 o'clock Zoya called Prasad again. 

"I'm sending a gift for Mr. Khan. Let the delivery boy through the side entrance. 

Someone knocked. When Asad looked up from his laptop, he saw the tallest and widest flower arrangement he'd seen in his life.  The fragrance of tuberoses filled the room. Grinning broadly, he rose to supervise its accurate placement on the coffee table. He grabbed the small card while retrieving his wallet to generously tip the delivery boy. 

His hand arrested in mid-air as he read the words. His favorite, Rumi. 

"When I am with you, we stay up all night.

When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.

Praise God for those two insomnias!

And the difference between them." 

From the corner of his eye he saw the delivery boy turn to leave. "Wait, please. Here's ..." 

He looked at the baseball cap, the slight back in the loose shirt, the skinny jeans. Hmm, why did the delivery person have the cutest butt? Just like his wife's. 

He quietly snuck up behind her and pinched her butt. 

"Mr. Khan!" she squealed turning around. "How did you know? I hope you don't go around pinching random delivery walas' butts!" 

"I can recognize you in any disguise, any where, that's how," Asad flipped the cap off and watched, mesmerized, as her hair tumbled down. "Besides, isn't that my shirt?"

"So it was the shirt you recognized, not your wife!"

"Why the flowers?" he asked tucking her hair behind an ear.

"Just like that! I was missing you. Najma's gone to her sasural. Ammi and Aapi went shopping. Humaira's disappeared somewhere too." 

He pulled her in for a hug and kiss and led her to cuddle on the couch.  

"How did Ayaan's presentation go?" 

"Pretty good. He's a natural at this. I have to slog hours getting the littlest details right, and he just breezes in, oozes charm and confidence. Within minutes, he has them eating out of his hand." Asad proudly recapped for her. 

"Humaira was so nervous." Zoya mused. She planted a kiss on his cheek and rose to go. "I know you're busy, I'll see you at home in the evening." 

He pulled her back to land her in his lap, "don't go." 

"But you have a meeting at 4!" she complained, snuggling in deeper. 

"How would you know?" 

"I've been keeping tabs on you."

"Prasad?" 

"Shhh," she smoothed his brow, "a detective or reporter never gives up her sources." 

"You're bored right?" 

"Totally! How long can I help Ammi and Aapi, chat with Humaira and Najma, catch up with my blogging, and read?" 

"Join work here." 

"Really?" 

"Sure!"

"No. No one will take me seriously since I'll be the bossni, and you won't get any work done!" 

"Bossni?" 

"Boss' boss!" 

He chuckled and stroked her cheek. "Then work from home. Get involved with or supervise the work that's about to start at the children's center." 

Even before they got married, they had talked about showing their gratitude for finding each other by doing something good, some kind of public service or community outreach or enrichment program. Asad had talked to Jeeju to find out the name and whereabouts of the orphanage where they had found Zoya. And since then they had committed to building an extension to the existing structure which would house additional classrooms, a computer lab and sports facilities. The ground-breaking ceremony would be in a few weeks.

Her eyes sparkled. "Yes! We can do a fundraiser to raise more money for equipment."

"Sounds good. Talk to Prasad and get started." His desk phone rang. 

Zoya let herself out quietly after a quick peck on his cheek. He had pulled her to him letting his palm linger and rub her stomach gently. Every morning he still chanted Allah's name ninety-nines times, hand possessive and protective over her belly. They would talk softly to, and through the baby after this ritual: tell Ammi this, watch Abbu do that ... 

Still talking over the phone, he took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips. 

"Yes, I'll see you there," he told whoever was at the other end, and then bit down on her thumb pad. 

She hissed. 

As she got into the car, her phone pinged. A new message. She looked at the screen and pumped her fist in the air, "Yay! Good job Zoya!" 

"We're going out for lunch tomorrow," reported her latest matchmaking client. 

Song in title:

Veer (2010): "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"

Chapter 81

Asad had an idea but he needed her music box for it. And he had searched everywhere in the room. He had been systematic and thorough in his search: starting from the top to the bottom, clockwise from the door. Meticulously, he had worked his way around the room.

No luck. 

Incredibly foolish!

Absently he looked at her bedside table and smiled. Zoya had insisted on hijacking and displaying the jar of marbles from his treasures of the past. When they talked in bed, her hand would often lift to caress the glass, or rattle the marbles playfully next to her stomach. Her fingers would tap on the glass or the metal lid, beating some improvised rhythm. Next to the jar sat a fine bone china bowl and in it nestled the scruffed up cricket ball from his high school days. Some lazy, langorous nights, he would show her how to hold it just right: the correct placement of the fingers and thumb, how with a deft flick of the wrist, you could make it spin to rattle the opposing batsman.

"When can I watch you play?" she'd begged countless times. 

Treasures of the past ...

Asad's eyes widened. 

Of course. He should've thought of it sooner.

He dashed to the storeroom to retrieve the beat-up cardboard box with his childhood toys and collectibles that she had insisted they pour over, and root through, not long ago. There, on top of the hardbound books sat her music box. Her fatherless past and his, jostled and bumped together offering mute, but mutual comfort and companionship.

He lifted it out carefully.

Raziya thought long and hard about Humaira's ultimatum. She had seen the fire of angry determination on Humaira's face. 

And it scared her. 

"I want to protect you and Abbu ..." She'd said earlier, before the furious stipulation. 

My baby! So strong and so loving ... 

I did this. My daughter will cut me out of her life because ... 

Wouldn't that be better though? She wouldn't have to find out the ugly truth ...

Tell her the half-truth may be?

The same tired thoughts keep battering her conscience and mind. The endless self-negotiations had shredded her soul by now. She had no energy to carry on. The only reason she did anything now was to ensure her daughter's safety from a madwoman. 

A madwoman that she had unleashed upon the two families. 

Listlessly, she would hang out at the doctor's office, morning to evening, on most days. Once, in snooping through Tanveer's things, she had found doctor's reports and noted the address. She hoped that Tanveer would put in an appearance here one day, and finally they'd know her whereabouts. 

Even she knew that Tanveer wouldn't just disappear. She was here, for sure, lurking around, biding her time, ready to strike like the poisonous viper that she was. 

But it was a long shot. 

A smart woman like Tanveer could just as easily have changed doctors.

Raziya sat in the waiting room, stifling in a burqa, face covered, only weary eyes showing. She looked up in surprise at the young, slender woman who had just walked up to the front desk. Jeans peeked from under the burqa edge. She lifted her veil, and Raziya gasped. 

Zoya? Here?

"Hi, I'm new to the city, and my friend recommended Dr. Jain."

She went to sit down to fill up the paperwork that the receptionist handed to her. Raziya watched, puzzled and intrigued. 

That was Tanveer's doctor. Was Zoya here for the same reason as her?

My god! Zoya shouldn't have come here on her own. What if that witch is lurking around? Raziya twisted her head around to scan the faces of the people in the waiting room. 

Some women, some with husbands or relatives. 

No Tanveer. 

She breathed a sigh of relief.

She was sure that no one at home knew that Zoya was here. The child had a mind of her own and was fiercely protective of those she loved. Humaira and the girls had told her long ago of this girl's exploits, the maniacal lengths that she went to for justice and family security.

Then, she had waved this hero-worship aside, only worried at the growing closeness between the two families. Then, she had worked tirelessly to get rid of this girl, eager to sabotage any budding warmth between the two families.

Now ... 

She pretended to pick up a magazine from a side table and went to sit next to Zoya. Surreptitiously she peeked at the information she was filling out. 

Raziya nearly moaned aloud.

In the box for the patient's name, Zoya had filled out: Zainab Siddiqui. 

Ya Allah! Her mother and father's names. She watched as Zoya's fingers traced over the names.

Raziya's eyes prickled unexpectedly. The magazine slipped and fell with a thud from her slackened grip. 

Zoya bent to pick it up for her. 

"Shukriya," she said in a strangled voice. 

Zoya returned the forms to the front desk and came back to sit down in the same seat. Her hands gripped each other tightly. A leg bounced nervously.

Soon, the nurse called out, "Zainab Siddiqui!"

Again, and then again.

Raziya looked at Zoya in surprise. Why wasn't she moving? She watched in alarm as Zoya fled outside with a strangled cry. Curious and concerned, she followed her out into the lobby.

Zoya was leaning against a pillar, distraught and nearly in tears. She stumbled blindly, and would have fallen down the stairs. Raziya quickly grabbed her elbow. 

"Beta, are you all right? I saw you run out of the doctor's office."

"Jee, shukriya." Zoya looked up gratefully at the burqa-clad woman. Her voice sounded kind and eyes seemed ...

She didn't know what had made her come here. 

So dumb! Asad would be livid. That's one of the reasons she couldn't go through with it. 

She had decided to pretend that Tanveer was the friend who had recommended Dr. Jain. 

That would be her cover.

As the doctor examined her, she would casually ask: "I talked to her last week and she told me about you, and gave me your number. But since then, her phone's been switched off and no one's home. I'm worried, especially since she seemed upset about the baby's health. I'm so scared for her. Would you know anything, or have any contact information for her?"

But she lost her nerve as soon as she wrote down Ammi's name on the form. Doubt and fear plagued her: what if the doctor refused to tell her anything? What if Tanveer did come to meet the doctor later, and Dr. Jain told her about her friend, Zainab Siddiqui? Tanveer was sharp; she'd immediately guess who that was. That would make her even more cautious ... and dangerous. Zoya's palm had cradled her tummy instinctively.

Besides, even if she did find out anything, she'd have to tell Asad or Rakesh. And then Asad would go ballistic and really handcuff her for eternity. 

She shouldn't have come.

But she needed to find Tanveer, to expose her to Abbu so that ...

"I shouldn't have come ..." she whispered. "My husband will kill me." 

"Kyun beta? Does he hurt you? Do you need protection?" 

Raziya just kept asking random questions. 

God knows why. 

She knew that Asad would never hurt her. He would kill anyone who hurt her. Like herself. 

She had seen his rage at the clinic that day when Zoya had donated blood to Humaira.

"No! He would never"-" Zoya's voice rose and her hand flew to her stomach.

Raziya's arm reached out reflexively, and she held Zoya's hand. "Come, sit down for a bit. Let me get you some water."

"No thank you Aunty, I'm fine. Aap bahut acchi hain."

Raziya's heart thumped with guilt and remorse. "You look upset. Can I drop you somewhere?"

Zoya looked at the woman's kind eyes. She had asked the driver to wait for her outside Badi Masjid. Inside, she had donned her burqa and caught an auto-rickshaw to this address. She did need a ride back to Badi Masjid. 

"That would be great! Can you drop me off at the Badi Masjid? My car is there." She didn't know why she blurted out that last part.

"You didn't want anyone to know you were coming here." Raziya asked in the car. "Is everything OK?" 

Zoya ducked her head. Yes, she didn't want anyone to know. "Jee, I was wrong. I should have told my husband. He would have come with me."

May be, she could get Asad to come with her. They could pretend to be new to the city, just transferred, looking for a new doctor ... her mind ran a mile a minute. 

"I'll drop you off and then I have to go to the Yateemkhana on Masjid Road." Raziya nearly choked. Now why had she included that bit of information? Her tongue was no longer under her control. It flapped and wagged incriminating and indicting her more and more. 

"Really? I go there all the time too! We are building an extension there. It'll have my Ammi's name." Zoya nattered on excitedly about the project, their plans for it, the fundraiser ...

Impulsively, she reached out her hand to put it on Raziya's knee. "Aunty, you have to give me your number. I'll call you to let you know about the ground-breaking ceremony that'll be in a few days. Here, just add your phone to my contacts."

Raziya was dazed but did so as if on auto-pilot.

"Allah miyan, what's wrong with me! I didn't even ask your name." 

"Ra"- Raqiba."

"Oh, what a nice name. It means watcher' doesn't it or 'follower'? Does it have two e's or an i'? I'm Zoya, by the way." 

"Umm two e's," Raziya wasn't too sure herself. 

Zoya's thumbs worked furiously to add Raqeeba Aunty's name to her contact list. 

She thanked her new friend profusely as she covered her face again and got off the car. "Bye Aunty, thank you so much for talking to me and giving me a ride." 

Raziya gripped her hand and felt compelled to warn her, "beta, be careful. If you ever need help ..." 

Raziya watched her cross the street and get into a car which pulled out and drove away. She wiped her eyes and was about to ask the driver to turn around when she saw another car pull away from the curb and follow Zoya's car. 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. 

She urged the driver to follow the car and get close to it.

"Aur tez chalao!" she ordered him desperately.

She tried her best to peer into the other car. In the backseat sat a woman in a burqa anxiously pointing in the direction of Zoya's car. 

It must be Tanveer. It had to be.

Raziya's heart beat faster. She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the car's license plate number. Then she called Rakesh, but could only reach his secretary. 

"I see a car following Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan's car. Is it one of your people? No? Let Rakesh know immediately. There's a woman in a burqa in it. I think it's Tanveer. I'm sending you a picture of the license plate number." 

Idiot! Why weren't Rakesh's people having Zoya followed knowing that Tanveer would show up eventually? Just having a bodyguard in the car obviously wasn't enough! Especially when Zoya was so good at evading any restraints against her independence. 

Zoya went straight home. Tanveer's car stopped at the end of the street. So did Raziya's, just a little behind. She watched as Tanveer's car waited for about fifteen minutes and turned around. She ordered her driver to continue following the car. It stopped in front of a mid-level unobstrusive guesthouse not too far from the Khans'. 

Was this where she was holed up? 

She watched the woman disembark and go through the gates. She walked slowly, favoring her back. There did seem to be a slight baby bump. It had to be her. She dialed Rakesh's number again. Same secretary. 

Useless! 

Should she call Asad? 

No, he scared her. The cold fury and contempt in his voice made her shrivel inside herself. 

Impatient with her thoughts, she decided to check out things for herself. She walked up to the main desk and sniffed loudly.

The manager looked up. "Can I help you madam?"

Raziya started to cry. 

"Ma'am?" he panicked. 

"Please, I need your help. My daughter ..." She wailed loudly for effect. 

The manager looked stricken. 

"That girl who just came through. She's my daughter. She's run away from home and her father's in the hospital. I need to know which room she's in."

"I'm sorry ma'am, we can't give out that information." 

Raziya slid two thousand rupee notes toward him, "please, have pity on a poor mother ..." She bawled louder. 

"But ma'am ..."

"I understand that you are not like that. Don't tell me, just let me take a peek at your register." She slid another couple of thousand rupee notes toward him.

He palmed the money, pushed the register toward her, and stepped away from the desk to tinker around in the cubby-holes behind him.

She eagerly looked over it and flipped the pages over to the day that Tanveer had left their house. She ran her finger down the names not seeing hers. But one name made her gasp: Zoya Siddiqui. 

That evil tramp!

She texted Asad the address and room number, and finally, with shaking fingers, the alias Tanveer was using. 

Rashid had decided against telling anyone about what he knew. But he fretted over the decision. Should he tell Asad? Ayaan? 

No. 

His sons might actually go and beat the man to a pulp.

Talk to Nikhat may be? 

Zoya! 

"Beta, I have a favor to ask of you." He called her from his office. 

"Jee Abbu, anytime! Boliye."

"It's about Nikhat ... It's really delicate ..." 

Zoya frowned, "what happened Abbu? Is everything OK?" Oh my god! 

"Yes, everything's OK. But I saw Nikhat with this boy. I don't know who he is, and I'm a little concerned. Can you talk to her and poke around to find out more about him?"

"Ahh, sure Abbu, don't worry. I'll take care of everything." She giggled as she hung up. Damn, she'd better warn Feroze. They had decided to not tell Nikhat about her knowing anything about them as yet. 

She had teased Feroze mercilessly though, and christened them FerNi"a combination of both their names as the media was wont to do with TV and film celebs.

"FerNi pak rahi hai?" she'd ribbed him earlier.

"Dude," he'd said, grinning and rolling his eyes.

"Abbu saw FerNi cooking," she texted him now. "I've been retained to investigate and report on his daughter's secret admirer." 

When Feroze saw the text he didn't know whether to laugh or hide.

"What?" Nikhat asked him. 

"Later. What do you recommend here?"

"I have no idea. I've never been here before. Do you feel like Indian? Do you like Indian food?"

"Love it. And Indian food in India is the best!" 

She beamed. 

"We have many Indian places to eat there, but it's not the same."

Nikhat couldn't resist asking after they'd placed their order. "By the way, how did you know where to find me yesterday?" 

"I have friends in high places. Some day I'll introduce you to that friend." came the simple reply. 

When the food arrived he chuckled. 

"What?" she asked defensively. So weird. She felt the need to defend everything Indian all of a sudden. 

"I can never get over this. Why are the servings so small?"

Nikhat narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm just saying. In the US, the portion sizes are huge. Even in Indian restaurants."

"May be that's why Americans are huge too?"

He laughed out loud.

"Touche! I can see why Omar's so fond of you."

Nikhat glowed. Resting her face in her hand and her elbow on the table she sighed, "tell me everything about you and Omar and ..."

Feroze looked at his watch and quirked an eyebrow, "everything? I'll give you a trailer. We'll have to meet again for the film."

She blushed.

"Lunch tomorrow?" he asked.

"At this rate, I'm going to put on a lot of weight."

"Great! Then you'll be American!"

"Feroze!" her laugh and mock-outrage pealed in the room and she covered her mouth self-consciously. She'd never laughed this loud before.

"Besides," he teased. "Aren't you all going to be learning Taekwondo? That's good exercise."

"We start tomorrow. The girls already hate me because they have to get up early in the morning just so I can get to work on time."

"So let them do it later in the day. I can teach you by myself," he offered, his gaze holding hers in an open challenge.

Her breath caught and lashes lowered. She nearly accused him of flirting, but couldn't. She imagined him teaching her, just her. And the blush on her cheek deepened.

"Nikhat?"

"I would love that," she whispered. "But I don't want anyone to know about us as yet."

His jaw tightened. "You're ashamed of me? Or are you just experimenting having a secret boyfriend?"

"Feroze, no!" She rushed to cover his hand with hers and blushed again when he looked up at her.

"I could never be ashamed of you! And would it be so bad if we keep it a secret? I ... I just want it to be us right now. I don't want the families going crazy with preparations and shopping and ... all that. Please?"

She started to remove her hand from his but Feroze moved his own to cover hers.

"Fine. So girlfriend and boyfriend for a few days?"

"Yes, please," she whispered, guilty yet jubilant. He squeezed her hand.

Feroze rubbed his face with the other hand. "I want to take you out for dinner, a movie. Dancing."

"I love dancing!" she moaned.

"I don't, but I'd like to see you dance."

Her eyes gleamed.

"What?" he asked warily.

"I've always wanted to take salsa classes but was too shy to partner up with anyone. There's a place close by which has evening classes," her eyes pleaded hopefully.

Feroze slapped some money on the table and rose to offer her his arm, "Senorita Khan, let's get us signed up for some salsa classes!"

"Asad, we should have a friendly cricket match with Omar's family!" Zoya proposed a few nights later. 

Now why hadn't she thought of this earlier? It would be such fun! The perfect excuse to get the families and extended families together.

She squealed, already in love with the idea. "Us vs. them!" But her face became serious just as suddenly, "but whose side will Tamatar be on? She'll be so torn."

"Not a good idea." Asad countered, coming out of the restroom after brushing his teeth, towel still in hand.

She pouted, and he held up his hand to appease her, "the Nikhat thing is still fresh." 

Zoya's eyes twinkled and she couldn't resist giggling. 

She gulped. 

Dude, shut up! Do NOT give this up, she scolded herself.But Mr. Khan was a keen observer and a trained expert in reading his wife's facial expressions by now.

Asad stilled, hand arrested in wiping his face. He looked at her closely. She thought of herself as Sherlock, and him as Watson, but once in a while he turned the tables on her just to keep her on her toes.

"Zoya? You've got something to tell me, hmmm?"

"No!" But her guilty expression was a dead giveaway.

"What aren't you telling me?" He paused to think back to what he had said last.

"It's something to do with Nikhat isn't it?"

"What you don't know, won't hurt you!"

"Zoya!"

"Allah Miyan, stop shouting Mr. Khan! You'll scare the baby."

"You said so yourself, the baby's smaller than a gnat, so that blackmail won't work on me."

Damn! She'd trained the man too well.

"And, stop distracting me. Is she seeing someone and that's why she said no?" He knew he'd struck gold when he heard her gulp.

"Who is he?" he towered over and glowered at her.

"Really Mr. Khan, has that tone or that look EVER worked on me? Besides, he's a good guy, in love with her and she's in love with him. That's all that matters."

"In love? But why hasn't she told us? Is it because he's Hindu? Or Christian?"

"Would that be such a big deal?"

"Not between them, or for us. But with the families it could get tricky."

"OK, before you start going crazy, no, he's neither."

"So he's Sikh?"

She rolled her eyes, on much safer ground now. "What if he's Jewish?" she teased.

"Oh. My. God. Where did she find a Jew in Bhopal?"

"Why? Aren't there many Jews in India?"

"Not too many."

"Whoa! I'm from New York. I have many Jewish friends. I taught them gaalis in Hindi and they taught me bad words in Yiddish! And besides, wouldn't a nice Jewish boy be far better than a Hindu, Christian or Sikh boy?"

"Why?"

"Well, he'd be circumcised for starters!"

"ZOYA!"

She rolled on the bed and laughed till tears ran down her cheeks.

"Mr. Khan! He's Muslim, all right?"

"Then why all this secrecy? Oh my goodness, he's married! I'll kill him!" He staggered to sit down heavily on the bed.

"No! Stop it!" She rose to hug him from the back. "He's not married! Asad, it's her secret to tell, not mine. May be, for the moment, she wants to keep it to herself. She just took this big decision, and probably feels embarrassed that she's back to square one."

She kissed his cheek, "remember, we didn't want anyone to know about us in the beginning. The longing looks and stolen kisses had their own sizzle factor. Chill, and stop being Dracula Ahmed Khan."

"You're sure he's a good guy? He'll be good for her? You've met him?"

"Umm hmm. He's perfect! Trust me," Zoya glided into his arms to seal her reassurance with a kiss.

"Can't you at least give me a hint?" Asad coaxed.

She studiously looked at her fingernails.

"Zoya?" he breathed in her ear, nuzzling her neck and trailing his hands over her.

"Mr. Khan! Stop trying to seduce it out of me!" But she involuntarily lifted her hair to allow him more nibbling access.

"So I will be able to seduce it out of you?" He nipped the throbbing pulse at her throat. Asad slid his thumbs under the straps of her silk negligee and slowly stroked her back. Expertly tugging them off her shoulder, he dipped his head and nibbled some more.

"If you promise me the cricket match," she gasped, arching.

"Done!" He trapped her flailing arms and held her wrists behind her back.

"And a 3-alarm orgas"-" he swallowed her blackmail and set about to work hard for his bounty.

"How about a midnight family picnic to watch the meteor shower tomorrow?" Asad offered, after the raging fires had been banked and breaths returned to normal.

"Really?" Zoya squealed in glee and rose to lie across his bare chest. 

She flicked her tongue over his nipple; he jerked and she giggled with satisfaction. Across his chest, her charged fingers traced familiar patterns, initials and words in her favorite afterplay ritual. Sometimes she would make him guess the erotic calligraphy on her own personal canvas. Lately, he would do the same on her still-flat stomach.

"Not cursive!" she would moan. "I can't understand anything. Use all caps, please." 

"Shh, it's between Abbu and his baby. I'm writing a secret letter." 

"Meteor shower! What a great idea!" Zoya still couldn't believe it. How did"-? 

"Just for that, Jahanpanah, not only will I tell you about Nikhat's mystery man, but you could get very, very lucky, very soon." 

Her fingers skittered over and drummed his six packs. "Well, as soon as you're ready to get lucky!" 

Asad flipped her on her back and pinned her under him, "tell me now. By then I should be very ready!" 

"No, first things first. How did you think of a meteor shower picnic? You do remember our last meteor shower, right?" 

He groaned and rolled away on his back. 

"Yeah, you better cover your face, Mr. Akdu Ahmed Khan! You were a total beast that day! Chalta phirta Tehzeeb ka doctor and tameez ki dukaan!"

He grinned.

"You reserved all that rude Akduness just for me, right? I hope you never behaved that way with any other woman!"

"And you better not have sassed any other man that way! You really pressed my buttons. Wouldn't back down one bit! We were even. You couldn't shut up and let me be. You had to give me a piece of your fine mind!"

"You deserved it!" 

"We both got what we deserved and wished for each other," Asad said softly as his fingers fanned out on her stomach. "And believe me, if I hadn't been so furious I'd have just ended up taking you in my arms and doing this!" 

He settled between her legs. Oh yes, he was ready now.

"You did take me in your arms then, remember?"

Asad nuzzled her nose with his, "you tripped, as usual! That counts?"

Her voice broke, "every look, every touch counts. And that night each shooting star conspired to bring us closer."

"So sentimental Mrs. Khan? Where's my spitfire hell-raiser who made my blood steam even then?"

Zoya wiped the corner of her eye, "gee thanks, Mr. Khan! All that fiery temper, character assassination and flaring nostrils was meant to be foreplay?"

"Babe, if you have to ask, then I haven't shown you what foreplay is! Your lesson starts now." he deftly silenced all sass and post-fight analysis.

Class was now in session. 

With his fingers and mouth on her skin, he defined and illustrated the term in slow, painstaking detail. He demanded complete attention, punishing insubordination and any challenge to his authority.

"There will be a test," Mr. Khan instructed gruffly while exploring the back of her knee with his tongue. 

He shushed all hisses and moans, "and it'll be 90% of the final grade."

"And the other 10%?" she breathed, eyes closed, body thrashing in reaction to the liquid fire ascending up her thigh. 

He pulled her on top of him.

"Shh! No questions! The other 50% will be based on how many syllables you add to my name as you scream it ..." His fingers kneaded her molten flesh and his mouth rewarded her with twin bonus points for excellence in riding and arching.

" ... and 60% for the perfect arc of your back as I do this ..." His thumb traced each bump of her spine, and she convulsed, suctioning him. 

"Aaasaaaddd!"

"Good girl! A+!" he pronounced through gritted teeth and heart pounding in his ears; she graduated the class with full honors.

But in the cresting heat of the moment, the master had completely forgotten that the student still hadn't told him what he'd started, so diligently, to find out. 

Mission not accomplished. 

The crafty student, even under the threat of detention and failing the class, hadn't snitched yet on the secret admirer's identity. 

He'd just been Watsoned. 

"I'll have to make my own ghee?" shrieked Najma. Dilshad and Zeenat laughed.

"Not if you don't want to," Zeenat pacified her. "You get everything in the stores these days. Spices vagairah to ab mainstream grocery stores mein available hain. But home-made is still home-made. A lot of us still make our own ghee, white butter, cream, papad and masalas or achaars at home. It's just fresher, and you can't the trust the packaged and frozen stuff anyways."

"Yeah, Najma you should see Aapi's friends. They are the best cooks! Some are Gujaratis, Punjabis, South Indians, Maharashtrians. She has a big Indian circle of girlfriends and they have a blast!" 

Zoya chimed in from the dining table where she sat chopping mounds of veggies for undhyun. She was craving it all of a sudden, and had begged Aapi to make it and treat the others to it as well. Aapi made the best undhyun; she had learned it from her Gujju friend back home.

She continued filling in Najma and Humaira who helped her. "They used to go for Hindi movies and girls' nights out, and Jeeju and I would order pizzas and watch old cricket matches. Not fair, haan Aapi! She even went on a cruise with her friends, humko akela chhod ke!"

"Theek hi to hai, beta," Dilshad spoke gently. She too had a tight-knit, but small circle of friends who had supported her in tough times, sharing laughter and tears, trading recipes, and pick-up and drop-off duties of kids from school or tuitions.

"Friends can be such lifesavers. They make you laugh and forget all gharelu responsibilities. Hai na Zeenat?"

"I know," agreed Zeenat as she held Dilshad's hand. "We had a younger friend who had recently married and come to the US. At our get-togethers she'd say: main yahan aati hoon to lagta hai ki apne maayake aa gayi!' Friends are such fun!"

"But Aapi, I won't know anyone there," Najma pouted. "Omar will be at work, main sara din kya karungi?"

"Look beta, when we first went to the US, we were both new to the place. But Omar has lived there all his life. He has friends, cousins and a whole set up that he'll introduce you to. No worries."

Najma twisted her hands nervously, "par Aapi, he'll have American friends and I'll feel so out of place."

"Don't worry," Aapi assured her. "There are so many Indians in the US now. Ek patthar phenko, Indian ko lagega. Especially in the Bay area where you'll be."

Zoya wiped her hands on the apron and went to hug Najma.

Kissing the top of her head, she said, "Tamatar! When I came here from the US, I knew no one. But I found the most wonderful people didn't I? American ho ya Indian, you'll find wonderful people, no matter where you go. And you're going to California"they are waaay more friendly over there. New Yorkers can't be bothered being friendly!" she and Aapi high-fived.

"I'm kidding! But New Yorkers are stereotyped as rude. Bechari Ni---"

She coughed to cover up. She better shut up. Asad had already wrangled Feroze's name from her breathless lips early this morning by withholding gratification. She thought he'd forgotten. But no, Jahanpanahs had great memories ... and great skills at making her forget in the throes of ecstasy ...

"Bechari who?" Najma asked. 

"My friend Nikki. She's moving to New York from Bho"- Boston! No, but I love New York, you guys. Najma you have to go there. It's one of my favorite cities!"

"Haan, haan, of course she'll come to New York," Aapi said. "Niagara Falls nahin dekhna hai kya?"

"Unless Omar is like Jeeju!" Aapi and Zoya laughed, and everyone looked at them quizzically.

"Dilshad Aapa, the country is so big, it takes six hours to get from one end to the other on a non-stop flight, and I'm not even including Hawaii."

