Chapter 16. Ek mahina ya sau saal? 

The morning after the ending of chapter 15 @ 10 am on December 1st

Rehman’s master bedroom, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan 

The sunlight cuts through the ornately carved windows of Rehman’s master bedroom. It slices through the heavy linen curtains. It violently pierces through Rehman's closed eyelids. Last night he collapsed heavily in his bed drunk and angry out of his mind. Not even bothering to undress from his day-worn clothes. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was out like a light.

Now the sunlight violently pierces Rehman's eyes. He groans in pain. His eyes hurt, his head hurts, his body hurts. How much did he have to drink last night? Rehman's hand automatically reached to the other side of the bed. It was second nature to him, like breathing, especially after all these months. 

The ritual was that before he even opened his eyes he always pulled her close. His morning never began without the feeling of her pulled flush against him. He would bury himself in her hair, breathing deeply. She always smelt like the most intoxicating mix of sleep and her perfume long with faint remnants of their love. Rehman's hand reaches to the other side of his bed, expecting her warm sleepy body. But all he is met with is cold forest green silk sheets. 

Rehman's eyes shoot open, it takes a moment for his eyes to focus. The blankets are crumpled. Could she be tangled in them? He pulls at the blankets expecting her body to be revealed. He is met with nothing but air. He wakes up even more, sitting up in his bed. Rehman's head pounds violently as he tries to understand what the hell was going on.

Flashes burst through his hungover mind. Flashes of the argument. Flashes of his anger. Flashes of him yelling. Flashes of her horror. Flashes of her tears. Flashes of her leaving. No no no no thinks Rehman. He breathes hard as he stumbles out of bed. 

His alcohol-addled body sways violently. He feels the world lurch violently to the side. The floor feels unstable below him. He looks around the room, his eyes dart around the half dark room. He looks for anything, something, that will tell him his worst fears aren't true. He is looking for her clothes on the floor, sounds from the bathroom, her soft breathing as she sleeps. 

Nothing. Rehman sees nothing. The world tilts again. Rehman feels like something is crushing his ribs. Breathing feels difficult. He huffs for breath as he looks around the room. Then his eyes spot a puddle of maroon and white cashmere on the floor. The same cashmere shawl he had given to her last night when she felt cold in her saree. 

Yesterday afternoon he had seen that she was wearing a maroon and white cotton saree. Rehman had smiled to himself as he went to his closet and pulled out a cashmere shawl he had ordered on demand from Kashmir. For her. 

Now the next morning he spots the shawl he demanded back from her last night. It was lying crumpled on the floor. Dead. It looked dead. He stumbles to it and falls onto the floor.

His shaky hands fist into the cold embroidered cashmere shawl. He clutches it to his chest. He brings it close because it holds her scent. As he brings it close something tumbles out of it. A dead chan chan sound and a hard thunk. 

He sees her payals, her beautiful emerald diamond and platinum payals he gave her on her birthday, on the floor. The payals she never took off. Ever. The clasps crusted with blood from where she ripped them off her delicate ankles. Then Rehman's eyes went to the pendant on the floor, the diamond crusted platinum letter R and a tiny platinum lion lion, her initials and his symbol. Another thing she never took off, ever. The platinum chain snapped from where she had yanked it. 

No. no no no no. He stumbles out of his room. His head pounding wildly, his hands shaking slightly as they fist tighter in the shawl. The payals and the pendant rest in his other hand. She was probably in her room right? She was just angry at him right? He deserved it. Rehman would beg for forgiveness until the day he dies.

Rehman crosses the hallway between their rooms. He opens the door. Her bedroom is a mess like it had been ransacked and she had left. It was empty. Devoid of any of her. “Meri jaan?” Rehman's hoarse wrecked voice rings through the room. Was she under the covers? He rips them off the bed. Thin air. Was she in her bathroom? He knocks on the door and it swings open on its own accord. 

With each moment he is getting more and more scared. Fear and paranoia claw through him. Where was she? Where was his jaan? She has to be in her office right? 

Maybe she packed up. And then decided she didn't want to leave, then she spent the night in her office to scare him? To make a point. The point, that she could leave if she wanted. Point fucking made my love he thinks as he walks out of her room.

Rehman bursts into her office. Her books are gone from the bookshelves. And that. That was more painful than anything Rehman had seen that morning. Her desk is empty, papers scattered. “Rehanna?” he calls out. “Meri jaan kahan hain aap?”

He looks around. He waits. There is no response. Rehman falls to his knees onto the plush navy blue persian carpet of her office. Breathing hard. The full scale of it hits him. She was gone. 

He kicked her out. He told her he hates her. He made her cry. He made her sad, he made her cry, he broke her heart. He told her to leave….then one more point hits him. He told her to leave when she doesn't have another home to go to. When she moved into the haveli with him months ago when her life was in danger, she had given up her home. Now she had nowhere to go. Rehman took away her security, Rehman had taken away her home. Rehman had thrown out the love of his life. 

What had he done?

—-------------

Meanwhile at the same time 

Rehanna Randhawa’s Apartment, Hindu colony, Lyari, Pakistan

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The wall clock sounds off steadily. There is a faint electrical buzz in the air from the refrigerator in the kitchen. Outside the window lyari is wide awake. You can hear the vegetable vendors roll their carts calling their customers. You can hear the faint yelling of kids playing in the street. 

When Rehanna Randhawa finally wakes up her head is pounding. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks. She groans as she tries to turn deeper into the covers. Hoping that sleep would take her again. Hoping that the fucking pounding would stop. She isn't brave enough to open her eyes. 

The empty whiskey bottle rolls off the bed. It clinks hard onto the tile of her bedroom floor, rolling under the bed. Her eyes are swollen shut. And she knows they are red and blood shot before she even opens them. For a moment. Just a moment. Her mind is kind to her just for a moment, it doesn't let her remember what happened last night. 

Another groan pulls from her throat as her hands reach to the other side of the bed. Expecting to find a warm sleepy body waiting for her. Her legs shift slightly and the lack of sound is deafening. She pauses her movement midway. She can't hear them. She can't hear her payals. All Rehanna can feel is a stinging scrape on her foot, running jagged across her ankle.

And then everything hits hard. All the events of yesterday hit her hard enough in the face to sting like a slap. She can feel the imaginary burn on her cheek. Her eyes flutter open. She half hopes it was a terrible nightmare. The sun in her room is too bright.

The warm sunlight fills her room. This isn't her room, but this is her house. Her old apartment. Not the baloch haveli. She is back in her own bed where she never hoped to be again. But thank god Rehanna had kept her apartment all those months ago.

Rehman had taken her to the haveli sure, but she kept paying the rent for this house, she had the locks changed and the house made more secure. Maybe because somewhere deep inside of her she knew that everything would fall apart. Maybe because she knew she didn't deserve an easy fairytale kind of love. Love. What a funny and juvenile thing. Maybe she kept her apartment, because she knew that the man she wasn't supposed to fall in love with would hurt her one day. 

Rehanna loves being right. Why did she have to be right this time? Her eyes finally adjust to the sunlight. The swimming in her head won't stop. She can smell the whisky fumes in the small room. The throbbing at her temple and above her eyebrows doesn't seem to stop. Then she hears it again. His voice. 

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ She feels salty tears sting in her sensitive eyes again. It hurts, the salty solution coating her bloodshot eyes. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected hate from lips that only sang love sonnets for her. A bitter huff leaves her body. Rehman hadn't even said the words to her. Ever. He had never told her that he loves her but she could feel it anyway. She could always feel the love in his eyes, in his touch, in his acts of service to her. She could feel it. 

