Fawad's P.O.V.

"Papa-" Alizey mustered the courage to pipe up, but he ignored her.

Her father kicked off his shoes and walked past her as though she were invisible. Alizey stood there for a moment, absorbing his behavior.

Alizey walked towards the kitchen, where her father had gone. She stood out of view, listening and contemplating whether to try and approach her father again.

"Did you meet with Alizey?" we heard Afreen Aunty ask.

"Tell her not to talk to me. I don't want to speak to such trash."

His hateful words summoned me to the bottom of the stairs, my blood starting to curdle.

"Beti hai aap ki, aisey mat kahein."
(She is your daughter, don't say that)

"Meri sirf do betiyaan hai."
(I only have two daughters)

"Aahista bolein. Woh sun legi-"
(Speak quietly. She might hear you-)

His voice grew louder, "Kyun? Kya usne hamari jazbaaton ke baare mein socha? Yeh sab karne se pehle ek baar hamare baare mein socha? Nahin na? Main kyun sochoon?"
(Why? Did she think about our feelings? Did she think about us even once before doing all of this? No, right? Then why should I think about her?)

"Aisi baat nahin hai-"
(It's not like that)

"Aisi hi baat hai. She has no concern for our feelings. She has no regard for us. She has no emotion. She's conceited."

My hands balled into fists, the glass of water enclosed in my right palm threatening to shatter. It was taking everything in me to restrain myself from confronting her father. He was still angry, which was understandable, but he was crossing the limits. However, I knew if I went over there, it would ruin the progress Alizey's been trying to make. But it was also hurting her.

"Ghalat-"
(Misunder-)

"Kitna samjhaya tha maine ussey, ke zindagi sawaar jayega Tahir se shaadi kar ke, samaaj mein hamara sarr kitna ooncha ho jaata kyunke hamari aulaad Siraj Bhai ke bahu hai, lekin nahin! Usne koi qadr nahin ki. Usse baat karna patharon se baat karne ki barabar hai. Sab baatein uske ek kaan mein ghuskar dusre kaan se nikal jaati hai. Kisi ko izzat nahin deti hai na hi koi jazbaat hai uski. Kyunke usse koi parwah nahin hai. Mere khayaal na karti, thik hai, par kam se kam tumhare baare mein soch sakti thi woh. Mujhse zyaada ussey tumse lagaav thi. Yeh peent peeche jaake aise khanjar dhop ke yeh sirf dhoka nahin diya, tumhari mamta ko tauheen ki hai."
(I explained it to her so many times that her life would become beautiful by marrying Tahir, our heads would become high in society because our child is Siraj Bhai's daughter-in-law, but no! She didn't give any value to it. Talking to her is the same as talking to a stone. Everything goes in one ear and out there. She doesn't give anyone respect nor does she have any feelings. Because she doesn't care. She doesn't have any concern for me, fine, but she could've at least thought about you. She had more of an attachment to you than me. By stabbing you in the back like this she didn't just betray you, she insulted your maternal love)

Alizey turned around, spotting me at the end of the staircase with her wet pink eyes. Her lips trembled as she stared at me sadly with embarrassment.

"Alizey ne aisa kuch nahin kiya. Uske baare mein aap aise kaise bol sakte hain?! Apne hi beti hai! Bohat qadr karti hai hamari. Ussey pata tha ke aap uske shohar-"
(Alizey didn't do anything like that. How can you speak about her like this?! She is our own daughter! She values us a lot. She knew that you wouldn't accept her husband-)

"Shohar. Hah. Woh shohar jo ek mechanic hai. Kaunsa pada likha insaan jo Berkeley se padkar aaya hai mechanic ke taur pe kaam karega? Zaroor uss mein kuch garbar hai. Jaise tumhari beti mein. Jo maa-baap ke mohabbat haasil nahin kar saki, woh shohar ka pyaar kaise haasil karegi? Uski asli fitrat ko dekh ke, woh bhi chhod dega ussey kuch hi mahinon mein."
(Husband. Hah. That husband that works as a mechanic. What educated person who studied at Berkeley would work as a mechanic? There's definitely something wrong with him. Like your daughter. She who wasn't able to earn the love of her parents, how will she earn the love of her husband? After seeing her true nature, he too will leave her in a few months)

Alizey's features morphed into a sob as she rushed past me.

"Alizey-" I called, chasing after her while she ran up the stairs. 

Jia's eyes widened while she watched us pass by in a flash, scrambling to stuff her vape pen back into her pocket.