Zoya took up the narrative, "we would beg Jeeju to take us to the Grand Canyon which is more west. And kanjoos Jeeju would say: people in eastern US go to Niagara Falls, for those on the West, there's Grand Canyon. Dono dekhne ki koi zaroorat nahin hai!" 

"Have you been to Hawaii?" Humaira asked wistfully.

Again, the Americans laughed. 

"Humaira, jab aapke Jeeju Grand Canyon nahin le ke gaye, to Hawaii to bahut door ki baat hai beta!"

Everyone laughed. 

"Humaira ke Jeeju le ke jayenge!" Zoya boasted, clapping her hands. 

Everyone cheered. But her face fell. They thought she meant Omar, but she had meant Asad ... 

Song in Title:

Saathiya (2010) "Saathiya"

Chapter 82

"Zoyajaan, who's this Nikki from Boston that I don't know?"

"Aapi!" Zoya groaned. 

She was already drowsy from a full stomach and Aapi massaging oil in hair, and now this interrogation.

Me and my stupid mouth, she thought. 

"You don't know her Aapi, she's a facebook friend. It's so cute. She just started going out with this guy"-" 

"And you must've played match-maker as usual? Sudhar jao! Now you give online dakhal in people's lives too!"

"Aapi, that's so mean!" 

"Take care of yourself beta, and your baby. Eat healthy, sleep well." She tugged her hair playfully as she worked the oil into her roots. After so many days she had got her hands on Zoya and finally convinced her to say yes to some deep conditioning. 

"Ow!" 

"But Aapi, this is Zoya's true calling!" Najma butted in shyly. "In fact, I think she should start a business where she can make some serious money from getting people together." 

Zeenat and Dilshad laughed. 

"No!" Zoya corrected her. "If you make money from it then it's not worth it. What if people I brought together broke up? They'll ask me for a refund!" 

"Aur refund kahan se dogi, when you'll have spent all the money on movies, diet coke and pizza!" Zeenat teased.

"True," Najma mused. "But I wish you could do something for Nikhat and Feroze bhai. It would have been such fun if that rishta had materialized." 

Zeenat watched Zoya duck her head. She pinched her shoulder and they grinned at each other unashamedly. Now she knew exactly what Zoya had been up to!

Dilshad watched them gratefully, despite the tinge of sadness. Zeenat would be leaving tomorrow and Zoya's tears were marshaled just at the brink. She glanced over at Najma who was pensive too, missing Omar even after hours of facetime and skype. Thank god, he had reached home safely! 

Dilshad's lips moved soundlessly, invoking a dua. 

"Chalo bhai," she shook everyone out of their moodiness. "Zeenat, Najma ko aur American tips nahin dene hain kya?" 

Zoya beamed in support of the wonderful idea, "aaj ka lesson: a freezer and ziploc bags are a girl's best friend!"

Najma groaned and Zoya snickered. "Main yahan raaj karungi and you'll have to be your own maid Tamatar," she teased Najma and stuck her tongue out at Aapi. 

"Tabhi husbands ko train karna padta hai. Indian men are very well-behaved and domesticated outside of India! Jeeju's biryani tastes way better than Aapi's! And he's in charge of loading and unloading the dishwasher every night."  

"If only I could get him to make rotis," muttered Zeenat.

"Haaw Aapi" Najma guffawed. 

She fantasized about the ups and downs of desi life in America. I'm not stepping in the kitchen the first week, she decided.

Nope, no way. 

His momentary joy at hearing about her whereabouts and safety was quickly dashed. Gaffoor Siddiqui couldn't understand why his daughter was being thus held and harassed by the police. She was in a delicate condition, had powerful connections and the best fleet of lawyers, then why? 

How could it possibly be? 

Soon, however, a grim portrait has started to emerge. His lawyers were bringing nasty reports of the crimes his daughter was being accused of. Multiple counts of attempted murder? And the accuser was none other than his former adversary and younger daughter's current benefactor.

The old man twitched in impotent confusion.

Why?

"Sir, Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan to see you." 

And the next instant his nemesis stood before him, a leather bag by his grim side. 

He blinked several times. "Leave us alone," he instructed his secretary and waved Asad toward the sofa.

Siddiqui's facial muscles were frozen in dismay. 

Why was he here? He wanted to confront and accuse him. But Humaira was still a guest in this man's home. Even that he couldn't fathom. She would tell him nothing about her decision to continue staying at that house. Raziya refused to say anything either.

One late afternoon, a few weeks ago, he had even gone to this man's house to bring his daughter home. But first, he'd made sure, that Asad was at work. This was unlike him, but it was necessary. It was not right that she stayed so long away from home, and so long away in a near stranger's home. In this man's home.

That afternoon, he had been ushered in nervously by this man's wife. He had sniffed in disapproval at her western clothing. But her eyes had lit up like a thousand lamps. She had stared at him for a long time with her hand to her heart and then turned her face away to quietly welcome him into her home. 

The abyss of hope in her luminous, beseeching eyes haunted him even today.

She had wanted to say something to him, of that he was sure. Her hand had almost lifted toward him but shrunk away at his stern frown. Her lips had quivered and she had pressed that hand to them instead. But then Humaira came up behind her, "Abbu, what are you doing here?" And she had just as quietly lowered her anguished gaze and melted away.

Humaira had told him simply and firmly that she needed more time.

On his reluctant way out, he had longed for a glimpse of the girl who carried a well of wretched hope and screaming yearning in her eyes.

But those eyes remained elusive.

Asad cleared his throat, and it brought Siddiqui to the tangled present. Why was this man gunning for his older daughter while harboring his younger one? He wanted to shout at him, rail at him, but he had no energy to spare. 

"I don't understand why ..." he felt powerless and frail. He wasn't up for any business or legal feud anymore.

He tried to speak again, "why are you blaming Tanveer for such terrible things? Why would she try to run your wife off the road? What kind of game are you playing?" Suddenly he couldn't stop talking. 

Asad's face was carved in granite.

Earlier he had refused to sit down with a shake of his head. Siddiqui stuttered to a stop. The questions meant as piercing accusations fell away feebly.

Asad set the bag on the table and began to slowly unpack its contents. 

Gaffoor Siddiqui stared. 

He watched breathlessly, helplessly even, as the articles multiplied on the coffee table: was that Humaira's music box? How did this man have it? Was he now going to use Humaira to exact some kind of revenge? He nearly snarled in anger, but stopped as he saw the other treasures.

They nagged at his memory and punctured his soul. 

He picked up the music box first. It was dull from use, its paint faded. As the music floated out, he examined the figure inside more closely; its dress was frayed and the dancer tilted just a little to side. This was not Humaira's. 

His heart beat faster. 

That jewelry box was so familiar and yet so alien. His hand jerked toward it. His fingers traced the paisley designs he'd carved into it a lifetime ago. They were uneven, amateurish, but Zainab had loved them. She had kissed his calloused hands and ... 

He forgot the questions brimming at his lips and eagerly opened the lid to gasp at the simple pair of earrings he had given her.

His first real gift to her.

He had taken her to an Indian jeweler because American jewelry was rarely made with anything more than 14 karat gold. It had been a long but beautiful drive. He'd bought her these from his first paycheck.

His eyes watered shamelessly.

Now his gaze fell on other excavated exhibits from his past. That saree too was his gift to Zainab when they had decided to get married. Ribbons of memories swirled before his eyes. 

Asad was forgotten.

His hands blindly reached for a small photo album and his heart wrenched at a faded picture of Zainab holding a baby girl. Hungrily he flipped through the other pictures of a little child, a little scr*ap of dimpled sunshine. Yes, that little girl from a lifetime ago had a dimple!

But Tanveer""

Raising leaking eyes to Asad's implacable face, Siddiqui begged for answers.

"How?" he croaked, beaten. "Where did you get these? What terrible game are you playing with me?" 

Asad still remained quiet. From a folder he removed a piece of paper which he handed to the old man. 

With trembling hands Siddiqui looked at a bad photocopy of an old photograph. That too was all too familiar. It was a group picture, decades old, with his face partially blurred out.

But how ...?

Tanveer had shown him its original. He had, in fact, presented her his own copy, fully intact, framed in silver. But when Tanveer had fled from home she hadn't taken that with her. 

Next, Asad handed him an American passport. Siddiqui flipped it open in a daze. It was the same face. Those eyes! The same eyes that had mutely pleaded with him that day. They shone in this thumb-size portrait. He glanced at the name and blanched. Zoya Farooqui?

Last, Asad gave him scanned copies of old passport pages.

Zainab Farooqui, the first one read, next to her picture on the left. Siddiqui's gnarled fingers lingered to trace the photograph. 

The last sheet was also from an old passport ... a child's photograph, the same child with the dimpled smile who had appeared at his doorstep, by her mother's side, eighteen years ago ...

... the same child he had bribed with a music box ... to cowardly bequeath a world of grief on her tiny shoulders.

Zoya Farooqui, it said.

Mother's name: Zainab Farooqui.

He staggered and fell heavily on the couch.

Asad began speaking.

"But Humaira"-!" 

"No, Ayaan, I have to go, for my peace of mind, if nothing else. I must know why she did what she did." 

"But I told you, whatever she did doesn't matter! I won't ever let it come between us, then why? Why won't you give this up?" 

"Because your family is my family. And I want to know why someone would want to hurt my family!"

Ayaan hugged her tight to him, not caring who saw them or the shrill wolf whistles and catcalls that erupted around them.

Scr*ew them.

He had come here to drop her off even though she had told him repeatedly that she'd be fine on her own. She was meeting her mother at the same place again.

Ayaan wasn't too happy about it. He feared her search for buried answers to their past would ruin what they had. If her mother had blackmailed his father, then his father must've done something blackmailable ...

And that scared him even more.

Things were going so right. Why fix it if it ain't broke, an inner voice jeered. 

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, "then let me at least wait for you to take you back to Bhaijaan's."

"Ayaan, if Ammi gives me the answers I'm looking for, I plan to go home with her. I'm worried about Abbu. And her too. She looks ill." And I want to tell them about Tanveer's sleazy past, she thought to herself.

Humaira held his hand, "I already talked to Phuphi and Zoya Bhabhi about it." 

"No! Are you serious? How'll we meet like we do everyday?"

She held his hand in hers, "I've told Ammi that I plan to come to Bhaijaan's house for the Taekwondo lessons, you can pick me up and we can meet that way." 

"But I want to see you everyday, not every other day! Meeting for dinner at Bhai's is such fun. C'mon, you cannot be serious!"

But he saw her jaw set firmly and sighed, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to shake her resolve. He backed her against the bike. Nearly losing her balance she gripped his jacket lapels with both hands.

"Fine! But let me at least take you out for dinner tonight," trapping her between his hands on either side, he nudged her forehead with his, "please!"

"Ayaan, stop! People are watching," She blushed, a hand loosened from his jacket to flutter on his chest.

"I don't care. Say yes, I'll come pick you up."

"Abbu might not let me go out at night." 

"Then sneak out!" He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I'll wait downstairs for you, under your window." He looked at her meaningfully, reminding her of the infinite intimate possibilities that a clandestine meeting could generate.

Her heart accelerated. "Ayaan!" 

"I mean it! We're engaged after all."

She looked at the unruly hair, the mutinous expression on his face, and her heart skipped a beat, "OK, OK, let's see how things go with Ammi and then I'll call you." 

She thought aloud wistfully, "may be, I can ask Abbu if I can go out with you around 6?" 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

She turned to him suddenly, "what if I join the dance classes that Nikhat goes to? Then you can drop me back home on those days too."

"Great! It's in the evening, and I can come pick you up straight from office. Do it!" 

Up in the food court, Raziya felt trapped. Her foot tapped impatiently. The sensation of needles and pins was back. But the ethical pins and needles that she walked on gave her the most discomfort. 

Her deadline was up. Humaira would be here soon. How could she possibly convince her to come home and yet keep her worst crimes a secret? The truth would kill her!

She saw Humaira walking toward her and her heart constricted. She looked carefree and confident. A small smile played on her lips.

Meri bachhi!

I'm so sorry. 

A desolate and inconsolable Siddiqui watched Asad pace his office as he told a fantastic story of a conniving houseguest sent on a diabolical errand by a wicked stepmother. This embedded spy stole the birthright of another guest who had come from a land far away ... 

... a young girl, bold and bright, marked by a fiery scar ... carting a secret mission and legacy: a cherished music box, a few letters and pictures lovingly saved in a hand-carved jewelry box. She had come from beyond the seven seas to a forgotten land of larcenous monsters. She had come armed with a fierce hope to be re-united with a lost father.

But those monsters hadn't forgotten her.

And even as she slayed and tamed dragons, in her heart she hid a terrible fear: she was unwanted, unloved by a father who had not come looking for her and may never accept her.

That thieving, hooded guest was banished from that house and the questing daughter was led to believe that the father she sought had died a long time ago. 

Only two conspirators knew that the real father was alive.

She, who had stolen the precious evidence, the bundle of letters and photos from the grieving daughter, next blackmailed her way to that forgetful father's doorstep, claiming to be his real child. That father had let mere pieces of old paper trump blood.

Siddiqui was aghast, insensible. "How ...? She told me ... but ..." 

He gesticulated wildly, "How did Tanveer even know about me?" 

"Ask your wife!"

"What? Raziya? That's impossible!"

"You can confirm it with Mrs. Siddiqui later. She knows that we know."

"She knows? Zoya? Zoya knows about me?" the condemned man asked, fearfully, hopefully.

Asad swallowed and took a deep breath, "... yes ..." 

"Since when?" 

"Since we got married." 

"But why didn't you tell me before?" He asked in frustrated, impotent fury. 

"Because Tanveer had already made her move by then." Asad's voice cracked for the first time, "and because Zoya didn't think that you'd believe her. Her strongest proof was gone, and ..." 

He swore under his breath. 

"And what? Tell me, please."

"She didn't want you to go through the humiliation of a paternity test," his son-in-law whispered brokenly. 

Tears were openly flowing down his face. "I begged her to, but she said that it was good enough for her to know that you would have accepted her ... and that Humaira was close to her." 

Questions, doubts, guilt and hope swirled in the old man's mind. So that's why this man had allowed Humaira in his home! Emotions and logic warred. But weakness and fear made disbelief stronger. 

"How did you know that Tanveer did this?"

Angrily, Asad swiped his face free of tears, "I was having her followed since she left our house. She pushed Zoya down the stairs, nearly killing her, and I knew she wasn't done wreaking havoc on my family!" 

"Pushed her? Unbelievable!" a still-uncertain Siddiqui muttered to himself. 

Asad felt pure rage surge through him. Unbelievable? You pathetic son of a bit*ch, you don't even know what else your daughter knows about you! He controlled himself and took deep breaths.

He needed to calm down or he'd smash something. His knuckles whitened on the bag's handle.

He had worked feverishly to accumulate this evidence over the last few days. He'd grabbed whatever articles Zoya held dear, just intuiting that somehow they may be significant as proof. He talked long to Anwar one night and got him to scan and email him the pages from the old passports.

Thank god Ammi had suggested that!

But now came the hard part.

He felt pity and scorn for this man snivelling in front of him. 

But he also needed this man. 

Zoya needed him, and he'd put away all rancor if having this man in their lives meant that Zoya wouldn't have nightmares when she slept, and tears in her eyes when she woke. 

Siddiqui was locked in his own world of despair and hope. That's why Zoya had looked at him that way at Asad's house?

My child!

"But Tanveer? How can ...?"

He fumbled in despair. It was easier to accept Tanveer as his daughter. At least she mirrored the dark heart of his past. But the weight of Zoya's 24-karat hope and mercy was too much to bear.

"Tanveer tried to have your daughters killed!" Asad snarled. He had one mind to rip this man in half.  

Siddiqui gasped. 

Patiently, and with barely repressed fury, Asad explained, "we have proof that she had Ayaan and Humaira followed from Indore and shot at. But then she disappeared after she arranged Zoya's accident. We have her on tape ordering the hit. Zoya could have died!"

Asad's anger knew no bounds now. His voice boomed in wrath, ricocheting off the glass and concrete to strafe Siddiqui's numbed soul. 

He raised an accusing finger to indict his father-in-law, "all these days you were harboring a snake in your house! And all these days she could only ask Humaira a million questions about you. What stories did your Abbu tell you when you were little? Did he teach you how to ride a bike? What did he do when you got hurt? What if you had a scary dream? Does he"-?' " 

Siddiqui shrunk away from him, covering his face. 

Asad stopped to catch his breath and swallow the growing lump in his throat. These eager questions about absent fathers were all too familiar. He too had wanted to ask Ayaan these questions when they were younger.

But he never did.

What was it like to have Abbu tell you stories at night, or to wake up from a scary dream and have him hug you in comfort?

Did Najma feel that way too? At least he had tried his best to watch over Najma. And thank god Zoya had Jeeju!

But that hollow felling on all those annual days at school ... parents' day ... sports day ...

Forever cursed ...

As much as he had steeled his heart, truth be told, he too had yearned just as much for a father's daily love ...

But Abbu had deliberately kept away. To protect them from harm threatened by this man and his wife.

He squeezed his eyes shut in revulsion and misery.

Asad brushed his hair off his pulsing forehead trying to calm himself. This wasn't the time for raking the embers from their past. If he dwelled more on it he'd walk out to never come back. And if Zoya could forgive his Abbu ...

He took another steadying breath.

They had silently pledged to each other: we'll be better parents. We won't let our fathers' pasts cast a shadow ...

He really didn't want to share the most perfect"" 

But the old man needed to know.

"She's ... she's pregnant and"-" 

"Yes, I know Tanveer's pregnant which is why I couldn't understand why you would go after her so aggressively." 

Somehow, he still couldn't wrap his mind around this explosive revelation. While his heart had exulted that Tanveer wasn't his blood, guilt and remorse delayed the heartbreaking truth from sinking in: Zoya was his daughter. 

"Zoya is pregnant! And we nearly lost the baby because of Tanveer!" Asad roared, livid, taking a step dangerously close. 

A forced deep breath, and he backed away before he could trust himself to speak again. 

"It's killing her not being able to call Humaira her sister, or knowing that her father's alive, and worrying about a viper who's pretending to be his daughter!"

Gaffoor Siddiqui crumpled to the floor, a shattered man today.

"You should've told me!" he accused Asad in a tattered whisper.

Asad's hands fisted and his jaw steeled. 

"She wouldn't let me! She doesn't even know I'm here. She didn't want me to tell you because, it would mean Humaira would find out what her mother and ... you did ... what you made my father do ... eighteen years ago in the gudia factory," he lashed out, blinded by tears.

"Ya Allah!" the old man clutched his heart and sobbed like a baby on his knees.

"What do you want from me? How can I possibly make any of this more bearable?" He begged, eons later. He had aged a decade in the past hour. 

Asad sighed, "meet her, hold her once, and let her call you Abbu." 

Fresh tears spilled down the old man's craggy cheeks. 

"And you, of all people, would be OK with her meeting me?"

Asad turned his back on the old man and stared out of the window. Seven floors below, a traffic jam snaked around the building's perimeter.

"Yes," he spoke harshly. "It's what she's wanted all her life. She still has nightmares about that terrible night. And now, with the baby ... She's trying to be happy for the baby, for me, but ..." 

He turned back to plead with his father-in-law. "Please, she needs you. I would give anything to keep her smiling." 

He had asked for two days before being united with his daughter.

And Asad had agreed.

Humaira would not know for now. They wouldn't wrench the veil off her mother's deeds as yet. 

Asad called from office one evening. Aapi had left for the US the day before, and he knew Zoya was missing her terribly. "Come over to my office and we'll go out for dinner and a long drive." 

Zoya grumbled. She didn't feel like dressing up. But a husky "please," from her husband, a few promises and wishlists later, and she happily relented.

She dressed with extra care wondering where he would take her. Zoya wore one of the many salwar kameezes she'd got as gifts but had never worn as yet. May be Mr. Khan could be persuaded to take her dancing, she hoped, as she fastened her earrings. How many days did she really have before she grew round and ungainly? 

Might as well live it up. Carpe Diem.

She spoke to her reflection: Issi baat par ek sher ho jaye! 

Kaal kare so aaj kar, aaj kare so ab

Aish kar le Mrs. Jahanpanah

Kal ban jayegi round as tub

Shukriya! Shukriya!

She slipped on dozens of bangles and jiggled them shaking her wrists. Spritzing on her favorite perfume, she twirled before the mirror.

Rubbing her stomach she crooned, "baby, Abbu's taking us out tonight! Would you like Thai today, or Italian? Ummm, garlic bread! Or green curry? Ras Malai? OK, Indian it is."

Lately she's begun to wonder at her cravings and appetite. The baby seemed to steer her more and more toward Indian foods these days. Humph! Mr. Khan's genes better not prove to be dominant. 

In the office, everyone had greeted her deferentially and she couldn't resist giggling.

So funny.

She'd never get over this part. What if she'd worn her mini-skirt? Then Asad would have to declare a holiday for tomorrow: a day-off with so many employees keeling to the floor and smashing their heads open! She nearly snorted. Behave Zoya! she scolded herself.

She had the insane urge to slow-wave like the Queen of England as she walked through the parting, bowing masses.

Being married to the Jahanpanah had its quirks and perks after all.

She saw Prasad pick up the phone and speak urgently into it.

Zoya suppressed another grin.

Had Omar been here, he'd have sniggered that the minion was informing his lord and master of the queen's arrival.

"He's probably saying, ba adab, baamulaiza, hoshiyar. Begum-e-Khaas, Mallika-e-Zoya tashrif la raheen hain!' " 

Prasad escorted her to her husband's office, offering a smorgasbord of beverages and delicacies on the way; Zoya struggled to keep a straight face as she gently refused the offerings. A cheeky smile lit up her face as she saw Asad step out and close the door behind him. He waited for a bowing and scr*aping Prasad to leave before taking her hand in his and kissing it. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear he asked, "you OK?" 

"Umm hmm. Why wouldn't I be? I got a royal escort and parade. The only thing missing was being showered with flowers and a 21-gun salute. May be next time?" 

Stroking her cheek Asad hugged her fiercely.

"And my Jahanpanah six packs is taking me out. What else could a girl ask for?"

"I love you," he whispered. 

She framed his face in her hands. His somber expression made her eyes widen.

"Asad? Are you OK?" 

"Everything will be OK." He promised with a deep kiss. "Come, I have someone I want you to meet," he said tenderly as he opened the door ushering her inside.

Zoya stepped inside and froze.

Her breath stopped and she would have fallen to her knees, but Asad's hands held her shoulders. Their warmth and strength kept her upright.

Abbu! Here? 

She didn't know what to do with her hands. She bowed her head instinctively to greet him formally, but words failed her. She was an infant again, lacking any verbal skills.

All language, sensibility and comprehension fled.

What remained were an animal cry, and a flood of tears, which blurred her vision through which she saw her father take off his glasses and polish the lenses. Zoya whirled blindly to crash into Asad's chest weeping hysterically. He held her, murmuring in her hair. He knew what she was thinking and how she was tormenting herself.

"He's really here," he whispered. "You're not hallucinating, we don't have to pretend anymore. He knows." 

She lifted her eyes to him at that. Her eyes had pleaded seconds earlier: Don't let me fly apart and give everything away.

He knows? 

"Zoya? Meri bachhi!" 

Asad wiped her tears. "Go meet your Abbu," and he turned her around.   

"Apne Abbu ko maaf kar dena beta."

"Abbu!" 

And she fell into her father's arms and cried with him.

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan" 

Chapter 83

"No!" Nikhat yelped in dismay when she read the new text message. 

"Now what?" Feroze asked. 

She turned to him, still cooling down from the adrenaline high from their dance class. 

"You're never going to believe this. Humaira wants to join this class!"

A hand on his waist, and the other scrubbing the back of his neck, Feroze sighed loudly. "Damn!" 

Just when he was really beginning to enjoy the high-octane sensuality of the dance, and the perks of holding her against him! They leaned against the bike, the same bike that Omar rode into Najma's life on. It had brought other lovebirds together too. 

If it could talk ...

"Tell her, she'll need a partner and you already have one. A college friend." 

"I'll try. But I wouldn't be surprised if she ropes in Ayaan or Nuzzhat." 

Feroze reached for her hand and lightly ran his thumb over her fingers. 

"This sucks," he stated the obvious, and swore under his breath. 

She laughed. For a professor, he was a man of few clipped words. But over the past few days, she'd heard some colorful language from him that never failed to make her giggle.

She'd asked him once, "do you swear in front of your students?" 

"On some days, swearing is good for the soul, right?" he'd winked at her. 

She'd grinned madly. Didn't she know it! 

"Oh well, the dance class was good while it lasted." Nikhat whispered now as she interlaced her fingers with his. Her finger pads thrummed against his. 

He looked at her, disappointed, and she took a deep breath. 

"OK, OK, I'll talk to Humaira. After all, you'll be gone soon and I want to steal as many moments with you as I can."

"Umm, about that ..." 

"What?" her heart twisted. "Please don't tell me you're leaving sooner!" 

"I've been thinking ..." 

Before he could continue, she rushed headlong to plead with him. Her hands fisted on his shirt in anxiety, "I"ll tell Humaira about us and she'll back off. I'll tell everyone else too, if you want." 

She didn't care if everyone around was looking at them funny. She wasn't ready for him to leave as yet. 

Feroze raised her hand to his lips. And grinned. 

"I was going to say that I've cancelled my summer class and plan to stay longer. Apparently the boys in our family can't get enough of the girls from your family! To hell with our jobs!"

"Feroze!" she punched his chest. "You nearly killed me. I'm not talking to you!" 

Nikhat spun on her heel and walked away, looking to flag down an autorickshaw. But Feroze caught her by her wrist and yanked her around to slam her into his chest. His arms came up around her to trap her wriggling body. 

"Feroze!" she protested. "Stop it, people are looking," she hissed at him, embarrassed, yet enchanted.

"Let them. At least these people aren't related to us! Tell everyone only if you want to. I kind of enjoy this chori-chori chupke-chupke romance. But don't keep me a secret for too long." 

She mulled over his words as she disengaged herself from him. "I'll talk to Humaira and let her know. It's OK if only one person knows, right?" 

"Umm, about that ..." 

"Feroze!" she growled and pinched his arm, "who did you tell?" 

"Remember that friend who gave me your dad's office address?" 

Her eyes narrowed. 

"It was Zoya." 

"What? Oh my god, if she knows, Bhaijaan knows for sure," Nikhat groaned as she smacked her head. 

"And ..." 

"Are you serious? Even more people know about us?" 

"Well Omar was bugging me about fixing me up with his friend's sister, so I had to shut him up."

"His friend's sister! I'll kill Omar," Omar's favorite saali muttered under her breath. 

Then she groaned again. "Najma knows too, then. This is ridiculous and you are completely useless!" 

"Oh really? If I was so useless, we wouldn't be here, because a certain ice queen had decided that she didn't want to get married to me." 

"And what makes you so sure that I want to get married to you right now?" Asked the ice queen haughtily. 

He stared at her, jaw dropping open. He knew she was teasing, but suddenly he didn't want to play games any more. Furious and hurt, Feroze stalked to the bike, slapped his helmet on, and climbed astride. 

"Feroze!" Nikhat tried to stall him by clasping his hand with both of hers. Gently but firmly, he shrugged her hand off. She tried to hold his hand again, and again he brushed it off. 

"Get on, I'll drop you home," he said brusquely without looking at her. 

She walked to the front of the bike and turned to face him. He looked away. But after a minute, curiosity got the better of him; he turned to her, surprised that she said nothing or didn't try to hold his hand. 

He saw her kneeling patiently on the dusty street, hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

"Nikhat! Are you absolutely nuts? Get up!" 

"Feroze, will you marry me?" 

Tearing his helmet off, he leapt down to sweep her up before he crushed Nikhat to him, kissing her breath away. They remained oblivious to the spontaneous cheers and applause that broke around them. 

Dilshad had waited up for them so that she could hold Zoya tight and make sure for herself that she was all right. She heard their car pull into the driveway and rushed to the door. Asad was helping Zoya out. He let go of her hand when he saw Dilshad at the door. 

Zoya looked up with a tremulous smile at her. 

"Ammi!" 

Dilshad wrapped her in her arms, rocking her like a baby, willing her strength to seep into Zoya's limp body. Zoya was all cried out, but she clung to her mother-in-law's calming warmth and fragrance. 

"Tum theek ho?" she asked anxiously. 

"Perfect! Ammi, did you know Mr. Khan took me to meet my Abbu?" She brandished her kada and pointed to the gift bags Asad had unloaded by now. Zoya was wrung out, but still so wired. The adrenaline still hummed through her blood and she was unstoppable. 

Dilshad smiled and patted her cheek. "I know. And I'm so happy that you finally met your Abbu. I know how much you yearned for him." 

Zoya's eyes moistened. She swayed with exhausation. She just wanted to melt into her husband's arms now; she felt so drained.

"Get some rest now. I know it's been a long day for both of you," Dilshad said and kissed her cheek. "And tell me everything about it tomorrow, hmm?" 

Tucking her head in the crook of his neck Asad walked her to their room. 

It was finally his turn to really hold her. With each batch of tears, he had kept his hands to himself all evening, but only with a great deal of self-control. She sighed in his arms now, some of the tiredness leaving her bones. 

Zoya kissed his cheek and moved away to remove her earrings and bangles. In the bathroom she could hear the water running in the tub and she smiled. 

Perfect. Just what she needed.

She undressed and secured her hair high as Asad called out, "Zoya!" 

"Ummh!" he grunted when he saw her and held out his hand inviting her to join him in the tub.   

"Just a sec," she whispered. 

Pulling out some candles from the cabinet she lit them and turned the lights out. Then she gratefully slid into the hot water to lean back against him. Asad's arms came around to wrap her and they both sighed in relief. He ran his hands over her. She loved it when he murmured in her ear, reporting on the changes he touched and felt in her body.

