ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Hai Mushkil (Updated Ch. 130 Page 90 Oct. 11) - Page 88

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Naso'n Mein Tu Nasha Ban Ke Ghulna Yunhi

Chapter 138

Asad glowered at her and she laughed, in splits. 

Mr. Khan was kinda, sorta mad at her for the permanent markings from last night not washing off him. Zoya had taken yet another picture of his naked back to gloat over her handiwork from last night. The ishq-calligraphy was faint, but still readable in places. 

         "Incredibly foolish," Jahanpanah had muttered. He had scrubbed his back so damn hard. 

         "Aww, poor Mr. Khan," she sighed. "You could've asked for help to scrub your back! You already know Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai!"

         "You were the one who told me it'll wash off easily!"

         "Please stop being such a grouchy Jahanpanah! I had your name scrawled across my hand for our nikah mehendi--it took days to come off. You can't wear some Zoya-mehendi for just a coupla days?" 

Asad growled. Please, this was no mehendi. This was pure mischief.

He couldn't help but recite Ali Sardar Jafri for his wife's benefit: 

         "Abhi aur tez kar le sar-e-khanjar-e-ada ko

         Mere khoon ki hai zaroorat teri shokhi-e-hina ko."  

         "Ooh, nice!" Zoya clapped her hands. "You have to write this sher down for me--don't forget. I love it! Now, coming back to your Zoya-e-hina--the good news is that your clothes cover my love calligraphy. So why're you being so tantrumy, Mr. Khan? No one will see my markings!"

         "But I'll know they're there!"

         "Good! That's all that matters, doesn't it?"

Asad huffed as she sailed off to give Zaid his bath. Zoya-e-hina indeed. The woman had too smart a mouth on her. Always. And his brain was never able to keep up with its agile acrobatics.

         As he brushed his hair and tied his tie, his wife's clear voice called out from the bathroom. "When you sit in your office chair today, remember what's written on your butt, OK?" 

Oh he remembered all right. She had deliberately and purposely written,"Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law," across his butt.

         "Buttt-buttt-butt kay," Zaid gurgled, making his mother giggle. 

         "Good boy!"

         "Battooo!"

And Zoya fell off the stool laughing. 

Asad groaned at the post-shadi and fatherhood continued assault on his dignity. 

Zoya pumped her fist and sighed happily. Eid was coming. And then two whole months of celebratory anniversaries and birthdays! First, their wedding anniversary. Then, Dhoni day (Zoya had been celebrating handsome, awesome Mahendra Singh Dhoni's birthday for as long as she'd started worshipping him. There was always a Dhoni-themed cake. Natch). And then Zaid's birthday, followed by Asad's. 

The plan was to inaugurate Zaid's room the day after his birthday. Which would be Asad's birthday. But neither Zoya or Asad were sure they wanted to celebrate dad's birthday by driving out the son from their room. Even though the mural in Zaid's room had been completed a month ago. Miniature crocheted hot air ballons and wooden airplanes hung from the ceiling. A train set snaked in and out of tunnels on one wall and jungle animals played hide-and-seek on the other. The entire family had pitched in to complete the finishing details. Many a lazy weekend evening had been spent on the unfurnished room's carpeted floor. Endless teapots of chai and trays of pakoras (bhaang-free, of course) dotted the landscape. It was turning out to be just the perfect wonderland.

With so much angst over when and whether or not to move Zaid into his new home, Ayaan had staked a mock-claim to the room in the meanwhile. He would tease his nephew that the room was actually his.

         "This is Chachu's room not Champ's!"

         "No-no-no-NO!" Zaid would holler. He'd been told that this was his room. His favorite train set was there. His tiny handprints were over here on this wall. See? Lions and giraffes peeked from behind a painted forest. Big Bear had been moved from his Ammi's office to this room. The monster bear now sported a knitted hat and vest. He was the guard and sentry to Zaid miyan's den. And Zaid sometimes even had afternoon naps and sleepovers with his Dadi in this room. So obviously this was not Chachu's room. No way.

         "Mai-mai-mine!" he reminded his Chachu copying the Seagulls from Finding Nemo. It was only one of his favorite movies. After Mary Poppins which he always watched with Ammi as they sang the songs together.

         "Super-cali-fragilistic-expli-ali-docious!"

         "Soobah kayee aayeelee oooshaus," sang Zaid. 

Both he and his mom, so busy in their theater world, missed his Dadi's and Abbu's expressions when they had their movie marathons on Sundays. Once Dilshad had patted his hand as Asad watched his wife act out the part of Mary Poppins and Zaid play the Banks kids. 

Aapi had told Asad about Zoya's childhood habit of acting out in full regalia her fave films. She still regretted not taping it. And here it was, live, before his very eyes. 