The salty tears pool enough that the surface tension keeping them in her eyes burst. They fell down her tired face in warm salty streaks. She felt them flow down her face and into her hair. Fuck. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him. But somewhere along the way she did. She fell in love with Rehman Dakait.

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ That's all that she can hear now. The same voice that always sang meri jaan, meri rooh. The same voice and all its memories were now written over by pain. Rehanna uses her palms to wipe the endless tears away. The man she loves told her he hates her and she is crying in bed. Crying in bed like a pathetic loser. 

A -severely mistimed for the situation- laugh pulls out of her body. The sound is not melodious and bright as laughter should be. It's raw, rough, and jagged. “Fuck yaar” she giggles. Her body sways slightly as her hand clutches her now even worse throbbing head. She is now sitting up in her bed. “R&AW ki maa ki….” she trails off as she breaks out into broken tear soaked maniacal laughter. 

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse……Nikal jao MERI haveli se’

—-------------

Same day- December 1 @ 11 am

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

O bedardya 

Bekhayali

Ik lamha

Rehanna was trying to force normalcy. Kyunki iss dukh me doobke kya hi hone wala hai? Every waking second she felt hot tears pool in her eyes. Every time her body moved a fraction she could hear the cluttering and clanking of the broken pieces of her heart rattling against her ribcage. The keyword attached to the world normalcy here was ‘try’. She was trying. 

Rehanna was trying when the first thing she did after stumbling out of bed was reach for another bottle of whiskey from her liquor cabinet. She was trying when she took it to the bathroom with her. She was trying when she used it as mouthwash after she brushed her teeth. She was trying when she took greedy gulps of it as she shed her clothes. 

She was trying when she stood under the shower. She was trying when she ignored the hot tears mixing with the shower water. She was trying when she had the bottle attached to her lips as she sank down onto the bathroom floor under the warm spray. 

Rehanna was trying when she dressed herself in a plain shirt and some short cotton shorts. She was trying when she stuffed toast in her mouth. She was trying when she spiked her coffee with whiskey. She really was trying. That didn't mean she was going to be successful. 

She hummed to herself lightly as she stumbled to her record player. Half a bottle of whisky down already. The pain felt slightly bearable now that all her senses had been dulled. Her fingers flicked deftly through her record collection as she looked for a particular album. Her hazy eyes search lazily. She can't see it.

She scoffs to herself. Of course she can't find something when she needs it. Typical. She walks to her sofa in the small living room. The tears drip out of her eyes lazily. She doesn't even register it anymore. It's as normal as breathing. She lands onto her sofa with the grace of a newborn giraffe.

Whiskey spiked coffee threatens to spill out of the cup but she balances it. She hums the melody of the song she was looking for in her records. She brings the cup up to her lips. Tears fall into it mixing with the contents of the cup. The song really would have been perfect if she had found it “Sobbing into my cup of coffee……because I fell for another looserrr” she slurs with a chuckle. 

She reaches over to the table and her cup lands on it with a thud, more rough than she had intended. Her fingers fumbled for her pack of cigarettes, she brought one to her lips. As her lips held the cigarette in place, her thumb fiddled with the lighter. She clicked it once. Then twice, then three times. Finally on the fourth attempt the flame finally lit “Haat maadarchod” she scoffed drunkenly as she tossed it across the room. 

She took a deep drag of the Marlboro, the tendrils of smoke caught in the afternoon light. She exhaled as her head hit the headrest. She watched them swirl around her with hazy unfocused eyes. Rehanna’s eyes flicked to the half empty bottle of whiskey on her coffee table.

Its the same thing that got Rehman drunk enough last night to tell her that he hates her. It's also the same thing dulling the pain enough to keep Rehanna sane. She takes lazy drags off of her cigarette as she stares into the abyss. All she could think about is how much she hates herself. How much she hates herself for still loving Rehman even though he hurt her. 

All of a sudden there is a series of rapid and panicked knocks on her door. She has a certain feeling pool deep in her gut. She has an idea of who was outside. No she will not open it. Rehanna ignores the door. She sips her spiked coffee again. 3 more rapid knocks make her door shake on its hinges. Still no. Rehanna will not open the door.

Just as she was about to ignore the door again a feeling crawls up her spine. What if it was someone else? What if it was Hamza? She sighs as she stands up and walks to her door. She hates how fresh tears threaten to fall when she can't hear her payals chan chan chan with each step. Once she reaches her door she looks out the peephole. 

Rehanna’s breathing stops immediately. No. No. No, absolutely not. It's Rehman. She backs away from the door trying to come to terms with what she was seeing outside. He is still wearing the clothes he was wearing yesterday. He looks like a wrecked mess. He looks like he just woke up and rushed out of the house frantically. In his arms rested a massive bouquet of white roses. 

As she backs away her hand hits the doorknob making it rattle slightly. “Fuck!” she curses softly under her breath. Rehman perks up outside her door. She was right there, she was watching him through the peephole. “Rehanna? Meri jaan?” he calls out knocking on the door again. Rehanna freezes at how he calls her. 

How dare he? How can he? How does he dare to call her by her name or by the title of endearment he just used? She can't believe it. She can't believe the way his words wrap around her heart. She can't believe the way her heart thrums out of her ribcage begging to go to him. 

Outside the door Rehman's hand runs through his hair for the nth time. She was right there. She wasn't opening the door. He deserved it, yes, he deserved every jab she would throw at him. But he needed to see her. He needed to beg for her forgiveness. But she isn't opening the door “Meri jaan….mai darkhuast karta hun darwaza kholo.” The desperate rasp in his voice is painfully audible. 

—---------

Desperate is the right word. Rehman was desperate to see her. The moment he had realized what he had done he knew he needed to make it right. He was beginning to hear Ulfat’s voice in the back of his mind again. Rehman remembers how bitter ulfat had become before she had left him. He was beginning to hear the constant chanting of monster, monster, monster once again. Ulfat used to call him a monster.

He didn't want to become that again. That part of him even scared him. He didn't want to go back to the darkness after he had had a taste of the light.

He needed Rehanna, she was the one who stayed with him even after knowing how much of a horrible man he was. She never called him a monster. She understood the darkness. She wasn't afraid of him. She was the one who he truly loved. She was the one who kept the monster in him tamed. Rehman needed Rehanna. 

He had run out of his haveli fumbling with the keys of his maroon corvette. Where had she gone? Was the only question in his mind as he pulled out of the haveli at terrifying speed. Rehman's mind began cycling through every possible option: Hamza's house, the fancy burger bachha hotels in the city, a friend's house. 

While he scrambled in his mind to figure out where she might be, his muscle memory had begun driving to her old house again. Once he realized where his body was going Rehman decided it was worth a chance. He stopped the car at the first flower shop he spotted and picked up the biggest and most expensive bouquet. A bouquet of big brilliant white roses. 

The same kind that he himself had picked from the haveli gardens to thread through her hair yesterday afternoon. His mind keeps going back to yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine until yesterday after dinner too. Then he had gone and fucked it all.  

Rehman pulls his car into the Hindu Colony of Lyari where her old apartment used to be. As soon as he pulls into the street he sees her black mercedes parked outside the quaint standalone building. The sigh of relief that pulls out of him is immense in its own right. Here she was. She hadn't gone too far. 