But tonight she wanted a different report. "Don't miss out a single detail," she'd commanded. 

"Tell me how you did it," she urged. 

Asad played with her fingers. "I decided for sure after you told me about visiting her doctor. I knew I had to do something soon, or you'd think up another hare-brained scheme to track that woman down!" 

She was too exhausted, and too indebted to playfully slap his hand or scold him.

Yes, after much thought and agonizing soul-searching, she had told him, haltingly, about how she'd gone to Tanveer's doctor's office. How she couldn't go through the rest of her brilliant plan because she felt guilty that she was doing it without telling him. Zoya had feared that Asad would be furious. She had squeezed her eyes close and bowed her head, a defendant awaiting a guilty verdict. 

One look at her face and he had melted. 

Her eyes sprang open as she felt him take her in his arms. 

Now he began to tell her about the day he visited her father at his office. She wanted to know about every detail, every look, every word. Thumbs stroking her shoulders and back, he did as she asked. She took his hand in hers and holding it over her heart leaned back to feel the rumble of his chest on her back and the timbre of his voice in her ear. She planted a hundred kisses on his wet palm. 

Later, they just held each other in silence. 

And in that candlelit silence, and watery, fleshy coccon, Zoya relived every look and every word she'd shared with her father that night. When she had finally lifted her eyes to look into Abbu's face she had wiped his tears. His hand had come up to hold hers, and it was then she noticed that it was covered with tiny cuts and angry red blisters. 

"Abbu, what happened to your hands?" she'd cried out in alarm. 

"Nothing beta, I wanted to punish them for letting you go so far away from me, for not being there for you when you needed me."

"No! Abbu, please don't talk like that." And she'd broken into fresh tears. To just have him say this was enough to wipe away some of the eighteen-years worth of questions and tears.

Siddiqui had led his daughter to the sofa looking up at Asad for silent permission. Through blurred eyes he saw Asad nod, and his chest heaved in gratitude. He sat her down and outlined her face with trembling fingers like a blind man reading each bump and dot on a braille page. He gazed long into those eyes that had haunted him, and kissed her forehead. His roughened fingers reached for something on the coffee table. Zoya saw an array of gifts and treasures, and her eyes lit up with irrepressible delight. 

"For me, Abbu? Is all this for me?"

"Not all of it," and he had surprised himself by laughing to see her pout. 

Even Asad was sporting a half-smile. And Siddiqui had felt a deep slash of regret rip through him. He had missed out so much on each moment of her life. He had missed every milestone: birthdays, successes, hurts and tears, smiles and laughter, her wedding ...

He had so much to make up for. 

He bent to retrieve a gift-wrapped cube and placed it in her lap. And he smiled again to see her shake with excitement. She bounced in her seat eager to dismantle the wrapping to reveal the second gift from her Abbu in eighteen years. 

"Main kholun isse Abbu, abhi, please?" 

"Haan beta, I want to see your face when you open it." He couldn't understand how easily he could laugh and smile. He had imagined this meeting as nerve-wracking and emotionally depleting; it had turned out to be soul-quenching and infinitely uplifting. 

Zoya ripped the paper, grinning cheekily at her husband who was grimacing at the unnecessary violence. Gaffoor Siddiqui watched his daughter hand over the mutilated wrapping paper to his son-in-law who meticulously folded it and stacked it on the table-top, patiently awaiting future spoils. Her father couldn't resist being charmed, and was about to laugh out loud when he heard Zoya gasp. 

She held a carved wooden box lined with blue velvet, inside which nestled her cherished music box. But she didn't take the music box out of its new home. Her fingers traced the freshly varnished paisley designs on the surface. They matched the ones on Ammi's jewelry box. 

"Abbu, is that why your hands ...?" 

An overcome Siddiqui nodded in embarrassment. "I wanted to claw my hands off, but then decided that you deserved so much better. It's rosewood." He said shyly. 

"I haven't worked with wood for so long. That's why it's somewhat uneven here, see? And here." 

Zoya took his hand in hers and held it against her cheek. "It's beautiful, Abbu. I'll pass it on to my daughter or son one day." 

He sobbed at that, and Zoya embraced him. 

Asad watched through misting eyes. He was grateful for the gift too. In fact when he had first started to search for her music box, it was to order a customized hand-crafted box ... He too had thought of it being embellished with a filigreed design. He would take her to the dargah afterwards and hand her a red string of hope to tie through the box's lattice pattern ... 

Stirred, he watched Zoya's face ... 

Both men laughed when Zoya next squealed, "Abbu, what else did you get me?"

"I know I'm late, but I wanted to give my daughter a bridal dress. May be you can wear it on your first anniversary?" 

"Yes!" 

As she twirled happily with the heavy bridal dupatta in front of the bathroom mirror, Siddiqui turned to Asad in wonder, "how can she forgive so easily?" 

Asad smiled, "that's Zoya. The most generous spirit I've seen all my life," his eyes stung. 

"No!" 

Both ran to the open door of the restroom. Asad got there first. "Zoya! Are you OK? What happened?" 

"I'll be big as a house on our first anniversary. How'll I fit into the lehenga?" she wailed. 

"Godh bharai?" her father had offered tentatively.

She had wailed even louder.

The water had become tepid. And Zoya had dozed off. Asad laughed to himself thinking about his father-in-law's expressions of continued amazement. 

He had chuckled even then. What the old man was seeing was just the tip of the iceberg. His life was not yet Zoyafied, as his wife liked to claim. There were many roller-coaster rides and mini heart attacks ahead. 

All through the two days before meeting his daughter, Siddiqui had anxiously called Asad at least a dozen times. What's her favorite color, favorite food, does she only wear jeans? Will she be OK? What if I do ...? 

He had insisted on taking them to his house afterwards for dinner. Asad had stiffened, but agreed when his father-in-law reassured him that no one would be home. There, he had ordered pizza, kachori and coke, and had scores of spicy junk foods and sweets prepared for his daughter's first homecoming. Her eyes had teared when he fed her with his hands and they wiped each other's cheeks. Before leaving, he had handed a leatherbound folder to Asad. 

"This is for both of you."

"Abbu, please!" Zoya had protested. She was rotating the heavy, gem-encrusted gold kada on her wrist. "This used to be your dadi's," Abbu had said as he slipped it on for her. 

"You've already given me so much. Thoda aage ke liye bhi bacha kar rakhiye," she teased. Then she bounced and clapped, "May be you can give me a gift everyday!"

"Beta, I've done nothing as yet. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for missing out on watching you grow into a beautiful woman." 

He pressed the folder into Asad's hands. When Asad unzipped it, he stared, aghast at the house and business papers. 

"Mr. Si"-" he stuttered to an awkward stop not knowing how to address him. Siddiqui had placed a hand on his shoulder in understanding. 

"It's fine." He pointed to the papers. "I've made Zoya and you the heirs to half my estate. No, don't refuse. Please let me do this." 

He clasped his hands behind him. "I wanted to give the house to Zoya and the business to you. I have robbed both of you ... Your childhoods ... a father's love ..." 

He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, "but I can't be unfair to Humaira to make up for my guilt and crimes of the past." 

Asad unplugged the drain and bent his head to gnaw on her dewy shoulder.

"Annhhh," she moaned sleepily.

"Bedtime, Mrs. Khan," he reminded her. 

Reluctantly she dragged herself out and let her husband pat her dry. Wrapping a towel securely around his waist he lifted her in his arms to tuck her in bed. She pulled him down to her by his neck. 

"Asad?" 

"Hmm?" he asked, kissing her nose. 

"I'm dead sleepy, so I'm going to take a quick nap, and then I'm going to give you the thanks you so richly deserve!" she murmured.

"Great!" 

Zoya grabbed his hand as he moved toward the closet to change into his night-clothes. 

"No clothes allowed, Jahanpanah. Why delay my gratitude and your gratification!" 

He laughed softly and shook his head. A smart ass even half-awake. But he blushed in the dark as she yanked the edge of his towel and it slithered to an immodest heap at the floor. She was fast asleep by the time he straightened from picking up the useless terry-cloth at his feet. 

Two hours later, she came alive under him, breath hitching sharply, body instinctively melting into her husband's familiar weight as he claimed her, hard, and hilt-deep, teeth at her already-arching neck. 

Gripping the twisted sheets, she cried out a primal orgiastic cry.

"You're welcome!" he declared roughly against her pulsing skin.

Tanveer wondered at the sudden disappearance of her father and his lawyers. The old fool had looked miserable and indignant. He had yelled hopelessly, beady little eyes looking panicked and helpless. He had spluttered when haranguing the local police, uselessly reminding them, "aap jaante nahin main kaun hoon! I'll have you transferred ... I know so-and-so ..."

Blah, blah, blah. Put some heart in it, you old coot, she wanted to scream. She had been smug that he'd be able to get her out on bail though.

So what happened exactly? 

Ice ran down her spine. 

They knew, did they? 

Either Asad had bulldozed his way high up the judicial ladder and cracked down on the case with a hundred gavels, or the sentimental old fool had been hit on the head with the blunt truth. 

But how had they found her? She'd been so careful, not going to her former doctor, always going out only in a burqa, and surreptitiously following Zoya. Even that part was frustrating. Zoya didn't step out of the house much these days. When she did, Asad was with her, or the Mr. Universe bodyguard accompanied her highness on every errand. Too much of the past weeks, Tanveer had sat cooped up in the private taxi she'd hired and her back was permanently sore as a result. 

And this is the reward for my caution and effort? 

The swiftness with which she had been cornered and deposited in a cell crowded with smelly, trampy women had taken her breath and wits away. 

She sighed.

Never mind. It was just a momentary setback. Only mildly annoying.

The money was secure. Check.

Plan B? Check.

She started screaming and writhing in pain. After she stuck her finger down her throat to throw up dramatically. 

"She's pleading temporary insanity and complications from her pregnancy," Rakesh told Asad over the phone. 

"Of course!" Asad sighed. He hadn't expected any less. The woman just wouldn't go silently from their lives. 

"I'm surprised she's not claiming that her evil twin did it," he muttered grimly, rubbing his eyes. 

Zoya's distraught face, from when he'd seen her at the accident site, flashed before his eyes. 

"Tell me she's not going to talk her way out of this?" 

"With all the evidence we've turned in against her, she shouldn't." 

Asad brooded. His fist clenched behind his back. He didn't trust her or her ability to slip through the cracks. The police hadn't found the money anywhere, nor bank passbooks. The unfinished nature of the business niggled and nagged at his mind.

But everyone was immensely relieved that she was in judicial custody now. 

And thank god, Zoya was back to being Zoya again. 

He had left home this morning with her still touching and re-touching her new treasures fanned out on the bed. Just after breakfast, a courier had delivered yet another gift for her. Seeing who it was from, Asad had led her inside to their room before she tore into it. He watched indulgently as she fished out a bubble-wrapped picture frame. Her gasp of delight was a shot of pure adrenaline in his arm. 

"Asad, look! I can't believe Abbu had this photo of me and Ammi all these years." 

It was a faded photograph in a plain frame: a dimpled toddler gripping a familiar music box in her pudgy hands, while being restrained unsuccessfully by her mother. It must have been taken that fateful night, Asad thought. He looked up sharply at Zoya hoping she hadn't put the pieces together. Zoya hugged the frame to her and rocked herself. Putting it on the bed, she flung herself in Asad's arms. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she swung from his neck giddily. "I don't deserve you," she sniffed.

"Don't ever say that," he jerked her to him planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Arz kiya hai, When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me'," she quoted softly, after stealing another kiss.

"Who said that?" 

"Why? Cause it couldn't have been me?" 

Asad smirked. 

"Some Irish poet, Sean O'Casey, I think." 

"Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you, Mrs. Khan? You are finally beginning to appreciate true poetry and fine verse! Humare saath ka asar hoga," he teased. 

"Touch Mr. Khan, you're lucky I'm too happy to hit you right now." 

The doorbell rang again and they heard Najma shriek after a second. They ran out in panic, yelling "Tamatar!" together. 

It was deja vu all over again. 

But this time Najma had her face buried in a giant bouquet of roses and Dilshad was gripping the kitchen counter's edge with one hand while the other tried to calm her racing heart. 

"One day, you kids will give me a heart attack," Dilshad grumbled. 

"Aww," cooed Zoya. "So cute!" 

Najma turned around and handed her a smaller bunch of the tiniest wisps of white flowers. 

"For me?" Zoya asked.

Najma, color deeper than the roses, nodded. "Omar said something about baby's breath." 

"Yes, these are baby's breath! How perfect! Najma you have the best husband in the whole wide world," she gushed. 

But then she saw Asad's face and giggled, "After mine, I mean!" 

As Asad slipped into his suit jacket, Najma rooted around in the box that had arrived with the flowers. 

"Zoya, Omar sent you something else too," and she handed a medium-sized gift bag to her sister-in-law.

"Oh my god, I've never got so many gifts in my life," she squealed and ripped the tissue open. 

"What is it?" begged Najma. Asad, curious himself, hung around for the reveal too.

Zoya held up a Star Wars logoed infant onepiece jumpsuit, which read: "The force is strong with this one." 

"Oh my god, I love it!" and she splayed it over her belly. "Look baby Jedi, look what Omi Wan Kenobi sent. This is what you'll wear when we bring you from the hospital." 

"Then we better wash it at least 2-3 times." Dilshad cut in. 

"Why Ammi?" Zoya asked. 

"So it'll be soft against the baby's skin. Which reminds me, we can take a look at some of Asad and Najma's baby clothes and decide which ones can be re-used."

"Aww," went Najma.

Asad looked at Zoya's suddenly striken expression. He knew what she was thinking: no one had saved her baby clothes. 

"What else did Omar send," he prompted gently. 

Flashing him a grateful grin, Zoya pulled out a telescoping light sabre and brandished it gleefully. It glowed green and made a buzzing electronic sound when swished. 

Najma and Asad looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Oh god! You two and your Star Wars cr*ap!" 

Thrusting the light sabre's glowing tip under her sister-in-law's chin, Zoya thundered in her best Darth Vader voice: " I find your lack of faith disturbing.' Tamatar! You take that back! Right now!" 

As Asad left for work, Najma was being chased around by her bhabhi maniacally waving the light sabre. Zoya was humming the ominous Darth Vader theme track. 

He shook his head hearing Dilshad scold the girls half-heartedly. 

But he got out fast to avoid the sacrilege of seeing his wife jump up on the sofa, as she did so often when passionately defending a cause close to her heart. 

"Sh*it!" groaned Feroze. 

"What?" Nikhat asked with a hand clutching her heart. Her other hand was still under the table, tingling in his secure grasp. 

"We're on youtube!" 

"What? Stop making stuff up."

"No, seriously, Zoya just texted me"-" 

Nikhat's phone buzzed. 

"Humaira. Yup, we're on youtube. 1563 views already!" She covered her miserable face. 

Just this morning, Ammi had suspiciously kissed her forehead and hugged her longer than usual. She seemed happy and too cheerful. 

Had Humaira blabbed on them? 

Abbu too had smiled a bit too smugly when he caught her checking the clock just before lunch. 

Was she just being paranoid? 

God! This secret-keeping was so stressful. 

And now the cherry on top. 

"Great! Just bloody great! Wait till my students get a hold of this. Bhopali proposal' my foot! Jeez! My department!"

Feroze's professional life flashed before his eyes; he saw it circling and flushing down the toilet.

Nikhat saw his expression and burst into tears. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. Sab meri wajah se hua hai!" 

Feroze held her by her shoulders in the booth. They were at an Italian restaurant this afternoon. By now they had explored quite a few eating places for each lunch date. Nikhat hadn't eaten out so much all of her life. And Feroze was already complaining of his jeans fitting a bit too snugly. 

He took the napkin at the table and started to dab at her tears. "Ms. Nikhat Ahmed Khan, looks like you'll have to support me till I find a new job!" 

She cried more, and he laughed. "Hey, c'mon, I'm kidding." He rocked her against him as she burrowed her face in his chest. 

"But what about your job? Your department people?" 

"It'll all be fine. A couple of academic publications, and I'll be golden. Let them find out. In fact, I think my coolness factor just went up!" 

He handed her a glass of water. 

"Just think, our very own 15 minutes of fame. Tomorrow someone else will be in the spotlight and we'll be forgotten. But at least our grandkids will have a record of how their dadi prosposed to their dadu!" 

"How can you still want to marry me?" She sniffed looking up into his face. 

His thumbs rubbed the hot tears away, "because, no one ever asked me so nicely. And now that the whole world's seen it, I gotta do it for the grandkids." 

Feroze tilted his head to the side and brushed her ear with his lips. "Besides, since that kiss, I've thought of doing nothing else."   

Her tiny gasp of awareness scorched him. "Grandmother of my grandkids, get ready for Act II on youtube." He bent to kiss her.

Nikhat's palm cupped his cheek as her head fell back to pose for a perfect shot for posterity, in case anyone was filming them. 

Nikhat's screaming instincts were right. Despite Zoya begging and then threatening him, Asad had insisted on telling Abbu about Feroze. No amount of pouting or batting her lashes at him had made him change his mind. 

"Zoya, Abbu needs to know. It's not right that he hears about it from someone who might see them together. I'm assuming they are meeting every day?" 

She made a face and cut her eyes away from his. "Of course they're meeting everyday! They're in love and he's not here for too long." 

"See? That's why we have to tell Abbu and chhoti Ammi."

"I hate it when you're right." She grumbled. "I feel so guilty now. You've taken away the joy of being a secret matchmaker!"

"You'll survive. God knows why my sisters have to fall for pardesi boys though," Asad muttered under his breath. 

"Oh hello!" Zoya hollered, fists on her waist, "Mr. Khan, you fell for a pardesi girl too!" 

"Yes, you are the one to blame for everything." Asad pointed an accusing finger at her, "you brought those boys into our lives. And now my sisters will be living 12,000 kilometers away from us." 

"Oh please!" Pushing her face up to his, she stabbed his chest with her finger. "Don't forget, everything good that's happened to you, to this family, is because of me. Even Ammi said so."

"Oh really, earlier I carried the sun for you, aur ab solar eclipse?"

Her hand moved to rub her stomach and she grabbed his collar with the other. "Shut up, and kiss me, or you can sleep in the living room tonight! I'm not too happy with you right now Mr. Khan." 

Asad threw his head back and laughed. His arms came around to hold her against him. "Oh god, I give up, you're too damn much!"

Many kisses later, he teased, "so you're going to wear this everyday?" 

For two days now, in the privacy of their room, she'd worn the lehenga her Abbu had given her. She preened in front of the mirror, tried on different shoes, hairstyles and jewelry with it, and had taken at least a dozen selfies. Profile pictures on all her social media sites had been proudly updated. Songs played on her iPad, she swayed and sashayed to wedding and item numbers. 

Asad had mentioned this weird obsession to Aapi and Jeeju this morning, and they had laughed knowingly. Anwar told him to be prepared for her wearing it at least for the next few months, or at least till she no longer fit in it. 

It was a Zoya thing. 

For her seventh birthday a close friend had presented her with a Sleeping Beauty costume. And Zoya had worn it everyday after school as she watched and acted out the Disney movie a thousand times, humming the tune based on Tchaikovsky's unforgettable masterpiece for hours afterwards. For days Anwar reminded Zeenat, "take a video, we'll show it to her husband and kids."

But it kept getting postponed. 

The day Zeenat had finally set up the video in Zoya's room to quietly record the princess replay, was the last day she'd worn the costume. Just like that, she was done with being Sleeping Beauty. Anwar still hadn't forgiven Zeenat for not getting Zoya on tape sooner. But Aapi had saved the dress, faded and limp from multiple washings. Some sequins had fallen out, but it was still a cherished relic. Zoya had graduated to multiple screenings of Mary Poppins, Sound of Music and Little Women. Before signing off, Zeenat had told Asad, "ask her to tell you about the time she cut her hair because she saw Little Women,' and wanted to be called Jo."

Smiling, Asad crooked his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. "You look beautiful. Here's what we'll do. This weekend, let's get the family together and have a professional photoshoot. You can wear this lehenga. We can even send a picture to your Abbu." 

Her shriek of delight as she threw her arms around his neck nearly deafened him; but it meant that he'd done absolutely the right thing. No way was he sleeping in the living room! 

Not by a long shot.

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan" 

Chapter 84

Raziya gave thanks for every day her daughter had been home this past week. Fine, so she'd told a little lie. 

So what? 

And it really wasn't a lie. Not telling her the complete truth was not really lying. Why complain when things were finally better than before? 

She had helped Asad Ahmed Khan put Tanveer away for good, that earned her at least a couple of brownie points, didn't it? 

Siddiqui saheb was mellow and at peace after his private reunion with Zoya. 

And all three of them had kept her darkest secret.

Humaira didn't know.

She exhaled.

That day at the mall, Humaira had frantically insisted that Tanveer was a con artist scamming Abbu. She was an impostor and a violent psychopath. 

"I want to come home, but you hold the key Ammi! Tell me why," she had pleaded.

And that's when she had lied.

"Your Rashid Phupha worked for us. We were the only ones who knew that he had two families so we got him to do some things for us." 

Humaira had cringed. "What kind of things?" 

Raziya had adjusted the dupatta on her head longer than needed, her fingers had twisted the ends of the dupatta uneasily. 

"Ammi! Tell me, please!" 

"We needed the insurance money, so we got him to burn the factory." 

Humaira had gasped. 

"And you threatened hurting Dilshad Phuphi because he wanted to report you the police, right?" 

"Yes," she'd said in a small bleak voice. She had already decided that she wouldn't tell her more. 

"Ammi, how could you?" 

"I was so wrong, beta. I regret it everyday of my life. If I could turn back time ... If I could throw myself at Dilshad's feet, I would."

She had sobbed in earnest. Because she knew that Humaira would find out one day what really happened. 

It could kill her. 

And she would hate her mother forever.

And she also knew, it wasn't just Dilshad's feet she needed to throw herself at.

Humaira knew she should have pressed Ammi harder. But, she needed an excuse to come home too. As much as she missed everyone at the Khan house, she had to be here to take care of Abbu and Ammi from a psychotic criminal. Thank god that woman was out of their lives and safely tucked away behind bars! 

But Abbu must be devastated. 

Earlier, she had tried to talk to him but he had looked sad and stared at something in the distance. But these past couple of days, he seemed more upbeat. She had overheard him talking on the phone to his lawyers. He must be getting updates on that scheming impostor!

She had to tell him about her, before he got her released on bail and back into their lives.

That morning after breakfast, she approached him in his study.

"Abbu, I need to talk to you. It's important, please."

He looked distracted as he held a book in his hands without really reading it. But he didn't look annoyed at the interruption. Any other time he would have been short with her, but today he smiled and lovingly touched her head after replacing the book on the shelf.

"Bolo beta. Why do you look so worried? Is something wrong?" 

She wondered at his calm cheer. She got more nervous. Was he happy because he was hopeful of Tanveer's release?

Oh my god! 

"Abbu ... It's about Tanveer. I don't think she's your daughter," she blurted out, twisting the ring on her finger. 

She dared not look into his face. Would he be upset? But she was startled when she heard a muffled laugh.

"Abbu?" 

"It's OK beta." He held her by her shoulders and looked at her with pride. 

"You have nothing to worry about. I know." 

"You know!" She couldn't believe her ears. "How?" 

"Bas yoon samajh lo, that a good Samaritan helped me find the truth."

"Thank god, Abbu! I was so worried. You don't know what kind of a woman she is. You know she pushed Zoya bhabhi down the stairs!" 

She saw her father wince in pain and grabbed his hand. Siddiqui patted her hand. 

"Come beta, tumhare hath ki coffee piye bahut din ho gaye. Then you can tell me all about your time there, and Zoya ... your Zoya bhabhi."

As they walked down the stairs arm in arm, Humaira chattered about how sweet and crazy Zoya Bhabhi was. Her silly shayari, fierce protectiveness, and how everyone said that Asad Bhaijaan was a changed man now because of her. How nice Aapi and Jeeju were, and wasn't it nice that Zoya bhabhi had them after she lost her parents? 

He hung on to every word of hers, his heart sore and eyes moist. 

At the landing she gripped his arm urgently, "Abbu, I know that Ammi and I didn't tell you the complete truth about my accident. Actually ... there was some gang shooting on our way from Indore, and I got hit. But it was nothing major," she rushed to reassure him when she saw him blanch. 

"But you know what Abbu? I lost a lot of blood, and Zoya bhabhi gave me blood."

Siddiqui's step nearly faltered, but Humaira put her arm out to catch his elbow and continued talking. 

"She's so nice! You have to meet her! But Abbu don't judge her because she wears jeans and is quite outspoken." 

He continued to reel. 

Asad hadn't told him about Zoya donating blood to save Humaira. He closed his eyes helplessly. Who was he to judge her? But he had judged her when he saw her for the first time, hadn't he?

He didn't deserve that child's love or forgiveness. He had given her a lifetime of pain, blow, after terrible blow ... 

He staggered. 

Why hadn't she spit on him? Demanded why he hadn't come looking for her, or what had really happened to her mother? 

He had seen Asad's fury that day ... both Zoya and Asad knew most of the grim details of the horrors of that night. 

Asad had said she had a scar from that day. 

And nightmares ... 

A mere child in that fiery tomb! 

The pain ... the fear ... 

How had Asad not broken his cowardly neck for what he had or hadn't done eighteen years ago? 

His knees buckled. He paused to remove his glasses and polish them, ducking his head so Humaira wouldn't see the shame and self-loathing on his face. 

Midas-like, he looked down at the gilded house spread out at his feet. 

Its grandeur taunted him; its history haunted him.

He was an epic failure as a father to Zoya. Even hyenas treated their young better, an inner voice jeered. 

Nothing he could do could make up for what he'd done.

But he would die trying. 

"Abbu?" Humaira asked tentatively as she busied herself assembling the ingredients. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed the lump of ashes in his mouth.

"Haan beta?" Arms crossed, Siddiqui distractedly watched Humaira prepare the coffee. He shifted to press his knuckles to his mouth. 

The burner's blue flame under the steel pan hypnotized him, waving and beckoning seductively. 

He almost reached out to touch it ... 

"Now that we know about Tanveer, what should we do to try to find ... your ... real daughter? Shouldn't you hire a private detective or a lawyer who can look into this, and bring her home?"

"We will, beta, I promise," he choked out. 

Humaira rushed to hold his quaking shoulders. Siddiqui slid to the floor on his knees and wept inconsolably in his younger daughter's arms. 

The milk boiled and bubbled, marching militantly to the top to immolate itself. Its acrid martyrdom hung over his curdled soul. 

Zoya fretted. Now that Asad had told Abbu and Chhoti Ammi about Feroze she debated whether to let him know, or just let the lovebirds find out on their own. 

"I feel like I'm setting them up to be punk'd if I'm not honest with him," she muttered. 

"Then tell him." Asad said simply. 

They were headed to the children's center this Sunday morning for an ice cream and chaat party that Zoya had organized for the kids. 

"Mr. Khan! You're no help at all! And you're the one who started this with your 'full disclosure rules,' " she said in irritation, making sarcastic air quotes. 

"Do you want me to call him, invite him over, say Feroze, the jig's up. The whole family knows'?" Asad asked with infinite patience. 

He continued ribbing her, "In fact, we'll tell him, since the internet knows, we decided it was time Abbu and Chhoti Ammi knew too?"

She sighed in exasperation.

She'd told him about the youtube video, but very reluctantly. Zoya thought he'd be livid. She worried her husband would charge down to the other end of town and beat up his future brother-in-law. So she'd broken the news gently, only after she had him in bed, out of his clothes, putty in her hands, mind completely blank. 

And after hiding his car keys. 

But Asad's mellow reaction had taken her by surprise. He just grinned and shook his head. Who knew that Nikhat of all of them would turn out to have the most adventurous love story? One would have figured Ayaan turning up on youtube more than anyone else. 

Besides, now, Asad was a man converted. 

Having known the pangs and highs of love, he no longer waged war on its new recruits. 

After making sure that there was no danger of him bolting to protect his sister's honor, Zoya asked, "do you want to see it? It's so cute."

She slowly traced his lips with her fingers as she leaned over him, her hair a dark curtain of privacy. 

"No! And you better make sure that our own little video doesn't go public either!"

He declared the subject closed by flipping her over and doing things guaranteed to make her mind blank too. 

"I watched our video," she said breathlessly as she softened and burned under him. 

Hot breath to her ear, he whispered, "Without me? Now you'll have to give me an action replay, word for word, blow by blow." 

"Let's watch it right now!" she implored, body intimately molding to his.

"No," he pinned her under him, extending her arms over her head. "Tell me ..." 

Her voice cracked as she obeyed him. The throaty words spurred his actions; her involuntary gasps in between, stirred his blood. His breath hissed with each sensuous detail she narrated; her body bucked as his fingers and tongue remembered old and discovered new sensations ... 

Back in the car she continued to protest his teasing and non-compliance.

Her fingers tapped impatiently on her phone.

"Should I?" 

He shrugged and laughed at her dilemma. "You only want the glory but not the glitches," Asad mocked. 

"Hmmpphh! You never take me seriously, or give me credit for"!" 

"Oh please! Don't even try throwing yourself a pity party. When you make sense I take you plenty seriously." 

She gasped and then pouted. "You're being especially mean today. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were on your period." 

"Zoya!" he wheezed through shocked laughter. "Always misbehaving!"

A low growl from her told him she was still miffed.

He took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers tightly to stop her from pulling away. "I loved your idea of having local ice cream wallas and chaat thelas come to the center, instead of giving the contract to some big corporate outfit, hmm?" 

She beamed. 

It had been her idea and something she'd been thinking about for sometime now. Why not support small local vendors rather than some bloated faceless franchise? It had been hard to co-ordinate though, but she'd loved every minute of it. 