Asad had looked on, dazed and enchanted. 

There were multiple props at the ready--an old computer bag of Asad's by her side, an open umbrella in her hands as Zoya stepped down from the sofa (and Asad didn't even flinch). It was only when Dilshad pointed to her phone did he remember to take a video of this moment to save it for posterity. He needed to make up for Aapi's lapse from 15-16 years ago. He'd send it to her right after. She'd love it. 

         "A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down," Zoya clapped through the song in the next scene. And Zaid, at cue, held Dobby with one hand as he tried to feed him a spoonful of dal-chawal. Dobby liked the dal-chawal part, but not the holding down part. He darted to hide under the sofa once the spoonful of medicine was done.

Asad protested only a little when he was dragged in by his wife and son to play Mr. Banks. He was Akdu just like him after all.

At work on Monday, Asad looked at the new message from his wife. 

         "Streety nearly got run over by a car! Taking him to the vet. I am SO freaking mad at these reckless drivers!"

He didn't know whether to laugh or pinch his brow. 

"Streety" was a stray dog from outside the doll factory who Zoya had almost adopted. Not adopted as in brought him home, because Asad had blown a predictable fuse. But adopted as in he was still a stray dog but the factory employees fed him, took him to the vet for shots and boosters, and generally cooed over him. He'd gone from being scrawny-assed to full-bellied in just a few months. Someone had knitted him a red coat, and Streety strutted around, proud as a Beefeater stationed outside Buckingham Palace. Zoya had christened him Streety because, well, he was a street dog. And a grateful Streety treated the factory as home. He watched over it, patrolled it, and obviously growled at all non-factory walas. So yeah, how dare reckless drivers try to side-swipe him!

         "Poor Streety," Asad texted back. 

His wife and her besotted strays ... He almost texted her to be careful--don't touch him too much, get the car cleaned and detailed after the vet trip, take a long, hot shower to scrub off all Streety germs and fleas, burn the clothes you're wearing wagairah, wagairah--but Asad had to restrain his itchy fingers and thumbs. Because if he did, he'd be treated to a long lecture on how mean and Akdu, and straight-up Jahanpanah he was being. How Streety was a good insaan just like us, and how dare he, and so on and so forth. He would just tell the driver to get the car washed and fumigated. Sometimes husbands just have to take care of things behind their wives' backs.

Asad did rub his brow now. If they'd had CCTV outside the factory, they could've tried to nail the bast@rds driving that damn Streety-hitting vehicle. But they didn't.  

They had been discussing this for some time, going back and forth over installing security cameras at the factory. Asad wanted state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line infrastructure of the latest gadgetry. Zoya, the DIY, fix-it enthusiast did not like the idea of blowing half the factory's annual budget on a coupla cameras and circuitry. She could take care of it herself. She was an awesome tech-wizard after all. If she'd been at Hogwarts, she would be the Professor of Silicon and Chip Arts.

Asad had predictably scoffed.

         "Oh yes, I remember you trying to install security at our home sometime back. 'Trying' being the operative word. How did that turn out for you?" 

         "Mr. Khan!" 

She didn't like him razzing her for her attempts to look after loved ones. Yup, him included. So fine, it had been long before they even liked each other. Those were the days when Mr. Khan hated his musibat mehman for her badtameezi and be-akal ideas. One of them had been to protect Phuphi and Tamatar from intruders when Mr. Khan and she were not at home. So our ever-resourceful Zoya had contacted a Chinese expert online to help her hard-wire the house. She'd make it bullet-proof, tight as a vault, mighty as a fortress. No trespassers would dare enter. She was doing it in the stealth of night too, so that his Royal Akdu Highness wouldn't come to know about it. How was she to know that Mr. Khan would venture out of his room in the middle of the night talking on the phone with an overseas client? Was it her fault that he'd bumbled into the spool of wires snaking around the living room (when he shoulda been minding his own business in his room) and fallen on his ass--smashing his brand-new phone in the process?

         "You forget, I was minding my own damn business." Asad often interjected whenever this episode came up. Her re-narrations always made him look like an idiot and her like a super hero. Typical. 

         "Yeshhh ... you were. But I was only tryna help!" 

Asad would roll his eyes or mutter "incredibly foolish." What else could a guy do.

And thanks to her, his Americanese was expanding on a daily basis. He'd come to figure out that "Yesh," meant a sheepish yes, or even a "not really." It seemed to convey very reluctant agreement. He was just getting the hang of it. In fact, Asad had almost used that incredibly foolish word in an office meeting. "Nish," meant no-ish, or sort of. He was still trying to work that one out. "Negatory" was a very firm no, he was sure of that. Asad despaired his son's vocabulary. What the hell would he end up speaking when he did start speaking?