Rehman launches out of the car with the bouquet. He walks to the staircase of the building and climbs it as fast as his legs will take him. She lived on the second floor. Rehman remembers. The second floor, the last house on the right side of the hallway. The dark brown wooden door, the out of control leafy monstera and the navy blue fabric toran with copper bells attached to it which swayed in the wind. 

Rehman's fist bangs against the door. No poise, no charisma in his knock. Pure raw desperation to see the woman he had hurt so he could beg for her forgiveness. He knocks six times, and he hears nothing. “Rehanna? meri jaan?” And just as he is about to give up he hears a faint rattle behind the door. She was there. “Meri jaan….mai darkhuast karta hun darwaza kholo.”

—-----------

The wooden door swings open and there she is. Rehman stops breathing. Because this isn't his Rehanna. It's a husk of herself. A wave of self-hatred pulls through him, the wave almost powerful enough to make his knees buckle. 

Her beautiful eyes are red and broken. Tear-tracts are etched into her cheeks from how many tears had flown down them. Her eyes are dead. He can smell the pungent cloud of whiskey surrounding her, he can see how she sways ever so slightly as the alcohol deepens its hold on her. And worst of all she isn't speaking. She isnt yelling at him, she isnt killing him. What hurts the most is how she is looking at him. Like he was a stranger. 

Immediately Rehman holds out the bouquet of expensive flowers in front of him. He holds it out to her, expecting her to reach out and take it. Rehanna blinks in shock. At the flowers, at Rehman. Rehman looks like shit. His clothes rumpled and crumpled, his hair a mess, his own eyes red and blood shot. His hands shake slightly as he looks at her with steadily diminishing hope in his eyes. He looks genuinely haunted. The white roses emit their sickeningly beautiful scent in between them.   

Rehman steps forward and gently places the bouquet in her hands before he steps back. The plastic and crumpled tissue of the wrapping crinkles in her arms as she holds the bouquet in the crook of her arm. She leans her head towards the flowers and takes in their scent for a moment. 

Rehman watches. He expects her to say something. He wants to hear her voice. Because he remembers the last thing she said to him. 

—------------

Chapter 15 flashback

“Jo mujhse nafrat karta hai uska kuch nahi chahiye…” her voice cracked violently now. “In payalon aur iss pendant me manlo ki apna ek dil ka tukda bhi chhord ke ja rahi hun.”

—---------

Rehman remembers it so clearly. He remembers the pain in her voice, the restrained anger. Most importantly he remembers the way she looked at him. Every second she looked at him it felt like she was severing each string that connected them together. So now. He expected her to speak.

Rehanna keeps her mouth shut. Because she knows if she will speak right now she will burst into tears. She would break down, and Rehman would take her into his arms. And she is too afraid she will forgive him. She doesn't want to forgive him. The pain slices through her body, she swallows down the words she wants to say and it feels like she is trying to swallow a cactus. 

Rehman takes a deep breath. She isn't speaking. His shaking hand runs through his hair as he takes a shaky breath. “Meri jaan mujhe maaf kardo” that's the first thing he says. And then the words don't stop. “Sachai yeh hai ki mai apne aap se khfa tha….aur aap pe bewajah hi malal aya” the look in his eyes begs her to believe him. 

(Thoda sa mai khafa hogaya apne aap se. Thoda sa tujh pe bhi bewaja hi malal aye)- Bekhayali

Rehannas fingers trace the powdery soft petals of the white roses in her arms. She watches him with wide blank eyes. But she is paying close attention at the same time. Rehman continues speaking “Yeh koi azar nahi hai lekin sach baat yeh hai ki jab hum Khanani ke ghar se wapas aa rahe the aapki ek baat mujhe chubhi” he says as he watches her reaction. 

Her reaction reveals nothing. So he continues speaking “Aapne bola ki mai apka kitna khayal rakhta hun. Haan mai rakhta hun aapka khayal. Kyunki mai aapse be intehaan mohabbat karta hun-” 

He said it. Rehman said it. Rehanna’s fingers against the rose petals freeze. Rehman himself freezes as he realizes what he had just said. Rehanna can't stop the small huff of disbelief that falls out of her body. Yesterday he hated her. Today he loves her? For a moment her eyes soften when she looks at him. Rehman catches it. He hoped she would break her silence and speak. And just as quick as her eyes softened they hardened again. Rehanna hates that her heart soared for a few moments before it crashed and shattered into a million pieces once more. 

“H-Haan mai aapse mohhobat kara hun…be intehaan mohhobat. L-lekin, jab- jab aapne mujhse khayal rakhne wali baat kahi thi” Rehman resumes unsteadily. Unsure if he should address what he just blurted out or continue with the apology. Maybe he should have practiced. Fuck it “Tab mujhe yaad agaya ki maine jo deal Iqbal ke saath banai, use wajeh se mai kisi aur ka khayal bhul raha hun. Balochon ka khayal.”

“Jinhone mujhe yeh sher e baloch ka taj diya unhi se dagabazi kar raha hun mai. Yeh yaad agaya tha mujhe.” He looks at her with genuine apology in his eyes hoping she would speak now. She stays quiet. “Sabko pata hai ki maine kitni pi rakhi thi kal raat. Zaroorat se zyada pi rakhi thi maine.” he admits.

“Phir Hamza ne gaadi se nikalte hi chillaana shuru kardiya. Aap bhi beech me agayi usko bachane ke liye…aur jab maine aapki akhon me whoh…woh jhatka dekha sachai pe. Toh mujhe khud nahi pata kya hua mere andar” Rehman admits the last part rather quietly. Like he was ashamed that the immense control he kept on himself slipped clean out of his hands like the leash of a runaway dog. 

Rehanna’s face betrays nothing. But she can feel the words she wants to scream at him bubble through her throat. He looks up at her with his broken eyes as he speaks again “Meri jaan… Rehanna.. Kya hum andar baith ke baat karsakte hain?” 

Rehanna’s eyes narrow at the pure audacity. His own guilt made him lash out at her and now he thinks a sob story apology would give him access to her again? A cold tear drips down her face, sadness, anger and the words she wants to scream all mixed within it. Her nimble fingers wrap around a brilliant white rose. They rip off the petals violently and throw them at him. 

This isn't how he was supposed to tell her that he loves her. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a romantic moment full of love. It wasn't supposed to be this. How can he ruin the moment? How could he take the experience she deserves away from her?

Rehman blinks in shock as the petals rain down on him. Another tear. Another rip. Another flower is thrown square at Rehman. Then five more flowers in succession are thrown the same way. Rehman breaks his stunned silence “Meri jaan, yun khamosh na raho” he begs as another flower gets thrown at him. 

“Mujh pe gussa karo, chillao, maaro-peto, gali do. Lekin khamosh mat raho, Rehanna mai darkhwast karta hun.” He begs desperately, his hand on his heart as he looks into her red and dead eyes. Each tear that sheds feels like a gunshot to his heart. He caused those tears. Rehman would never forgive himself. 

Finally she seems to have had enough. Rehman had brought her 30 white roses. She seemed to have decapitated 20 of them. Suddenly she violently throws the expensive bouquet or whatever is left of it to his feet. Rehman looks down and before he can look up again he hears a door slam shut.

He stands there for a moment. He stands there unable to register what had just happened. Then Rehman hears it. He hears muffled sobs coming from behind the door. Like Rehanna had sunk down against the door crying. The volume of the sobs made it seem like she was muffling herself with her hands. She was behind the door. Sobbing. Crying. Because of him. 