"Alizey-" she was about to shut the door in my face, but I managed to hold it open. As though trying to hide from me, she didn't put up a fight. She turned around and kneeled by her bedside, covering her face as she wept. I shut the door behind me then crouched in front of her. "Alizey."

Her body racked with sobs, fueling the growing discomfort in my chest.

I reached for her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face. She resisted at first but then let me move them away. She looked up at me with wet, broken eyes. They had the same shattered look as they did when her father kicked her out of the house the day we had our nikkah.

"Ali-"

"Go from here, Fawad," her voice quavered, tears spilling down her cheeks continuously, "I'm trash."

"No, you're not, Alizey," I asserted.

"I am. I'm selfish. I'm heartless. I have no emotions," she blubbered, "I'm trash. You shouldn't speak to trash like me. Go."

I cradled her damp cheeks, looking firmly into her eyes, "You are not any of those things."

"I am."

"No, you are not. Don't think that."

"Bachpan se sunti aayi hoon yeh sab baatein. Sunte sunte yaqeen kaise na karoon? Jab badon ki baatein qadr kiye jaate hain, kanoon ki tarah hote hai, toh yaqeen karne ke elawa kya karti main?"
(I've been hearing these things since childhood. How do I not believe it after hearing it so many times? When we are to value what our elders say, when it is to be like the law, then what was I supposed to do besides believe it?)

Anguish. That's what I was feeling in my chest. Seeing Alizey like this carved a deep crater of anguish in me, along with anger. She was smiling just earlier, but her father stole her smile from her, like he had who knew how many times before in the past.

"Kabhi kabhi lagta hai ke main ghalati ke elawa, logon ko dukhi karne ke elawa aur kuch nahin kar sakti. Aine mein jab khud ko dekhti hoon, aksar sirf khud ke liye nafrat aur unke ke baatein yaad aa jaati hai."
(Sometimes it feels like that I can't do anything but make mistakes and make people unhappy. Sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, I remember my self-hate and his words)

I stroked her tears away futilely with my thumbs.

"Ghusse mein main unhe dikhayi nahin deti hoon. Koi cheez unke hisaab se na ho, ya phir koi baat unhein achcha nahin laga, ya meri koi ghalati ki wajah se, kitni dafa mere liye iss tarah ke alfaaz estemaal kiye hai. Main bhi insaan hoon. Mere bhi jazbaat hain."
(He doesn't see me through his anger. When something isn't his way, he didn't like something, or if I made a mistake, he's used these types of words so many times in the past. I too am a person. I too have feelings)

"Tum ho. Tum bhi insaan ho. Tumhare bhi jazbaat hai," I asserted. "Aur dusron ki jazbaaton ki tarah, tumhare jazbaat bhi maayine rakhte hai, Alizey."
(You are. You are a human being too. You too have feelings. And they matter as much as the next person's, Alizey)

She looked up at me, her lips trembling. Her expression told me that she wanted to believe me, but she was finding it difficult, as though it were not true, as though there was something wrong with her that she was the only exception and had to bear verbal abuse.

"People like him project their own insecurities onto others. It has nothing to do with you or who you are. You can't let what they say dictate how you see yourself."

"How can I not when-"

"You can't. Even if they are your parents," I read her mind.

"But they're my parents," she whimpered.

"And you are their child. You are to get their love and respect in return for the love and respect you have always shown them. As parents, they have the right to discipline you in order to teach you the difference between right and wrong, but not like this where it destroys your sense of self, Alizey. But through proper communication."

She searched my eyes.

"Yes, what we did was wrong. We eloped. He has the right to be angry. But it does not ever warrant the kind of words he uses to talk about you." I wiped more of her tears before brushing some of her hair behind her ear. "You don't deserve it, Alizey. Never have you done anything to deserve it nor will you."

She hugged me with her head on my chest, and I drew my arms around her protectively as I sat down. "Par ek baar.  Ek baar narmi se, maafi ke saath mujhse kyun nahin baat kar sakte woh?"
(Just once. Why can't he speak to me with gentleness and forgiveness just once?)

I pulled her onto my lap, speaking gently, "Toh phir jo narmi, jo maafi dusron se na milta ho, tum khud ko kyun nahin deti ho?"
(Then that gentleness and forgiveness that you aren't getting from others, why don't you give it to yourself?)

She looked up at me, crestfallen.

"Don't depend on others for what you can give yourself. Learn to have mercy on yourself. Treat yourself how you treat others. With kindness. Alright?"

She nodded solemnly, sniffling.

"I mean it."

"Okay," she whispered, gazing up at me with her wet eyes. The more I stared down at her, I felt my guard weaken.