         "He'll be fine," Ammi would say. 

         "And at least he won't be Akdu," Zoya would add, twinkle in her eye, dimple on her cheek.

Please. Speaking in full sentences minus slang did not make one an Akdu. 

The baby's Chachu was just as bad. 

         "Yo," he'd barked into the phone when Asad called to check on a meeting agenda.

         "Yeh 'Yo' kaun hai?" 

Zoya had fallen off the bed laughing when she heard her husband's bewildered query. 

What was his life? Full of Streetys and Dobbys and Yos and Yeshes and Nishes. And a lot of squeals of "Abbu!" and "Mr. Khan!"

Shukranallah!

And thank god that on some evenings they were able to manage a perfect trifecta. 

When all the stars aligned, when Zoya wasn't too late from work and Asad came home early enough, then Zaid toddled over to the main door the moment he heard his Abbu's car in the driveway and Zoya followed soon after and they met in a joyous whoop at the open door. Then Zaid was hoisted high in his father's arms and they snuggled for a hug and kiss. 

Dilshad was always torn about these moments. She wanted to savor and soak in this sight. But on some days she made herself scarce. She knew how reserved Asad could be. If she wasn't around, at least he'd really let himself enjoy these blessings. Zoya had no qualms about being demonstratve, but he was Akdu after all. He always blushed to have Dilshad witness Zaid and Zoya plant sloppy kisses on either side of his face. When his mother wasn't around, Asad would pull Zoya into his side by her waist and enjoy the fleeting seconds of eye sex before turning to Zaid to hear all about his day.

And it was only when the stars aligned precisely right these days, that they could sneak in multiple-orgasm happy times. Where was the time for extended foreplay and romantic shayari after all? Quickies and vanilla sex was all they could muster. They had to think of Zaid of course--didn't want him scarred for life seeing his parents go at it like bunnies. But ahh, when they did get those glorious moments! When Zaid went on play dates supervised by his Dadi or Chhoti Nani. When the Siddiqui house residents just had to have some time with Zaid miyan because they missed him so bad. When they slipped away to his office after hours ... or when, by some miracle or machination, they had the house to themselves. 

Today was not that day.

Today, they were on the verge of a fight. 

         "You brought him home? Are you mad!" 

         "Mr. Khan, they've put him in a cone. He's got a cast on. How could I leave him on the street?"

         "But he's a street dog!" 

         "Asad, stop yelling! We don't have to bring him inside the house. He can stay in the backyard till the cone and cast are off."

Asad growled.

         "And how long will that be?"

         "Umm ... about six weeks."

         "Zoya!"

         "Baby please, it's only for a short while."

         "No, it's not. You'll all fall in love with him and then beg me to keep him forever. Then you'll call me a monster for saying no."

Zoya harrumphed.

         "Asifthatwouldbesobad!"

         "What did you say?"

         "Nothing," she grumbled. Husbands shouldn't know you so well that they manage to pre-emptively strike all your ambushes. Allah miyan, what's wrong with Mr. Khan. Or maybe something was wrong with her? She had lost her touch, her special powers to persuade this man. 

"A--sadd," she breathed.

Asad sighed. He knew that tone only too well.

         "No.

         "But, baby--"

         "Not happening. 'Negatory' to use your own word."

         "Mr. Khan, you are so mean!"

         "No, I am so realistic and practical."

         "You are Akdu, and being a total Jahanpanah! And you fell in love with me precisely because I'm not realistic and practical!"

         "Hmm ..." She was right about that. But still. It did not mean that he would give into every wish, every whim and fancy of hers.

Zoya slid closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Asad grinned.

         "And this is not going to work either."

         "What? You don't want sugar? You want a sex fast?" and she pouted prettily. She plastered her hips to his and did a slow sway and grind. 

Asad groaned as his body betrayed him.

Zoya giggled. Bingo! She let her tongue draw torturous circles against his throat. A little bite along the column of his neck and Asad's hands dug into her waist to pull her tighter to him.

         "You're impossible."

         "I can be very possible if you want," she whispered along his jaw. Her hands were already busy unbouttoning his shirt. "Even pussy-ble, if you liked."

         "Wait, let me lock the door!"

Zoya huffed as he disengaged. 

         "Mr. Khan, you can be a major mood-killer!"

         "Are you serious? What if Zaid came running in, with Ammi right behind him? Would that keep your mood going?"

Zoya had nothing to say to that. Asad yanked her to him.

         "Stop rolling your eyes, Mrs. Khan. Now, where were we?" 

         "We were deciding what impossible things I was going to do to you."