And in this moment in time Rehman Baloch Dakait realizes one thing. Even if she finds it in her angelic heart to forgive him, if Allah finds it in his heart to forgive him, even if the devil finds it in his heart to forgive Rehman for every sin he has committed. Rehaman would never forgive himself.  

—---------------

December 5 @ 5 pm

Bada bazar, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Duaa 

Koi si

Jaan se guzarte hain

The natural course for pain is to subside gradually day by day. So then maybe what both Rehanna and Rehman were experiencing was not pain. It was not pain in the simple sense. Because it just seemed to grow second by second. Like each atom of their beings realised they were separated from each other. 

Each morning both of them woke up with a smile on their face. Hoping what had happened was just a bad dream. In fact when the both of them finally succumbed to pain induced sleep they dreamt of each other. They dreamt of holding each other, being with each other, loving each other. 

Both of them detested the morning. Because in the morning, reality hit the both of them hard across the face. With Rehman it was waves of guilt and self hatred for ruining his relationship with a woman he loved so much that the magnitude of it scared him. With Rehanna it was a deep aching sadness, bitter anger, and self hatred for herself. She hated how badly she still wanted him after he broke her heart, she hated the way her heart pulled at how he admitted he loved her.

—----------------------

Rehanna had been waking up for the past four days to something new each day. Honestly if Rehman hadnt fucked up as bady as he had, then the gestures would have been sweet. The gestures would have made her smile happily and go back to him. But he had fucked up. He had fucked up badly. 

The same evening after he walked up to her door with flowers, an apology, and a proclamation of love. A package had shown up at her door. She unwrapped it with trembling hands to find one of his blue pashmina shawls that she so loved. She lifted it to her nose. It still smelled like him, a tear she doesn't want to shed drips down her cheek. Rested in the package was a pair of real sterling silver and pearl Jhumke and a note. Another apology, another I love you, another please just talk to me. 

Rehanna walked to her window with a lighter and the gifts in her arms. She threw open the window of the living room. Because she knew someone was standing there. There, across the street. Across the street, near the mandir, Rehman stood leaned back against the maroon corvette. His eyes had been trained to her window all day. He hadn't moved an inch. The moment she appeared in the window his face softened a small smile pulled at his lips seeing the gifts in her arms. He waved to her, hoping she would call him up to her.

She held up the earrings to her ears, she pumped her eyebrows at him, her face still stoic. A subtle ‘How do I look?’ Rehman smiled at her as she gestured to her that she looked perfect. Rehanna shut her eyes as she nodded, her tongue in her cheek. She closed the earrings in her fist and threw them out the window. The silver and pearl Jhumke landed at his feet perfectly on the asphalt. 

She balled up the blue pashmina shawl, his scent wafted in the air around her. She hated how she took a greedy inhale. Then she threw it out the window. It billowed in the wind as it sailed across the street and landed at Rehman's feet once again. Rehman picked up both of them silently and looked at her once again. She lit a cigarette with the lighter, her elbows resting in her windowsill lazily as she watched him. 

Rehman held what she had thrown close to his heart as he watched and waited. Rehanna read the note in her hands once again as she exhaled a puff of smoke. Her heart stumbling over the words ‘mai aapse mohabbat karta hun’ She smiled sadly at the note. Shaking her head fondly at it. Then her face went stoic once more as she took the lighter and lit the edge of the note. She held Rehman's eyes as the note burnt in her hands. 

The ash dripped onto the window sill, the wind carried the ashes to him across the street. He could smell the burnt love in the air. And then as suddenly as she had appeared in her window, Rehanna disappeared. Rehman stood there with the shawl and the jhumke in his hands. First he felt anger, at the blatant disrespect of his gesture. Then he swallowed it down, this wasn't an instigation, this was the response to his blatant disrespect of her last night. He had no right to be angry at how she reacted. In fact he deserved it. 

On day two Rehanna woke up to her doorbell ringing off the hook. She groaned and turned into her pillows again. It must be Rehman again. She wasn't going to open the door for him. Not today at least. Just as she was about to drift off the sleep again. A voice called through the door “Vakeel Sahiba! Vakeel Sahiba please darwaza kholiye!” It was Uzair's voice. 

Rehanna sighed as she let him into the house. She was mad at Rehman, She wasn't mad at the rest of them. “Oh ayie Baloch Sahab” she said as she sniffed back tears that her eyes had begun shedding at the thought of Rehman. A cordial smile plastered on her face, as she let Uzair into the house. 

Uzair walked into Rehanna’s apartment with a deep concern in his face. They both sat down together on her sofa after Rehanna had brought him a glass of water in a tray. He took the glass with a smile “Shukriya” He took a deep breath, with his eyes Uzair asked Rehanna to put her hand in his. She obliged, setting one of her shaky hands in his warm palm. “Kya aap thik hain?” he asked her gently. Rehanna nodded, but both of them know it wasn't true “Mujhe pata hai ki bhai ne aapse bohot bura bhala bola us din lekin….aap itna dil pe mat lagaiye”

Rehanna laughed a hollow laugh “Baloch sahab….ab aapko kaise samjahun.” she sighed wistfully looking out her window. If she had stood up and looked out of it she would have seen Rehman standing by his corvette again staring up at her window, ignoring how his eyes burned for a glimpse of her. “Maan lijiye ki dil pe lagaliya.” she smiled at Uzair sadly. 

Uzair sighed with a nod. “Mai samajhta hun ki jo bhai ne kaha woh bilkul galat tha. Unko Nafrat nahi kehna chahiye tha. Unko aapke hindustani hone pe kuch nahi kehna chahiye tha.” Rehanna swallowed back the words that would have given everything away. Words that would have told Uzair why Rehman's words hurt as much as they did. “Bhai ne aapkeliye kuch bheja hai” He reached beside him and handed Rehanna a huge gift bag. 

Another bouquet this time of colorful carnations, a long letter, a book she once told him she had her eye on. Rehanna swallowed back a painful lump, Rehman really knew her. And that's what made what he had done hurt more. She took a deep sniff of the flowers, she read the letter once and then twice until she had memorized his desperate heartfelt words, once again he told her he loves her. That he will love her until the end of time. She held the book in her hands, she could feel a fresh batch of tears brew in her eyes. She forced them back with sheer will. She wasn’t about to start crying in front of Uzair. 

“Zara ek minute dijiye mujhe” Rehanna excused herself as Uzair nodded. She walked to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. As soon as the door shut she wasn't able to stop the tears that flowed out of her eyes. She bit back her sobs so Uzair wouldn't hear. Her hands took the letter and shred it to bits. She ripped the flowers, decapitating them and desecrating them. She placed both in the bag again. 

Her hands held the book, the one she had been looking for, for so long. Rehanna didn't have the heart to rip or ruin the book. So she held it to her heart for a moment before she placed it back into the bag. Rehanna went to the bathroom wiping away her tears, splashing cold water on her face. Once she looked presentable again she walked out of the room and handed Uzair the bag. “Yeh aap Dakait Sahab ko wapas de dijiye.” and Uzair left without another word. Rehanna went to her window and saw Rehman looking at her window again from across the street. Rehanna knew he would be there. She had then turned away without another word. 

On day three Rehman had sent six more very big and very expensive bouquets. Their sweet scent filled her small apartment. It would have been nice if they weren't forced. Now their scent was sickening. There were also bags and bags of expensive clothes and books that Rehman had gotten for her personally because he remembered she had spent more than 10 seconds looking at these items. 

Rehanna hadn't even looked at the items. She just carried them to her window one by one. Rehman was standing across the narrow street again. Today he was dressed in black. He looked just as haunted as the first day. Rehanna stared into his eyes as she tossed each item towards him on the street. 