I leaned closer to her slightly.

After the accident four years ago, I preferred shutting down than dealing with emotions, whether they be my own or those of others. But Alizey--the sight of her so devastated awakened the impulse to comfort her.

My lips pressed to her forehead. Her orbs softened as I pulled away, speaking a thousand silent words. She rested her head against the crook of my neck.

I wasn't sure if she had reached for my hand or I had reached for hers, but suddenly mine was in hers. I watched as she traced my fingers before idly tangling hers with mine.

"Your mom's sevaiya is still downstairs," I murmured.

"Nahin khaani," she whispered.
(I don't want to eat it)

"Majboor nahin karoonga main tumhe."
(I won't force you to)

Alizey's P.O.V.

As I admired the hand between my fingers, I felt peace.

My heart no longer had any hesitations in admitting it. I love Fawad.

The hand holding mine belonged to the one I was deeply in love with, the one who made every atom of mine feel alive with love for him.

Regardless of how many times I faced issues with my father, each time felt just as bad. The overbearing weight of his words crushed me and my self-worth to the ground.

But Fawad. Since I've known him, he's only reminded me that I have it in me to empower myself. He makes me stronger by reminding me that I already am. I just need to be cognizant of it.

Caring, funny, smart, and just everything I didn't even know I was looking for. No one has been there for me like he has. No one has cared for me like him. The way just being around him or a soft glance from him fills me with happiness, I could never get it elsewhere. What I feel for him was inexplicable. Simply put, it can only be described as love.

Our marriage of convenience, our rules--I didn't want to think about it.

As the heat of my father's scalding words were slowly simmering down from the soothing coolness of my husband's advice, I wanted to distract myself with the proclamation of what I knew long ago but refused to admit, to rejoice that I love Fawad.

Fawad's P.O.V.

Alizey fell asleep in my arms, and I transferred her to the bed before going downstairs. The following morning, Alizey was quiet and distracted while she got ready, the effect of her father's words evident. She flashed a closed-mouth smile at me when our eyes met before I went downstairs. Her mom was preparing breakfast.

"Good morning," I greeted her.

She turned around with a small hesitant smile, "Good morning, beta. Did you sleep well?"

I nodded.

"What do you want to eat? Should I prepare eggs for you? Don't be shy. I'm making them for Jalal anyway. Jia also likes vegetable omelets that are made from just egg whites, do you want that?"

"We didn't get to eat your sevaiya yesterday. Alizey likes paratha with sweets. We'll just have that."

Aunty's expression bore appreciation before morphing back to weariness, "I'm sorry, beta. You must have heard Jalal yesterday. When he gets angry, he-"

I shook my head, "Don't apologize on his behalf."

He should be the one apologizing, and that too, to Alizey.

Alizey was like her mother, I noticed. Both were innocent and constantly trying to maintain the status quo.

"He's still angry because of the nikkah. He's like that," she tried to reason, "When he gets mad, he has loud outbursts, but he eventually gets over it. He gets angry because he cares deeply about his children-"

"He just has a difficult time expressing it," I said through a clenched jaw, finishing her statement for her.

Aunty nodded solemnly. "He'll come around," she attempted to push a small smile to her lips, "Please sit."

"I can set the table."

"No no. Hamare yahan damaad ke khaatirdaari kiye jaate hain," she chuckled softly, "Tum toh-"
(At our place, we tend to the son-in-law, but you-)

"Saare din bohat kaam karti hain aap. Mujhe achcha lagega aap ka madad agar kar paoon."
(You work hard all day. I would like it if I could help you)

She smiled gratefully. Before she could refuse again, I took the plates out and began placing them on the table. Alizey appeared in the doorway moments after, wearing her coat and holding her purse.

"Arrey, Lizu. Tayaar hogayi?" her mom asked affectionately, her eyes expressing her concern for her daughter.
(You've gotten ready?)

Alizey nodded softly before looking up at me. "Can you drop me off early?" she asked quietly.

"Kuch khaoge nahin?" Aunty asked.
(You won't eat something?)

"Bhook nahin hai," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
(I'm not hungry)

"Kuch toh khao, beta."
(Eat something at least, dear)

Alizey shook her head then peered at me.

"There's warm parathas. Have them with sevaiya," I told her.

"Faw-"

"Just eat a little then I'll drop you off."

"I-"

I took her hand and led her to the dining table, making her sit. I served her a paratha and a small bowl of the sweet vermicelli dessert before plating some for myself. She had no appetite. She chewed on each morsel idly until she finished only half of the bread. I finished the rest of her food when her sisters had joined us. I told Alizey I would meet her at the driveway after I washed our plates. We heard her father inform Afreen Aunty to pack his breakfast to-go because he unexpectedly had to cover yet another shift at his gas station.