         "No, I distinctly remember there was something about pu--"

She kissed his mouth shut.

Asad lifted her by her waist and muscle memory made her legs wrap themselves around him. He sat down on the bed with her in his lap. Zoya raised her arms and Asad slipped her shirt over her head. The bra went flying next. He held her breasts in his hands, stroking them, squeezing and kneading. 

         "Oh god, you are so gorgeous."

Zoya wiggled her butt in his lap. He turned to his side to flip her, back down, on the bed. He leaned over her to circle a nipple with his tongue before drawing it deep into the heat of his mouth. Zoya moaned. He sucked harder and she buckled.

         "Asad ..."

Her fingers clenched in his hair. 

They heard a clatter outside. And then Zaid's wail. 

Zoya and Asad looked at each other. He rolled off her. The person least undressed would have to go check on their son. Asad qualified but--

         "I can't go out like this." he pointed to his tented pants. "That too in front of Ammi! You go."

         "Mr. Khan, I swear to god you are so useless," Zoya huffed as she pulled on her bra and shirt. 

         "Tuck in your shirt properly," he called out as she moved to unlock the door. 

"Oh really?" And Zoya proceeded to untuck her shirt.

Asad slapped his forehead as he fell back on the bed. This woman! Always, always the rebel. Permanently badtameez. 

         "Hurry back," he hissed as she stepped out. She turned back to wink at him.

         "Stay!" she ordered with an imperious finger before going to check on Zaid. 

Really? Commanding him to stay as if he was a pet dog. Asad peeled his shirt off. He needed to show her who was the Alpha around here. He turned around to place the shirt carefully on the settee's edge. It needed dry cleaning. Asad looked up out the window--only to have his eyes collide with a street dog wearing a cast and a cone.

Asad sighed. Those eyes staring right into his soul would do him in. Dobby had tried that trick on him too.

         When Zoya returned a few minutes--"he's fine. Had stopped crying even before I got to him. In fact, Ammi was crying even more than him--" Asad snagged her wrist to slam her into his chest. 

         "Asad--"

         "Shh, you talk too much."

         "Oh rea--"

He tossed her already untucked shirt and bra before firmly and securely tying her hands with his belt.

         "You crazy, crazy man! You do realize that I won't be able to do things to you with my hands now!"

         "Stop talking."

         "Make me."

Done. That was easy. He turned her around to run his thumb down her exposed spine. Zoya moaned. Damn, the man had long ago discovered that most of her e-zones were on her back. A touch, a stroke, open-mouthed kisses from shoulder to shoulder, fingertips trailing up and down, and it was like 4thof July fireworks on her skin. 

Her soft gasps and sighs, moans and squeals inflamed him. Her back to him, Asad raised her arms to pin her tied hands behind his neck. That brought her up on her toes. His fingers brushed the sides of her uplifted breasts and her head rolled back. He played with her breasts deliciolusly stroking the undersides, but stubbornly, he stayed away from her nipples. It drove her nuts. Had her hands been untied, she'd have been able to control and guide his fingers to where she wanted them. 

Zoya protested but went silent when his fingers trailed down to her midriff and lower. Asad undid the button of her jeans, slid down the zipper, and dove in. Her hips were already grinding against his. He bent his head to tug at an earring. It pulled at her lobe. She cried out. His tongue darted out to soothe the pain.  

         "Asad please! My arms are hurting."

         "Stay," he growled as he nipped the shell of her ear.

Zoya half-laughed at his revenge. But god, her body was on fire. She wanted to touch him, have him touch her ...

She twisted and squirmed to get her captive arms off him. Asad had already pushed her jeans and panties down. 

Zoya turned around to face him and slip her still-tied arms around his neck for a proper kiss. It would have worked out but her jeans were still bunched around her thighs and got in the way. 

         She hissed in frustration. "This is NOT working. You've got to untie me. Now!"

         "Nope," her husband retorted. "Negatory."

Asad lifted her up to lay her on the bed's edge. He pulled her jeans off but refused to release her hands. Zoya's knees bent; she braced her toes at curved end of the mattress. He parted her legs and knelt.

         "Asad--"

Her back arched when she felt his hot mouth on her. His tongue roved and--ohgodohgodohgod! She needed so bad for her hands to be free so she could grip the sheet with one, his hair with the other.

His tongue danced nasty circles on her cl|t. He blew on it, sucked it.

Somehow Zoya's fingers found his dipping, bobbing head. She held on for dear life. Her hips lifted off the bed and swayed. He pinned her down. The sound of that hot licking, the slippery friction of his tongue against her swelling bud, the feel of his fingers sliding in and out ... 