Rehman smiled at her softly. Like even getting this small glimpse of her soothed the pain in his soul. And then after she had thrown the flowers and clothes and books at him, she left. Rehman walked around the street collecting them and gently putting them in his car. Then he leaned against the hood of his car watching her window for the rest of the day. 

On day four Rehman had sent Siyahi and Donga to try and speak to her. Before she could greet them, Donga interrupted “Vakeel sahiba aap kya bana rahi hain? bahar tak khushbu aa rahi hai!” Rehanna laughed even though she didn't want to. “Aao aao Cudhi chawal bana rahi hun, pyaaz ke tadke wali cudhi”  The boys rushed in kicking off their shoes in the hallway. Rehanna blinked as they rushed by her. 

Once inside they set their gifts from Rehman on her coffee table and rushed into her kitchen fighting over who would eat first. Only once she had served them both heaping bowls of Cudhi and chawal did they find peace. Donga spoke again, food in his mouth “Vakeel Sahiba, Rehman bhai ne aapke liye yeh bheja hai”  

Rehanna looked at what he had sent her. Cases of jhumkes and cases of matching bangles that went together perfectly. Rehanna assumes that they would also go perfectly with the clothes Rehman had sent her yesterday. The ones she had tossed out the window. Siyahi hands her a note as she shovels food into his mouth. Rehanna opens it and reads it its the usual apologies, proclamations of love, and then something that makes her stop for a moment. 

‘Meri jaan apne kal humare diye hue tofe humpe pheke, hume koi aitraz nahi hai. Lekin aaj inko mat phekiyega. Yeh chuudiyan kaanch ki hai, ye jhumke shudh chandi ke. Inko wapas bhejdijiyega salamat…mai Allah se dua karta hun ki ek din iss pe aapka woh usool lagge ‘jo laye woh hi pehnay’ uss din ke liye inko salamat chhodein.’ 

Rehanna hates how his words pull at her heart. It was a rule she had told him on her birthday when she had moved into the haveli all those months ago. It was her birthday, Rehman had gifted her her payals that day. The platinum, emerald, and diamond payals. Where the diamonds were cut and arranged in the shape of lotuses, where the emeralds were lily pads. She had told him her rule that night ‘jo laye…woh hi pehnaye’. Rehanna swallows down another lump of emotion. 

“Siyahi, Donga” both men look up mid shoveling food in their mouth. “Yeh lejana wapas” she smiles sadly as she stacks the boxes for them to take. They both look at each other with a tentative nod. Rehanna leaves to her kitchen leaving both of them alone in the living room awkwardly. Rehanna returns moments later with a steaming casserole and a filled to the brim thermos that she sets on the table. “Yeh kya hai vakeel sahiba?” asks Siyahi as he wipes his mouth in his handkerchief. 

“Yeh hai Baloch sahab, Faizal, aur Hamza ke liye cudhi aur chawal.” she smiles at them “Humare liye bhi?” asks Donga with a loud burp. “Donga please thodi sharam karlo” Rehanna laughs. Siyahi rolls his eyes at Donga “Vakeel sahiba, Rehman bhai ke liye bhi kaafi hai kya?” asks Siyahi. Rehanna looks away as she responds, Rehman's note crumpling in her hands. “Agar bach jaye toh phir unko bhi khiladena” And with that both Siyahi and Donga took their leave taking Rehman's gifts back and bringing the food Rehanna had just packed them.

—--------------

Today was the fifth day after that fateful night. This morning she had woken up to more gifts at her door from Rehman. Gifts that she didn't even look at before she threw them across the street to where Rehman's car stood waiting. Clockwork. The routine had become clockwork. And like clockwork Rehman had smiled at her as she threw his expensive gifts out the window. 

This moment had become his favorite part of his miserable days. Rehman only had a moment to blow her a kiss before she slammed her window shut. His blown kiss landed on the cold glass instead of her warm cheek or on her soft lips. The moment she was out of view pain coursed through his heart once again. All the joy in his life had gone behind those windows. Rehman sighed as he picked up the gifts strewn on the asphalt and set them in his car. 

Today he didn't linger outside of her window for glimpses of her. It had been five days since the fight and it had been detrimental for his business. Rehanna would kill him when she saw the books again. She would kill him when she saw how in 5 days he had managed to lose 10 lakhs in business. So he set the bags of gifts in his car and drove back to the haveli. 

He walked the gifts into her room and set them with the other bags waiting for her. Her room didn't look like hers anymore. The room had been painted white, furniture was being taken out and some walls were marked for demolition. Rehman had sealed off this entire wing of the haveli. The wing contained his and her room, his and her office, his and her library, nobody was allowed inside the wing. Doors had been shut and drapes had been put up. 

Unbeknownst to everyone else in the haveli, Rehaman had set something in motion, something under top secrecy. Rehman had decided that when she came back everything would be different. He wouldn't spend a moment pretending like they were just boss and employee. The truth would come out.

But it had to be done properly. She deserved it done properly. That's why for the past four nights instead of sleeping a wink he had stayed awake on the phone with an architect. He had messed up how he wanted to tell her he loves her. He would not mess this up.

The loud sound of jackhammers pulls Rehman out of his trance. The sound of construction workers walking by outside discussing blueprints loudly just further solidified what Rehman already knew. Rehman knew she would come back. Or he would die trying to bring her back. 

—---------------

When Rehanna had emerged from her house later that evening after much deliberation. She needed to go to the market to get groceries and things for her house. But she didn't want to risk seeing Rehman. She knew he would corner her and beg to speak to her. She wasn't ready to speak to him, not even after 5 days. Because every thought of him felt like rubbing salt into a fresh wound. 

Warm, happy, domestic, loving memories hit her first. Long walks on the roof after the haveli had gone to sleep where they spoke about everything and nothing at all. Rehman forced her to rest when she was absolutely overdoing herself, unwilling to listen to her pleas of her being almost done. Memories of Rehman hiding something behind his back like a guilty teenager before grabbing her and pulling her into a secluded hallway as he presented to her an intoxicatingly sweet scented gajra for her hair. Memories that made her smile to herself fondly,  and then one cold line. One cold line shattered everything. ‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ 

But she couldn't hide from the possibility of Rehman forever. She took a deep breath as she emerged from her apartment, a scarf wrapped loosely around her head. She walked out onto the street, she didn't take her car, the market was just a few minutes away by walk. Rehanna stopped as soon as she walked out of her gated standalone building. She was surprised to see that Rehman wasn't parked across the street anymore. 

The maroon corvette and the brooding man who was always perched on it for the past five days was gone.On one hand, it felt good that he was gone. On the other hand, not seeing him waiting outside her window hurt more than she wanted to admit. She took a deep breath as she shook herself out of it. 

—--------------

Rehanna had been walking through the market for the past forty five minutes. Her brain had resorted to robotic orders to make sure she wouldn't break down in public. Her brain gave her task by task. Robotic orders and directions to the location of each item on her list. 1 kilo of tomatoes. 1 kilo of potatoes. 1 kilo of onions. 500 grams of bell peppers. 500 grams of beetroot. 5 kilos of rice. 5 kilos of aata. 

The maneuver had worked. She had picked up everything on her list and somehow managed to not think about Rehman once. She counted the cash in her wallet calmly as she juggled bags of produce in her arms. And then she heard it. She heard his dark melodic voice in front of her. She froze to the spot as she looked up to see him. “Meri baat sun Uzair, jaake Wasim khan se payment nikalwa. Chutiya dus lakh dakar ke baitha hai woh sharab ke shipment ke-” Rehman pauses suddenly as he sees Rehanna across from him, the phone he was speaking into almost slips out of his hands. 