Alizey was staring at my car when I approached her from behind, "You okay?"

She glanced at me with soft eyes, nodding. I placed my hand on her lower back, about to tell her to get in the car when the garage opened.

"Yeh le," Afreen Aunty followed after her husband with a lunch box, who was storming to his car.
(Take this)

"Logon ka koi bharosa nahin. Koi shift shuru hone se pehle aise batata hai ke aa nahin payega? Irresponsible."
(You can't trust anyone. Who barely informs before their shift is about to start that they can't come?)

"Hire someone new."

"New. The one I hired after the previous one quit turned out to be a thief. He would buy food and not pay for it. Just because he's an employee, he can't take things for free! I can't even find a replacement for that guy, and you're telling me to fire this one."

I looked at his car while he unlocked it. He paused, noticing our presence.

"Good morning, Papa," Alizey squeaked.

Her father resumed opening the door and placed the lunch box inside.

"Assalamwalaikum," I told him.

"Kuch keh rahe hai," Afreen Aunty urged softly.
(They're saying something)

"Walaikumsalam," he grumbled without looking at us. He patted his pockets. "Maine batwa andar bhul gaya."
(I forgot my wallet inside)

"Main laati hoon." With that, her mother returned inside quickly.
(I'll bring it)

Alizey watched me as I grew closer to her father's car. "When was the last time you got your tires aligned?"

Alizey's P.O.V.

Papa glanced at my husband and the tires from the corner of his eyes.

Fawad crouched down, inspecting the rubber, "They're a bit worn out, and the shape indicates they need to be realigned. They're slanted." He stood up, offering politely, "You can bring it by my shop when you have time."

"Afreen!"

"Yeh le," Mama rushed back with his wallet.

"Thank you."

"When are you coming back, Jalal?"

"Same as yesterday."

Fawad gave my mother a nod then walked back to me, telling me to get into the car before he got into the driver's seat. Mama flashed a comforting smile and waved at me before we drove away.

I know Fawad. I know he's angry at Papa, but to ease the situation, he spoke to him politely. I appreciate his efforts. It goes to show his character.

It's hard for me to bounce back when Papa says hurtful things about me. Despite Fawad's words, I can't just be okay at the snap of my fingers, but with him my side, it made everything less painful.

It was a silent car ride. We exchanged goodbyes before I went up to my workplace. I was grateful to be here. To just focus on work and forget about my personal life. Engulfed in music and reports, I typed and clicked away on the spreadsheets I was editing.

A pair of hands appeared in front of my eyes, blocking the computer screen, "Hi."

"Hi Irtaza," I sighed, sounding annoyed teasingly as I removed my headphones.

He laughed and moved to the side so I can see him. His eyebrows tugged together after looking at my face, "Why are your eyes swollen?"

My fingers reached up to my eyes self-consciously, "They are? Oh. It was-"

"Sab theek hai na, Alizey?" he asked softly with concern.
(Everything's alright?)

I pushed a smile to my lips, "Yes. Just allergies. Was sneezing a lot last night, so..."

Yup. Certified liar. That's me. Alizey.

He nodded suspiciously. "Did you take medicine? There might be some antihistamine in the office first-aid kit. I can go check-"

"No no, I'm fine. Thanks, Irtaza. What's up? What are you up to? Maybe I should join the IT department. It doesn't seem like you have much work," I managed to joke.

"Are you trying to say I slack off?" he smiled amusedly.

I shrugged. "I can't seem to catch a break from my reports, but you seem to have time to wander around."

He laughed. "I like taking breaks and talking to you. You're my only friend here."

"I'm honored."

He chuckled once more. "What are you and Harris doing next Tuesday after work? That's what I came to ask."

"Uh, nothing that I know of. Why? What's up?"

"The ceiling."

I gave him a look that read, 'Well, duh.'

"I want to invite you guys for dinner. I told my uncle and aunt about you guys, and they would love to meet you too."

"Aww, that's so sweet. I'm free Tuesday," Fawad and I would be back at our home this Sunday. "Not sure about Harris though."

"I'll call him."

"Sounds good."

Fawad's P.O.V.

I twisted the bolt in place with a wrench as I thought about Alizey.

The urge to burn down the entire world at the sight of her crying was strong last night.