She let go of his hair as her hands flew to her mouth to muffle her cries. 

When she opened her eyes, he was standing, eyes hooded, watching her. She loved to watch him wipe her cum off his mouth with the back of his hand. 

         "Oh god Asad, I love you so much."

He turned her over and helped her get on all fours. She waited. Zoya heard the scrape of his zipper and closed her eyes. Seconds later, Asad's hands gripped her waist. He loved that flare of her hips. He swatted her butt and she giggled. She buckled when he entered her. Hard. He pulled out completely and pushed in. Harder. The pace he set had her eyes watering. Ahhh, that sweet, sweet pressure ... the sweetest ache, the tightness--the slapping sounds of flesh against heated flesh had another orgasm ripping through her. 

His own grunts of completion came soon after.

         "You OK?" Asad asked later.

         "... Hmm?"

         "Zoya?" Asad was worried.

         "I'm fine," came her breathy response. Sometimes an orgasm made her dizzy for a second or three, that's it. 

         He undid the belt from around her wrists and kissed them. "Did this hurt?" He turned them over to look for bruising.

         "… Nish."

         "Babe?"

         "Um-hmm."

He held her to him. That softness. That warmth. He could never get enough of this. Zoya stretched in his arms and he pressed her closer.

         "I love you."

He felt her lips curl on his cheek. She sighed.

They heard a thud outside. Then Zaid's delighted laughter. Dilshad was yelling at him to slow down.

Asad chuckled. Thank god the little tyke had given his parents enough time to catch up on some hide-and-seek and pakdan-pakdai of their own. He kissed the top of of Zoya's head and looked down to share a knowing smile with her. She was fast asleep. Asad cast a glance at the clock. A nap at this hour? Then he grinned. It must be tiring to be Zoya. To be Wonder Woman and Super Girl? Play with Zaid first and then his dad? Poor thing. He'd let her get about 30 minutes of shuteye before waking her up. Ammi would wonder otherwise. 

She'd woken up giggling the next night. Nearly snorting. 

         "What's so funny," Asad mumbled in his sleep.

Zoya covered her mouth and laughed louder. 

Asad rolled over, curious despite himself. "Zoya?"

         "It was too funny!"

         "What?" he peered at her in the dark. "You had a funny dream again?"

         "The funniest!" She dissolved into fresh giggles.

Asad frowned. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what the dream was about. He was too sleepy. But he was intrigued too. Then he remembered the last time she'd had one of her "funny dreams." Some nonsense about getting married to Ayaan over the phone.

         "Please don't tell me you got married to someone else now over the phone or FaceTime or something."

         She whacked him on his shoulder. "Mr. Khan, my dreams don't do re-runs, OK? They are strictly original."

         "So you weren't getting married?" Thank god!

         "No, I was getting married in this dream too!"

         "What! To who?"

         "To you!" And she laughed some more.

         "Well, that's good." And a relief. But she still wouldn't stop. "But why's that so funny?" Asad's eyes narrowed. "Zoya?"

         "It was you! You were wearing--" She couldn't go on because of another fit of giggles.

         "Zoya!" He couldn't believe that he actually wanted to know. But he did. And by now he was wide awake so he might as well. "Tell me."

         "You really want to know?"

         "That bad?"

         "Frikkin' hilarious!"

Asad fidgeted. 

         "Fine, don't tell me! I don't want to know anyways." He punched his pillow and turned away from her to glare out the window.

         "Asad ..."

He shrugged off her hand from his shoulder. 

Zoya sat up to pepper his cheek and neck with tiny kisses. Asad tried to push her away.

         "Aww, my Akdu is mad at me?"

Asad huffed noisily.

Zoya trailed her fingertip from his temple to ear. She traced its curve and lightly pinched his lobe. 

Asad grunted. 

         "It must be that pizza you ate for iftar," he said. "Of course you're going to have wahiyaat and be-akal dreams.

         "Oh please, the pizza was just fine. But you--"

There she went again being incredibly foolish with all that giggling and stomach-grabbing.

         "Asad, you have to listen. It was just too perfect and so damn cute!"

Asad turned over on his back and tucked his arms under his head. 

         "Cute. Really?" He still didn't trust her. Cute wouldn't make her laugh her head off. He strongly suspected that he was going to be the butt of a massive joke even in her dreams.

Zoya snuggled up next to him. Asad's arm came around to press her closer. He kissed the top of her head. 

         "This is not going to wait till the morning, right?" he asked already knowing the answer. 

         "Na-anh! You have got to hear this!" 

         "Fine," he sighed. "Let's hear it." 

She giggled again and Asad rolled his eyes. He may not get any sleep tonight at this rate.

         "Zoya, I have to be at work early ..." 