Rehanna’s mind goes blank. All it says to her is, don't react, don't react, don't react. Her heart thumps wildly as she sees him this close to her after so many days. He is wearing that baby blue kurta. The one she loves oh so much. The one that makes Rehman look like he belonged to her and not to the streets. 

Rehman watches her like seeing her in public not with him but opposite to him was a sight he had never expected or wanted to see. She wore simple white, she wore a simple white cotton suit without any fuss or design. And yet she still looked like a heaven sent angel who had just happened to wander into a random market. The look in her eyes, the pure look of pain and broken love. It winded Rehman. He cuts the phone call to Uzair and pockets the phone. He opens his mouth to try to speak to her.

Rehanna turns rigid. She looks straight ahead. Ignoring him completely. She places one foot in front of the other. She keeps her eyes focused on a tree in the distance. With significant effort she walks past him. She ignores how her heart slams against her ribcage begging to go to him. She forces herself to take deep breaths through her nose. She forces herself to keep her eyes ahead. She forces herself to forget, at least for the moment, how much she loves him.

All Rehman can think during this moment is where she is walking away from him: Aitbaar badhta hai aur bhi mohabbat ka, jab woh ajnabi ban kar paas se guzarte hain. He can smell her perfume as she walks by him. The amount of love that he looks at her through his eyes is intense enough to make the people nearby sense something in the air. Even as his heart screams at him to fall on his knees in this market and beg for her forgiveness. He looks at her with a simple loving smile that does nothing to hide the pain coursing through him.

—--------------

December 14 @ 7 pm

Major Iqbal Khan’s House, Islamabad, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Je tu akhiyon de samne nahi rehna

Dil pe zakhm khate hain 

The invite had come suddenly and unexpectedly. One morning Rehanna woke up to a knock on her door. She thought that it was one of Rehman's many gifts again. Every single day she had been waking up to more and more of Rehman's gifts. And each and everyday she would take the gifts to her living room window. Like clockwork. Each day she would find Rehman leaning against his maroon corvette, smoking as he looked up at her window. He would see her and smile at her blowing a kiss. Rehanna would barely look at him as she threw the gifts out the window again. 

So when she woke up to a knock on the door she expected it to be more of Rehman's gifts. But much to her surprise it was a letter from Islamabad. In fact it was an invitation from Islamabad. Rehanna ripped open the envelope and read the invitation. The invitation was from Major Iqbal of the ISI. He was inviting Rehanna to a qawali night  at his house tonight. Rehanna blinked in surprise as she read the note again. 

Suddenly her phone rang. Rehanna walked to her phone and lifted it to her ear “Hello? Ji kaun?” She asked as she continued turning over the invitation in her hand. “Asalam walaikum Randhawa madam. Its Iqbal” the dark and brooding voice of Major Iqbal poured through the phone. Before she could speak, Iqbal continued “Aapko abhi abhi mera nyauta mila hoga. Lekin I wanted to call you personally to invite you to the qawali night i am hosting. I do hope you will come” 

—---------

Thats how Rehanna found herself at Major Iqbal's posh Islamabad mansion at seven pm. The large modern mansion with touches of islamic architecture was decorated to the nines. Ornate glass and brass lamps lining the pathway to his house. The driveway was lined with expensive cars belonging to dignitaries, businessmen, rich men, and military officials. Mercedes, bmws, audis galore. All the drivers of those fancy cars coagulated in a corner of the driveway smoking and bitching about their respective bosses.

Rehanna parked her Mercedes in the closest parking spot she could find. She straightened out her embellished velvet salwar kameez set. The deep bruised purple looked almost like midnight black on her until she hit the light. Silver threaded embroidery embellished the cuffs of the 3/4 length sleeves in ornate patterns. The same pattern of embroidery rested around her neck and on the cuffs of her salwar bottoms. The heavily embellished dupatta rested on one shoulder, draping effortlessly across her body. She wore simple silver jutti’s and silver jhumke because with what she was wearing less was more.

Her makeup was minimal, she would have looked heaven sent if she didn't look as dead as she felt on the inside. Her silver juttis sounded softly on the asphalt of the driveway as she walked to Major Iqbal's door. With how dead she felt on the inside she didn't notice the maroon corvette she walked by. 

—--------------

Rehman had received the invite to the event a few days ago. He genuinely hadn't planned to go to the qawali event. He had even called Iqbal personally to express his regrets for not coming to the event. He had a bullshit reason prepared as well, something about a business acquisition deal the same night. Because there was no way Rehman would go to any event without his Rehanna, it would just feel wrong. The gravest sin, second only to making her cry. Rehman had committed one sin, he wasn't going to commit another.  

But when he called Iqbal before he could use his bullshit excuse Iqbal changed his mind. Iqbal mentioned that he hoped to see Both him and Rehanna at the event and he had sent her a personal invitation as well. Rehman RSVP’D yes without a second thought. There was a chance Rehanna would be there. That was a chance he was going to jump on. 

Rehman had arrived at the event an hour ago. As soon as he had arrived and parked he stepped out of his car and began looking for Rehanna's Mercedes. When he didn't see it he reluctantly walked into the event. He had to go in especially now that Iqbal had seen him and called him inside.

Rehman went to the event. He had mingled lightly for half an hour or maybe even forty five minutes. It was clear to everyone speaking to Rehman or even looking at Rehman something was wrong with the man. He looked incomplete and broken. No matter how hard he tried to pretend he was normal. He kept spacing out mid conversation thinking about her, if she was mentioned then his brain stopped violently. It was a mess. Rehman was a mess.

After Rehman had mingled for a polite amount of time he picked up a pour of whiskey from a passing by waiter and walked to the hall where the Qawali artists were sitting and waiting for the event to begin. Rehman found a seat on the cushioned floor along the short side of the rectangular platform the artists were sitting upon. They salamed him out of respect and Rehman returned it. Now it was a waiting game. It was a wait and try not to drown in memories of Rehanna game. 

—------------

Rehman had zoned out staring into the abyss as he nursed his whiskey slowly. People had begun to steadily filter into the room where the artists were set up. The comfortable cushions on the flor were beginning to get occupied. Men and women from different sectors of the world of the rich chatted and laughed amongst themselves as they waited for the qawalli to begin. 

Then suddenly the air changes in the hall. Rehman feels it. Its her. He knows it in every atom of his body. People naturally trail off conversations as they stare at the enchantingly beautiful and broken woman who was walking into the hall. That's all the confirmation Rehman needed. Because thats the effect Rehanna had on a room. That's the effect the love of his life had on the world. 

Rehman watches as she walks into the hall with the grace of a queen. Her sparkle dimmed but her elegance was ever present. The warm lighting of the hall illuminates her salwar kameez in faint flashes of light. On the first flash Rehman catches the strolling silver embroidery on the cuffs of her salwar and along all the borders of her kameez. He sees the way the lamp light elegantly catches her silver jhumke, the light refracting against her neck and jaw. In the second flash of warm lamp light Rehman sees the velvet glow purple against her warmly lit skin.

His breathing stops entirely as he watches her walk into the hall. Beautiful. That's all he could think. In fact he felt like the word beautiful wasn't anywhere close enough to describe her. A litany of adjectives wouldn't be enough to describe the beauty of his darling. Nothing would ever describe how she looked to him. Even in her beauty her sadness was undeniable. It weighed on her like a cloud as she walked to find her seat before the beginning of the show.