Except for her mother, they all took her for granted. None of them valued her the way she deserved. Whether you want to call it karma or not, but I believe her father's store robbery was a result of his misbehavior towards my wife. She does nothing but treat people with kindness regardless of if they deserve it. It's only fair that she gets it back in return.

When her and I were making up the story of how we got married to answer Jia, seeing Alizey smile made my efforts worthwhile. It was always equivalent to grey skies clearing and the sun shining through. Coming home from work and Alizey opening the door bare face with a genuine smile on her lips is one of the most beautiful sights.

When she giggles about something random she found funny, I find myself responding with anything that would make her laugh again just so I can hear it once more.

When she tells me about a story that she wrote and I recall certain details, the excitement that lights up her face from the fact that I remembered makes me want to hear more so I can continue giving her passion and talent its due reverence.

I heard someone clear their throat.

A smile tugged on my lips as I looked up, "Ali-"

"Sorry. Not Alizey," Rodrigo grinned, making me scowl.

I'm starting to lose my sh*t.

I was so lost in my thoughts about her that I really thought it could've been her.

"What do you want?"

"I need your help on the car," he gestured before giving me his annoying large grin again, "Please."

I wiped my hands on a rag, sighing silently while nodding and following him.

Alizey's P.O.V.

After clocking out for the day, I was waiting in the lobby for Fawad to pick me up. He said he was going to be a little late. When he texted me that he was finally here, I walked to his car when I noticed the passenger seat occupied.

"Mama?!" I smiled slightly with surprise after getting into the car. "What are you doing here?"

"Fawad called and told me to get ready. He wanted the three of us to have dinner outside."

I glanced at my husband through the rear-view mirror endearingly, and he returned a humble nod.

"Amaira-"

"Your sisters have plans with their friends. Your Papa won't be home till 10."

And so off we went to Mama's favorite restaurant for dinner. My husband courteously urged her to order whatever she liked. I watched him lovingly while Mama grew comfortable and laughed as she made conversation with him.

My mind told me it was dangerous, the attachment my mother was starting to develop towards him. But there was nothing to be done. My heart itself had already accepted its fate despite knowing everything was to be over in a few months.

The three of us walked to an ice cream parlor down the block and had dessert. It was safe to say that Fawad had already won Mama's heart.

No one was home when we got back. Fawad and I changed into our pjs and were chilling in my room. I was certainly feeling a lot better.

He was scrolling on his phone while lying on the bed, looking like the utterly handsome man that he was. Meanwhile, I was sat in front of my laptop at my desk, staring at the blinking cursor. Writer's block was at its finest.

"What are you doing?" I asked him abruptly.

"What are you doing?" he glanced at me.

A smile tugged on my lips, "I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

"So? I asked you first, so you have to tell me."

"Erm. I don't think so."

"Yes. That's how it works."

"Says who?" he continued scrolling nonchalantly.

"Says me! What are you looking at?" I pouted.

"Why do you want to know?"

I stood up, "Why won't you just tell me?"

He tilted his phone, the back of it now facing me, "I have the right to some privacy."

I climbed onto the bed, "What are you hiding?"

Was he texting someone?!

His thumb swiped against the screen, "It's none of your business, Alizey."

"Mujhe dekhao!" I reached for his phone.
(Show me)

And before I could blink, I was suddenly pinned underneath him.

"You shouldn't have done that," Fawad murmured, studying my eyes mischievously.

"Why not? Why won't you show me?"

"Why?"

"Dost hoon main tumhari," I then mustered the courage to add, "Biwi bhi hoon. Mujhe haq hai janne ka."
(I'm your friend. I'm also your wife. I have the right to know)

He lowered his head, the tip of his nose dangerously close to mine. I could feel his breath dance against my lips, "Haq jama rahi ho?"
(You're exerting your right on me?)

"Haan," I asserted. My Fawad. But before he focused too much on that, I attempted to shift his attention, "Jaise tum kar rahe ho. Bachchon ke tarah zid na karke-"
(Yes. Like how you are. Instead of being stubborn like a child-)

"Kyun? Dusron ke saamne wahi kehti ho na?"
(Why? Isn't that what you call me in front of others?)

"Kya?" I whispered, my heart racing at how the distance between our lips had shortened.
(What?)

Oh my God. Was he going to kiss me?!?!

"Jo apne behnon ke saamne bulaati ho mujhe."
(That which you call me in front of your sisters)

My cheeks burned.

"Kaho."
(Say it)

"I-"

"Kaho," he pressed.

"Pata nahin-"
(I don't know-)

"Alizey."

"Baby," I whispered shyly.

I saw his lips tug into a smirk before I closed my eyes when he began leaning in.

