Malika Bashir entered her home to find the apartment empty.

The day was warm and the sun was glowing so brightly outside it flooded her home through the windows. The back to back classes had drained her out, but the thought of seeing her friends gave Malika renewed energy.

She peeked down the hallway to glimpse at Salman's room, only to find it empty. He had moved back home after graduation. Malika knew her brother didn't really love living in a foreign land, so it was inevitable. She also knew missing out on important events of her life weighed in on his decision as well.

Since moving back, Salman forsake the engineering degree he earned from the prestigious university in England and decided to join the marketing team for her mother's fashion brand.

"You're not supposed to know what you want in your twenties. They're for figuring out what you want," he always told her.

He worked a little. Walked in and out of the house at odd hours of the night. Spent most of his time roaming around the city with his high school friends.

He might have been in his twenties, but her brother still acted like a teenager. Growing up, Salman was the easy child and Malika was the difficult one - as their mother put it. The mother and son had an understanding that, at times, even made her a little jealous. However, since moving back, the fight between Salman and Neela would get so intense, at days, it scared Malika. She felt like the little bit of family she had left was falling apart.

Then there were times when Salman would barge into her room in the middle of the night and take her out for an ice cream rendezvous. They would drive around, watch the city lights and sometimes sit by the beach while talking about life for hours. Those were the nights that made Malika glad to have her brother back.

She took a shower, prepared herself a quick lunch and then was out of the door again. Malika relied on public transportation to get her to her destination. It was late afternoon when she reached the Fayyad Mansion.

The Fayyads were one of the most prominent families in the city and their home showed it. The house stood in all its glory, stark white against the powder blue sky. The marble columns and french windows always made Malika feel like she was walking straight into a fairytale.

She found Dahlia in Layla's room. Seeing her, the hijabi lifted her head miserably from the book laying on her lap.

"Why did I choose to become educated when I could have been lying on a lavender field somewhere under the open sky?" she cried.

Malika let out a chuckle, used to her existential crises before every exam.

"You still have time," she said. "You could drop out and find an older husband - preferably someone who owns a farm."

Dahlia sighed. "And get banished from the family, but seems totally worth it."

Malika laughed out this time. "I survived my midterms last week. You'll get through them too," she reassured.

The girl let out a groan as Layla sauntered into the room, followed by her mother. Yasmine Fayyad was eight months pregnant. Layla, at the age when she was old enough to have a child herself, found out that her parents were expecting a baby.

The older lady greeted them and then turned around to go back to her room. Malika took her seat on the warm and fluffy bed, resting against the button-tufted headboard.

The last two years were slow for Malika and she preferred it that way. She knew it was the same for the other two girls. Layla preferred to keep her circle small. Dahlia kept to herself for the same reason she did it in high school - she simply didn't feel comfortable amidst the open and free-mixing culture of her University.

Malika, though she wasn't as strict about following religion as her friend - yet - she still stayed out of the limelight. Once the outgoing and popular girl, she now learned to hide behind walls built for her own safety. She had experienced enough drama to suffice her for a lifetime. So she went to classes and only spoke to people she needed to, keeping mostly to herself.

Ibrahim, Dahlia and Layla went to the same University, and the two girls tried to get together at least once a week to go through lectures so they wouldn't be scrambling at the last minute before exams. The study sessions almost always ended with them FaceTiming Malika to gossip about the latest fashion trends, or the three girls trying out Youtube makeup tutorials on each other on the evenings Malika joined them.

Farrah was the only one who had moved away from home to Dhaka city - the capital city of Bangladesh. It was unusual in their social circle for girls to do so. Moving abroad was was still deemed more acceptable, however living alone within their own country was not. It simply wasn't safe.

Malika later realized this was why Farrah chose the University she did - not only because it had a better Law program, but so that she could move away from home. The girl begged and reasoned with her mother for months before Rani Hussain buckled her will and allowed for her to move in with a relative that lived in the city, only under the conditions that she visits home every weekend and moves back to Chittagong right after graduation.

University life could have been slow for the rest, but for Farrah, it was her time to shine. Malika had never seen her friend so in her element. She made friends, was popular in the student associations scene and actually enjoyed the major she had chosen.