Asad had been worried about security and food safety but with Najma, Humaira and Nuzzhat working with some people from Rakesh's office, together they had created a registry for the vendors who would be invited back for future functions only under the strictest sanitary conditions. 

Rakesh's office had processed photographs, fingerprints, phone numbers and addresses as a show of commitment to future contracts, and a running database of contacts and profiles to ensure accountability. 

And her Abbu had insisted on paying for the whole affair. 

"I want to do this for you, for the place where you found shelter when I turned my back on you," he had said through penitent tears on the phone that morning. 

Her own eyes had misted. "Abbu, forget about the past. Just be with me now and always." 

"Till my dying breath," Abbu had said softly before he hung up. 

She squeezed Asad's hand back now. "Jahanpanah, you take advantage of my sunny nature. You know I'll forgive easily so you poke fun at me and then say or do something that'll make me forget how mean you were." 

"True, I do. You make it so easy," he smiled. 

"Asad!" she punched his arm.

He pulled over to the side of the road and trapped both her hands in his to kiss them.

"Who is your biggest fan?" 

She looked away.

"Zoya!" 

"Fine! You are!" 

"Who writes her name on my heart every night?" 

"I do." 

"Who do I kiss goodnight?"

"Me." 

"Who's going to be the mother of my children?" 

She was loving this. Who cared if they were going to be just a little late? 

"I am."

"Who gets your pizza order just right?" 

She frowned. 

"OK, on most days." 

"You do." 

"Who's the one woman in the world I'd do a strip tease for?" 

Zoya grinned triumphantly. "Me." 

"Which dimple did I fall for?" 

"This one," she said pointing to it. 

"For whom did I plan the photoshoot this evening?" 

"For me."

"Then, who do you want me to tease, the neighbor's wife?" 

"Don't you even dare!"

She smiled when she saw him laugh. 

"All good? Am I forgiven now? Ab Chalen?" 

"On one condition ..." 

"What?" he asked warily when he saw the wicked gleam in her eyes. 

"Strip tease, tonight?" 

"Annhhh!" 

"Zoya Bhabhi, you look beautiful! What a gorgeous lehenga!" Humaira gushed in open admiration that evening. She lovingly straightened the dupatta and fixed its drape. 

The ice cream and chaat party had been a resounding success despite the heat. After a light lunch everyone had retired for a Sunday afternoon nap. 

And now the party, in full fancy dress, was back on. The photographers had set up in the living room and the family bustled around everywhere else in their finest. 

Zoya smiled secretly, radiant.

"Did Bhaijaan get it for you? It's so pretty. He has great taste." 

"Yes he does," Zoya responded cheekily catching her husband's eye. 

"I love your suit too, Humaira. It's new? I haven't seen you wear it." 

"Ayaan got it for me," she said shyly. 

"Good job, Raabert," Zoya declared as she pinched his cheek playfully. "I'm so proud of you!" 

Ayaan ducked his head self-consciously. He was thrilled that Humaira had got permission from her parents for this evening. But he was not pleased that he had been made to wear a monkey suit. A sherwani he'd have been OK in. But why a suit and tie? He kept picking at his collar and swearing under his breath. 

"Total dash mein bumboo! Who's useless idea was this?" he hollered at Najma and Zoya. 

"Must have been you two! Never missing a chance to play dress up! Humko bakra bana diya!" he scoffed. 

Zoya giggled and let him rant. 

"A photoshoot? How filmy! Kaun karata hai? Who are you? The Yash Chopras?" He continued to get worked up. 

Najma laughed and held up her hands. "It wasn't me, I swear. But Bhaijaan, it's an awesome idea!"

Ayaan rounded on his Bhabhi. "No it's not. It must be Mona darling's idea! You must have bugged Bhaijaan with your bakwas shayari and he must have agreed just to shut you up!" 

Zoya sucked in her cheeks to keep from laughing. She had seen her husband striding towards them. 

"Hey, your Bhaijaan loves my shayari these days, so you better watch it!" 

With a finger plucking the collar away from his neck he continued to harangue them as the girls rolled their eyes and giggled. 

"Bhaijaan, stop pretending as if you're not pleased at how dashing you look in a suit," Nuzzhat teased. 

"Such an idiotic idea, jiska bhi tha!" 

"Ayaan," he felt a playful slap upside his head and turned to look at his brother's serious expression. 

"Mera idea tha." 

Ayaan turned red as all the girls burst out laughing. 

"Bhaijaan! Aapka?" He looked crestfallen at the betrayal by his own brother.

"Kyun bhai aap log sab mil kar hamare bete ko kyun tang kar rahein hain?"  

Shireen walked up to them and lovingly brushed invisible lint from her son's shoulder.  

She was so proud of him tonight. He had never looked handsomer. He was being so responsible these days. Working so hard. In fact, she worried that he worked too hard and didn't eat enough. 

"My Ayaan looks so handsome in a suit doesn't he, Humaira?" She asked, fixing his tie, and everyone agreed wholeheartedly. 

"Ammi please!" 

"Asad, this was a great idea! I'm glad you insisted he wear a suit. Meri to yeh kahan sunta hai!" 

Shireen fussed some more and removed kajal from her eyes to swipe it behind her son's ear. His sisters and Bhabhi did the same and suddenly Ayaan was sporting multiple kala tikas as thousands of evil eyes were blinded and banished. 

He nearly fled from the torment, but stopped as he heard Humaira laugh. 

He looked at her indulgently. 

These past few days had been tough for both of them. They barely got to spend enough time with one another. Whenever they met, they were surround by his sisters and Bhabhi. Once in a while they met up for coffee. He was grateful for this bonus meeting, even though he had to wear a stifling suit. And it was enough to see her wear the dress that he had spent hours trying to decide upon. 

Tonight, he was mock-grumbling just because he loved being the contrarian. 

It was his trademark. 

And the happier he was, the more he misbehaved.

The photographer turned on the lights and rearranged the backdrop. Both Zoya and Asad wondered why the other was anxiously looking at the clock or whispering conspiratorially on their phones.

Asad looked around for her as the photographer posed him, Ayaan and Abbu.

He blushed with pleasure when Abbu said, patting his shoulder, "the next time we do this, I'll be holding your baby." 

Asad tracked Zoya with his eyes as she returned from their bedroom carrying her laptop. She looked excited, and he frowned. 

Something was up. 

As the men started to break away to make room for the next group shot, she stopped them. 

"Rukiye, please!" And she held up the laptop for everyone to see the screen. 

Najma gasped in delight. "Omar!" 

"Hey guys, surprise!" Omar waved, resplendent in a suit and tie himself. 

"Can't have a family portrait without me, now can you?"

Everyone cheered. 

"Beam me up Scottie!" Omar winked at Zoya. 

Amidst the squeals and animated laughter, the men were photographed again but this time with Omar, as Ayaan held up the laptop. It was not easy because the photographer had to do some magic to keep the glare off the screen. 

"Great!" Ayaan cribbed. "He won't even be in the portrait. We'll just tell everyone that the bright glare next to me is Jeeju number 1." 

"Hey! That bright glare next to you makes your girl face look better," Omar retorted from 8000 miles away. 

"Our own version of Beauty and the beast!" Nuzzhat called out.

"He's the beauty," both Omar and Ayaan pointed fingers at each other. 

"Omar," Asad warned in a low growl. 

"Yeah, yeah, man, I love you too." 

As the men tried to not dissolve into laughter so the photographer could finish the shot, Humaira, Nuzzhat and Nikhat called out, "Omar, we miss you so much!"

"Tamatar has become gaajar in your absence," Nikhat said softly, stroking Najma's arm. 

Omar's smile dipped. But then he cleared his throat. 

"Wow Nikhat, so much info about vegetables. Why not, I hear you've been eating out every day!" 

"Omar!" She blushed, mortified, even more tamatar than her sister; Najma snickered at her elbow. 

She then hugged Zoya for thinking up of this unique surprise. "I can't believe you both kept this a secret from me! I love it!" 

Najma took the laptop from Ayaan as everyone readied for the next shot. She and her husband made eyes at each other, wanting to say so much more, but minding the company around them. "I love you," he mouthed and she blushed touching her ear; it was their decided-upon secret signal of saying I love you in public. 

The doorbell rang. 

Asad excused himself to get it. 

And there were collective gasps again. 

"What happened?" asked Omar as Najma looked at something off to her side with her mouth hanging open. 

Zoya bounced on her feet and clapped, extremely proud of her husband's impressive pyaar-ka-farishta track record. He was really getting good at this. 

She would have jumped in his arms, but ... 

He stood smiling benignly as he shook hands with Feroze and ushered him in. Nikhat tried to hide behind Dadi even as she peeked at Feroze, in what else, but a suit. 

Seeing Feroze at the door, everyone had turned to look at her and she had covered her heated face, wanting the earth to open up. It was clear that Bhaijaan had invited him. Shireen came over to hug her and that's when Nikhat knew that the whole family already knew. 

Oh.

My.

God.

Had they seen the video?

Badi Ammi and Nuzzhat may have been the only ones who were completely taken by surprise, but yes, everyone else gave her knowing smiles. 

Even Dadi had known? 

The men were photographed again, this time with Feroze whose eyes sought Nikhat's. 

"Arre, may be we should wait a little more. Nuzzhat ke liye koi aata hoga, then we'll include him too," Rashid joked. 

"Abbu!" Nuzzhat protested. 

"Not for another two years," Asad said. "And he better not be from America," he looked pointedly at his wife. 

Studiously peering at her fingernails, she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "well, Feroze does have a younger brother ..." 

"No!" howled everyone. 

"Hey?!" protested the outnumbered Americans, throwing their hands up in the air at this blatant in-law diss.

After everyone had fussed over Nikhat and Feroze, warded off evil spirits with kala tikas, tawizes and duas, the younger generation was photographed next. Real, virtual and to-be spouses were all crammed in. 

Najma and Nuzzhat sat in front, both holding up the laptop between them. Nuzzhat couldn't resist holding up two fingers behind the screen giving her Jeeju fake rabbit ears. Najma tried to slap her hand away as Dadi scolded her playfully, "Jeeju ke sath aise nahin karte!"

"That's OK," said Omar. "Dadi, rabbits love gaajar, right Nikhat?"

Asad insisted on a few photographs with just Zoya and Humaira. Later everyone convinced him that he and Ayaan needed to be with the girls in at least one portrait too. Gratefully, Zoya stood with Humaira's hands clasped in hers, flanked by Asad and Ayaan on either side.

The entire family's portrait took a long time to set up. 

With Ayaan and Omar talking smack and trading barbs, the doting moms shushing them, murmuring "Ya Allahs" every now and then, the girls giggling, Feroze trying to grip a blushing Nikhat's hand, Zoya's improv shayari, and Asad clutching his forehead and rolling his eyes, it was an uphill task to get it just right. 

Only Rashid and Dadi reverently soaked up the shenanigans, calmly beaming at the filial completeness, however rowdy.  

Despite Humaira's return, Raziya still slept fitfully. The nightmares of Humaira begging to be saved from a fiery crypt scalded her subconscious; in her waking hours her soles burned her conscience. A spectral sentry, at nights she patrolled through the empty halls of the cavernous house hoping to tire herself out and fall into a dreamless sleep.

Some nights she did. 

Tonight she hobbled down the stairs not bothering to turn the lights on. 

Practice had made her haunted tread perfect. 

After walking for a good 20-30 minutes the tingling in her feet thankfully receded. As she turned the corner, she saw a weird glow coming from the kitchen and dashed inside. 

She stared in horror. 

Her husband had turned the gas burner on and had deliberately lit his kurta sleeve on fire. 

He stood, mute and unflinching, staring at the fire, hypnotized. 

"Siddiqui saheb! Aap ye kya kar rahein hain?" She rushed to turn the gas off and poured a pitcher of cold water on his arm.

He whispered incoherently and she pressed closer to catch what he was saying. 

"Eighteen years ago, did you put out the fire on her clothes that night?" he rasped. 

The pitcher fell from her hands to smash into a million crystal shards. 

She remained quiet. 

"Bolo Raziya. Tell me, how much was Zoya screaming in pain that night? How terrified was she? Was she calling out for her dead Ammi?" 

"Stop it!" she begged through a choked throat. She fell to the floor letting the glass pieces pierce her knees and palms. 

"You know it was all a horrible accident. We were both fighting over the knife ... I just wanted to scare her with it ... to get her to leave. But in the heat of the moment ..." she begged for his complicity. 

"But Zoya? Did you bring her there to kill her?" He had never verbalized this question all these years. But he had certainly thought about it on many a sleepless night. 

"No! I would never --! I didn't even know she was there. I only found out later when I heard her screams." 

"She was on fire?" 

" ... yes ..." 

"Where?" 

" ... her arm ..." 

"She was just a baby!" he croaked, heart almost exploding from his chest. 

He wept. 

Siddiqui covered his face wanting to claw his eyes out. "Oh god, what have we done! Why didn't Allah smite us right there that night?" He picked up a fistful of glass. 

"She knows about us. Still she donated blood to Humaira? She did it to save your daughter Raziya! You knew about that too!" 

"I'm sorry," whimpered Raziya. 

"Zoya, meri bachhi, why do you forgive your Abbu so easily?" he moaned. 

With her bloody hands, Raziya struggled to restrain his hand before it could stab his eyes with the broken pieces of glass he had picked off the floor. 

"She's pregnant. What horrible legacy have I left her? What will she say when her children ask about their nana and nani? What will she tell them when they ask her about her scar?"

He covered his face in shame and regret.

They sobbed in the darkened kitchen on a bed seeded with broken glass and grisly sins. 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi Mujhme Kahin"

Chapter 85

It was late.

Whan Ayaan dropped her off at home that night he walked her all the way to the main door. Their hands brushed against each other and he grabbed her wrist. Lifting it to his mouth, he nipped the inside and she hissed.

"Ayaan!"

Pulling her behind the pillar to hide them from the guard's prying eyes, he wrenched her against him. 

"I couldn't take my eyes off you all night," he breathed in her ear. "You look beautiful." 

He trailed a finger down her arm and she shivered. 

"Ayaan, what's gotten into you tonight! Abbu will see us." But she didn't exactly struggle out of his embrace, nor free her wrist from his grasp. 

"You smell so good," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"I don't get to see you enough." He nuzzled her neck and kneaded her back painfully. 

"I miss you so much, Humaira! I could kick myself. We lived under the same roof all our lives and I never appreciated it. And now, it kills me that I get to see you for only a couple of hours in a day!" 

His smoldering intensity was doing a number on her. 

Her body surged into his. 

"Shh, Ayaan. It'll be fine," she soothed, kissing his cheek. 

Leaning back, he tilted her chin up roughly.

"You're different. Ever since the shooting. And now that you're back home. I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like you're growing apart from me, like I'm losing you." 

"No, Ayaan!" She let her hands sink in his hair and gripped it tight. 

Raising herself on her toes she boldly whispered against his lips, "You're not losing me. I'm just finding myself." 

She pressed her parted mouth to his and sucked his lower lip, slipping her tongue in. Ayaan jerked and gripped her by her hips to fit her to him more intimately, almost lifting her off her feet. With one hand he yanked her back by her hair and leaned over to bite and suck on her brazen lips. He kneed her legs apart and molded her to him.

As they broke apart to drag fresh air into their lungs, Ayaan ground into her. "You don't know how se*xy you are, taking the lead! See, the old Humaira would never have done that!"

"The old Humaira wasn't engaged to a man with a job who just bought her this gorgeous suit with his first month's salary." 

He grinned with pleasure. "So Humaira is all grown up now? A full-blooded woman?" he drawled, rotating his hips against hers. 

They twisted and sprang apart when they heard the front door open. She would have jumped aside but he grabbed her arm to keep her in front of him. 

She blushed and burned with frustration.

"Humaira beta?" 

"Jee Abbu, I'm just coming." Behind her, she heard Ayaan groan softly and she turned crimson. 

"Kaise ho Ayaan?" Siddiqui asked gently. 

"I'm fine, thanks." Ayaan responded gruffly. 

"Andar aao." 

"Jee nahin ... shukriya. It's late, Allah hafiz." 

And he roared off. 

Later that night Zoya insisted on sending a jodi selfie of theirs to Aapi and Jeeju and her Abbu.

Asad protested half-heartedly. 

He had already started to loosen his tie. It had been a long night of antakshari and charades egged on by his wife and hyper siblings. As fun as it had been to defeat her team (who knew that Dadi knew so many songs!) he was glad to see everyone leave so that he could get out of these clothes and straighten out his stiff back. 

Getting her out of her clothes would be the cherry on top. 

All evening he had ached to watch her flit around in the pale green and peach frothy concoction of chiffon and zardozi. When she had jumped up to act out the film titles for her team, he had nearly groaned aloud. Twice he had to excuse himself to go get a glass of ice-cold water. 

"Zoya, not now! We'll be sending everybody the professional pictures anyways. That's why we did this, remember?"

"But that'll take days. And we're already dressed up. And soon, I won't want any pictures taken of me because I'll be ugly and fat. Pleeease!" 

"Pregnancy has made you a first-class blackmailer," he grumbled. 

She grinned impishly, not taking any offense because she was getting her way, and she was in such a good mood. She didn't even scold him for not lustily disagreeing with her that she could ever be ugly and fat.

Lucky him. 

She had them pose, cheek to dimpled cheek and clicked multiple times. 

"One more! My eyes were half-closed in that one." 

"And mine were rolling in all of them," he muttered. 

"Asad, you're so mean!"

He knew of only one way to get her to give up her selfiemania. By now he had begun to nuzzle her neck and nip her ear, trailing micro kisses along her jaw. She shivered in delight but still mock-scolded him. 

"Allah Miyan! What's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Just one," she begged, eyes wide, lips pouting. 

"I'll give you two," he promised huskily, as he looked deep into those eyes, chin pointing to the bed just so subtly.

She sighed, giving up. 

"Good girl!" 

Asad sucked her earlobe and let his hands explore her bare waist and exposed back. He knew the slightest skittering of his thumb across her ultrasensitive back would make her hiss and writhe in a flash. A scr*aped fingernail across her spine after undoing her blouse in the back, and she would be toast.

He ground against her, sealing the deal; she moaned.

"OK, let me just send this one," she pleaded. 

As she was about to mail the photo to Aapi and Jeeju, Asad seized her hand. 

"Wait!" he yelped. 

"What?" Zoya panicked, hand on her heart. 

"Check and double check. Make sure you never send that video of ours to someone by mistake!" 

"Oh, what the hell, I'll send it to them tomorrow." She flung the phone on the bed and unpinned her dupatta, letting it fall to the floor. 

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" He crowed. 

Hooking a fingertip into the waistband of her lehenga, he drew her to him whispering erotically in her ear, "I've been hard for you all evening." 

She shuddered in his arms, "I know," she whispered. 

He jerked. 

Slashing her ear with a thrust of his tongue, he continued to torment her by recounting his own torment in slow detail, "when you were acting out Yeh Jawaani Hai Diwani,' I wanted to lift you over my shoulder and carry you to our room to act out jawaani diwani with you!" 

"Oh god, Asad!" she moaned. "I wish you had!" 

Clothes half-undone, they reveled in each other's remembered touch and taste. As they fell on the bed and tried to untug each other out of ties, buttons, snaps and drawstrings, Asad's knee bumped into her phone. 

He froze. 

"Asad! Don't stop now, this diwani will kill you!" she complained. 

She opened her eyes, ready to pull him down by his hair if she had to, and saw the expression on his face.

"What?"

He held up her phone. 

"You keep giving me heart attacks! That's what!" 

"What've I done now?" she pouted defensively. 

"You very nearly butt-dailed Aapi." 

She gasped. Grabbing her phone from him, she switched it off and tossed it closer to the headboard. Asad still didn't trust her. And as it is the bed was overcrowded with their clothes. 

He carried her to the settee. 

"Jahanpanah, I love your problem solving skills!" she crooned wiggling against him. 

She had grabbed his tie, still knotted, from the pile of discarded clothes and slipped it around his neck.

Pulling him to her with it, she demanded, "now, where were we? Oh yes, you promised me two happy endings."

Hands on either side of her, Asad laughed softly. "Start counting, Mrs. Khan!" 

"Mr. Khan, homework again? You're lucky I was always good at math!" Zoya giggled, but was soon silenced. 

Her purrs and mewling grew louder, and his blood pounded harder. She dug her nails into his shoulder as visions danced on the inside of her eyelids: that first time she had landed on this settee and in his arms. He had turned to tuck her under him then. What if he had taken her then?

Her eyes popped open. 

Asad had removed the tie from around his neck and secured it around her wrist and his own with a swift tug of his teeth. 

"Jahanpanah!"

His eyes glittered and bored into hers. They willed her to remember that time of exquisite se*xual torture when they'd been shackled to one another in Mangalpur. 

What if he had taken her then, they asked. 

He had certainly wanted to. 

"Asad," she moaned as the fingers of their bound hands convulsed to interlace. 

"Why did we waste so much time?" her breath hitched and she whimpered and keened in her throat with each smooth slide and every hard thrust. 

"Shh," he quieted her. "Zoya, keep it down, or I won't last long baby. God, the sounds you make! It's enough to drive me over the edge!" he panted through clenched teeth, grinding into her powerfully. 

She bit her lip to comply; she wanted it to last forever too. But the sounds of flesh against flesh and the sighs of their lovemaking conspired to derail her resolve. Zoya arched silently, surrendering to that red-hot friction set by his insistent rhythm and pace. 

His lips and tongue sucked at her throat, and she couldn't keep from crying out as she crested; the waves of passion washed over her. 

A second later, he collapsed too, crashing down with her.

"Zoyaaa!" 

For days now Siddiqui had heard Humaira talk about her. 

Zoya Bhabhi this. Asad Bhaijaan that. 

When she returned from her taekwondo classes in the morning, flushed and exhilarant, he would have cold coffee waiting for her. 

"Should ... Zoya be doing this, in ... in her condition? Isn't Asa" I mean, aren't they worried about the baby?" He had asked.

Humaira laughed. 

"Abbu you should see Asad Bhaijaan around Zoya Bhabhi! If it was unsafe, Zoya Bhabhi wouldn't even be allowed any where near the room. I'm surprised he doesn't get her doctor to come sit and supervise everyday!" 

She saw her father smile and smiled too. 

"No, the doctor says that mild forms of exercise are good for now. And I don't think even Asad Bhaijaan can say no to Zoya Bhabhi!" 

Siddiqui grinned with pride. 

"And are you enjoying these classes?" 

"I love it, Abbu! And I'm really good too. And it's such fun. Najma and Nuzzhat keep giggling. Zoya Bhabhi interrupts with her shayari and even the instructor can't keep a straight face. And we tease Nikhat that she better get good at it fast because Feroze Jeeju is a second degree black belt!"

She had told him about Nikhat's love story last night, minus the youtube video of course. 

Humaira loved spending time with Abbu these days. He listened to her and asked questions about her interests and how her day went. 

He had never done this before. 

Like last night they had stayed up late chatting after Ayaan dropped her home from the photoshoot. 

Siddiqui looked at her animated face. He too had begun to look forward to time with her in the morning and evenings. He hadn't seen her as relaxed or confident in his presence ever before. 

"Did you want to take self-defense classes before?" he asked unexpectedly. 

Humaira looked at him in silence. 

"I don't know Abbu." She said after a long pause. 

"I mean, at college, boys pass comments and misbehave, but we just learned to be quiet, look the other way, and ignore them." 

She picked at the dupatta that was still tied at her waist. "But now I can't bear it. I feel so angry and I want to shame them for their bad behavior!" 

She smiled. 

"And somehow, now when anyone tries anything funny, I stand tall and give them a look, and they slink away. And that feeling of standing up for myself or someone else is awesome, Abbu!" 

He looked at her in awe. He hadn't known that what he thought was decorum and ladylike behavior, was women's compulsory defense against the fear of being in a skin that men pawed at everyday. Technically, he knew of the vulnerabilities of being a woman, but he had thought that sheltering and protecting them through demure clothing, guards, and private cars, was enough to shield them from the daily oppression of being a woman in India.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" He asked. 

"Abbu! You would have either not let me go to college, or you'd have complained to the principal or dean, and it would have been so embarrassing."

He nodded in understanding and guilt. He would have done exactly that. 

Humaira, meanwhile, was surprised that she could actually talk to him this way. 

"I am going to talk to the College Board of Trustees about this," she heard him mutter. 

"Abbu no! See that's why girls don't tell their parents half the things! Because parents over react." 

"I understand beta. But this is not right. Parents need to react to something like this. Don't you think that's why boys get away with this behavior? Because they know that girls will remain silent? But, I had no idea that even girls from our background faced this daily se*xual harassment." 

Whoa! Had Abbu just used the "s" word in her presence? Humaira's eyebrows climbed. But she also remembered a conversation in the other house, what she thought of as her second home now. In defending his decision to have the girls learn martial arts, Asad Bhaijaan had something similar. And Aapi had said something about how women's silence encouraged men to behave badly. 

"You're right Abbu. It's really bad for all women, no matter what age, or class." 

She rushed to tell him about Zoya Bhabhi and how she had come to Najma's defense, months ago, against two eve teasers. 

And gone to jail for it. 

Siddiqui's fingers on his teacup tightened in anger. He really would talk to that wretch of a principal. 

How dare he? 

He brooded over his cold tea as Humaira went to shower. Shoving the tray aside he paced in his study for hours. 

Memories, ideas, schemes ebbed and flowed in his head. 

He called Zoya. 

"Hi Abbu!" His heart lifted just hearing the million giggles in her voice. "Did you like my picture in the lehenga you gave me?"

"I loved it. You and Asad make a beautiful couple. But beta, yeh taekwondo? Should you be doing this in your condition?" 

She laughed. Aapi had asked the same thing when they started the classes. She had insisted on talking personally to Dr. Sharma. 

"We checked with the doctor Abbu. Otherwise do you think my husband would even let me? Aap to jaante hain Mr. Khan ko." 

"Haan, bahut suna hai tumhare Mr. Khan ke baarey mein," he teased. 

"Really Abbu? You have to give me all the dirty details!" 

Siddiqui laughed. 

"Please Abbu, I need some masala to blackmail him with. He's being really annoying about what I should eat, or not eat. Can you believe it, he's contacted all the local pizza parlors and forbidden them to deliver unless he places the order! And I'm dead sure that when he orders, he asks them to doctor the ingredients with whole wheat, extra veggies and all. Yuck!" 

"That's fine," he wheezed through laughter and whole-hearted approval for his son-in-law, the health czar.  

"You just come here, or to my office whenever you are craving pizza. Your Abbu will order the finest pizza in town." 

"Yay!" He heard her cheer. "And Diet Coke?" she pressed her advantage. 

"No, even I'll have to put my foot down on that one. Fresh juice only. Bahut kharab cheez hoti hai beta. Mat piya karo. Even after the baby comes." 

"Not fair Abbu. Every morning Ammi forces me to have haldi milk. You don't know how poisonous it is. Itna atyachar ho raha hai aapki beti par yahan!" 

When Raziya passed by his study, she stopped. 

She had never heard her husband laugh like this. These days she watched him with Humaira with growing envy and regret. 

He was a changed man. 

Who knew that a man who once saw women as second class citizens meant to be seen not heard, was now seeing a whole new world through both his daughters' eyes.

Meanwhile, she had risked so much for so little ...

And had nothing to show for it ... 

"But I wanted to talk to you about something more serious," she heard her husband say. 

Raziya walked away. 

She didn't spy or eavesdrop any more. She just didn't have the heart for it. She had sabotaged things enough already. These days Raziya just gave thanks for the borrowed time she had with a happy and strong Humaira, and a mellow and doting Siddiqui sahib. 

Better him than her to enjoy meager redemption. 

Her salvation was the few more days of respite from complete exposure and condemnation which was just waiting around the corner. Every new day was a blessing and a curse.

"Boliye Abbu." Zoya grew serious too. 

"I wanted to meet you and Asad and discuss something important."

He reassured her when he heard the panic in her voice. It was just a new project that he wanted their ideas on.

They met in his office that evening. 

Asad was pensive. What now, he wondered. Zoya was nervous. She too wondered what Abbu was going to say. 

Was he ill? Did Humaira know? 

After hugging her father she clapped with glee when she saw a pizza waiting for them.

He poured juice for her, "yeh bhi peena padega, right Asad?" 

She made a face, but her husband nodded enthusiastically. 

"Try it. I've had it made especially for you. It's got ginger and mint and fruits. It's delicious!"

She took a tentative sip, and her eyes widened. "It's yum! Here, Mr. Khan, you must try it, it's so good!" And she shoved the glass under his nose. 

"Abbu, I want the recipe," she continued talking to her father even as her husband was forced to gulp down the juice meant for her.

Siddiqui roared with laughter, championing her atyaachar on his son-in-law. Who knew that when in their former lifetimes, he had seethed and glowered at his arch-nemesis, Asad Ahmed Khan, that the takeover and merger would be through his own DNA!

"I'll give you our cook's phone number. You can get the recipe from her and order whatever you want her to make for you." 

Siddiqui ordered coffee for himself and Asad. Zoya force-fed him the slice of home-made cake she'd sneaked out for him. 

"Abbu, I had to hide this last slice from Ayaan and the girls. You have to have some. Maine apne hathon se banaya hai."

"Tab toh hum zaroor khayenge." He smacked his lips in anticipation and praised her baking skills with every bite she fed him.

Asad watched in stunned silence, half-charmed, half-jealous that his wife was completely ignoring him. In the car, on their way over, she had teased him, "Abbu's going to tell me all about your dark secrets as a competitor and business rival." 

"I have none," he'd boasted.

"Of course!" She'd given an exaggerated sigh. "Because you are Mr. Perfect who does things by the book. How boring!" 

He had pinched her thigh and she'd yowled in protest, "I'm going to tell my Abbu about all this domestic violence!" 

"Then I'm going on a se*x strike," he had threatened. 

"Oh really? And I'm the blackmailer?"