         "Fine," she huffed. And then giggled again. "OK, OK, I'm sorry! I can't help it. So get this, apparently Aapi and Ammi were forcing us to get married and we were being stubborn as two mules." 

         Asad chuckled. "Were you planning to run away, or say 'qubool nahin hai' this time?" 

         "Both!" 

         "Zoya! You're so crazy. Forcing us? So we weren't in love with each other?" Asad felt kind of let down.  

         "No! Here's the even crazier part! We were in love with each other, thank you very much, Allah miyan! Deeply and madly in love. 'Jaisa filmon mein hota hai, ho raha tha hu ba hu! Zooby dooby zooby dooby pum pa ra ...' " She sang. Only his wife could interrupt his sleep and giggle through a song in the middle of the night. "We just hadn't confessed our love for each other," Zoya added.  

         "Thank god for small mercies," Asad added. Being in love was incredible. Even a bit incredibly foolishq. "Damn, I remember those miserable days when I couldn't confess my love for you." Pure hell. 

Zoya squeezed him. Didn't she remember it too! 

         "Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips. "If those miserable days gave me this, then I'd relive every one of those days again and again," she whispered. 

         "Stop that!" Asad hushed her own lips. "Never ever say that." He pulled her tighter to him, to fill himself with her, all of her. He remembered his bruised hands and empty arms from those godawful days. His hands had hurt then from being permanently clenched all day, going at his punching bag at nights. But the sight of bite marks on Zoya's hands had hurt even more … 

        "Recite that Ghalib sher for me, please," Zoya said. "Ishq par zor nahin ..."

         Asad cleared his throat. "Ishq par zor nahin hai,

         Ye wo aatish 'Ghalib,' 

         Ki lagaaye na lage, 

         Aur bujhaaye na bane."

         Zoya sighed. "Remind me again, what's aatish' mean?"

         "Fireworks ... or fire." 

         "Oh god, Asad!  Those days were exactly like that! I wanted so bad for you to love me the way I loved you." 

         "I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you that I already did." 

         "Thank god for Omar and Ammi's tiger mom instincts, right?" 

         "Right." Somehow, somewhere, Allah was looking out for them. He remembered Zoya's teary words from the evening before they were leaving to meet everyone at that Thai restaurant--when he was still supposedly engaged to that awful woman.  

         "You know aapki problem kya hai? You don't think that what we could have had is worth fighting for. You don't have the guts to fight for a love that Allah gives once in a lifetime. You use your seventeenth-century Jahanpanah-mode ideas as an excuse to hide behind, because you are scared of being happy; because you feel that you deserve to be miserable."

Asad smiled at the memory. That was the evening he'd pledged to dump all tehzeeb, throw all Jahanpanese caution to the winds and go after his Musibat Mohtarma to make her his. As Ayaan used to tease him in those rage-filled days: "Aap toh talwar le kar savar ho jaate hain!" Yup. He had gone in all talwar-le-kar-savar and guns blazing. And that was indeed the night his New York ki Jhansi ki Rani became his. 

         "So tell me more about that dream of yours." Asad played with her fingers.

Yes! This was exactly the mellow mood she wanted her Jahanpanah in. Because he was in for a roller-coaster of a ride.

Asad waited patiently for her to get over her fresh fit of giggles.

         "Zoya--" 

         "Fine, fine," she said, still breathless. "Umm, so yeah. Can you believe it, for one of our pre-wedding functions for this Aapi-Ammi engineered game, the Jashne-Bahaar rasm, they decided to punk us into a fight and fireworks! Because apparently, they knew we were crazy about each other but wouldn't admit it cause you were super Akdu and I--"

         "And you were a super Musibat!" 

         "Asad!"

         "So what did they do to get us to fight? And why would they think that getting us to fight would make us say, 'I love you'?"

         "Asad, you know dreams have no logic! Well at least normal people's dreams aren't driven by logic and math and science. Your dreams, maybe! Anyhoo, so Aapi made me wear a kurti made out of a saree that you had given to me as a gift--with jeans." 

         "What! That's just wrong! Why mess up a perfectly fine saree?" 

Zoya loved this guy so much. He hadn't even reacted to the part about wearing jeans at a wedding rasm. She had trained him so well! 

         "Exactly, that was the point--their reasoning in the dream was that it would drive you nuts!"

         "And did it?"

She laughed. And laughed. 

OK, so now Asad knew that this was where things got funny in that incredibly foolish dream of hers. He dreaded what was coming.

         "Well, it did, but before you could throw a Jahanpanah-sized temper tantrum I spotted what Ammi had forced you to wear!" 

         "Oh god, do I even want to know ... ?"