Malika was happy for her, she was. Farrah was finally learning to spread her wings. However, as her friend kept missing hangouts, dinner parties and slowly started disassociating herself with the social scene back home, she couldn't help but feel like Farrah was slowly leaving Malika behind as well along with her 'old life'.

A clearing of the throat pulled Malika out of the self-wallowing. She lifted her gaze to realize both her friends were staring at her. Something in the air had shifted. The easy evening she had anticipated seemed to turn tense.

"Maybe you should tell her," Layla turned to Dahlia and pleaded. "She'll go easy on you."

The hijabi raised both hands in surrender. "Your mess, your clean up."

Malika furrowed her brows as her eyes darted between her friends. "What's going on?"

Layla met her eyes. She was wrapping and unwrapping a strand of curly hair around her finger - a nervous tick of the girl. Malika stared at them with apprehension.

"Well, I kind of screwed up massively," she started. "But whatever ensues, I want you to remember I'm one of your best friends and I love you to death," she quickly added. "Whatever I did, I thought I was doing it for your happiness."

Malika narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

An uneasy feeling was brewing in her stomach. Layla was forcing on an easy vibe and was trying to pass it off as nothing. That's how Malika knew something was very wrong. Easy came naturally to Layla. She never has to force it.

"Well," Layla let go of her hair and let out a nervous laugh. "You know those letters you wrote? I might have misplaced them." She blurted out the words as fast as she could, as if she could not be done to part with them.

Malika sat up. She took a sharp intake of breath as she felt her heart drop to her stomach. She stared at Layla, the fear and guilt on her face was as clear as day, but all Malika saw was red.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Malika, I'm so, so sorry."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

Malika's voice could cut steel. Layla looked like someone slapped her across the face.

Malika slowly inhaled to steady her breathing. This had to be a joke. "Layla, where are my letters?" she asked more calmly.

"That's a funny story." Layla let out a loud and awkward laugh. "I gave them to the person they were written for."

Ibrahim waited for Zakariya Azad outside of Juicy Lucy. He stood in the crowded steps outside of the popular burger joint, right underneath the name written in bold, neon metal blocks.

Ibrahim still vividly recalled the last time he had seen Zakariya. It was at the airport when they hugged goodbye as he was leaving for New York, promising to stay in touch. Zakariya was someone he considered and loved like a brother, and he didn't think distance would change it.

However, two years was a long time, with the added time difference caused due to the fact they there living in different continents, their daily phone calls soon turned to sparse texts and comments on social media.

As he arrived, Ibrahim noticed that very little had changed about Zakariya physically. He wore a light blue button up shirt and faded jeans, sneakers adorning his feet. His wavy hair was combed to a side, creating a parting on the right as the familiar thin glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose.

Other than the slight weight gain, Ibrahim could still imagine him in a classroom in York Academy, sitting on a desk somewhere beside him, shooting annoyed glances at the backbenchers for disrupting the teacher's flow.

"Ahmad," Zakariya greeted when he saw his old friend, Ibrahim's smile reflecting on his face.

Zakariya faced him, almost rivaling Ibrahim's six foot one. The two boys stepped forward and embraced each other in a warm hug.

Unspoken emotions rose to both men's hearts. They faced each other again. Zakariya clapped on his shoulder once and dropped his hands to his sides as they took their seats in the tall stools facing the wall length window.

"When did you get here?" Ibrahim asked as the two friends sat down side by side.

"Last night," Zakariya replied. "I called you after coming home but you didn't answer."

"I must have missed it," he replied apologetically. "These days my phone is often hijacked by my nieces and nephews."

"No worries." Zakariya chuckled.

"Have you gotten in touch with any of the other boys?" Ibrahim asked.

Zakariya nodded. "I texted them, but only got answers from Shorty." He looked at the big guy. "Are you still in contact with them?"

"Yeah," Ibrahim replied. "Sort of. You know Shorty and I go to the same Uni, so we run into each other from time to time. But we are doing different majors so our schedules don't always match."

At the mention of their friend Shahriar 'Shorty' Kabir, Zakariya's lips broke into a grin. "That prick," he said, voice thick with affection. "Who knew he would be the first amongst us to get hitched?"