Rehanna steps around cushions on the floor as she looks for a seat. She tries incredibly hard to not whip her head around the half dark room. Because she can feel Rehman's heavy presence in the room, watching her. She swallows hard as she pours her focus onto finding a seat. Preferably as close to the musicians as she can get so she can drown herself in the beautiful cacophony of music instead of in her own sadness. 

On the short side of the rectangular stage Rehanna finds a solo seat perfectly isolated from everyone else and it gives her unmatched access to the musicians. Perfect. Rehanna makes her way to the seat and elegantly folds her legs beneath her as she plops down onto the cushioned floor seating. And immediately Rehanna realizes she has made a terrible mistake. She looks up and immediately catches Rehman's eye. He was across the stage from her. The only thing between them was air and the qawali musicians. 

Rehanna looks away immediately like she had just been slapped. She wills the tears to go back into her tear ducts. If not for her sake, at least for the sake of her makeup. For the sake of her kajal which would bleed down her face if she cried. Iqbal comes to her rescue as he addresses the room and begins the program. The lamps dim further so the stage is bathed in an ethereal glow.  She feels Rehman's eyes on her. But she ignores it and him to the best of her abilities.

—---------—----

Same day @ 9:30 pm

The event had been going on for two and a half hours by now. And every moment had been excruciating and exquisite. What was exquisite was the qawali and the skil of the singers. What was exquisite was the atmosphere of Iqbal's mansion and his hospitality. Since the event had began Iqbal had made sure the drink and food never stopped flowing. 

What was excruciating was the feeling of rehman boring his eyes into her soul. What was excruciating was the pure weight of the pain and regret in his eyes that he was loading onto her through his eyes. A constant begging plea of look at me and forgive me. What was excruciating was the burden of her own pain and sadness mixed with the qawali that allowed it to deepen its hold on her and pull it out of whatever box she was trying to pack it away neatly into. 

What certainly wasn't helping was the constant flow of whiskey Rehanna was maintaining in her glass. She had decided if she was going to ruin herself she might as well do it properly. She might as well give herself liver failure. The warm buzz of the whiskey mixed beautifully with her pain and the soulful music. It was the perfect atmosphere to feel your pain in. And my god was she beginning to feel it. 

She drains the whiskey glass once more as the next song begins. Her hand shoots up into the air motioning for one of the waiters to be prompt and come fill her glass with more topshelf whiskey. She sets the glass down beside her, her head leaning back against the cushions as she lets herself sway to the music while she waits for more alcohol. 

“Randhawa madam are you trying to drink my kind hospitality dry?” A dark and gravely voice rumbles by her ear. Rehanna huffs out a laugh as she keeps her eyes closed “Aslamwalikum Major sahab, that is precisely the plan. Aren't you quite smart? You should be named the head of the ISI.” Iqbal sits down next to her with an amused look on his face. A waiter shows up with the bottle of Rehanna’s preferred whiskey once again. Just as the waiter begins to reach down to pour it into her glass Iqbal takes the bottle out of his hands and dismisses him. 

Rehanna watches silently with drink hazed eyes as Iqbal refills her glass for her personally. The amber whiskey poured out of the bottle and into her crystal glass. “Shukriya major sahab” she smiles as she sees Iqbal had automatically poured her a patiala peg instead of the respectable two finger pour. “Randhawa madam isme koi shukriya ki baat nahi hai. Tell me kya aap iss qawali show ko enjoy kar rahi hain?” 

“Ji bilkul. Qawalli mujhe boht pasand hai” she smiles at Iqbal, but even he can see her smile seems to be tainted with sadness. Iqbal nods his head silently as he claps at a brilliant note sung by one of the artists. “Tell me major sahab, did you enjoy your trip to India? Heard you went on some sort of diplomatic mission.” she smiles at him tilting her head. Now it's Iqbal's turn to look at her with slight surprise. “Aap khabar badi achhi rakhti hain Randhawa madam daat toh deni padegi” 

Rehanna chuckles at the backhanded praise. “Friends in high places major sahab…friends in high places” She says as she takes a deep drink of the whisky “You didn't answer me, did you enjoy the trip?” She looks at him with terrible curiosity now. Iqbal runs a hand over his beard as he looks at Rehanna “It was decent. Aapke mulq ki jo diplomatic mission head thi woh kaafi kabil-e-gaur thi I must admit”

Rehanna laughs into her whiskey as she shakes her head knowingly. Iqbal looks at her with more curiosity, he looks at her with a look that practically demands her to explain her amusement. Rehanna turns slightly to look at Iqbal now “Yamini has that effect on people” she grins at Iqbal. If Iqbal feels surprise, which he does, he masks it well enough. “How do you know diplomat Singh?” 

“Diplomat Singh toh woh kaafi wakt ke baad bani thi. I know her in a much different capacity than you do major sahab.” She smiles at Iqbal as memories of her and Yamini play through her mind from their training days. Her in the R&AW offices as a fresher and Yamini in the Indian Foreign Services training offices of the same sector in New Delhi, India. She kept tabs on everyone she cared about back in India. Her closest friends especially. Yamini being one of them and journalist Rashmika Raina being the other who was a journalistic intern at a news office in Delhi at the time. The trio was inseparable. Until they were separated of course. 

Iqbal nods into the distance as he digests the information. “Hmm, this new information puts a lot of things into a new perspective. A lot of things make sense now” He says after a few moments “How so major sahab?” hums Rehanna as she claps along to the music. “You and Yamini are scarily similar in your mannerisms and the way you deal with people...Even that journalist, what was her name? Rashmika Raina.” 

Rehanna grins as she looks at Iqbal, her hands continue clapping to the beat absentmindedly “You really are the well deserved head of the ISI Major Sahab” she says with amusement tinged with slight sarcasm. Iqbal barks a laugh at the slight that she is aiming at him. His golden tooth flashes quickly in the low light of the lamps. Rehanna laughs along with him. Iqbal shakes his head at her, flashing a look at her before he gets up and walks away wordlessly. 

—---------

Same day @ 10:30 pm

Rehanna’s skin had begun to crawl now. She felt him constantly. She felt Rehman's eyes on her constantly. It was getting more and more difficult to not look at him or acknowledge him. It was taking everything in her to not look at Rehman. What certainly didn't aid her case was the constant progression of sadder and sadder songs from the artists. The ones that spoke of heartbreak and longing. 

To both of them each lyric felt like their story. Like the artists were singing about them, for them. Rehman stared at her fom the other side of the stage. Like he was begging her to acknowledge that every heartbroken song was about them. Little did Rehman know there was no need for acknowledgement from Rehanna. She felt it as much as he did. 

The qawali crescendos as the artist sings “Je tu akhiyan de samne nahi rehna te biba sada dil mod de, Mai jaan ke cheez bagani nu kyun apni cheez banah baithi. Dil deke tenu be darda mai umar di chinta la baithi. Je tu akhiyan de samne nahi rehna te biba sada dil mod de”

The air in the room is so intense that even rehanna’s iron will can't fight it anymore. Her eyes flick to Rehman's to find him already watching her. Just like she knew he would be. The lyrics pull at her heartstrings and the tears that she had barely held back the entire night push one tear forward. She can't stop the heartbreaking smile on her face as she looks at rehman. One tear rolls down her cheek. 