"So Abbu, what did you want to talk to us about?" Zoya asked as she helped herself to the goodies ordered especially for her. 

Her father looked at her indulgently and Asad hid a smile behind his hand. Neither was willing to tell her to not put her feet up on the couch or eat pizza without a plate. 

It was just a couch. 

"Humaira told me about how the college principal had you arrested for standing up to gundas. He turned in his resignation this afternoon."

Zoya choked on her pizza and Asad patted her back while her father rushed to offer her water. 

"But Abbu, that was so long ago!" she protested while Asad grinned. 

Genius!

Old money and elderly patriarchs did have some use after all! 

"No, and it's not just because he had you arrested. It's because he participated in making eve-teasers more bold on campus. Humaira told me how bad it is for girls everyday. And then with everything on the news these days ..."

Siddiqui got up to pace restlessly with the coffee cup in his hand. Asad and Zoya looked at each other wondering what was going on in his mind. 

She reached for Asad's hand. 

With each report of rapes and assaults, they too had had similar discussions. A couple of times she'd even ended up in tears thinking about her unborn child ... what if it's a girl? 

What kind of world of terror will she enter? 

All her life she will live in fear of being jumped, being scared of shadows. 

All her life she will classify men into two categories: the protectors and the predators. Sometimes she will mistrust the protectors and trust the predators. 

Half her lifetime's energy will be squandered on looking over her shoulder ... 

What kind of world was this?

She shook her head to rid her mind of the familiar demons, to pay attention to what Abbu was saying.

"That's why I called you two today. I'm one of the trustees. I want the College to have some kind of awareness or assault prevention program or course that will be made mandatory. It'll teach about these things ... and will be not just for girls but for boys too." 

Zoya sputtered with delight. 

"You mean like sensitivity training? Yes, Abbu, in the US, all workplaces have mandatory se*xual harassment training. I know that some universities and colleges even have training for men and women about not being silent bystanders and how rape is also a men's issue! There's a great TED talk on this by Jonathan Katz! Remember, Mr. Khan, I showed it you?"

"Jackson Katz, yes I remember." Asad nodded. 

She grew more and more animated and just as breathless, now nearly hopping on the couch.

"What a super idea! I love the idea of having an actual course that students have to pass in order to graduate. We could invite law enforcement experts, gender and feminist studies professors, self-defense instructors, even organizations that work with victims of assault." 

She stopped to catch her breath.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Abbu you're a total genius!" 

Siddiqui stood transfixed, beaming at this heartfelt knighthood. 

"Zoya, get down," Asad chided gently as he held out his hand.

She took his hand and climbed down, only to now bounce on the floor. 

"Mr. Khan! Isn't it a great idea? I've been thinking of doing something about this issue for so long. But this is absolutely perfect!"

"It is a great idea." Asad agreed. "In fact, may be I can have some training like this for the employees at my office too. I know that some multinational companies probably do this already." 

Zoya gripped his hand in excitement and squealed, nearly hugging him, but then remembered her father. 

Siddiqui cleared his throat and they looked at him, blushing. 

He laughed. "Sahi keh rahe ho Asad. I'll do it in my office too. And beta?" He took Zoya's hand in his, "this is where you come in. I've been told that you are an expert researcher, tech wizard and crusader for justice."

Zoya's dimples deepened and her husband nearly choked on his own laughter. A crusading and musibat-embracing Zoya was happy enough. But heap praise on her for her righteous ferocity, and one could earn her undying love and loyalty for eternity! 

"Will you try to put together a proposal, actually two, one for a college level course and another for a professional workplace?" he looked at Asad. "If both of you think it's OK, that is."

"Of cour"-!" 

"Umm, Zoya?" Asad quietly interrupted her hearty affirmation. 

"Mr. Khan! You CANNOT try to stop me from doing this! I was BORN to do this!" she hissed loudly, fists planted firmly on her waist. 

Siddiqui hid a smile. 

This was hilarious. 

He had seen Asad previously at business conferences and the man had been aloof and stern, steel, clad in ice. 

Now, he watched his whipped son-in-law, raise both his hands defensively and take a deep calming breath, already preparing to be railroaded. 

"I'm not stopping you. I doubt anyone can do that. But you can do this only if you promise to be careful, take care of your health and listen to me once in a while." 

Zoya held out her hand, "deal!" and they shook on it with mock-solemnity.

Asad laughed looking at her animated face. He wanted to pull her into his chest but his father-in-law was just a few feet away. 

He dropped her hand reluctantly. 

"Kyun, Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan, koi aisa bhi hai iss duniya mein jo aapki nahin sunta hai? Uski aisi jurrat?" Siddiqui deadpanned. 

Zoya loved it! 

Abbu was actually teasing her Akdu? Aww, Asad was blushing! She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. 

She sighed and clasped her hands to her chest turning to her father. 

Her face fell.

He looked tense all of a sudden.

"Abbu, what is it?" 

He sighed heavily and collapsed on the armchair. 

"Abbu!" Zoya panicked. "Is everything OK?"

She knelt in front of him and held his hands. He removed a hand from her desperate clasp and stroked her head gently. 

"I don't deserve you. I don't know why Allah is giving me a second chance, but I want to grab it with both hands and give thanks with every breath." 

She smiled up at him through her tears.

He got up to walk to his desk and picked up a folder of papers. Both Asad and Zoya tensed with the change in his expression and mood. She rose, blindly reaching for Asad's hand again. He gripped it tightly trying to transmit his warmth and strength to her. When Siddiqui turned around to face them, his eyes were moist. He looked at their clasped hands and broke into a beatific smile. 

"Ek doosre ka aise hi saath dena, aur hamesha khush rehna." 

Taking both their hands in his he placed them on top of the folder. Choking up he said softly, "I can't begin to make things right, but I intend to spend the rest of my life trying." 

"Sit," he indicated the couch, and they both did, dutifully.

"This is not easy, but it is the only right thing to do to correct the mistakes of the past. This folder has the property papers for that piece of land which used to be the site of the gudia factory." 

He didn't have the strength to look into their faces but he forced himself to. Zoya looked stricken and a muscle throbbed in Asad's neck. He saw Asad's grip tighten around Zoya's hand.

"I'm sorry to bring this up. It is after all, also the gravesite of both your childhoods. But I'm going to have the factory demolished. The land is now in both your names. I leave the decision to convert it into something hopeful and blessed as I know only you can." 

He saw their faces relax, the pain recede somewhat. 

"If anyone can make flowers bloom in the desert, I know it's you two. Has anyone told you that you make a great team?" 

"Abbu, I tell Mr. Khan that, every, single, day!"

Siddiqui laughed through blurred eyes as he saw Asad groan and cover his face, falling back to sink into the couch.

"True," Asad said. "She does tell me that everyday. After which she insists that she's the main hero and I'm the sidekick."

"Mr. Khan, stop making up stuff!"

"No?" he asked, tongue firmly in cheek. "You don't call yourself Lady Sherlock? What does that make me then, Watson, right?"

"I love watching tum dono ka Akbar-Birbal act," Siddiqui remarked. 

"See?" Zoya said to her husband smugly. "Since you're Jahanpanah, that means I'm your mulazim Birbal."

"Hmph!" Asad dismissed her claim haughtily. "Again, you get to be the more intelligent partner!"

"Ab jab main zyaada intelligent hoon toh ..." Zoya high-fived her father. 

Before leaving, Abbu had held her back. "Main tum dono ka gunehgaar hoon. Maafi ke layak bhi nahin hoon. Lekin ho sake toh, iss badnaseeb baap aur sasur ko maaf kar dena." 

Zoya had nearly burst into tears and they had hugged. Both Siddiqui and Asad removed their handkerchiefs simultaneously to wipe her tears. 

She had looked down at the twin offerings and started to laugh.

"Dekha Abbu? Why should I think of the past and make myself sad, when today I have both of you to take care of me. Ammi used to sing a song, Aane wala pal, jaane waala hai"-'" 

"Ho sakey toh iss me, zindagi bita le, pal jo ye jaane wala hai," Siddiqui quoted softly, eyes moist again. 

"So from today, we'll find moments of happiness and not be sad about the past, OK Abbu?" 

Her unparalleled zest for life's little joys was contagious. 

"You're right," he smiled. "Itni pyaari baatein karke dil jeet leti ho." And he patted her head affectionately, noting Asad's silent agreement.

"Abbu, issi baat par ek sher arz hai!"

Her father looked on indulgently, but her husband clutched his forehead in despair. He fretted that Zoya was just about to tank her hard-earned goodwill! 

"Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi," 

"Irshad! Irshad!" encouraged a charmed Siddiqui who could find no fault in his child's super powers. 

Asad squeezed his eyes closed however; but he was still intrigued to hear what would come next. He remembered how it went the last time he'd heard a version of this sher. She thought she was blackmailing him for keeping his secret agent identity from Ammi! 

She had rhymed maafi with coffee then: "Aaj Jahanpanah khud kaneez ke liye, bana kar laaye hain coffee."

What would be today's rendition? 

"Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi,

Meethi baatein karte hain, but your office has no toffee!" 

Her father stood before her, slackjawed in disappointment. When he had heard Humaira say a thousand times that Zoya bhabhi was a super shayar he had expected fine verse and profound thought.  

Not this. 

"Ye kya tha? Ya Allah, ab Ayaan jaise ek aur paidal shayar ko jhelna padega!" 

"Abbu! You're so mean," Zoya pouted. "I didn't have enough time to come up with something more creative. Par phir bhi, aapko meri effort ke liye daad deni chahiye!" 

"Sorry, beta. Kya karoon? Shock ke maare daad nikli nahin." He was laughing openly now along with Asad. 

Asad was guffawing. "Daad nikli nahin!" he snorted. 

"Mr. Khan!" 

"Accha, theek hai, main aur meethe andaz mein haal bayaan karta hoon," her father held up his hands to pacify her. 

"Arz hai, ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi."

"Irshaad, irshaad," hooted an enchanted Zoya.

"Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi,

Itni berehmi se katal, bechare sher ke saath hai kitni na-insaafi!"

Zoya squealed in delight. "Abbu that was so cute! I must get my shayari genes from you!" 

"La hau walla quwwat!" her father mock-lamented.

She was happy and bubbly as they left, still chatting about Abbu's superior shayari skills. 

In the car, she stroked his arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you like that." 

Asad grinned. "It's OK, I'll survive. And I've had you to myself longer. But I'll need payback and a lot of special attention." 

"You got it!" she promised. But she couldn't resist teasing him. "Bechare Jahanpanah. Itni be-insaafi. But you probably deserved it for getting the meteor shower date wrong and getting me all excited about a midnight picnic." 

He harrumphed."Will you let that go? I just overheard someone in office talking about it. They said the 17th. How was I to know they meant the 17th of next month?" 

"You could have checked and confirmed. That's how you would know! Or just let Prasad handle these things from now on." 

She leaned over to peck his cheek. "Aw, I was just kidding. This just gives me more time to plan a picnic to remember." She sighed. 

"Wouldn't it be cool if we could have Nikhat and Feroze's engagement ceremony under the stars?"

"Hmm."

"Hmm great? Or hmm, you're just saying that so I'll shut up?"

Asad laughed and shook his head. What a day! Barely getting a word in edgewise all evening, but sure a lot of bellylaughs that felt good for the soul. Who knew that he'd laugh so much in the presence of Gaffoor Ahmed Siddiqui? He braked suddenly to avoid hitting a stray dog, and the gudia factory papers in the folder on the backseat went flying. Zoya twisted around and groped to pick them all up and refile them in the folder.

Her smile evaporated.

She looked out of the window, deep in thought. Asad interlaced his fingers with hers. 

"You OK?" he asked softly. 

When she turned to face him she had tears in her eyes. 

"Zoya! What happened baby?" 

"Just take me to Ammi's side, please Asad." 

"It'll be closed. I'll take you tomorrow, promise." 

"Then take me to the Dargah." 

Asad parked near the Dargah. Leaving the car on, he walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. He helped her out but didn't let go. Settling in her seat he pulled her in his lap and shut the door. Zoya sighed and snuggled into his chest as she wept quietly. He stroked her back and murmured a thousand endearments and promises. 

His heart too felt full. 

It wasn't that he resented Siddiqui Saheb for the past any more, or even for bringing up the past. It was just that, any reminder of that time and place brought the pain flooding back so unexpectedly that it took one by surprise, leaving one breathless at its sheer intensity.

He rocked her to him letting her cry herself out.

She kissed his cheek when the storm had passed. 

"I love you," they both said together, and then laughed. Pulling her scarf out from her bag she covered her head. 

And together they walked to pay their respects and tie a knot of hope and peace.

Song in Title:

Veer (2010) "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"

Chapter 86

It was a pale morning, smoggy and tired. The sky sagged oppressively.

"I want her to know." Siddiqui said grimly as he removed his glasses and polished the lenses. 

Raziya made a choking sound. 

"Eighteen years," he sighed. 

He cleared his throat. 

"For eighteen years, one daughter sacrificed her birthright so the other one could live a charmed life ... I was a coward. We've asked too much of her already. Humaira has been sheltered and protected all her life, while I left Zoya at the mercy of strangers." 

Her fingers stiffened arthritically. 

He sighed heavily again and replaced his glasses. "Humaira's life of luxury has been a gift from Zoya, and you know that too. It's time." 

Raziya didn't even gasp as the familiar pain shot up her side. 

She had known this day would come. 

But when it did, she was still taken unawares. 

Not much mattered to her these days except for Humaira's reaction at the truth of her mother's past. The blowback from that grisly discovery would be swift and heartbreaking. She just knew it.

Humaira would be crushed. 

Raziya's hands shook as she adjusted her dupatta on her head. 

But at least Humaira would have Zoya by her side. And Asad, and Siddiqui saheb. And Ayaan. 

By now, Raziya's faith in her stepdaughter's innate mercy had deepened. She had spared her after all, and for far too long. Zoya would take their secret to her grave before letting Humaira get hurt, even of that she was certain. She had heard so much about how Zoya had taken care of her when Humaira was at their home. "Ammi, I would just think of something, and she'd have it ready for me!" 

Her daughter would never tire talking about Zoya. 

When Raziya had asked Humaira one day about talking to Shireen about setting a wedding date, her daughter had laughed. 

"Ammi, you're just like Zoya Bhabhi! She keeps teasing me about wedding dates. When she sees something in a magazine, or on TV, she'll say, Humaira! This'll be perfect for your nikaah!' But not now Ammi. I want more time." 

Raziya's eyes had teared up when she heard this. 

So Zoya too was just as eager for this wedding to be soon?

But she wondered why Humaira didn't want to set a date as yet. 

A few months ago, she would have been ecstatic at the idea of getting married to the man of her dreams. But what was holding her back now? It was as if Humaira had suddenly grown up in the last month or so. Her relationship with her parents had changed too. She was surer of herself, as she radiated a calm strength. Both her parents had come to rely on her rather than the other way around. 

But Humaira was more sombre too. 

And Raziya wondered how much of that was on account of her feeling shame for her mother's actions. And how much of that was on account of her feeling penitent for her father's inaction. 

When she overheard her daughter chatting to her Abbu about Zoya, Raziya was haunted by the longing she heard in Humaira's voice. Though she had never said it, she knew that her daughter wanted her missing sister to be like Zoya.

Suddenly, Raziya went deathly still.

She knew in a flash why her daughter was reluctant to discuss getting married as yet. 

She wanted her sister to be at her wedding!

And that's what made her take the plunge.

Raziya knew it was time to pay up her dues.

She bowed her head and sniffed. 

"Jee, you're right. Aap jaisa theek samjhen." 

Siddiqui looked down at her in surprise and unexpected sympathy. He felt terrible too about how this would affect Humaira. But he felt driven by his conscience. And even more so by Zoya's unquestioning acceptance of the piecemeal love that life had thrown her way. She loved wholeheartedly, fiercely, but didn't expect the same in return. 

She looked at others' love for her as a random gift and not something that she was entitled to.

And that was the most harm he had done by abandoning her. 

When he was with her, a winsome Zoya's matchless spirit was enough to wipe away all self-doubt. But away from her, Siddiqui continued to be riddled with guilt and despair. 

He looked down at his wife's bent head. 

"May be ... I think ... let me talk to Asad first." 

He had begun to rely more and more on his son-in-law's strength and uprightness. He wanted so badly for both his daughters to be united now. Humaira already loved Zoya even without knowing that blood linked them. And Zoya's yearning for Humaira was obvious that day when she had lovingly traced Humaira's photograph on his desk at the office. Asad's words from the day he revealed Zoya's identity reverberated in his mind often. They pierced his soul when he went to bed at night and when he woke from smoke-filled dreams in the morning. 

"All these days she could only ask Humaira a million questions about you. What stories did your Abbu tell you when you were little? Did he teach you how to ride a bike? What did he do when you got hurt? What if you had a scary dream? Does he"-?' "

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had robbed both his daughters. Humaira's words too echoed and tumbled across his mindscape. 

"Now that we know about Tanveer, what should we do to try to find ... your ... real daughter? Shouldn't you hire a private detective or a lawyer who can look into this, and bring her home?" 

Yes! 

It was time.

His daughters had shown him the way. He would take his cue from them. They deserved each other's love, and their union would be his best legacy to them.

In getting his daily updates from Rakesh, Asad, just like everyday, insisted that the people keeping tabs on Tanveer be alert for any gaps in security. 

"I still don't like that we didn't find the money. It means she was prepared and has plans for an escape. And with the minimum security at the jail hospital, she might try anything, anytime." 

Rakesh reassured him. At Asad's behest, his team had promised the staff lavish gifts if they reported on Tanveer's activities and visitors. If she talked for too long with someone, the team knew about it, and by the end of the day, an in-depth report and background check appeared at Rakesh's desk. 

"We already have our people guarding all the entrances to the facility. But if she sneaks into an ambulance, or decides to leave on foot in a burqa, we may not be able to catch her." Rakesh informed him.

"Get someone inside then. More than one person if you have to," Asad instructed grimly. 

"We've been considering entrapping her by having one of our people become close to her. But as yet, we haven't been able to get our guy hired. Bribing someone already there is our other option. We've narrowed down two candidates." 

"I don't care that this thing is costing me a fortune," Asad dragged a hand through his hair. "All I want is freedom from the constant fear that she'll harm my family. And somehow, I'm dead sure that she's waiting to strike yet again."

As he disconnected, Asad thought about their visit to the dargah last night where they had read and tied sacred duas in prayer. Zoya had cried softly in his arms in the car, but then they had dusted their grief off and walked into the sanctuary with a light heart. Looking through the screen at each other, they had been secure in their love and hope for the future. Their bonded hands, like the tied strings, felt eternal. 

But now he felt that they had been too nave. 

A flash, and a cord could be forever severed. 

His fist clenched. 

Damn! He'd caught on. 

He'd caught on that she was going behind his Stalin back.

He'd caught on that she was getting her pizza fix by deploying the help to the stores to place and pick up her orders. 

Mr. Khan was getting too smart for his own britches, Zoya fumed. 

The maid had hung her head and muttered, "Sir ne mana kiya hai."

The driver echoed the same instructions from Akdu: "Asad sir said not to." 

Same story with the guard. 

Really? 

In the middle of a meeting Asad covered his mouth to hide his smile when he saw the angry text from his wife: MR. KHAN, I WILL KILL YOU. 

Violent and angry emoticons followed. 

And then came the next one. 

You WILL sleep in the living room tonight! Or better yet, I'll sleep with Najma. 

His smile vanished. 

OK, this was not good. 

After the meeting, he reluctantly placed the order for her pizza, to be delivered exactly as she liked it: loaded with carbs and fat, dripping with cheese, and basically super unhealthy and anti-Akdu's health decree. 

Just for today he wouldn't mess around with the ingredients. No way would he be spending a night apart from his Mrs. Jahanpanah.

Now that would be hell!

And he felt bad for her too. 

The morning sickness wasn't letting up, and now she had become particularly smell-sensitive. Cooked spinach and jeera tadkas would send her flying to the restroom where she'd be doubled over in agony. Even saying the words palak and jeera now had the power to make her nauseous. 

"Asad, this baby is trying to kill me," she had moaned one morning after some especially bad round trips to the bathroom. 

"Never," he had soothed, pulling her into his lap. "I doubt if anyone could keep you down for too long. The baby's just testing you and letting you know who's boss. And it's telling Abbu to take better care of its Ammi." He had kissed the top of her head and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

When Zoya made a face, he tried to tease her into a good mood, "It's Zoya Farooqui's baby after all, of course he or she's going to be a little hell-raiser!" 

That made her smile and even giggle. 

"How about two sips of coke?" He asked, brushing her nose with his.

Her eyes had sparkled again. "Three?"

He had rolled his eyes, but said nothing even when she'd stolen a fourth sip. 

Feroze had re-introduced Nikhat to his parents and brother over Facetime. Nikhat shyly bowed her head first, but then she took a deep breath and lifted it to look directly at them. 

"Maine aap sab ka dil dukhaya. I'm sorry," she whispered forlornly. 

Feroze quickly put his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

They both looked up surprised when they heard a snort from his brother.

"Bhabhs that's OK! It's good for Bhai to suffer once in his life. Sheesh! You don't know what it's like to live with the golden child! Oh wait, I guess now you'll know!" 

Both the parents had laughed at that, and Nikhat cut her eyes to Feroze. Golden child?

He was blushing. 

She'd tease him about it in private later. She squeezed his hand under the table, away from his family's view. 

"So Nikhat, did you make my son suffer?" His mom asked sternly and Nikhat paled in fear.

Oh my god! 

Was her saas going to be one of those types? 

"Kyun dara rahi ho bechari bacchi ko!" His father intervened. "You were the most excited of all of us that she said yes!" 

His mother broke into a cheeky smile. "I was. And I really was teasing beta. No, I'm not going to be like those daily soap saases! I know exactly those types." 

She looked at her husband and rolled her eyes playfully. "I had one of those myself!"

Her sons groaned, familiar with the nok-jhonk to follow. 

"My mother was a saint." Feroze's dad said calmly. 

"Abbu!" his sons tried to stall the unfolding drama. 

"She is. Now!" Feroze's mother retorted. 

Nikhat covered her mouth aghast at this banter. She looked nervously at Feroze. But he seemed placid, as still as the lake on a windless day.

"Oh please, your only regret is that you didn't get to be the suffering bahu from your useless serials." 

His Ammi's back whipped straight and she held up her hands in warning. 

"Uh oh," grinned Faiz, winking at Nikhat. "Oh no, you didn't!" he muttered. 

"Oh, she was so perfect!" Nikhat's future mother-in-law continued. "No wonder, she made sure every two hours that her ladla beta was fed and clothed properly!" 

"And I was, so problem kya hai? You were a great wife and bahu, what else do you want to hear?"

"I was a great wife? Past tense?" She planted her hands very firmly on her wide waist now. 

"May be. You don't take as good care of me now! Kyunki ab aap ko meri Ammi se competition nahin hai!" He pouted. 

"Guys, please, stop!" Faiz begged. "Bhai, ab toh kuchh bolo. Or Bhabhi will say no again!" 

"Nahin beta, na mat kehna," her future father-in-law pleaded with her. "I was hoping for an ally who would support me in our daily soap opera." 

Nikhat still looked uncertainly at Feroze and then his mother. And Feroze's mother looked at her back, dead in the eye.

Then she clasped her hands to her chest and squealed. "Nikhat, it'll be so much fun! I've been waiting my whole life for my very own bahu! I was beginning to worry that my son was gay. Not that I have anything against gays. Par bhir bhi, main soap wali saas kaise banti?" 

"Please Ammi," Faiz scolded his mom. "Same-se*x marriage was made legal in New York in 2011. You could still be a soap saas!" 

"Very funny!" His mother retaliated. "As it is, all my life I've been surrounded by men. Ek aur ladka? Na baba, thank god Feroze found Nikhat!" 

Nikhat was hyperventilating by now. But Feroze continued to smile serenely.

"Welcome to the family," he said softly, patting her hand. "Are you sure, you still want to marry me?" 

"Ab toh karni padegi." His father asserted. "We have incriminating video evidence that we can use against you!" 

A blusing Nikhat fled. And her brand new family laughed. 

"There you go, commercial break de ke bhaag gayee aapki soap bahu," Feroze's dad remarked to his wife.

"Feroze, what was that?" she asked later. 

Taking her in his arms he laughed. "That was my nautanki family. I've often asked Ammi if I was adopted." 

She smacked his chest. "You're scaring me." 

He laughed and guided her to sit next to him. 

"Look, I know they're unconventional. But think. Mom talks like that because Abbu is cool with her being outrageous. In fact, he encourages her. And despite what she said about Dadi, they got on like a house on fire. Well, on most days. Till the very end, Dadi was convinced that no one could take care of our dad better than herself."

Nikhat still looked unconvinced. Eyes wide she looked at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Feroze laughed again and tucked her into his side. 

"Nikhat, don't look so frightened. My folks will be mortified if they found out they scared the living daylights out of you! They were just being themselves, that shows they fully accept you as one of us."

"Really? Your mom will like me?" 

"She'll love you! Till now I was the normal center of the family. Now there'll be two of us. Together, we'll manage them all just fine. And then we have our taekwondo skills too if their soap drama gets too over the top!" 

She laughed, finally at ease. 

"Families can be nutty, no?" she said looking up into his face. "Look at mine! Ammi's hyper about all of us all the time. She's constantly terrified that something terrible will happen to us. Ayaan is fine now, so she's more relaxed. But during his wilder days, she was convinced that he'd either be in an accident, or get arrested, or beaten up. Abbu is mostly quiet." 

"Sounds more normal than my family!" Feroze said. But he became serious. "My cousin has this theory. She says that Indian parents who just have boys, are bindass and chilled out. But parents with daughters are stressed out all the time, worrying about rishtas and shaadis." 

"She's right, you know!" Nikhat said. Then she groaned, "Indian mothers specially! My god, the millions of times I've heard Ammi beg relatives and friends: aapki nazar mein koi ladka ho toh bataiyega.' "

He laughed. 

She buried her face in his chest, "Feroze, it was so embarrassing! Thank you for saving me from that dialogue. Family gatherings and weddings would be such torture!"

"I don't know about saving you. There will be a lifetime of dialogues from my Ammi now!"

Nikhat groaned. 

"Asad, remember that terrible night?" 

Late into the night, they were still wide awake. She'd dragged him to the terrace. 

 "It'll be such fun!" she pestered him. 

Once again he had furnished their nest with chair pads and cushions. She had brought a sheet and a mosquito repellent coil with her this time. Asad rested on his back, an arm under his head. Zoya lay in the crook of his other arm tracing circles around his kurta button. They had already touched the constellations, fenced with the big and little dippers, counted the diamonds in Orion's belt, and traced the flightpaths of solitary planes. 

"Which one, babe? Those days when we were apart, every night was terrible."

Sometimes they talked of those days when they had lived under the same roof as lovesick, heartbroken strangers, because he was engaged to someone else and she was a mere guest. 

"That one night when we were all by ourselves ..." 

He groaned, remembering perfectly. That one night, months ago, had indeed been the longest and darkest night of them all. It reminded them of all they could have lost. 

And the fragility of all that they had now. 

"Yes, that night qualified as hellish for sure," Asad said huskily. His arm tightened around her. 

Those were the terrible days from the time they had just returned from the trip to Ajmer Sharif, Jaipur and Agra. Their mute suffering went unabated. Each grey day had crept and bled miserably into the next, and the next. 

That morning, Ammi told him at breakfast that they'd be going for a relative's wedding function in the evening. He'd made a face, and Ammi smiled. 

"We'll leave dinner for you. Humko aane mein der ho jayegi. Make sure that you reheat it and eat well." Dilshad had ordered in mock-anger.

Asad had nodded and left for work.

Thinking he'd be alone at home he'd left early. Not that he was getting much done at the office. Every breath made him think of Zoya's downcast eyes and rosebud mouth. 

His eyes were gritty, his head had pounded. 

Stepping out of the room after a shower he had come to a halt when he heard Zoya's aggrieved voice coming from her room. 

He had assumed she had gone with the others. 

"You really didn't know that I hadn't gone with Ammi and Najma?" Zoya shivered in his arms. Asad pulled up the sheet more snugly around them.

"No. And it killed me to hear the pain in your voice." 

Raising herself, she kissed his cheek. 

"I chickened out. I lied to Ammi and told her that I had to go to the immigration office. I couldn't bear to be at a function celebrating someone's wedding. I kept thinking of your Waleema ..."

"OUR Waleema, and it was beautiful!" Asad said emphatically as she ducked her head in his shoulder. "The journey was rocky, but Zoya, we were meant to be." 

She sighed and her breath fanned his neck. 

He felt confident now, but then, it had been a different story. 

That night his doomed feet had moved toward her room of their own accord. That's when he'd heard her pleading with the ticket agent about the stand-by status on an earlier flight to New York. 

His blood had turned to ice.

His instincts had been right after all. She was leaving! 

He heard her say in a small voice, "I lost my father ... if you could please take that into consideration," and he had nearly staggered from the pain. Hers? His? He didn't even know any more. 

"That's OK, thanks for trying," her bleak sigh had made him grind his fingers into his palm. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he'd heard her mutter the next second. Something slammed heavily. 

"C'mon Zoya, you can do this. See, you're already stronger than yesterday." 

"I wanted to push through the door and pull you in my arms and never let go. I wanted to tell you that you weren't stupid, and that you're the strongest woman I know." He stroked her scarred arm. 

"Asad, I watched that door almost all night. I too kept hoping you'd come crashing through and wake me up from a nightmare that just wouldn't end." 

He'd heard her sniff after she'd hung up and his hand had clenched on the door jamb.

"You is kind, you is smart, you is important," she kept repeating on and on to herself. The next minute, he heard the strains from her music box muffle that strange litany. 