"I couldn't believe it either." Ibrahim laughed. "And that too to his high school sweetheart."

"Unbelievable." Zakariya shook his head. "Perhaps your lectures on haram relationships finally worked." He threw a playful look. "So he's decided to legalize it."

At that, Ibrahim let out a chuckle. "I hope so."

"Why would Diya agree to marry him after everything is my question," Zakariya added with a shake of their head. "Just hope their marriage remains more stable than their relationship."

"In shaa Allah it will. Will you be here for his Walima?" he asked.

Zakariya nodded in answer. Their coffees arrived and the friends spent some time sipping into their cups.

"So." Ibrahim leaned forward on the thin ledge in front and glanced at his friend. "Tell me about your life. What's the Big Apple like?" he asked.

"New York's so much like our city, it's crazy." Zakariya replied, shaking his head, a smile on his lips. "Unsafe neighborhoods, racing for your life to cross the streets, garbage everywhere."

Ibrahim widened his eyes. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Though New York's twice the size and more diverse, and I live in a nice area," Zakariya continued. "It was difficult at first adjusting to a new city but I have come to like it. NYU has treated me well. "

"That's nice to hear."

"Have you ever thought about moving away from home?" Zakariya asked, slowly blowing into the dark liquid as thin wisps of smoke rose from it.

"Never," Ibrahim responded with conviction. "I belong here, at home. I can't imagine living anywhere else."

Zakariya quietly nodded in response. "How was Rose's wedding?"

"It's still going on." Ibrahim rolled his eyes. "We might be done with the reception, but there's still a dinner party every week. My house is crawling with guests. We're going through that phase where I'm not sure who's my uncle and who's my nephew."

Zakariya laughed at that. "With your big, fat family, I'm surprised this problem doesn't arise more often," he joked. "Anyways, you're always welcome to spend the night at my house if you need the space."

Ibrahim's smile warmed. "I'll definitely take you up on that offer," he said. "Say what, you give me a space to sleep at night and I'll show you where the cool kids hang out now."

Zakariya's lips quivered in another smile. "Now that's an offer I can't turn down. I have always wanted to hang out with the cool kids," he quipped. "But the night's booked for Call of Duty." Excitement shone in his eyes. "We kind of left things unfinished last time. You still owe me a game, Ahmad."

"You're on," Ibrahim cried. "You better prepare to lose again," he said, mirth appearing in his eyes.

"You're still an overconfident prick, aren't you?" Zakariya raised his eyebrows.

"I thought that was you."

The ice between them had melted and the two years of lost communication disappeared. It was like they still rode to school together, ate lunches in the bleachers, spent afternoons throwing a football in the Ahmad's backyard.

"Did you talk to Malik?"

And just like that, the warm bubble of nostalgia surrounding the friends burst. Zakariya's gaze intensified as he searched his eyes. Ibrahim's smile stiffened.

"No," Ibrahim replied, his face turning stoic.

"It's been two years, Ahmad." Zakariya's voice turned soft. "Call him."

"Have you spoken to him at all?" Ibrahim spoke up, averting the conversation away from him. "In the last two years?"

His friend nodded. "A few times." Zakariya sighed and leaned forward, placing his arms on his thighs again. "This is silly, Ahmad. Aryan was your brother. He still is. Your friendship was too deep to throw away just like that."

"That's what I thought too, but we both know how that turned out."

"I was hoping we could all hangout. Zakariya looked at him hopefully. "But I won't invite him unless I know you're completely okay with it."

"I don't know, I don't think that would be a good idea," was his curt response.

Disappointed filled the bespectacled boy. He saw the stubbornness in Ibrahim's face. Then he let out a sigh.

It was Zakariya himself who accidentally let slip the information that Aryan asked Dahlia on a date after graduation. He was casually making fun of his friend, in the midst of playing a video game, for getting turned down by the hijabi; only to realize a moment later that her brother was right next to them.

That was the first, and last, time Zakariya had seen Ibrahim angry.

"Let it go," Ibrahim stated.

Zakariya could see the anger was still fresh in his eyes. Ibrahim was the most forgiving person he knew, until it came to someone messing with his sisters.

"Fine."

Though his adamance was just as strong, the glass-donned boy decided to let it go for the time being.