He was really about to kiss me!

My first kiss ever with the love of my life, with my husband!

My lips tingled with yearning and curiosity about what it would feel like to share a kiss with Fawad.I lifted my head and parted my lips slightly. His nose nudged against mine gently, my heart feeling like it was going to race out of my chest as he began closing the space between us when-

"Soh gayi ho kya, Lizu-"
(Have you gone to sleep, Lizu-)

Fawad shot away, snatching his phone from my hand in the process. He laid on his back and quickly unlocked the screen. I scrambled for the blanket and held it up to my neck.

"Sorry, beta," Mama apologized to us innocently, not realizing what she interrupted, "I forgot to knock. Are you going to sleep?"

I sat up, "N-no, Mama. Did you need something?"

"I can't get the sewing machine to start up, beta. I was going to fix Jia's kameez. Can you help me?"

I hopped out of bed and followed her. By the time I returned to my room, Fawad was asleep.

But I was wide awake. My insides jittered with butterflies at the fact that Fawad was going to kiss me.

It all was about to happen out of nowhere, but did this mean he has feelings for me too?

Was it foolish of me to get my hopes up?

Where was this going?

What does it mean?

When we both got up, I gauged his behavior to figure out how to act around him because I wasn't sure if he was going to acknowledge what almost transpired between us.

But the pessimistic voice deep down had guessed correctly--he was acting as if everything was normal, as if we weren't moments away from kissing last night. And I did what I knew best when it came to him. I went along with it. I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed, but I reminded myself that he wasn't in the wrong. It was me. I was hoping for him to trespass rules that I created myself, to go against the premises of what our marriage was supposed to be.

The heart was indeed a conflicted organ.

"Were you able to get your mom's sewing machine to work last night?" he asked while spraying some cologne.

"No. It's a bit old. I think it might have gotten fused, but I'll take another look at it tonight after work."

He nodded.

Papa was at the breakfast table when we got downstairs. Fawad and I greeted him only to be met with silence from him and awkwardness from my sisters. Once we finished, I went upstairs to get my purse and coat. After I returned back downstairs, I found Fawad and Mama coming back from her bedroom.

"He wanted to see the sewing machine," Mama explained.

I nodded then walked with him to the car.

Later that night, all of us save for Papa, who was at work, were in the living room watching Amaira Api's engagement video on the TV after Fawad won my and my mother's heart all over again. He bought a new sewing machine for her I don't even know when and set it up for her.

"Uff, pata nahin kab tum nikkah karogi aur tumhe aise phir dekhoongi walime pe," Mama taunted Api lightheartedly.
(Who knows when you will get married and I will see you like this again at the reception?)

Amaira Api rolled her eyes, "Aap pehle Papa ko manaa ke Alizey aur Fawad ka walima karein."
(First pacify Papa and do Alizey and Fawad's reception)

My eyes widened.

Mama looked at Fawad, trying to get him to support her, "Koi buri baat toh nahin kar rahi. Itne saal se mangni kar ke baithi hai-"
(I wasn't saying anything bad. She's been engaged for so many years-)

"Phir keh de na ke main bojh hoon aap sab pe-"
(Then just say it that I'm a burden on you all-)

"Api," I interjected, seeing my sister had taken it the wrong way, "Mama ke aise matlab nahin thi. Aap ko dulhan ke roop mein dekhna chahti hai."
(Mama didn't mean it like that. She just wants to see you as a bride)

"Main hi kyun? Tum bhi toh ho," she retorted defensively, her eyebrows furrowing.
(Why me? You're also there)

Fawad and I glanced at each other. I didn't know how to respond. A wedding reception was out of the question for us given our marriage had a countdown.

The thought simply breaks my heart. I've written so many novels and my protagonists each face heartbreaks of different kind. Was it inevitable? Was Fawad right? Was hoping for a happy ending unrealistic?

The front door unlocked, revealing a scowling Papa. Instinctively, without realizing it, I took Fawad's hand. He linked our fingers protectively, sending a wave of warmth through me.

"What happened?" Mama stood up, reading my father's face.

"Kuch nahin. Insurance wale tang kar rahe hai. Keh rahe hai ke dukaan thik karne ke liye jo paisa denge abhi bhi kuch hafte hai uss ke liye. Upar se, aaj ek homeless ghus gaya tha dukaan ke andaar."
(Nothing. The insurance people are being annoying. They're saying that there is still a few weeks before they give me the money to fix the store. On top of that, a homeless got into the store)

Mama gasped, "Phir?!"
(Then?!)