"What were you saying? Some strange lines ... you is smart ...' " 

Zoya giggled. " You is kind, you is smart, you is important.' They are lines from a book and film called The Help.' A little girl who's unloved by her mother is told this by her black maid." 

Asad tucked her more securely under him, "you are the kindest, smartest girl I know, and most important to me." 

Her teeth gleamed in the dark. Flinging her arms around his neck she kissed him senseless. 

"Jahanpanah, you sure know how to make a girl truly happy." 

"I've had lots of practice by now. But those days, I was the one who caused you the most pain." 

"Shh," she pressed her finger to shush him. "Am I not happy now? Don't you always carry the sun for me? Make all my dreams come true? Even the wet"-" 

"Zoya!" he hissed and then shook his head. "I had no idea Ms. Farooqui was just a prelude to Ms. Behaving!" 

"Poor Mr. Khan, if he'd only known how good I was at misbehaving, he wouldn't have taken so long to confess his love for me!" she teased. 

He kissed her, feeling her soft lips under his. His warm palm cupped her stomach. Their child was growing in there.

Only now he could think of those forlorn nights and not break into a sickly sweat. Asad crushed and rocked her to him. 

Thank god it was in the past! 

He thought again, of how in a numb daze, he had moved to the kitchen after overhearing her conversation with the travel agent. 

The counters, table and sink were pristine, which meant that she hadn't eaten anything either. 

Restlessly, he'd puttered around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers loudly, rattling the cutlery to draw her out. Instead he noticed her partially open door close softly shut as he pressed the buttons on the microwave. He had noticed that she was more careful around him those days, not chattering loudly or slamming doors, dropping or spilling things. 

It was as if she was quietly erasing herself. Retreating from his life, making herself invisible, clearing away her tracks from the pages of his life.

Desultorily, he had sat alone at the table barely able to swallow the par-heated sawdust before him. 

The silence had shredded his nerves.

Her absence echoed off the walls. 

Unable to eat any more he got up to toss the food in the trash. He looked at the closed door to her room again.

"I couldn't bear it!" Asad told her now. "I saw you bury yourself in your grief every day, and felt helpless that I couldn't do a thing." 

"I thought you pitied me since the day I barged in to tell you about how I felt about you. Oh god Asad, I felt like such a major fool. You were so proper, so dignified, so critical of me. And here I was, totally the opposite, a meddling, bumbling moron who thought that Jahanpanah would actually stoop to like her, let alone love her." 

He wiped the lone tear that slid down her eye. "You were never a moron! And Jahanpanah had already fallen for you the first day he saw you. You never noticed me though. And when you did, you bit my head off!" He pouted. 

She giggled and rose to nip his pouting lower lip. "Oh poor baby! Itni himakat meri? Don't you think I should be spanked for that?" 

Asad laughed. "You will be, Mrs. Khan, you will be."

"Can't wait! And Asad?" her voice dipped seductively. 

"Hmm?" 

"Speaking of biting your head off ... I could kiss it, umm, mmm, and make it all better." 

"Zoya, you are so bad!" He blushed. 

"Oh? Fine, I won't do it then! I'll be good." 

"No! I didn't mean that." 

"Oh so you don't want me to be good?" 

"Oh god, Zoya!" he groaned, aroused and rock-hard. He raised himself to fling his kurta off. 

"Mr. Khan, admit it, you love me when I'm bad. Especially when I'm so good at it! Tell me quick, how bad do you want me to be?" 

"Yes, you are so good at it ..." He leaned over to tell her what he wanted her to do. Her palms and fingers feathered over the hard planes of his bare chest. His lips at her ear gave her goosebumps. Even though she knew exactly what he wanted, she still gasped to hear his hot demands in her ear. He traced her lips with his thumb and she parted her mouth to nip and suck at it, miming what she would do to him ... 

"Ah Zoya ..." he jerked as he felt her hand creep lower and mouth follow tantalizingly. Her tongue flicked his navel and scar, and his hands fisted in her hair. He spasmed, taut with anticipation, when her teeth yanked at his drawstring ... 

"You're pure magic ... and wicked as hell," he moaned in helpless surrender, amplified to that single rife sensation. His hips reared and rolled hopelessly, craving her molten ministrations ... 

In one urgent tug he pulled her on top of him to mount and ride him relentlessly. His hands branded her arms as he buried himself deeper, completing the succulent torture. 

They needed these musky dalliances to sweep away those terrible memories of pain and separation. Because those days, just like now, they were hyper attuned to each other's presence and heartbeats. 

Zoya had heard him banging around in the kitchen that night. She had never known him to be so loud before. Was he angry, she had wondered. Upset that she was here and hadn't gone with the others?

She had shriveled up inside as waves of pain threatened to choke her. Shaking off the impending bout of self-pity she hauled herself off the bed where she'd been sitting cross-legged, begging with the airline representative to put her on a stand-by. She'd tip-toed to the door and softly closed it. 

"You will not cry!" She'd scolded herself then for the millionth time.

"Those days I pep-talked a lot to myself." She told him. 

"And I cursed myself for being the world's biggest fool." He said softly, brushing her hair away from her dewy face and that sinful mouth. 

Coming back to the center of her room she'd pounded through her routine of jumping jacks. She'd taken to doing this since their return from Agra. It kept her temporarily sane. At this rate, at the very least, she'd be in great shape. Only now he told her how he too would similarly slam away at his punching bag to burn off restless energy and punish himself.

"I could see those days that you were losing weight. You had dark hollows under your eyes."

"You noticed?" she asked in wonder. 

"I only had eyes for you. I noticed how you absently stroked your arm. It was only later that I found out about your scar. And then it made sense." 

"I used to stroke my arm?" She had never realized that. 

"Yes you did, and I wondered if you were hurt." He stroked her arm now and nuzzled her neck. 

She burst into tears, "may be it was to tell myself that I didn't deserve you, I was scarred, and you were perfect ..." 

"Zoya, no!" Asad cradled her head dropping a thousand kisses on her hair. "Besides, I agree with Khalil Gibran."

"What did he say?" She asked curiously, tears nearly forgotten.

"The most massive characters are seared with scars."

Zoya thought back to that night's torment. Somehow, even not wanting to, her mind kept wrenching back to that point of utter misery. A quick shower after her desperate exercise mission, and she was surprised to hear a knock at her door. 

As if it was just a second ago, she still remembered how her heart had kicked into overdrive. 

Don't be dumb. It couldn't be Mr. Khan, she'd told herself. 

May be Phuphi and Najma and ... had returned early from the ... 

She just didn't even want to think of the name of the function. Because then it made her think of Mr. Khan and Tanveer's Waleema ...

Another stab of pain had ripped through her then, and now. 

It was indeed Mr. Khan at the door, and her eyes had widened in hope and alarm. Her hand on the doorknob had tightened.

"Umm ... Ms. Farooqui, I know you haven't had dinner. I ordered pizza for you. I hope I got the order right?" 

"Thank you, but ..."

"Just a little?" He insisted kindly, stepping forward as if drawn in by an invisible reel. 

She had lowered her gaze, not wanting to give away her stupid heart's flip. Quietly, she'd stepped out. As she settled down at the table, he brought over a chilled Diet Coke for her. 

"Thank you," she'd said huskily, sick with embarrassment and unrequited love. Don't pity me, please, she wanted to say. 

I'll be fine. 

Eventually. 

"Umm, Mr. Khan ... I ..." 

"You want to watch the IPL match?" He had cut her off midway.

"Because I didn't want you to apologize for your confession." Asad said now. "And I didn't know if I'd be able to look into your face. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness."

Her hand fisted on his kurta. "At least you knew that I loved you. I didn't ... I thought you still disapproved of me. Every day, I cursed myself for even thinking that you could be interested in someone like me." 

He hugged her fiercely to him, kissing away her doubts, "it was only you, always you!" 

He had seen her bite her lower lip and stroke her right arm again. She did that a lot lately. Was she hurt, he had wondered for the fiftieth time. 

"I interrupted you because I was scared you were going to tell me that you were leaving. And this time round I didn't even have the right to say, mat jao Zoya.' " 

His words from the past, "mat jao Zoya," taunted him mercilessly those days. He screamed them in his head every night before falling into an uneasy sleep. 

It was those words of his that had brought her to his room that night ... those words that had made a hypocrite of him. 

"Why don't you bring your plate to the sofa," he had offered then, as he turned the TV on switching to a sports channel that was airing the matches.

She'd looked at him in exasperation and held up her hand. 

"Mr. Khan, I know what you're trying to do. Please, you don't have to feel guilty. Don't change your rules on my account. I'll be fine. I'm a strong girl. Can you please forget what I said that day ..."

No! Those words had gutted him; he had just stared at her in utter misery. He would never forget. Her words had meant the world to him, and in just a few hours those words had become an elegy.

"Can't you go back to being mad at me all the time? And yelling at me for ..." 

That had made him smile. 

"For being messy, standing up on the sofa, always arguing with me?" he had rushed to complete her sentence, and then kicked himself for it. 

"But even in your pain you managed to occasionally put me in my place," he teased. 

"Yes. Those days I'd decided that I needed to start getting mad at you, or I'd fall apart completely. I didn't want you to pity me." Zoya said softly.

He had convinced her to eat while watching TV and a temporary truce had been established that night.

It was awkward and stilted for the first ten minutes. But soon they were lost in the drama of the match, the commentary, replays, interviews and game analysis. Her favorite, Dhoni was on, and he was on fire. Zoya had squealed with each six and four, pumped her fist at the Super Kings' win and generally made a loud nuisance of herself. And he had almost gagged as regret throbbed through him. Here was a girl, his equal, who would have stood by him shoulder to shoulder through thick and thin, and he had squandered it away.  

"You know, I watched you more than the match that night." 

"You did?" 

"And I wanted to kick Dhoni's butt." 

"No!" 

Her laughter pealed loud and clear. Asad rushed to cover that wild mouth of hers. 

"Zoya!" he hissed. You'll get us caught." 

"Mr. Khan, you behave as if we aren't married and about to have a baby. Don't forget that just a little while ago you were being the loud one ..." she whispered hotly in his ear and he groaned. Irrepressible, as usual! 

For a glorious hour or two they had bantered and bonded that night watching their favorite game. They quizzed each other, hopelessly in love, and impressed with the other's knowledge of trivia. During breaks he had scoffed at the commercialization of a great sport and she'd heartily agreed. She told him about how much worse it was in the US with college basketball and professional football. 

"They spend billions of dollars for the Super Bowl ads that are never seen again. It's nuts! Do you think that'll happen here too?" 

"It could. Look at all the cheerleading and face painting in team colors." 

Asad had kept a close watch on her appetite, pleased that she was eating well. He even took a slice when she offered him one. 

It tasted surprisingly good. 

And he was starving all of a sudden.

And then Ammi had texted to let him know that they wouldn't be able to make it back home. Khala had insisted that they stay the night.

"When I read Ammi's text, I thought my heart would implode and crater. And then you looked up at me, and it did." 

Zoya too had felt something squeeze her heart when she'd looked into his eyes. A big mistake. She'd forgotten her own pledge, don't look into his eyes.

"Mr. Khan, is everything OK?"

He'd cleared his throat.

"Umm, yes ..." he said huskily. "That was Ammi. They can't come back tonight." 

He had cut his eyes away, not wanting to look at her.

He heard her gulp. 

"Oh," she'd said softly. 

She got up hastily and gathered the pizza box, napkins and dashed to the kitchen. They heard a noise from Asad's room and both heaved a sigh of relief and ... possibly regret.

"Thank god for Ayaan!" They both said together and laughed. 

" Goodnight! And thanks for dinner,' you said and fled to lock yourself in your room. It happened so fast. A blink, and you were gone." 

"I was dying! I didn't think I could look at you." In fact, in her room she'd slapped her head thinking about her last words to him. 

"Thanks for dinner!" Gadhi Zoya! 

It wasn't a date, you moron! 

"I could hear your voices in the living room and the sound of the TV and every second I thought of how we'd be alone once Ayaan left."

She'd prowled and paced to eventually crash on the bed hugging herself. 

"It'll be all right. You'll be all right." She had repeated to herself like a manic parrot stuffing her earphones in. If she didn't talk, she'd think. 

If she thought, she'd ... 

Two hours later, she had still twisted and turned and tossed in bed. 

Sleep eluded her. 

Her body was tired but her mind was just as wired. 

"I think I kept hallucinating. I watched the door to my bedroom imagnining the knob turn to reveal you at the door. Asad, I wanted you so bad! I wanted to pray, but I was scared that I'd end up asking for you and that would be wrong." 

Restless, as if being chased by demons, that night she'd flung the sheet off and jumped out of bed. Opening the door cautiously to not make a sound, she tiptoed out to the backyard. She needed to pace more. 

But this time around, she needed a lot more room. 

"I couldn't sleep either. I heard your door open and close softly. And I thought that you were leaving me forever. It was my worst fear those days." 

His heart had jolted. 

Please don't leave, it wanted to shout.

Then he'd heard the door to the backyard. He'd grabbed a pillow and smashed it over his face. He too had been thinking of going to the backyard because he couldn't breathe in here. 

But not now.

He got up and slipped out of his room to sneak up quietly to the terrace. And for almost half the night he had kept vigil over her shadowy figure darting from one end of the backyard to the other. 

His fingers had ground on the railing when he saw her drop to her knees, shoulders heaving.

Zoya!

Only superhuman self-restraint had kept him from not rushing down to pick her up and wrapping her in his arms to never let go.

"That night was it for me." Asad said, stroking her head tucked under his chin. "I decided that I wouldn't, couldn't, live without you." 

"Oh really?" Zoya scoffed. "What exactly were you planning to do? Ms. Farooqui ... aap ... yeh ... voh ... main ... actually ..." 

Asad laughed good-humoredly. "I was waiting for some evidence against Tanveer. And then you would've been mine." 

"Mr. Khan! I was going to leave in four days!" 

"So? I'd have stopped you filmy-style at the airport, or followed you to New York. But I was not going to let you walk out of my life this time. But yes, Omar turning up the next day was the last straw ..." 

"That finally broke the Akdu camel's back!" her laugh tinkled. 

They clung to each other on the same terrace that he had kept vigil from. He kissed her now, gently, desperately, gratefully. 

Asad ran his knuckles across her cheek and jaw. "I must've done something right." 

"You did. You came into my life and made everything right. I must've done something right, more," she breathed, heart on her sleeve. 

"Mrs. Khan, you better remember these words when you're mad at me the next time and try to hit me with whatever you find handy," Asad cautioned before rolling her over and making her forget everything for the moment.

Song in Title:

Anwar (2007): "Maula Mere Maula"

Chapter 87

"Uunnnhh" Asad grunted as he looked at his phone screen. 

Damn! The woman had no mercy on him. 

Two seconds earlier she had texted him that Najma had gone out with friends, and Ammi had gone shopping with Dadi and Chhoti Ammi. 

"Why didn't you go with them," he messaged back distractedly focusing on adding up numbers in his head and making a thousand mental notes. 

"Didn't feel like it," she responded. And he thought the conversation was over. 

But no.

Not his wife. 

"I'm horny," her next text read. It was accompanied with a selfie of her in his unbuttoned white shirt, leaning against the headboard. One hand gripped the edge of the headboard behind her, and the shirtfront parted just enough to reveal the gentle swell of her bre*asts. Her legs were bent just enough to leave him guessing. 

Asad's head slammed back into his office chair as his startled breath whooshed out of him. Raw desire crackled through him. 

He had been immersed in spreadsheets and reports. But now, thanks to her, his concentration was shot. When he re-opened his tightly squeezed, unfocused eyes, the white on the computer screen reminded him of his white shirt on her. Spreadsheets made him think of bedsheets ... those twisted bedsheets under them. His fingers convulsing on the page had him imagining her fists gripping satin sheets at that moment of crowning glory... 

That moment when she was a hot satin sheath ...

Asad slammed his fist on the table. 

Everything on it rattled.

He looked, dazed, at the sheet of glass that was his tabletop. Visions of Zoya, from an evening not too long ago, danced in his head. She had marked that table, she had writhed and moaned, she had screamed out his na"-

He pushed the chair back violently, and grabbed his car keys. 

When Zoya heard his brakes squeal on the driveway and his keys in the door, she ran and flew straight into his arms. He had already loosened and tossed his tie in the car. His suit jacket was forgotten, still draped on the back of the chair in his office.

Asad scooped her up and she wrapped her bare legs around his waist pressing herself up against him. The raw heat radiating from her drove him insane. 

"You could drive a man to crime Mrs. Khan! The number of illegal turns and red lights I ran through, just to get to you!" 

"I was scared that you'd drive rashly," she whispered. "I'm sorry," Zoya breathed as she kissed his neck. She squeezed him to her as she let his shirt slip down her shoulders. 

"Don't be," he said as he set her down on the edge of the bed to swiftly undress. Her shirt went sailing too. 

Asad nudged her on her back. Lifting her legs to splay her ankles over his bare shoulders, he crowed as he took her, "oh yes, you are ready for me!" 

"I've been so ready forever!" she gasped as their bodies moved together in a new and familiar rhythm.

Later she watched him get ready to return to work. Zoya sat up to lean against the headboard and pulled up the sheet to cover herself. Languidly, she secured her hair in a loose bun. 

"Asad, I've been thinking ..." 

"Uh oh," he teased. "What new schemes now? I thought you were busy researching your Abbu's proposal." 

Her eyes flashed. 

"I am. But I need breaks don't I!" she retorted. "I was thinking about what you said about not trusting Tanveer to stay put in the jail hospital. I have such a kickass idea!" 

"No!" he groaned. And she pouted, as he knew she would. 

"OK, I might regret this, but let's hear it," he said as he buttoned and zipped up, standing at the foot of the bed. 

She giggled, momentarily distracted. 

Wait. 

Wasn't this like dj vu? Same suit vest and shirt. Standing at the exact same place. 

The only thing different in this scenario was her.  She was no longer hiding behind the settee, but on the bed, naked, entangled in his sheets.

Zoya hooted and slapped the bed top several times.

Asad looked up, puzzled. 

He had no idea that suddenly she was remembering that day, from months ago, when she had snuck into his room to look for her missing earring. It was right after the Akram fiasco and he had yet to apologize to her. Just the night before, they'd had one of those high-octane kicking and screaming matches. 

And both had sworn to never speak to each other again.

"Agar saari kayanat bhi khatam ho jaye, aur iss duniya mein sirf main aur aap bache, tab bhi main aap se baat nahin karunga!" He had thundered and raged. 

As she was rifling through his things convinced that he had her earring, she heard his voice from the next room and panicked. In desperation she'd crouched behind the settee hoping that he'd leave soon so she could make a clean escape. May be he'd just come to get a forgotten file and would be gone in seconds. 

But fate had other plans. 

Somehow, during those days, fate apparently had nothing else to do except cackle gleefully and chomp at the bit to watch these two battle it out in the boxing ring. 

Fate had an all-season pass, and the best ringside seats in the house. 

Sometimes, to make it even more interesting, it even tripped them up so they'd end up reluctantly in each other's yearning arms.

A kinky mistress, that fate. 

And as fate would have it, Mr. Akdu Ahmed Khan had walked into the room and promptly begun stripping. 

Aww, her Mr. Khan had stripping talents even before he'd perfected them, just for her!

In mortified silence she'd covered her eyes that day, hopped in the tight space and clutched her head in growing despair, but he continued, oblivious and relentless. 

He removed his coat and carefully placed it on the bed. Of course! Her Mr. Perfectionist Ahmed Khan. 

Then the tie, vest and shoes had come off. 

And then he began to unbutton his shirt. 

She gulped in dismay. 

Damn those six packs!

Zoya stayed quiet till he removed his belt. But once she'd seen him reaching for his zipper, she'd jumped up to yell at him.

"Stop it, Mr. Khan! What's wrong with you? Ab kya saare kapde utarenge kya?" And she ran out of the room, even more horrified at her own audacity. 

He'd followed close on her heels, outraged and spluttering. 

Except he'd remembered the vow to never speak to her again. 

And then the cutest thing had happened. 

Mr. Khan's epic sign-language fail! 

Even then, her laugh had bubbled up and incensed him further. The vein in his forehead leaped and pulsed maniacally, ready to pop. She'd made him madder by uttering one last volley before spinning on the ball of her foot to run off giggling to her room.

"Waise bhi, main apna earring dhoondhne aayi thi, aapke six packs dekhne ke liye nahin (liar)! Aur bilkul bhi decency nahin hai na aapme? Kyun ki decent log humesha kapde change karte waqt, darwaza band karke rakhte hain!"

Hoo boy! Now that was ballsy of her. And poor Mr. Khan didn't even have a chance to logically explain that even if he had locked the room, she was already inside, and would have still been treated to the nazara of the bared six packs!

She hadn't missed his frustrated, "badtameez ladki!"

Present-day Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan roared with laughter clutching her stomach. Asad c0cked his head to the side quizzically. 

"What's so funny?" he demanded midway through buckling his belt. 

She pointed a finger at him and continued laughing.

He frowned. "Me? What did I do?" 

And using sign language to jog his memory, she tried to remind him of that insane encounter. 

At first his brows knitted in confusion. 

What was she up to now? Never could tell with his wife.

But then he paid closer attention to her gestures: she pointed to her ear and then to the spot behind the settee and covered her eyes. Next she put on a super serious expression on her face, scowled, and pretended to unbutton a shirt and unzip invisible pants; she pointed to the corner again and covered her animated face. 

She made the sign of zipping her lips shut. 

And he remembered.

He too laughed. 

"You drove me crazy those days!" he teased. "The things I've done since you entered my life! Even sign language!" 

He glanced at his watch. "Now are you done playing? Do you want to tell me about your grand plan or not?" 

Zoya sat forward, crossed her legs and clasped her hands in delight.

"OK, hear me out without throwing a fit. Though I miss you throwing a fit these days and getting mad at me ..." 

His eyes narrowed in frustration; her eyes lit up as the words tumbled and somersaulted over one another. 

"OK here's Plan A. Rakesh's people bribe another inmate, and stage a daring escape. We leak it to the media. Imagine! A media circus on the ineptitude of the whole department. Aanan-faanan' and afra-tafri' on the news all day long! Lambi guhaar' and all that. Loud panel discussions where no one listens to anyone!"

She held up her hands when she saw her skeptical Akdu frown. 

"With all the negative press and attention, the security at the jail would be beefed up like never before. So even if Tanveer was planning something ..."

" ... the heightened security would delay it, or kill her grand schemes. By then she'd be too close to delivering her baby ..." Asad completed her sentence. 

"Genius!" 

Zoya beamed at the approval. But then she saw him frown again.

"And plan B?" 

She exhaled. The man was too detail-oriented to get much by. Zoya lowered her gaze and played with her fingers. Asad crossed his arms across his chest suspiciously, hackles waiting to rise.

"Go on," he drawled. 

"Umm, well ..." 

"Voh, main, actually, etc. etc. Aage boliye!" Asad waved his hands impatiently. 

She threw his pillow at him. 

He ducked. 

She twisted the sheet in her hands.

"Rakesh's people could help Tanveer escape and"-" 

"What! Are you out of your already-crazy mind?"

He raised and pointed his finger at her, as she roared to stand up on the bed, naked and furious. Her hair spilled wildly over her shoulders.

"Zoya, don't you dare go Allah Miyan on me now! Why would you even say that? Of all the nonsensical, hare-brained"-" Asad spluttered. 

Of course she had jinxed it, and here he was yelling at her. 

Hands on her waist, she glared at him, breathing fire. "You never hear me out! You judgmental, stick-in-the-mud, no-one-knows-better, Akdu Jahanpanah, Tarzan ki aulad!" 

"Tarzan?" he looked up at her after a pregnant pause, eyebrows co*cked sardonically. But then he got distracted as his gaze travelled south only to be snagged by her bre@sts. 

She huffed; he swallowed. 

"Mr. Khan! My eyes are up here!" she hollered, tongue in cheek. 

"Hunh?" Asad gulped. 

"You were right, they are fuller," he whispered in awe, still dazed, all anger and plans A, B, F and G forgotten. 

Just this morning she had been looking at her body in the mirror from all angles, half-eager and half-regretful of the coming changes. 

"What? These babies?" She cupped them, inevitably thrusting them in his face; he groaned. Zoya giggled and stepped back out of reach, as his hand lifted unconsciously to caress her. 

"Unnhh!" he protested. In their frantic coupling he hadn't had a chance to give her bre*asts the full attention they deserved. 

"Asad, honey, up here," she said softly, with a barely repressed giggle.

"Wha"-?"

She moved closer and crooked a cheeky finger under his chin. But that brought her within touching distance. His fingers traced the freshly darkened areolas reverently. The book had talked about this coming change in her body, but the touch and feel of them was something else altogether. Watching her rub creams and lotions over her body to soothe the itchiness and soreness every morning was its own turn on. 

"Are you still sore?" Asad asked softly as his thumbs feathered over the swollen burgundy nipples. 

So dark and tender, so rich with anticipation. 

Slowly, he blew his breath on one, and she arched; her hands gripped his shouders involuntarily.

"Yesss," she hissed. 

"Asad, remember Plan B?" 

"Hmmm?" 

She framed his face in her palms. "Listen! They entrap her and help her escape, but deliberately mess it up, so she gets caught. Media circus and hoopla, public goes nuts over the feel-good story! And Tanveer gets thrown deeper into the freezer with the keys tossed away, hopefully forever."

Asad's eyes glittered. "You have a devious, devious mind," he remarked. "And a sinful, se*xy body." 

"And I'm way better at sign language!" 

"True." He pulled her to him by her waist and his tongue helplessly curled around an oversensitive wine-dipped bud. 

"As"ad," she moaned as she gripped his hair and bowed back wildly. "Don't start what you can't finish."

"Damn!" he pushed himself away from her and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You're right. I have to go." 

He bent to kiss her stomach, letting his palm linger, "bye baby, tell Ammi to be good." 

"Hey! You be good!" she tossed her hair back. 

"Babe." Asad drawled softly. "I thought I already showed you how good I am." 

"Oh yes," Zoya whispered, hand on her heart, stars in her eyes. "My bad! And you did get here on such short notice to put out the fires!" 

He chuckled. Grabbing his phone and keys, he said, "And I like plan A much better."

"But Asad," she put her hand on his arm to stall him as she hopped off the bed. She smoothed his shirt and fixed the collar. His arms came around her.

"Plan A has too much collateral damage. People could be fired or transferred for no fault of theirs. It'll be humiliating for their families. But Plan B could make the police and security look like heroes if they foil a prison escape." 

Asad looked down his nose at her and pulled her in for a long kiss. "Of course, how could I forget? My Jhansi ki rani is also Mother Teresa! You're incredible, you know that? What was that again? You is kind, you is smart, you is important.' " 

"Aww, and you, Mr. Khan, is a heartbreaker!" 

I love you, she signed with her fingers. He kissed her fingers. 

Zoya wrapped the sheet snugly around her as she walked him to the door. Asad pulled her close again for a last snuggle and kiss. They heard a car in the driveway. His arms tightened around her. 

"Mr. Khan, let me go, Ammi's here!"

He grinned and nuzzled her neck. 

A car door slammed. 

"Asadd!" 

He let her go only when he heard the key in the lock. She fled to their room without a backward glance.

"Drive safe!" she called out over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the bedroom door. 

"Ah, Hercules and the Augean Stables.' That's pretty ingenious!" Rakesh remarked when Asad told him about Zoya's ideas and concerns.

"She's into crime dramas and police procedurals, right?" He continued. 

"Like you won't believe," Asad sighed. So many times he'd told her not to watch her favorite American crime shows. "Our child will be a serial killer at this rate." 

"Allah miyan what's wrong with you Mr. Khan!" was her stock response. "Why won't our child be a super cop or ace detective?" 

"You know, I could use a creative problem-solver like that. I've heard she's a tech guru too. Would Mrs. Khan be interested in working for me?" Rakesh continued to gush, blindly treading where no man had gone before. 

But then he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment when he heard complete silence at the other end. 

Sh*it!

He would probably lose his best client now that he'd put his foot in his mouth. He mentally kicked himself harder.

More silence, and then a long sigh.

"Umm, Asad, I'm sorry I probably shouldn't have said that." He rushed to apologize. 

Asad exhaled heavily. "The problem is that she would love to, and be damn good at it too! But I would die of a heart attack worrying about her. And if you want your single biggest client to keel over from the stress, sure, you can have her!"

Rakesh laughed, more at ease now. "No, that's OK. I'll make do. Though I might just have to charge you extra for letting go of a crack shot operative just to keep you alive," he joked. 

"Yes, it is your loss. She's also a brilliant hacker and activist par excellence!" 

He chuckled when he heard Rakesh groan. 

But," continued Asad. "Half the time you'd be bailing her out of jail, or sending in the army to rescue her, because she will follow her nose and heart and get herself into trouble. And she will fight you tooth and nail if she believes in something and you happen to disagree with her."

"Looks like you speak from experience. And I bet she'd clock you if she heard you say such things about her." Rakesh observed sagely. 

"You don't know the half of it," Asad muttered as his wife's exploits and escapades flashed through his mind in a technicolor montage. He smiled and shook his head fondly. The fights, the adamant deductions, the zany proof-gathering ... all peppered with Allah Miyans!' 

Damn! She would make a great detective. She had the instincts of a bloodhound and the passion of a crusader. 

"So you want to greenlight Plan B, then?" Rakesh asked more seriously.

"Run some worse case scenarios by me and then let's decide." Asad hedged as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

He wasn't completely sold on the idea. One misstep, and everything could be over. He wanted to move very carefully on this. On the one hand, he worried about being too paranoid. Were they seeing ghosts where there were none? May be Tanveer had been neutralized. But on the other hand, he couldn't be cautious enough. A pre-emptive strike might just be the best recourse. The woman had proven to be diabolical in her tenacity and focus after all. 

"Feroze, you get Indian channels in the US?" Nikhat still needed more assurances and time to wrap her mind around her future family's whackiness. 