         "It was the goldenest and shiniest sone ki sherwani!" 

         "No!" 

         "Yes. You were very nicely gift-wrapped in gold foil." 

         "Not possible, Ammi would never do that to me." 

         "Well, sapne-wali Ammi did exactly that!" 

         "But why? And why didn't I just refuse to wear such a monstrosity?" 

         Zoya kissed his cheek. "You wore it for me." 

         "What? You wanted me to look like a golden clown?" 

         "Nooo! But the moms figured that this experiment would make us have some kind of a volatile reaction." 

         "Incredibly foolish. Playing chemists with our lives ... mixing us up in some test tubes and beakers."

         "Totally! Chemical locha experts!"

         "So did we end up saying I love you to each other?" 

         "No wait, I have to tell you properly!"

         "Fine." 

         "So of course, this was all too much for one aunty. She just couldn't restrain herself. 'Nikaah ke function mein bahu in jeans? Dilshad, what is this?' " 

         "Good job, random Aunty," Asad muttered. 

Zoya sniggered and punched his side.

         "So Ammi was all like, 'it's OK Khala, my bahu is a smart, modern bahu. And she's still a chaand ka tukda, isn't she?'!" Zoya beamed.

And Asad smiled. Thank you, Ammi.

         "Guess what you said after that, Mr. Khan."

         "What did I say?"

         " 'A very modern chaand,' you sneered like a total Jahanpanah!"  

         "That was some very good judgement on my part then. Thank god I still have some intelligence left in this mad dream of yours." 

         Zoya ignored him. "So Najma led me to sit by your side--awwn, it was so nice to see Tamatar. I miss her so much! Anyways, you were still fuming and fire-snorting. And in my head I'm thinking: 'wah bhai wah, Mr. Black and Bitter in a golden foil sherwani!' I thought I must be hallucinating, so I even pinched myself. Guess what I saw when I opened my eye?"

         "I am scared to even guess. Was I wearing a shiny red bow on my head this time?"

Zoya snickered.  

         "Nope, I opened my eyes to be blinded by a certain sherwani. It was still golden. And your expression! You were mad at me, but had you even looked at yourself! 'Jeans!' you growled. What happened to the saree?' "  

In the dream, his voice had sounded gravelly, as though it was taking a superhuman effort on his part to not shout at her. It had done funny things to her even in the dream. Her khwab-wala gold-dipped Jahanpanah had been just as hot. But she was not one to stay quiet, horny or not. Zoya's spine had straightened, a sword unsheathed from its scabbard.  

         "And you must've had a brilliant retort, I'm sure," Asad teased her now. 

         "You bet! I said, 'it died laughing at the sight of that Goldfinger suit!' "  

         Asad burst out laughing. "Really, it was that bad? Goldfinger bad?" 

         "Yes, Goldfinger bad!" 

He slapped his forehead.

         "But then in the dream you gave me a chotu sa micro smile." It was a super-reluctant smile, but a smile nevertheless. She loved him even more for it.

         "And then I teased you, from Jahanpanah Bond to Bond villain? Not a bad transformation, Mr Khan!' " 

Asad groaned. 

         "And this is the best part. You, Mr. super Akdu Jahanpanah Bond said: 'Aapke liye toh hum hero kum, villain zyaada hain. I'm just living up to your gold-plated expectations of me!' "

         "Nice! I'm really beginning to like this Mr. super Akdu Jahanpanah Bond guy of yours--even if he is dipped in 24-carat gold." 

         "Yeah, me too. I love this sone-ka-warq wala Jahanpanah! My sone ki barfi," Zoya kissed him on the mouth. Hard. "I do love you, Mr. super Akdu Jahanpanah Bond Khan. Then in the dream I started laughing till tears streamed down my eyes. I nearly rolled off the dais."

         "And what was my reaction to all this hilarity?"  

         "You started laughing too. And I loved it! But you totally lost it when I said: 'Mr. Khan, I know you don't want to get married to me, but did you have to channel Bhappi Lahri?' "  

         Asad roared with laughter. "Oh my god, Bhappi Lahri! Jeez Zoya, what the hell! How can you do that me? And why would I not want to get married to you? What an imagination!"

         "May I remind you, that I have no control over the plotting of my dreams!"

         "True. This seems to have been directed by some B-grade Bollywood type."

         "Anyways, 'Where did this costume come from?' " Dream wali Zoya had asked him after she'd wiped her streaming eyes with the handkerchief he'd offered.  

         "You mean you really don't know?" 

         "What do you mean?" 

         "This is from the ladki walon ki side. Courtesy Aapi. Now I'm sure she hates me."