"Khirkiyon mein jo lakri lagwaye hai, woh sab churane ki koshish kar raha tha. Maine rokne ki koshish ki, phir mujhe wahi lakri se maarne ke koshish kar raha tha."
(He was trying to steal the wood from the windows that I had put up. I tried stopping him, then he began trying to hit me with the wood)

"Are you okay, Papa?" Jia Api asked.

"Yes. He wasn't able to hurt me. I threatened to call the police, and he left."

"This is getting very dangerous, Jalal," Mama followed him to their bedroom, "You need to get the insurance money quickly to repair things and hire more employees. Ya Allah, what's happening?!"

My sisters, Fawad, and I started going upstairs to retire for the day when my husband wanted to get a glass of water. I tagged along.

Fawad stood by the fridge, holding a glass to its water dispenser. Papa's voice emanated through the walls, "Where did this come from?"

"Oh. Fawad bought it for me," Mama explained. "He tried fixing the old sewing machine, but he said there was a problem in the wires. Bohat achcha bachcha hai-"
(He's a very good boy)

"You should have told me. I would've bought a new one for you, Afreen. What was the need for him to buy you one?"

"I didn't ask him to. He bought it on his own. He's a nice boy, Jalal-"

Papa scoffed. "Nice boy. What 'nice boy' roams around with braids like that? He looks like a criminal."

"Aisey mat kahein. Aaj kal ka fashion hai."
(Don't say that. It's today's fashion)

"Fashion," I could just imagine Papa shaking his head. I looked at Fawad apologetically, but his gaze was lowered while he listened intently.

"Hum sab se kitna ghul milke rehne ki koshish kar raha hai bechara, aap bhi-"
(The poor guy is trying to mingle well with us, you too-)

"Dekho, mujhe koi zaroorat nahin hai yeh sab karne ke liye. Agar itna hi ghul milke rehne ka shok tha ussey, toh Alizey ko aisey biya kar nahin le jaata. Izzat se le jaata."
(Look, I don't need to do any of that. If he wanted to mingle well with us so bad, then he wouldn't have married Alizey like that. He would have taken her with respect)

"Would you have tried to get to know him-"

"Don't try to blame me. Dono ke dono naak katwaya hai hamare samajh mein. Log thu thu kar rahe hain ke Jalal aur Afreen ke chhoti beti ghar se bhaag ke shaadi ki hai, aur woh bhi ek din se pehle jab uske kisi aur se shaadi tey thi. Munh par koi kehta nahin hai, lekin mann hi mann mein yehi soch raha hai. Ungliyaan utha raha hai hamare tarbiyaat par."
(Both of them have lowered our heads in society. People are talking down saying Jalal and Afreen's youngest daughter ran away and got married, and that too, a day before her wedding with someone else. No one says it to my face, but it's what they're thinking in their heads. They're pointing fingers at our upbringing)

"Ab jo hogaya hai, so ho gaya. Usko humein apnana hoga."
(Whatever's happened, happened. We have to accept him)

"Kisko apnao? Jo khud ek mamooli sa mechanic hai? Jiske paas koi izzat nahin hai? Koi jaanta tak nahin hai ussey samajh mein. Woh Alizey ko khush rakhega? Jab aisey harkatein hai, aisey naukri hai, aagey jaa ke agar bachcha wagera kuch hoga, tab kya? Dekhna, ek din tumhari beti khud wapas aayegi hamare paas kyunke woh na ussey sambhal payega na uske bachche ko."
(Accept who? He who's an ordinary mechanic? Who has no prestige? No one even knows him in society. He's going to keep Alizey happy? When his actions are as such, when his job is as such, if they go on to have kids, then what? Watch, one day your daughter is going to come back to us because he won't be able to take care of her nor her child)

"Aap kahan se kahan baatein le jaate hai! Jaante tak nahin hai ussey, jaanne ki koshish bhi nahin ki. Bohat achche se rakhti hai Alizey ko. Maine dekha hai!"
(From where to where do you escalate things! You don't even know him, you haven't even tried to get to know him. He looks after Alizey very well. I've seen it!)

"Achcha?!-"
(Really?!-)

"Fawad," I followed after him worriedly as he began storming out of the house, face stoic. "Fawad! Where are you going?"

He didn't say a word and got into his car, backing out of the driveway before I could stop him.

"Fawad!"

Fawad's P.O.V.

"Bura laga unn ke baatein sun kar?"
(Did you feel bad hearing his words?)