"Yeah, and my mom loves them all. She blogs and tweets about shows. Sometimes she and her friends will have marathon viewing sessions with potluck. We get shooed out of the house on those days."

"She's on twitter?" Asked an impressed Ayaan. 

"What's her handle?" he asked, whipping out his phone to pull up the app. 

"I'm not a hundred percent sure. Try Desi Soap Lover,' " Feroze said. 

Ayaan pulled up the account and Nuzzhat, Najma and Humaira leaned over to take a peek. They were all gathered at the other house this evening. Shireen had invited the kids over for tea. Both Ayaan and Nikhat had left work early; but Asad couldn't get away. 

"Oh my god! Sooo cute! She's fangurling over Jalal from Jodha Akbar!" Humaira cooed. 

"Really?" Zoya squealed. "Show me!" 

She saw that show too once in a while. "Research on the original Jahanpanah," she'd said to Asad a long time ago. 

But the phone screen was too small for so many heads jostling over it. 

"Allah Miyan what's wrong with us? Here I'll pull it up on my iPad."

Nikhat made a choking sound and Feroze laughed.

"We make a lot of fun of her and she's good-humored about it. She and dad will pass comments and laugh like lunatics at all the over the topness of those shows."

"They seem to have a really fun relationship," Nikhat said wistfully. 

"Don't ask! They're like best friends who won't let anyone enter their secret circle. Not even us! We surprised them with a Masala cruise to the Bahamas for their 25th wedding anniversary. They even had some soap stars on board. We worried that they'd never come back because they were having too much fun not being parents."

"What's a masala cruise?" Ayaan asked, flipping his unruly hair.

"What's with these American parents and cruises?" Nuzzhat interrupted. "Najma, how about Omar Jeeju's parents? What are they like?" 

While Najma eagerly elaborated on the virtues of her in-laws, Zoya murmured "Aww, so cute," dreamily. 

What would she and Asad be like on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary? By then, they'd already have a nearly twenty-four year-old son or daughter, hopefully with younger siblings. Would their kids too throw a party for them? May be this time, she could surprise her Jahanpanah with a Palace on Wheels trip? 

She sighed. 

Twenty five years!

Meanwhile, at the dining table, Nikhat leaned in with her face in her hands, lapping up all the juicy details about her own kooky in-laws and painting vivid pictures in her head. There had been too much seriousness in her family; Feroze's family sounded enchanting, like fun characters at an amuse*ment park or an American sitcom.

The girls and Ayaan were still browsing over the tweets. They laughed at some funny memes his mom had posted. Feroze stealthily brushed his knuckles against Nikhat's cheek and she blushed. Her lashes fluttered close to savor the feel of his hand.

Najma caught that tender gesture from the corner of her eye. She even saw Nikhat's blush. 

Her heart twisted. 

She missed Omar so much that it hurt. Just yesterday, she'd burst into tears as she was talking to him on Facetime. She had touched his stricken face on the screen. 

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't!" 

"Najma, stop apologizing," Omar said softly. "I miss you so much too. I wish I could hold you and kiss away those tears."

"Silly man," she had giggled through her tears. "If you were here, I wouldn't be crying would I?" 

He had laughed too, and teased her about what they would be doing instead"in excruciating and graphic detail. And a blushing Najma felt better again. 

Well ... better, but ...

She blushed harder, living up to her nickname. 

She looked at Nikhat and Feroze, and felt another stab. But this time it was for Nikhat. Nikhat too would be in her shoes soon. She too would fret and pine in silence, missing Feroze terribly once he left for the US. 

Why did the men they loved have to live so far away? 

Pardesi babus breaking desi girls' hearts.

Nikhat looked up just then at her, and their eyes misted. She knew what was in store for her. She rose and glided over to hug Najma, a sister, a sister-in-law to be, and soon, miserable allies in the same boat. 

"Ooh, Mohit Raina from Mahadev! And look, she loves Arjun and Purvi from Pavitra Rishta." Giggled Nuzzhat. 

"Not bad at all. I'd love to meet your Ammi, Jeeju! She sounds like super fun." 

"She is." Feroze said warmly as he sauntered over to peek over their shoulders.

"Our friends love hanging out at our place. And not just for the food. But also because she's up to date with the latest Hollywood, Bollywood and political gossip. They ask her for advise about girlfriends, parents, Feng Shui, everything. She loves pranking us. Anything can happen on Halloween and April Fool's day in our house!"

"Such fun! Baaji, you're so lucky!" Humaira teased Nikhat.

But Nikhat's smile dipped. Oh my god, I'll be the boringest bahu in the funnest family. 

They'll hate me. 

But Feroze came over to hold her hand comfortingly. 

"Nikhat, relax. My family needs you more than you need them!" He whispered as if reading her mind.

She looked up into his face, smitten. No one had ever said that to her before. Well, Dadi and Abbu had, but they said that because they loved her unconditionally. 

"And," he promised softly, eyes hooded, "for next April Fool's day, you and I will play the best prank on her. Together, OK?" 

"OK," she pledged shyly. She knew he too was thinking of the long separation to come and this was his way of reminding her of the light at the end of the tunnel. 

"Who's so much fun and lucky?" Dadi piped up as she came into the living room, charmed by all the young chatter she could hear from her room. 

Both Feroze and Nikhat jumped apart. Nuzzhat rushed to explain how cool Jeeju's Ammi was and which soaps she was tweeting about. 

Dadi smiled. 

She liked Jalal from Jodha Akbar too. She made the girls read out the tweets on the show. 

"There are fan clubs? I like the father in Beintehaan! Does he have a fan club?" 

"Ooh Dadi has a crush," teased Ayaan. Multiple hands smacked his head, but Dadi laughed. 

"I want to do this too." Dadi surprised them all. "Show me how to do this titter thing. Then I can be cool like Feroze's Ammi too." 

A suddenly lightheaded Nikhat nearly passed out. An unflappable Feroze held up a glass of water for her. He laughed out loud when she winked at him and whispered, "welcome to the family." 

Asad called Zoya just before coming home from work. Her Abbu had called earlier. He had decided that he wanted Humaira to know as soon as possible. He didn't want any more delays. He wanted to hold both his daughters. And he wanted to talk with them first about the best way to break the news to Humaira. 

"Really? Are you sure?" Zoya cried out after she'd finished complaining to him about coming home so late.

"It's all your fault," he'd chided her. "I had to stay in longer thanks to the tempting afternoon delight you served up."   

She giggled. But now Zoya's eyes glistened with unshed tears at the news. Humaira would know? 

Her heart sang. 

She threw her arm out and spun around in merry circles still clutching the phone in her other hand. 

"How? When?" she begged.

"Think about it and we'll talk when I get home. You're the idea factory after all!" Asad teased. 

"OK," she whispered breathlessly, still twirling. 

"Want me to get kachoris? Kulfi? Jalebis, to celebrate?" he asked indulgently. 

"Umm hmm," she said distractedly, and Asad smiled to himself. Was that a yes to all of them? She had already hung up on him before he could confirm. Probably already spinning a thousand plans for the big reveal. 

He chuckled aloud. 

If he knew his begum right, she must be already cho*reographing a dance performance in her head by now. And by the time he reached home, he and the rest of the siblings would have been roped in and assigned some role in the skit cum surprise party that he was sure she'd have planned. 

Laden with the snacks which his mother would most likely scold him for, Asad kicked the main door shut behind him. 

"Ooh, Bhaijaan! What did you get for us?" Najma asked. 

She was so bored trying to comb through her fat GRE prep book. The words floated around incoherently on the page. She had already yawned fifteen times in the past forty minutes. And every third minute Omar's face and smile would swim before her eyes. She was still on the same page she'd been on twenty minutes ago. Because through hazy eyes her fevered imagination had enacted his s*ex talk from yesterday in glorious detail. 

Omar! She screamed in her head. 

But now she was grateful for the distraction.

"Asad! Phir se? You'll make them ruin their appetite for dinner again!" Dilshad complained to no one in particular as she saw her son put the bags of junk food on the table. She may as well pack away all the food they'd made. Or give some to the maid the next day.

It was useless, she clucked to herself happily. Her house was overrun with overgrown kids. 

But so what?

Theek hi toh hai na, she reminded herself. Both Asad and Najma needed such moments of carefree indulgence when they could be kids again. 

Chhoti si pyaari si shararatein! 

Her children hadn't even had the luxury of that, growing up. Asad had adulthood forced upon him when he was too young. It had made him too serious and angry at the world. And Najma too early on had learned to repress her desires and be trouble-free, so as not to cause her Ammi and Bhaijaan any stress or worry. 

"Where's Zoya?" Najma asked as she inspected the goodies, breaking off a piece here and there to sample them. 

"What? She's not home?" Asad nearly yelped. 

"No, we thought she was going out to meet you. She left in a big hurry." 

Asad was already dialing her number. 

No response. 

Both Dilshad and Najma closed in on him, sensing his rising panic. 

"Kya hua, Asad?" His mother asked. 

He couldn't tell her in front of Najma. 

"Everything's fine Ammi." He looked at her meaningfully and stalked off to his room.

"Najma, put away these things. Let me go talk to him." 

"Par Ammi! What if something's wrong with the bab"-" 

"Shh! Aisa nahin kehte beta. Everything will be OK. Don't worry. Just let me talk to him first." 

When she entered his room, her son was still on the phone.

"Jee. I just talked to her driver. I'll call you again when I get there." 

Asad sighed as he hung up and felt Dilshad's hand on his shoulder. 

"I shouldn't have told her over the phone," he muttered. "I should've waited to tell her in person." 

"Asad? You're scaring me. Zoya theek hai na? The baby?"

"Ammi, she and the baby are fine ... It's her Abbu. He wants Humaira to know that Zoya is her big sister. I thought she'd be happy which is why I called her as soon as I could." 

"And she's not happy? How do you know?" 

"Because she's Zoya," he smiled grimly. 

"I bet she's worried about Humaira finding out about the past and falling apart." 

Fear clutched Dilshad's heart. 

The past. 

Everyone would find out about Rashid too then. 

Ya Allah! 

Asad looked at his mother's stricken face and put his arm around her shoulder. 

"Yes, Zoya's probably thinking the same thing as you. Knowing her, she wouldn't want anyone to know about what happened that night at the gudia factory. And telling Humaira would mean that all the secrets will come tumbling out." 

He dragged his hand through his hair. 

"What do I do with her, Ammi? She thinks about everyone else except herself. I just know it in my gut. She must've decided that we shouldn't tell Humaira. That's why she ran." 

"Where is she now?" Dilshad asked as she wiped her tears. Gratitude warred with guilt. Both were overshadowed by shame. 

It wasn't fair that a child carry the burden of her elders' sins and selfishness. Dilshad had seen her own children pay the price for that.

Asad was right. 

Zoya was planning to take on the weight of both their fathers' sins on her slender shoulders. She had appointed herself the sole gatekeeper of the secrets from eighteen years ago. And she would guard them to her dying breath so that no one would get hurt. Not Humaira or her Abbu, or her father- and mother-in-law, Dadi, Chhoti Ammi, or Ayaan ... or the girls. 

Her own hurt be damned. 

And if that meant squandering her one chance to be openly acknowledged as an older sister or daughter, she would do it in a heartbeat. 

"She's at the dargah," Asad told her as he palmed his car keys. "I'm going to get her home."

Through tears Dilshad advised her son, "tell her ... tell her that no family love or harmony would be complete at the cost of her silent grief. Tell her that if she thinks of herself as a part of this family, then she has to trust her family to do right by her." 

Bracing herself for that final declaration, Dilshad sniffed and wiped her face with her dupatta. 

"Tell her, that I command her to put everything in Allah's hands. That she needs to trust Allah's will and justice. She owes it to her mother ... and her unborn child." 

Pushing him toward the door, she entreated, "now go and bring her home so that I can hold her."

Asad embraced her, his own eyes moist. "Shukriya, Ammi," he whispered as he dashed off to do her bidding. 

Dilshad squared her shoulders. 

It was time Najma knew too. It was time they treated her like an adult and not the sheltered baby of the family anymore. She wouldn't tell her all the details. Nothing about Rashid or Zoya's Ammi. Just that Zoya was Humaira's sister. 

She texted Asad about her decision. 

Raziya's heart quivered with the gush of conflicting emotions. She wept as she held the sobbing girl in her arms. The doomed words, "mujhe maaf kar dena," kept ricocheting in her head. 

But she dared not say them aloud.

She had called Zoya on an impulse. 

Ever since Siddiqui Saheb had told her that he wanted Humaira to know about Zoya, her fingers had itched to make contact with the girl into whose hands Raziya would be bestowing Humaira. Because once Humaira knew, it would be over. 

"Aunty!" Zoya had cried out when she picked up her call. 

"Kya hua beta? Is everything OK?" 

And she heard Zoya burst into tears. Instinct and compulsion took over.

"Where are you? I'll be there." 

Through sobs Zoya had given her directions and her heart had jammed. Why was she at the gudia factory of all places? 

She had zipped right over, knowing that this was the beginning of the end. 

Some terrible power had drawn her there, the site of her gravest offense, the shallow grave of her humanity. 

She knew she was walking toward her doom. 

Eighteen years ago she had come here in anger and resentment, confident of her power to overcome the stigma of being the other woman, desperate to stake claim to a precarious legitimacy that she saw slipping out of her hands. 

Now in the gathering dusk, and the dark hulking shadows of the skeletal remains of the factory, she knew why her leaden feet had dragged her here. 

She had been summoned.

It was judgement day, the hour of reckoning. 

Zoya's huddled figure made the past flash before her weary eyes. 

Her hands lifted on their own to hold the child's heaving shoulders as she sat next to her on the dusty, ashy threshold. 

"Everything will be all right," she soothed through a raw throat. But Zoya's sobs had gotten louder.

"Tell me, I'll make it all right," she pledged desperately as if every tear and each sob from this girl were draining away her own life. 

She squeezed her tighter to her bosom which was heavy with guilt. She quailed at the thought of being found out. What would Zoya do if she found out that she was being comforted by her mother's murderer? Clasped in the arms of the woman who had given her a deadly scar and separated her from her father and sister for eighteen years?

"I have a sister, but she doesn't know."

Raziya's stiff fingers stroked her back. It took all of her effort to not run away from there and keep running.

"Tell her then. She's blessed to have you as an older sister," Raziya choked out. 

"No! I can't." Zoya whispered hoarsely. 

Raziya's heart bled. She knew the answer but still asked, "why?"

Zoya wiped her eyes and lifted her face to look away. "Because, if she knew ... if knew the whole truth, then she'd never forgive herself and ... ."

She wrung her hands after wiping them on her jeans. "I don't want her to hate her parents. All my life I longed to have my Abbu and Ammi ... I don't want her to feel the same loss ..." 

"But beta, your sister will have you, she'll need you"-" 

"She'll always have me." Zoya asserted softly but more firmly now. Her shoulders squared. 

She rose to dust off her clothes. 

Raziya didn't know whether to be grateful or griefstricken. While Zoya's decision may give her more time to maintain the faade of respectability, it would delay Humaira's"- 

She rose too to grip Zoya's hands urgently. May be she was still being selfish. May be her actions today were just as tainted with self-preservation as they were eighteen years ago. Then too she had fought for Humaira's rights, a mere infant. But today she was battling for her daughter's happiness through Zoya's legitimacy. 

She didn't miss the grim irony as it slapped her upside her head. 

"Does she know that she has a sister somewhere?" She asked tentatively. 

"Yes," Zoya whispered. "But she doesn't know that the sister she's seeking is me." 

Asad slammed his fist on the steering wheel. 

"C'mon Zoya, don't do this to me," he muttered to himself. 

She was still not taking his calls. But her driver had called to tell him the address of the place where madam was right now. 

Asad's heart jackhammered in terror. 

When he had last talked to Siddiqui Saheb, he had told him about his fears that Zoya would never agree to telling Humaira. That Zoya would rather invest her life's quest in Humaira's ignorance, than desolate awareness. 

He had heard his father-in-law choke up, unable to utter a single coherent word. 

It was then that Asad had seen his Ammi's text, and a desperate idea had started to take root in his mind. 

He could come up with some nifty ideas too. May be not as prolifically as his wife, but still ... 

He tried her number again and thank god she picked up this time. 

"Asad! I'm sorry. I know you must've been worried."

He took deep breaths. "Are you OK?" 

"No, I can't think straight." 

"I'll be there in five minutes. Stay in the car." 

"I'm fine. Aunty is here with me. I'll wait for you." 

She hung up before he could yell at her about staying away from strange aunties. What Aunty was this? Was this the same woman she'd met at the clinic when she'd tried to get information on Tanveer? 

He accelerated and wove madly through the traffic. It was nearly dark by the time he reached the site. The driver hovered anxiously keeping a watch over Memsaheb from a distance. Asad noticed a burqa-clad woman holding Zoya in her arms, and he breathed again.

"Zoya!"

She broke away and ran to be held by him.

"Apna khayal rakhna, beta," the woman whispered as she backed away to hastily melt into the night. 

They stood in each other's arms. 

Asad dared not move for fear that she'd vanish into thin air. This was the first time they had come back to this place since they'd found out about its grisly tentacles that reached far back into their twin pasts. Asad agonized over her fragile state of mind, and willed his body's strength to surge and thrum through her. 

He didn't know it, but his strong heartbeat hammering against her temple, his smell, and his arms holding her securely, slowly wove their magic and mended her broken spirit; piece by shattered piece. 

Lifting her face to his, she moaned, "Asad, I don't want her to know if it means finding out about her Ammi." 

"Shh, I know baby. We'll do whatever feels right. Just don't ever run away from me again. You know it kills me." 

She clung desperately to him. 

He cupped her face in his hands, "do you want me to take you to the dargah?"

"No I already went there. Take me to the hill top where we can see the city lights below and the stars above." 

Asad dismissed her driver and told him to return the car home. He also called Dilshad to let her know that Zoya was fine, and that they'd be late coming home. 

Once there, they sat in silence in the car with the windows rolled down, seats reclined, and the sunroof cracked wide open. 

Asad played with her fingers. 

He cleared his throat. 

"I know you want to protect Humaira ..." 

Her hand convulsed in his. He stroked the top of her hand in slow circles and her fingers finally relaxed. 

"But am I so bad for wanting to protect you from heartache?" He continued. 

"Please ..." she begged. 

"No!" Asad twisted his face around. "It's plain unfair. You're asking me stand by and watch you die a little every day of our lives!" 

Yes, it was unfair, Zoya thought. She hadn't thought of the effect her decision would have on Asad. Her sacrifice would condemn him into a complicit silence as well. Aunty's recent words sloshed around in her head too. Barely an hour ago when she'd told her that Humaira knew of her sister's existence, Raqeeba Aunty had held her by her shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into her. 

"Think," she'd pressed on urgently. "If she's as sensitive and intuitive as you, will she move on with her life till she has found her sister? Will she get married? Won't she permanently live in a kind of guilty limbo, blaming herself for living a borrowed life?" 

Zoya's eyes had widened.

She knew that Humaira was indeed delaying her nikaah. She wouldn't give a clear answer for why she was hedging. 

"I'm just not ready right now," was all she'd say before changing the subject. Ayaan would duck his head when she'd look at him in askance. 

Was this the reason why she was putting it off?

"Asad, I'm sorry," Zoya cried out. "I don't know what to do. I want so badly for her to know, but she'll feel so guilty. What about Ammi, and your Abbu? Chhoti Ammi and Dadi? Everything will change. We've only recently found happiness, it'll be wrenched away just because of me." 

She wept bitterly as she snatched her hand from his and covered her face. Asad swore under his breath and shot out of the car to open her side of the door and gather her in his arms. He lifted her out and held her tight against him. 

"Don't forget you were a big part of bringing us that happiness. And is it so fragile that it'll be ripped apart by doing what's right? Ammi knows already, and she gives her blessings." He clasped her hands in his and placed them on his chest after kissing each fist. She disengaged to turn her back on him, still not fully convinced. 

"Do you know what Ammi said?" 

She shook her head. 

"She said, tell Zoya to trust Allah's will and justice. She owes it to her mother and her unborn child.'" 

Fresh tears sprang up in her eyes. Asad wiped them away with his thumbs. 

"What if there was a way to tell Humaira that you're her sister without her finding out about her Ammi?" 

She jerked up straight as an arrow. "What're you saying? How is that even possible?" 

Asad pulled out his phone and showed her the text that Ammi had sent him. 

"We need to put things right as soon as possible. I'm going to tell Najma about Zoya and Humaira. But I won't let her know about their Ammis' history or, about your Abbu's role in any of this." 

That text had made his brain hum with possibilities. Could they get away with the half-truth to preserve both of Zoya's desires: publicly being acknowledged as a big sister, and not having to reveal the murky history of that revelation? It would mean letting Raziya Siddiqui off the hook, and he hated that. But it could mean everything to Zoya ...

Her teeth gleamed in the dark. She bounced on her toes and flung her arms around his neck. "Please, please, please can we do this?" 

He laughed and swung her in circles. "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you Mrs. Khan? If you hadn't run away, we could have brainstormed this two hours ago!" 

And finally, as he set her down, he heard that sound that lifted his heart: she giggled. He tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered a couplet. 

"Don't go anywhere without me.

Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,

Or on the ground, in this world or that world,

Without my being in its happening." 

She sighed blissfully and stroked his jaw. "What is it about this place that makes my Jahanpanah so shayarana?" 

"It's not the place; it's you," he said simply. 

Her breath caught. And Asad continued as he rocked her to him, 

"Vision, see nothing I don't see.

Language, say nothing.

The way the night knows itself with the moon,

Be that with me."

" 'The way the night knows itself with the moon, Be that with me.' Asad, that was so beautiful," she moaned.

Her stomach growled loudly and they laughed. "Baby doesn't much care for all this shayari," Asad joked.

"Baby better know that this was meant for Ammi's ears only," Zoya huffed back.

Asad helped her back into the car and buckled her in. "Now let's get some food into Ammi for the best jaccha baccha." He tickled her tummy, "though thanks to Ammi's disappearing act you missed kachoris, jalebis and kulfi." 

"What?!" shouted Zoya. "Why didn't you tell me," she complained. 

"Hello? Did you take my calls? Someone was too busy playing hide and seek!" 

She whacked his shoulder.

That night she shook him awake. All of a sudden she was craving cold jalebis. Sleepily Asad tucked her head under his chin. 

"Asad?" 

"Hmmm ..." 

"What the hell's jaccha baccha? Is it something to eat? Cos' I'm starving!"

Song in Title:

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai (2010): "Tum Jo Aaye Zindagi Mein Baat Ban Gayee"

Chapter 88

"Ayaan, I want you to be completely honest with me." A somber Zoya spoke in dead earnest.

"Kya Mona darling, why so serious?" Ayaan asked as he sprawled sideways in the chair, legs dangling carelessly over the armrest.

Before they did anything further, she had told Asad, she wanted to talk to Ayaan about Humaira's reluctance to get married. She had a hunch and needed it confirmed. So she had come armed with lunch from home, and they'd called Ayaan into Asad's office.

"It's about Humaira," she said, watching his face closely. 

His gaze lowered. All playful banter evaporated. Ayaan swung his legs to the floor and hunched over, head in his hands. 

Asad and Zoya looked at each other. 

She leaned over to stroke her brother-in-law's arm. He sighed and shot out of the chair to pace the floor. Ayaan had already raked his hair in agitation several times. 

Now he violently shoved both hands into his pockets.

"What about Humaira?" he hedged. 

Asad rose to hold him by his shoulders. "Sit," he ordered gently. 

"What's bothering her? Why isn't she excited about her nikaah?" Zoya pleaded as he settled back down into the chair. 

He exhaled. 

"She told me that she wants her sister found first"at least that's what she says." 

Zoya gripped his forearm in panic, "but you don't think that's the real reason?" 

"It's a big part of the reason, but there's definitely more," he sighed. 

"I think she's paralyzed with guilt and shame. First she finds out terrible things about her mother. Now her Abbu. She feels her parents have hurt and used others. That she doesn't deserve to be happy. I have a feeling she's rethinking the nikaah as some kind of self-punishment. I can't seem to reach her; I feel her slipping away." 

Frazzled, he ran a hand through his mop of hair yet again. 

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless to put things right. He, who could charm his way into and out of anything, suddenly couldn't pierce through the aloof armor Humaira had erected around herself. She had become quieter and more preoccupied.  Sure, she still met him everyday, participated in all family banter and togetherness, but some of that was on autopilot, as if a part of her had shut off. 

Zoya's tormented eyes collided with Asad's. He held her gaze, willing her to make the decision. She nodded, giving silent consent; she couldn't' trust herself to speak right now. 

Asad cleared his throat. "Umm Ayaan, we believe we know who her sister is." 

"What?!!" The chair clattered on its back behind him. "Who? How?" 

"Calm down." Asad commanded. 

Ayaan righted the chair and sat back down, knowing full well that Bhai wouldn't go on till he'd collected himself. 

He took a deep breath. 

Asad began to speak in a low tone. Ayaan leaned forward to concentrate on the words.

Together, with Dilshad's help, they had perfected a script of half-truths. Ayaan would be their test audience. His reactions and questions would determine if the script needed minor tweaks, or a major re-write. 

Asad stood and paced now; restless energy rippled through him. Zoya was dying to leap up and hold his hand, but she restrained herself, choosing to rub her stomach instead. 

"When Humaira told Zoya about her music box, we both were struck by the coincidence. How could there be two identical handmade things?" 

Ayaan frowned. He remembered Humaira telling him excitedly that Zoya Bhabhi had the same music box.  

"On a hunch I had my investigator look into Siddiqui Saheb's background, especially the time he was in the US. The times and dates matched up." 

Ayaan's brows drew close together in puzzlement as he tried to make sense of his brother's narrative. "What are you saying Bhai? That Zoya"-?" 

"Zoya was able to get Humaira's hair, and collect blood samples from her bandages. We sent both their samples to a private lab in Mumbai to do a sibling DNA test for a common parent."

Asad paused dramatically. "It took a while, but there was a match."

Zoya crossed her fingers under the table. She hoped that Ayaan wouldn't remember exact dates or finer details that could well derail this fictionalized story. She looked at him under her lashes. 

He looked dazed. 

She raised worried eyes to Asad who nodded in comfort. 

"How long have you known?" Ayaan whispered, looking ruefully at Zoya. 

She took up the storytelling now. This part she could handle. 

"A couple of weeks. Mr. Khan talked to ... Abbu. I wanted another test, this time to check Abbu's and my DNA, to be absolutely certain after Tanveer's hoax." 

"But," Ayaan muttered in confusion. "I thought you said you had found out that your Abbu passed aw"-"

Asad continued, "Exactly! That's what we thought too. I had that man's background and family investigated too. Turns out, none of that was true."

His fist slowly curled and clenched in cold anger at Tanveer and Raziya Siddiqui's vilest scam. He still remembered holding a shattered Zoya at that man's grave. Eighteen years' worth of hopes for a reunion with a long-lost father lay dashed, ground to dust, at her feet. 

In the car ride to the cemetery, with a sinking heart, he had heard her chatter and prattle on about what she would say to her father when she met him for the first time. 

"Aap ko pata hai Mr. Khan, iss din ki rehearsals ki hain maine kitni kitni baar! ... Main ladoongi unse! Poochoongi, ki voh mujhko chhod ke gaye kyun?" 

Her playful banter had soon turned teary, as she'd run down through a gamut of reunion scenarios to finally confess, "main unse kuchh nahin keh paoongi. Main unhe dekhoongi, unse galey miloongi, aur roh padooungi." 

And, as if was yesterday, he also remembered her decision to leave right after. Because the reason for her visit to India no longer existed. 

"Kucch kahaniyan kabhi poori nahin hoti hain Mr. Khan, unki kismat mein adhoora rehna hota hai," she had said through hopeless tears. 

Those words had felt tragically prophetic.

He had come so close to holding her hand in comfort and promise. Probably that night, at that moment, he would have asked her to stay back for him, held her hand to never let go. 

Who knows. 

But her next few words "I think I should leave," had arrested his hand mid-way. 

The aftermath of that wicked lie could well have been the beginning of the end for him and Zoya. He knew now that Tanveer too had a vested interest in making Zoya believe that her Abbu was dead: Zoya would leave for the US. 

And she had come close to leaving. 

Packed up, she had said goodbyes, and nearly walked out the door and out of his life. 

Thank god for his inadvertent recording which made Zoya confess her love! Had she not come into his room that night, he wouldn't have known about her feelings for him. Had he not known about her feelings for him, he'd be married to Tanveer right now thinking that her child was his. 

Asad shuddered and sought Zoya's eyes for a blessed reality check. She grinned up at him cheekily. That dimple! 

Thank god! 

He exhaled. 

"Siddiqui Saheb agreed. We didn't want anyone to question Zoya's legitimacy." 

"Like Humaira's Ammi!" sneered Ayaan. 

"Those results came in yesterday," Asad spoke with finality. 

At least that part was true. Between themselves, they had all decided that this would be the best proof, and an added distraction from the backstory of jealousy, revenge and blackmail. 

Siddiqui Saheb had gladly consented to the DNA test. He'd do whatever would get him closer to his daughters' reconciliation to officially seal their budding affection and attachment to each other. 

Zoya's yearning for a younger sister to spoil and cherish, was also his own. 

He wanted his younger daughter to hold her head high and feel proud for being related to at least one family member who was the essence of immaculate generosity and grace.

Ayaan's delighted eyes now shone with moisture. He sprang up to grab Zoya and spun her around in circles. 

"Mona darling! This is freaking awesome!"

Zoya shrieked. "Raabert, I'm going to be sick all over you. Put me down, please!" she begged, equally ecstatic and only slightly nauseous. 

He did. But not before one last jab, "So now I can call you Mona Saali?" 

"SHUT! UP!" She hollered, smacking his arm. 