         "Oh my god! I'm so sorry," Zoya had apologized, mortified for his sake. "I don't know what's gotten into her lately. But Mr. Khan, you could have refused." 

In her dream, Asad had blushed. He couldn't explain why he didn't refuse. 

         "I didn't refuse, obviously." Asad said to her now. "I must be totally and madly in love with you." But wait just a minute. Aapi had--"You mean to say that in your dream, Aapi actually hated me?"

         "Hello, Mr. Khan," she knocked his head. "Is anyone in there? One, it's just a dream. Two, she was pretending to hate you."

         "Pretending?" Why was he even bothering to look for logic in this bizarre dream of her hers. It was a Zoyadream. Naturally, it would be doing Zoya type of things. But Aapi actually hating him was a big blow. He was going to call her up tomorrow and talk to her. 

         "Yes, this costume drama was all a ruse to make us fall deeper in love."

         "Now that part I like. People should help true love along. But really--how bad was that sherwani?" 

         "Super-bad. It was so bad that I'm thinking I'll get a golden copy made as an anniversary gift to you from me!"

         "No! Please don't do that to me."

         "It's got to be done. There's no point resisting now. In fact I'll order some golden underpants too. No, a thong!" she clapped, thrilled with her plans. "And you will do a strip-tease for me."

Asad covered his face with both hands. This was going to be hell. Because she'd do it too.

         "I'll do it only if you get a matching golden nightie."

         "Ooh, I like that. Done! You'll have to let me take a selfie video when the golden clothes come off! Promise me, you will not be Akdu about it."

         "Oh god." What the hell was he signing up for? "At this rate, we should get Zaid some golden shorts too."

Zoya snorted and giggled some more.

         "Oh. My God. You're not going to believe this. In the dream, everyone was making fun of your metallic golden sherwani. And Ayaan was telling us we should make golden diapers out of it!" 

         "What? You were pregnant in this dream?" Asad's palm reached between them to stroke her flat belly. 

         "No! But we were getting married, right? For whenever we did have kids in the future, Raabert meant."

         "Like we do now." He looked over at Zaid's crib. Good thing his parents' laughing like chimpanzees hadn't woken up the little guy. 

         "Yup. Except sadly, we're missing a golden sherwani right about now." Zoya pouted at the na-insaafi.

         "God, I'm already sick of this sherwani. I hope I burned it in the dream."

         "So mean! Why would you say that?"

         "Because it sounds ridiculous. Utterly and incredibly foolish. Only some idiot in a TV serial would wear something like that." 

         "But you looked so cute in it!"

         "Please, I doubt that very much." 

         "Asad, there you go being grumpy all over again." 

         "Then how should I be?"

         "Think, how happy I must be to be having such masala dreams instead of my usual nightmares!"

         Asad gasped. "Zoya! Of course, I'm thrilled that you no longer have those nightmares." After a lifetime of terrors she'd stopped having them since Zaid's birth, thank goodness. Asad thumbed her lips. 

         "--and then they put a phool chaadar on us at the end and we were so shameless--we had a fukton of eye sex!" Zoya was still on about her dream, nightmares of the past already forgotten.

         "How much eye sex?"

         "A fukton."

         "How much is that exactly?"

         "More than a lot."

         "Zoya?" he said as he rolled her on her back.

         "Yeah ..."

         "That golden nightie?" he was kissing down her neck. 

         "Um-hmm ..." Her breath hitched.

         "It better be see-through and have perfect access for me to do dirty, absolutely filthy things to you."

         "Promise?" she breathed.

         "Promise."

Asad peeled off her kurta.

         "We'll recreate the Jashn-e-Bahaar rasm right here, on our bed--when I strip the golden nightdress off you, you'll still have flower jewelry in your ears, and at your wrists and throat, OK?"

         "OK." 

         "And flower payals ... and kamarband."

         "Aww Mr. Khan, recreating our suhaag raat for our second anniversary?"

         "Oh yes." He licked that pulse at her throat, loving how she bucked in his arms.

         "What If my golden lingerie was basically just a golden lungi?" she teased after catching her breath.

         "Yup, that would be perfectly delicious." And wonderfully accessible. Holding her with one hand he let his other roam and stroke over her body possessively. 

         "And what kinda filthy things would you do to me, Mr. Khan?" 

         "Let me show you ..."

         After a brisk round of a fukton of orgiastic sex, Asad kissed her firmly on her mouth. "Babe?"

         "Hmm?" She was curled into his side. 

         "Promise me, you won't be wearing your trademark jeans under that golden lungi." 

         "Please. Mr. Khan! I refuse to make any such promises. Zoya Farooqui ki izzat ka sawal hai aakhir!"

Title in Song: 

Dilwale (2015): "Janam Janam"

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