I blew out a cloud of smoke after pulling the cigarette away from my lips, "Nahin. Bas tumhare bhai ki baatein yaad aa gaye."
(No. I was just reminded of your brother's words)

She looked at the cigarette, frowning. I sighed, throwing it onto the ground and grinding it under my shoe.

"I'm sorry. You know Bhai was upset. I would've told him off for it if I was there-"

"Kyun nahin thi, Sana?" my eyes flooded slowly. "Mere saath kyun nahin ho? Aise kyun hona tha?"
(Why weren't you there, Sana? Why aren't you with me? Why did this have to happen?)

Her features softened with sorrow, "Janaan..."

"Tumne aur Musa ne bohat nainsaafi ki mere saath. Kitne khitaab, pehchaan cheene. Lekin ilzaam tum dono ko nahin de sakta. Saara kasoor-"
(You and Musa were very unfair to me. You two stole so many titles, so many identities from me. But I can't blame you guys. All the fault-)

"Tumne Alizey ko kitna samjhaya khud par reham khaane ki baare mein, tum khud par reham kyun nahin khaate ho, janaan? Bhul jao woh sab. Bhul jao mujhe-"
(You taught Alizey so much about having mercy on herself, why don't you have mercy on yourself, my life? Forget all of that. Forget me-)

"No," I asserted firmly.

"Toh zindagi mein aage kaise bar paoge? Maazi mein jiya nahin jaata. Wahan yaadon ke siwa aur kuch nahin hota. Paanch saal hone jaa rahe hai. Tumhare aaj mein, tumhare kal mein, main nahin ho sakti, Musa-"
(Then how are you going to move on? You can't live in the past. There's nothing there except for memories. It's going to be five years. In your present, in your future, I can't be there, Musa-)

"Aur iss aaj aur woh kal mein main rehna nahin chahta."
(And I don't want to live in this present or in that future)

"Kyun? Jo ab hai, ussey kyun thukra rahe ho?"
(Why? Why are you pushing away what is there now?)

I turned my head towards her, my eyebrows pulled together with confusion.

She looked at me with glassy orbs and a sad smile, "Tumhari aankhon mein main dekhai nahin de rahi." She lifted her hand to my cheek, her thumb stroking under my eye, "Koi aur hai ab inn mein. Maazi ko chhod do, jo aaj hai, uski haath thaam lo, janaan."
(I don't see myself in your eyes. There's someone else in them now. Let go of the past, take the hand of the one who is there now, my life)

My heart ached at her words while I shook my head, "Sana, aisi baat nahin hai-"
(Sana, it's not like that)

"Aisi hi hai," she lowered her hand. "Tum mujhe bhoolne lage ho. Pehle se kam kam milne aate ho. Yeh buri baat nahin hai."
(It is like that. You are starting to forget me. You've been coming to meet me less frequently. This isn't a bad thing)

"Main khud ko bhool sakta hoon, lekin tumhe kabhi nahin bhool sakta main, Sana. Aur Alizey aur uske khaandaan ke saath mashroof-"
(I can forget myself, but I can never forget you, Sana. And I was busy with Alizey and her family-)

"Woh toh ab ho. Lekin pichle kayi hafton se, haftein mein ek baare mujhe bulaate ho yahan. Tumhare nikkah se pehle har dusre din hum aise baat karte the... Alizey ke saath waqt bitana achcha lagta hai tumhe." I opened my mouth to respond, but she interjected, "Jhoot mat bolo, janaan. Pehle bhi pakar leti thi aur aaj bhi."
(You are busy now. However, over the last few weeks, you call me here once a week. Before you got married, we would talk like this every other day... You like spending time with Alizey. Don't lie, my life. I could catch your lies before and I still can)

Tears trailed down my cheeks at the growing guilt inside me.

"Why are you depriving yourself of the goodness in front of you?" she caressed my cheek with her cold hand, "I want you to be happy. I won't mind-"

I wiped my face, "No. I can't do that to you."

She leaned back, a small emotional smile on her lips. It was as though she had gotten the answer to an underlying question.

And it was then did I realize I hadn't denied the idea of moving on with Alizey. Unknowingly, I had admitted that I wasn't opposed to it. But it was my loyalty towards Sana that prevented me from getting closer to Alizey.

Jis ke saath jeene marne ki kasmein khayi ho, jis ke yaad seena chiir deta ho, jis ke pyaar dil jalaakar phir bhi zinda rehne ki taqat deta ho--uske saath bewafai kaise karoon?
(With whom I made promises to live and die, whose memory tears my chest apart, whose love burns my heart yet gives me the strength to stay alive--how am I supposed to be unfaithful to her?)