"Bhai!" Ayaan dashed to Asad to leap in his arms. Asad laughed as he hugged him, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. 

"Humaira will be so happy!" Ayaan sighed as he disengaged. "You know she really loves you, Mona darling?" 

"I love her too," Zoya said through tears.

Ayaan's eyes stung as he watched Bhai embrace Mona darling and wipe away her tears. With a pang he realized some of Zoya's heartache. How hard must those days have been to know and yet not know about her Abbu and Humaira? To first think that your father was dead, and then to wait for weeks for some strangers at a faceless lab to prove that he was indeed alive.

He loved to see Humaira and Mona darling get on so well. The time Humaira had spent at their house while recovering from the gunshot wound had healed her spiritually too after she'd found out about her mother's deceit. 

He made a face. 

"Par Bhai, what about Mumani? Does she know?" 

Zoya and Asad looked at each other. "Their Abbu will tell Mrs. Siddiqui today, so that we can break the news to Humaira." Asad said softly.

Zoya leaned on him, head to his heart, savoring the feeling of his warm palm on the small of her back. 

"When are we going to tell Humaira?" Ayaan asked the one question that was on everyone's mind. 

They had already told Aapi and Jeeju who were thrilled for Zoya. 

But it had been emotionally wrenching. Zoya had thought that Aapi would be more distraught. Zeenat, who had gotten to know Humaira since her extended stay with them, cried for Zoya. 

"Ab tumko bhi koi Aapi kehne wali mil gayee hai," she teased through tears.

"Now you'll know what it's like to have a younger sister who'll borrow your things and forget to return them. You'll worry about her marriage, aur phir tumko pata chalega ki tumne mujhe kitna sataya!" 

Zoya laughed through her own tears. 

"And I'll threaten to kheencho her choti?" 

Zeenat laughed too and teased back: "No, because thank god Humaira doesn't pretend to be a shayar!" 

"Aapi, that's so mean!" Zoya had mock-glared at the woman to whom she owed everything, and loved so much.

"And besides," she flashed her eyes at her Aapi, "uska hone wala shauhar is a wannabe shayar. So we're even." 

Anwar however, was more overwrought, and mostly silent.

"Jeeju?" Zoya had whispered. "Are you OK?"

"I'm happy for you," he said, all choked up. 

She burst into fresh tears and Asad came over to hold her by her shoulders. Anwar cried too as Zeenat patted his back. Zoya wiped her cheeks and took a deep steadying breath. 

"I still meant what I said that day, Jeeju. You'll always be my Abbu. You are the one who tucked me in every night after checking for monsters under the bed. You cheered the loudest when I scored a goal or made a basket. You fought with Aapi to let me come here last year." 

Anwar smiled fondly. "Yeah, with those diplomatic skills and negotiations, Obama should hire me to work for the State department!" 

Zoya laughed heartily, as did Asad and Zeenat. 

"And remember when I told you I had a crush on Mr. James, you scowled and glared at him all through the parent-teacher conference? I thought I was going to die of embarrassment!" 

Asad gave Anwar an enthusiastic thumbs up, and he grinned.

"Yes, I agree, if you can make your kid die of embarrassment then you are a true parent." 

He sighed heavily. "I don't know ... there's just a part of me that's still angry at that man for ... for everything. But ... I  guess, his loss was our gain," he whispered as he scrubbed his tears away. 

"And mine," Zoya smiled as she touched the blurring image of her Jeeju Abbu. 

That night, in the dark, Asad stroked her stomach. "Will the girls tell me when they'll have crushes on boys?" 

Zoya giggled. "Aww! Will you be able to handle it though? I think they won't tell you just to save you from having heart attacks. Or they'll tell me, and I'll tell you." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise. But with a two-week delay OK? By that time they'll have moved on to other crushes." 

"Why?" 

"Mr. Khan, I don't want a long line of boys' parents outside my house complaining that you beat up their sons." 

"I'd do it too!" he growled. 

"And that's why the girls won't be telling their Abbu!" 

"Asad," she said suddenly. "We won't find out the s*ex of our child. I want to be surprised." 

Her friend from the US, who was pregnant, had posted a picture of her ultrasound image on facebook. Everyone had left a bajillion congratulatory comments and likes. Their common friends had teased Zoya that soon she'd be posting her own picture of the ultrasound. "Uske sar ke seeng bhi dikhenge," a friend had joked.

Asad sighed. "You don't have a choice. It's illegal in India to find out the gender of the fetus." 

"What! Why?" She sat up in dumb shock. 

And then she remembered. 

She had watched Satyamev Jayate last year in the US, and cried in anger at the horror of female infanticide in India. 

She cried now again, fiercely hugging her stomach. Asad wrapped her in his arms to rock her. They had read together about the growing fetus, the doctor too had corroborated that the baby would be almost an inch by now. How could any one want to harm a tiny being just because it wasn't male? 

Zoya hadn't told anyone this, but for days after watching that episode, she had cried herself to sleep. Because she had wondered if her own father had never come looking for her because she was a girl. 

If I was a boy, would he have ... 

"Shh," Asad soothed her, his own palm over hers on her tummy. 

"Why do these people not value women?" she sobbed. "How can girls smile or laugh knowing that even before they were born, they weren't wanted?" 

"Don't say that," Asad said. His own eyes stung. "Thank god, the majority of people don't believe that." 

He framed her face in his hands. "Yes, there are terrible cases we read of everyday, but the average person is still good. Not all parents are the same. There are also people like Malala Yusufzai's father. Yes, there are obstacles, but no one can stand in the way of a determined woman"you are the best example of that! And remember, I told you about Jhansi ki Rani?" 

She nodded. She loved that story. "Tell me about her again," she begged as Asad laid them back down and tucked her head in the crook of his neck.

They were flying in for the engagement.  And every day Nikhat had been getting to know her future mother-in-law in all her vibrant avatars; every day she fell a little bit extra in love with her kooky heartiness. 

But in their very first one-on-one phone conversation, Nikhat had hurriedly clarified: "Aunty, I don't watch soap operas." 

"Call me Ammi, and so what if you don't! I watch enough for the whole family!" she boasted.

"But why?" Nikhat blurted.

She hated those nasty soaps that Dadi and Ammi watched. Before she'd met and fallen in love with Feroze, those soaps were emblematic of everything she feared in a marriage. Scary female in-laws in the forms of saases and bhabhis and nanads and devranis or jethanis. And husbands who were easily brainwashed and manipulated by all these witchy in-laws parading around huge havelis in their designer best. 

Nikhat bit her tongue. 

She hadn't meant to sound judgmental about her mother-in-law's favorite pastime. 

She held her breath. 

Her mother-in-law laughed. "I know beta. And I get annoyed with them too and never stay long enough with a single show. They're so formulaic aren't they? So predictable!"   

"I know," piped up Nikhat, finally feeling that she was on the same page. 

"A smart and sweet girl with many dreams will end up married in a big house with a big family of villains," she muttered shuddering. 

"And the villains have super senses"they can hear everything, see everything, and control everything. But the good people will be dumb and silent." Her saas added. "Even when they get caught, there's hardly any punishment. Two days later, it's business as usual. Same saazish, same scheming. Nalayak kahin ke!" 

"Exactly! Why do the villains have such power and the good people none?" Asked Nikhat. 

"Because the idiot writers think that without evil there's no story. Besides, it's the only way to keep the lead couple apart. Because according to the formula, the lead couple can never be together. Apparently the world would come to an end." Feroze's mom joked. 

Nikhat giggled. 

"But the lead couple will have their own theme song and land up falling into each other's arms a thousand times. In slow motion." Nikhat was liking this game a lot. 

"Aha! So you have seen some!" guffawed her future mother-in-law. "There'll be lots of eye s*ex and dupatta and watch s*ex, but no suhaag raat!" 

Nikhat gulped and then snorted. 

"Because that's the only form of family planning practiced in India!" Her future saas cackled with glee.

"Ammi, you're too funny and I love you!" Nikhat couldn't resist saying through peals of breathless laughter.

"Which one's your favorite? I'll try to check it out and then we'll compare notes," she finally gasped. 

"Arre beta, they're all bakwas. I pretty much graze through 7-8 of them. I'll watch a little here and there to make fun of them. Might like the lead couple in one, a saas-bahu in another, or the dad or a villain in a third. It all changes week to week."  

Oh my god! Nikhat smiled to herself. It was confirmed. Feroze was definitely adopted. 

"But you know beta," her new Ammi became serious all of a sudden. "Sometimes I just quit them all. These soaps show too much female degradation. Trophy men are paraded as eyecandy, and the main stories revolve around woman-on-woman abuse. And I hate that! You don't want to know how many times I've written to the BCCC to complain about some torture track!" 

"Wow!" Nikhat uttered in amazement. "That's so cool! What's the BCCC?" 

"Some board that oversees content on TV. Not much changes, but at least the channel is forced to put an apology scroll at the bottom of the screen during the show." 

"That's amazing, Ammi! Feroze didn't tell me that you are such a rockstar!" 

Nikhat smiled as she hung up. She remembered how Feroze had encouraged her to get back at that spineless Imran. So that's where he got his stand-up-against-bullies-and-creeps skills from! 

Mashallah!

You go Ammi!

Raziya sobbed at the reprieve she'd been granted. When Siddiqui Saheb had told her of Zoya and Asad's mercy she had fallen to her sore knees and wept tears of shame.

A part of her wished that they had chosen justice instead. 

This burden of grace was intolerable. She didn't know how she'd be able to face Zoya. Not appearing in front of her would be preferable, but then everyone would think she was upset"-

Her head lifted; her jaw tightened. 

May be that's what she would do. Play the offended stepmother so no one would expect her to come much before Zoya. She could unsheathe her former malignance, and huff and puff around in perpetual disapproval of the happy family reunions and waste away invisibly in some corner of the house. 

They would all leave her alone then.

"I am going to meet her," Zoya said stubbornly. 

"Zoya, no!" Asad swept an agitated hand through his hair. 

The one person he did not want his wife coming face to face with was Raziya Siddiqui! 

The nightmares would return, of that he was certain. 

He feared she would fly apart. 

That desolate night on the train was still too familiar. That night he had held her limp body, worried about losing her forever. That night, he had battled for hours with her fears and his own, and it had nearly destroyed them.

No! Never again. 

Zoya held his cold hand and raised it to her lips. "I know what you're thinking," she said softly. 

"I got through that night because of you. I got through the mehendi night too, because of you. You'll get me through this as well. Would I even consider this if it weren't for you? I trust you Asad. I can only think of doing this because I know I have you by my side."

She melted into him. 

He felt himself nearly relenting. Asad's arms tightened around her. Unbidden, a memory surfaced. It was from an eternity ago, when she had snuck into his room with cookies and coffee to pull him out of his silent zone. 

And even then, it all went back to that blasted gudia factory! The crimes of Raziya Siddiqui that had triggered the desperate actions of his father! 

Except that day, they hadn't known the entire story. 

In bitter hatred he had called the police on his father. Back home, he had clashed with Ammi that night, possibly the first and last time, and in blind fury she had slapped him for saying he wanted Rashid Ahmed Khan to rot in prison for murder. He had hated his father even more that night. Because of that man, Ammi had raised a hand on him! 

And Zoya had come in that night braving his wrath, to reach out to him in the thorny abyss of gloom.

"You know what Mr. Khan? Hum dono ki aapas mein bilkul nahin banti. Hum kissi bhi baat par agree nahin karte," she had said then, to draw him out of his brooding stupor. 

Framing his face in her hands, she repeated some of those words softly now. 

Then, they had surprised him. 

He had never heard her speak that gently with him. She had initially tried humor; but it was her solemn intensity that had pierced through the fog of oblivion he'd buried himself in. 

"Par jab bhi koi problem hoti hai na, toh mere dil mein ek bharosa rehta hai, ki Mr. Khan hain, woh sab theek kar denge. And trust me, main aap pe, aur aap ki strength pe bahut rely karti hoon." 

She feathered her fingers across his lips, and gripped his hand now. She was begging once again for him to trust her instincts and her faith in him. 

She had been right then, hadn't she? 

"Dammit Zoya," he raged, pulling his hand out from her grasp. "You always sweettalk your way out of everything!"

"Shh!" she implored. "You're scaring the baby." 

Hands on his waist, he looked at her in exasperation and shook his head. 

Really?

This would bother the baby, but the emotional blender she'd be putting herself through would leave the baby unscathed?

"Exactly," he tried another tack. "It'll be bad for the baby to put yourself through this willful trauma." 

Grabbing his hand, she dragged him to sit on the settee and burrowed in his lap. 

Asad sighed. 

He knew he was about to be railroaded. Zoya cupped his face again, and he half-smiled. If his daughters had even a tenth of their mother's persuasive skills, he was going to be toast. 

"May be you're right." 

Wait, this wasn't what he expected her to say. Asad's eyes narrowed in anticipation of being further blindsided. 

"But I'll have to face her some day once Humaira knows. Then why not on my terms?"

"But why?" He still didn't get this urgency. "What can you possibly hope to achieve by doing this?" 

"I don't know," she said, her voice hollow. "May be I'm ready to hear her side. May be I'm ready to let go and face my nightmares." 

Zoya leapt up and paced the floor, gesticulating wildly. 

"But I do know for sure that I want to be able to look at her without rancor. I want my relationship with Abbu and Humaira to be unmarked by any anger or bitterness toward her." 

Asad rose too to embrace her. "Are you sure we're doing the right thing? Even now we can put her away with the evidence we have." He held her face, "what if you resent her later? She took away too much! Why are we agreeing to look the other way and let her go scott free?"

"For our baby," she whispered, looking up into his face. He held her silently for a long time. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes. 

His heartbeat knocked against her temple, steady and stirring. 

Asad waited outside. 

Zoya didn't want him looming over and scaring Raziya Siddiqui by his angry presence. And Asad too had preferred to pace outside so that he wouldn't be tempted to strangle the woman if she even dared lift an eyebrow. 

Humaira was still at the Khan house. Today's taekwondo session was to be longer. The girls' instructor had invited another instructor for a demo and then they would practice the forms to graduate to the next belt. 

He had whisked Zoya away under the pretext of a doctor's appointment.

He watched Zoya stand carved in stone as the oversized door swung open. Even without seeing who it was who opened the door, he knew it was Raziya Siddiqui. 

He swore under his breath as his fist balled and jaw clenched. 

He had a good mind to stalk over and sweep Zoya into his arms and carry her away. But for her sake he took deep breaths and paced like a caged lion in the driveway. 

The guard at the gate watched him uneasily. 

The door closed behind Zoya and his heart skidded to a stop.

Zoya had dreaded looking into this face. 

She had practiced many a dialogue in her head in advance of this meeting. But everything fled from her mind as she watched this woman's eyes filling with tears. She saw Raziya Siddiqui's hand lift the corner of her dupatta to hide her quivering lips. And that was the moment when Zoya decided to step into the house. She had wanted to bolt the minute she saw the door opening. She wanted to run into Asad's arms and never look back.

But her feet had grown roots suddenly. 

Through her wet lashes Raziya gazed at Zoya. 

And she thanked Allah for her earlier decision. It was tempting to regress. She could harden herself and be the malevolent effigy she had been all these years. 

But Humaira's wan face floated before her eyes.

No!

She was done pretending. She had lost too much and taken even more. She just didn't have the energy for faades and plots any more. Raziya just wanted to drift down the path of least resistance now, rudderless and rootless. 

She would let nature take its course.

Moreover, she couldn't rob Humaira's peace of mind any more. 

Nor Zoya's birthright.

She too had been on pins and needles since the moment Asad had called to curtly request a meeting with Zoya. Even through the phone, she had felt the waves of repressed fury in his voice. 

He took a shuddering breath. 

"She wants to meet with you before we tell Humaira." 

That sentence had been a warning to her. But those words and tone were also a kind of plea. She sensed his worry and felt shame flood through her. Why did it feel as though he was sending in a lamb to the slaughter? 

She had staggered with the weight of his anxious scorn. Please don't think that you're sending her in to face the firing squad, she wanted to reassure him. I should be facing the firing squad ...

Her heart had stopped when the doorbell rang. 

Ever since Asad's call, she had fretted about whether to stand or sit when Zoya entered. Where would she place herself? Not at the top of the stairs"no power games here. 

At the foot of the stairs? By the couch?

She had readjusted her dupatta on her head a thousand times.

Raziya waved the servant away and went in to open the door by herself. 

She dreaded, yet welcomed the meeting. 

Not that day, but today was her day of reckoning. 

Silently, she put her hand out to invite Zoya in.  A still shell-shocked Zoya stumbled, and Raziya's hands reflexively reached out in support.  

Zoya's eyes widened. 

Raziya led her to the couch and waited for the servant to set out the drinks and snacks. 

"I'm sor"- thank you," she whispered brokenly when the servant left the room. She didn't know what to say. 

"I'm glad that Humaira has you," Raziya added, her voice a little bit stronger. 

She waited for Zoya to condemn her, blast her with questions, rake her over the coals or toss her into the fiery pit of hell that she deserved. 

Zoya had caught a glimpse of this woman only once at the courthouse when Asad's Abbu had been sentenced. She had seemed cruel then, bedecked in gold jewelry, haughty and imperial. She had glared at them as she led away a weeping Chhoti Ammi. 

Today she looked older. Greyer. 

And beaten. 

Shorn of her gold trappings and dressed in a plain suit, she no longer looked anything like the imagined monster of her nightmares. 

"Why?" Zoya whispered. 

She saw the woman before her crumple; Raziya squeezed and twisted her fingers. Her head was bent and fat tears fell on those knotted hands. 

"I didn't mean to," she bit out harshly. "I had just had Humaira, she was only three weeks old! I went insane with jealousy and fear when I found out about ..." 

She saw Zoya's lips whiten and quailed with remorse. 

Restless, she rose to turn away, but the self-incriminating words just kept tumbling out. "There's no excuse. I could see that he loved her, he was so torn. I thought he'd leave us. We were fighting for the knife and ... and ... I went blind with rage ... oh my god, what did I do?" 

She sank to her knees, deflated. 

"Did she ... suffer?" 

The barely whispered question crucified her. 

Raziya covered her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry! I wish I could die for the pain I've caused you. For robbing you. I know about your scar. I don't deserve your mercy. Why didn't you send me to jail? That's where I belong!"

Raziya wept bitterly. Blindly, she groped for something on the coffee table. The biscuits went flying. Dishes clattered to the carpet. Her arthritic fingers wrapped around a silver fork. 

"I'm sorry," she kept muttering repeatedly as she stabbed the top of her hand ineffectually. Each stab was punctuated with a pathetically sobbed, "I'm sorry." 

"I should've died, not your Ammi. She was a better woman than me," she continued bitterly. 

"Aunty!" Raziya felt soft hands on her shoulders. She looked up into Zoya's face wet with tears. Zoya tried to wrestle the fork away from her. 

Raziya frowned. "I don't deserve to be called that," she said. She looked down on her bruised hand. The skin had broken and there were tiny drops of blood pooling.

"Why isn't there more blood?" She asked Zoya in surprise as she held her hands out helplessly. 

Her eyes went dark. Blank. She remembered the horror of her actions from the night so long ago. There was so much blood. Warm and sticky, it clung to her fingers. It got under her nails, in the crevices of her hand. And it smelled"metallic, coppery. It smelled of death. 

Her bile rose. 

"There's blood on my hands, I can smell it, then why can't I see any? Where is my blood?" She pleaded as tried to stab her hand with even more force. "Where is my blood?" she shrieked. 

"Aunty!" Zoya tried to shake her out of her trance. 

"I told you, don't call me that!" Raziya lashed out weakly. 

"But I have called you that in the past, haven't I?" Zoya asked. 

She looked at this girl, speechless. The fork slipped to the carpet from her clumsy and and now limp fingers. "How did you know?" she asked finally. 

Zoya sat down by her and held her hand. "You no longer wear any jewelry, except for this pearl ring. It's unique and must be special." She had seen that ring when Aunty had helped her up from when she had stumbled earlier. 

And she had known. 

Raziya looked down at the only ring she wore. She had locked away all of her previously-beloved gold ornaments. 

She couldn't bear them touching her skin any more. It was as if they burned her. They felt like a million insect feet rasping across her papery skin.

Only this ring she kept on. 

Yes, it was special. 

For their twentieth wedding anniversary, Humaira had begged her Abbu to buy it for her. "It's so beautiful Ammi! I'm going to wear it for my nikaah, whether you like it or not," she had said. 

"Zoya!" Raziya couldn't stop herself any more. She pressed her hands around Zoya's face. Some blood trickled down her wrist. 

"Main tum se maafi maangne ke layak bhi nahin hoon. Tab bhi tum? Kyun? Kaise?" 

Zoya closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. 

"I'm done. For eighteen years I've been seeking, searching, longing ... waiting." She rubbed her tummy. "Nothing will bring back Ammi now. We're going to have a baby. I want a fresh start. And I want to hold Humaira." 

"Your blood, your Ammi's blood, is in her veins now; it has replaced mine. Humaira is your baby too," Raziya stated fervently.

Zoya wept. And so did Raziya.

Asad couldn't bear it any more. 

He just shouldn't have let her go. Why did he give in to her?

The guard tried to stop him as he saw Asad advancing menacingly. Asad pushed him aside after a brief scuffle, which resulted in a ripped sleeve and bloody nose for the guard. 

Asad had set a mental deadline for himself. No more than thirty minutes. If she wasn't out by then, then he'd go charging in, all guns blazing, and get her out in a fireman's throw if he had to. 

He didn't have to.

When he crashed his way in, he stood shocked as he saw his weeping wife wrapped in her stepmother's arms. She too sobbed as she cradled Zoya's head against her heart. The barracuda formerly known as Raziya Siddiqui had been tamed, anointed by Zoya's falling tears. 

Through misting eyes he nearly smiled and shook his head. 

Why had he even worried? He should have trusted that sworn mantra: Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai!

Once again, she had woven her magic spell and charmed the proverbial hornet from its nest. 

He cleared his throat. 

"Zoya," he whispered. 

She raised her head and smiled at him. She held out her arm and he walked to her to clasp her hand. Raziya broke away, sneaking a look at Asad from under her lashes. 

Asad saw the smear of blood on Zoya's cheek and went crazy. He noted another bloodstain on her hand. His eyes had just registered the scattered dishes on the floor. 

He saw red.

He grabbed Raziya by her throat and hauled her up, "what did you do to her? I'll kill you if you hurt her!" 

"AS-AD!" Zoya screamed. 

Her hands tried to release his viselike grip. The guard had stumbled in by now and grappled with Asad who shoved him aside with one blow. He crashed into the table behind him and the glass smashed; the guard groaned in pain. The servant came running too and tried to feebly intervene. One look at Asad's face and he backed away in terror. 

"Asad! Please stop!" Zoya pleaded. She wiped her hands on her jeans. "It's not my blood. I'm OK. See?"

His fingers loosened. Asad reached to touch Zoya's cheek and anxiously wiped the blood off. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

Raziya had slid down on the floor coughing, weak and dizzy. Zoya rushed to help her up. With the servant's help, she plied her with water. 

Raziya still gasped for breath. 

"Aunty? Are you OK?" Zoya knelt in front of her. 

She patted Zoya's hand and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine," Raziya gasped. 

A furious Zoya rounded on her husband. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Have you gone mad?"

Raziya watched in amazement. If she could breathe, she'd have laughed at the scene before her. Asad Ahmed Khan, the pugnacious man she had only seen glaring and scowling, fire-breathing and stomping, who scared the wits out of her, was being read the riot act. 

"Do you even know what could have happened? What were you thinking?" Zoya still continued to rage at him. 

Asad hung his head and covered his face. "I'm sorry. I saw the blood and thought you were hurt"-" 

Zoya's eyes softened. She touched his arm. "I'm fine, I promise." 

She looked around the room. A chair lay overturned. Shards of glass and crockery huddled together with the decimated food and drinks. The servant had called the cook and together they were trying to restore order and clean up the place as unobstrusively as possible. 

They lingered a bit longer, curious about the unfolding drama. 

"I'm sorry Aunty, my husband doesn't usually make such a grand entrance," she said apologetically.

Asad's face reddened. "I'm sorry," he muttered shoving his hands in his pockets.

Zoya was petrified. What if Asad's meltdown had wiped out the fragile goodwill they had just groped toward? How would this affect her relationship with Humaira now? 

"Sorry?" she continued to yell at her overprotective husband, angry yet also understanding his frantic concern. This was Raziya Siddiqui's lair after all. And Asad had been most reluctant to agree to this meeting. He had only consented because she had compelled him. 

"Say sorry to Aunty! You almost gave her a heart attack! Allah miyan! I still can't believe you just did that." 

Asad turned to Raziya, and with bent gaze said a solemn sorry. "Please forgive me," he said to her. Her heart lifted at the simple words devoid of anger. This wasn't the surly man who looked daggers at her with the daily ferocity of an avenging angel. 

"No, please don't worry about it. I deserved it," she whispered. Dashing the tears from her eyes with her dupatta she ordered the servant to bring more juice and snacks. 

Zoya's eyes prickled. "Aunty, main bhi inki taraf se maafi maangti hoon." 

"No!" Raziya blurted out rushing to hold Zoya's hands in her own. Tears coursed down her face. "Never say that again! Main tumhare pair ki dhool ke bhi layak nahin hoon. Please, let's just forget about it." She poured out the juice that the servant had just carried in. 

"Sit. Here, have this. Your Abbu told me that you like this. We had it specially made for you." 

Zoya made a face, "Abbu thinks that I like it, but I really don't!" Raziya looked dazed and glanced at Asad in mute confusion; he shook his head. 

"She passes it on to me," he said.

"Then have some water," Raziya insisted after recovering her poise. "So many tears, what if you get dehydrated? It's not right in your condition." 

Dutifully, Zoya had some water. And a bowl of cut fruits that Raziya wouldn't let her leave without.

Before they left, she pressed some money into Zoya's hand. Then removing the pearl ring, Raziya slipped it on Zoya's finger. Through tears she said, "Humaira always said she would wear this ring at her nikaah. Now all she has to do is ask her Baaji."

Her mother's and Ayaan's fears were indeed well-founded. 

Humaira had sub-consciously made the decision to postpone her wedding. God knows when, but she had promised herself, that just like the lost sister who lived in a permanent limbo, who had walked in the blistering sun while she rested in the shade, she too would walk in her lonely footsteps till they were united. 

No nikaah, no nothing. 

She had cried bitterly once her conscious mind had figured out this terrible alternative.

Ayaan! her broken heart had screamed. 

But once done, she stuck firm to this vow. 

In her own way, she had tried to expedite the investigation. Every day she enquired of her father of the progress on the case. She had already poked around in old albums in the storeroom for clues. 

Today she planned to invade Abbu's study. Each book was flipped through for any scr@p of paper, or photograph, or address ... 

But two hours later, she had found nothing. Just dust, and bitter remorse that made her fingertips and eyes gritty. 

In desperation she even went to the room that Tanveer had been living in. 

This was the first time she had entered this room since her return back home. She wouldn't step into this monster's room who had tried to hurt Zoya Bhabhi, not once, but twice! 

Instinctively, her hand lifted. Her shoulders and biceps were more toned now, thanks to all the angst-burning taekwondo. Humaira was the fastest learner amongst them all. All her misery and self-recrimination was channeled and honed into a fierce tunnel vision of flying limbs and war cries. And the edge of her hand was now at the ready to strike a sharp blow. If Tanveer ever came before her, Humaira thought for the hundredth time, she's dead meat.  

She didn't expect to find much here. May be she had come here to sniff the enemy's scent. May be she was that bloodhound who is given a token whiff of the quarry before it sets off determinedly to pick the trail. 

That woman had taken all her belongings with her. Thank god! But may be she'd left something incriminating behind. Humaira rooted through the closet and then the magazines by the bedside table. 

Listlessly, she looked through the drawers on the nightstand. A picture frame had been tucked away in the corner. Eagerly, she pulled it out only to be disappointed. It was an old, crackled, black and white print of some young men in traditional clothing. She looked closer. Wasn't one of the men on the right, Abbu? 

She put it away, dejected. Abbu! She screamed silently, why aren't you doing more to find her? 

Humaira looked at the time. It was time for Ammi's medicines. Mrs. M. had left some weeks ago and Humaira had taken over administering the meds and keeping tabs on doctors' appointments and follow-ups. She took up a tray of food and Ammi's insulin injection. But Ammi was in the restroom. Humaira put the tray on the bed and sat down heavily, deep in thought. 

She looked around the room, heartsore and emotionally drained. 

Abbu's copy of the Quran was sitting unevenly across the nightstand. She moved to straighten it. But then she picked it up to casually leaf through it hoping for inspiration and strength. Please Allah! Please keep her safe and lead her to us. 

Something fluttered out. 

She bent to retrieve it and turned the stiff paper around. 

A photograph. 

Humaira gasped. 

It was from the photoshoot. A portrait of her and Zoya Bhabhi? 

Her eyes widened; her heart thundered. 

The door to the bathroom opened, and she hurriedly slipped the picture back into the holy book. 

"Ammi, your food and medicines," she said and dashed off to her room. 

From her closet she removed and held the music box to her cheek. 

Tears fell from her eyes splashing on to the music box: one of a pair, a cherished and shared inheritance whose partner nestled in the Khan home on a bedside table. Smiling through her tears, she opened it to let the melody wash over her, its chords braiding through her heartstrings. And her sister's. 

Thank you Allah miyan for answering all my prayers!  

She jerked hearing her phone ring. 

Abbu.

Humaira wiped her tears. 

"Beta, can you come to my office? I have something important to discuss with you."

When she entered the office, she saw Abbu walk towards her holding his arms out. But it was the person behind him that she ran to. 

Humaira fell into Zoya's arms, sobbing.

"Aapi," she cried. "I always wanted it to be you!"

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi, Mujhme Kahin"