Rehman's stomach lurches violently and suddenly he can't seem to bear his own existence. His eyes flick down to his lap. Because it was this very existence of his that was causing her pain. He was the cause of her tears. Rehman swallows the last of his burning whiskey and by the time he looks up again Rehanna is gone. He sees deep purple velvet whisper in the air as she disappears out a door. She was gone. 

—---------------

December 15 @ 1 AM in the morning 

Faizal’s Room, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Kaun tujhe 

Bulleya

Mat ja re

Naina more taras gaye

Rehman kneeled by his son's bed. His brows furrowed as his hands felt the boy’s burning forehead and cheeks. Faizal cooed and writhed in discomfort. His eyes fluttered as he groaned. “Salma bi, thermometer laye jaldi se!” called Rehman gruffly towards the door. Salma bi the old maid rushes into the room with the thermometer in her hands.

Rehman takes it from her hands and gently places his hand under Faizal's chin. “Faizal beta apna muh kholo” Rehman says as gently as he can through his worry. His stomach twisting with the pain only a father can feel when they can't immediately take away their child's anguish. Faizal parts his lips with a ragged breath and Rehman places the thermometer under his tongue.  Within moments the thermometer beeps to let Rehman know it was done with the reading.

Salma bi gasps “Haye Allah! Ek sau teen?” Faizal had a 103 degree fever. Rehman bit back a curse as he saw his son burning with fever. “Abbu” groans Faizal in his feverish delirium. “Haan beta mai yahin hun, abbu yahin pe hain fikar mat karo sab theek hojaega” Rehman kisses his son’s forehead. His lips immediately heated up against the flushed skin. 

“Salma bi! Jaldi se thanda paani aur ek rumal leke ayie!” orders Rehman as he holds Faizal's hand, his other hand gently brushing back the hair from his sweat slicked forehead. Salma nods as she rushes away. The room is now empty except for the boy with a burning fever and his anxious father. Faizal’s eyes open slightly, his head weakly turning to Rehman as he whispers “Mummy kahan hai?” 

Rehman blinks for a second. He didn't think that Faizal would remember Ulfat after so many years. The boy never mentioned her or showed any inclination or interest in wanting to know his mother. But maybe the high degree of the fever was making him seek maternal comfort. From the part in his brain that still remembered his mother. Ulfat. Rehman began speaking slowly “Beta ammi lahore me hai…Naieem bhayia ke sath” He ended by pressing another kiss to his son's forehead. 

“Nahi!” Protests Faizal with what little strength he has left in his fever weakened state. For a moment Rehman thinks that Faizal is still upset about Ulfat. Before he can speak soothing words to him, Faizal shatters Rehman's reality. “Nahi abbu. Ammi nahi…Rehanna mummy” The boys eyes flutter shut with another shaky breath “Mujhe Rehanna mummy chahiye”

Rehman feels a part of him die and decompose in this very moment. A shaky breath leaves Rehman. Faizal thought of Rehanna as his mother. Not just a mother figure. To Faizal, Rehanna was his mother. And he. He had taken that away from him again. The first time wasn't entirely his fault. Ulfat leaving him was more due to circumstances. But Rehanna leaving….Rehanna leaving was entirely his fault. 

His son was writhing with a high fever. Rehman would scour the ends of the earth for anything to bring his son relief. But at this moment Rehman felt helpless. He was afraid he couldn't fulfill his son's request. He was afraid that Rehanna wouldn't even come to the haveli to meet Faizal. Salma bi returned with a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Immediately she soaked the cloth in the water. She rang out the excess water before placing it on Faizal's head. The boy whimpered in discomfort.

Rehman slowly got off his knees. He walked towards the door of the bedroom. His hands went to his cigarette box. He pulled one out and lit it as soon as the door shut behind him. Uzair stood waiting in the hallway, close to nodding off against the wall. The sharp click of the door snapped him awake again. “Bhai Faizal theek ahi kya?” said Uzair in concern while he stifled a yawn. 

Rehman didn't reply exactly. He simply looked at Uzair and said “Uzair, Vakeel Sahiba ko bulake la. Unhe bol ki Faizal unhe iss halat me yaad kar raha hai.” The look in Rehman's eyes told Uzair to either come back with her or to not come back at all.  Uzair swallowed with a nod as he accepted the mission “Ji bhai”

—-------

Rehanna didn't think twice when she saw Uzair at her door. She only needed to hear “Vakeel Sahiba, Faizal!” and she put on her chappal and wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders. As she locked her door and rushed out of the apartment building with Uzair. Not even bothering to change out of her short sleep shorts and simple shirt. Within moments she sits on the back of Uzair’s motorcycle. The cold December air was freezing her to the bone but she didn't care. Faizal needed her.

Uzair maps the 20 minute way in 10 minutes flat as he weaves through the dark streets of Lyari. Rehanna held on to him tight as they weaved through the streets. Within moments they reach the Haveli. Rehanna hops off the bike and rushes into the awaiting building. She runs through the memorized halls, Raja and Sultan barking at her heels, tails wagging, She is back. 

Rehman looks up as he hears the dogs bark. It's her. She came. Wrapped in a shawl, her hair messy from the motorcycle ride. Eyes wide in concern, she looks like she ran out of the house. Her beautiful legs were covered in goosebumps from the cold December chill. Rehman ashes the cigarette under his chappal as he walks to her. Her eyes wont look at him and she is the only thing he sees. He takes a shaky breath as he looks at her properly, she was back in his haveli “Meri ja-” 

Rehanna brushes past him ignoring him completely as she sees Salma bi walk out of Faizal's room. “Salma bi!” she calls out. The older woman gasps in happy surprise. She rushes to Rehanna and places a hand to her cheek. “Rehanna beta aap aagayi wapas?” Rehanna swallows as she ignores the question “Salma bi Faizal kahan hai? Faizal theek hai?” 

Salma updates her on the fever and the current condition of the boy. Rehanna nods gravely as she asks Salma bi to go prepare some warm kadha for Faizal. Salma nods as she rushes to the kitchen to start on the medicinal brew. Rehanna rushes into Faizal's room. She throws off her shawl onto the floor as she rushes to his bedside. 

Rehman follows behind her, as if he was pulled by an invisible string. He had veered her voice after all these days and his ears were rejoicing. More. He needed to hear more of her voice. She sits by Faizal's head, her hands checking his forehead. Rehanna gasps. The boy was burning. Faizal seems to sense her; he nuzzles towards her touch. “Faizal beta mai hun…tabaiat kaisi hai aab?” she asks gently as she brushes his hair back soothingly

Faizal groans as he turns his weak body so he was laying in her lap now his arms wrapped around her thighs. “Mummy..” he groans weakly. Rehanna freezes for a moment. He called her mummy. Faizal called her mummy. That's what she meant to the boy that she cared for like her son. Ever since she had met Faizal she had seen him as her son. And now this was just confirmation her ears deeded but her heart already had. A smile pulls on her face which immediately saddens.

Rehman sees this. In fact he had watched the entire interaction carefully from across the room. His heart clenched painfully when her smile saddened. For a moment he begged in his heart. Please look at me. She doesn't look at him. Instead her hands reach for the cold water and cloth. She begins gently soothing Faizal's fever, humming a gentle tune under her breath that immediately soothes the boy noticeably. The furrow he had held in his brow for the past many minutes dissolving completely as her presence made him feel better. 

Faizal nuzzles into her legs more. “Mummy?” he asks softly. “Haan beta?” hums Rehanna as she wrings out the cloth again. She loves the way Faizal calls her mom. “Aap mujhe kyun chhod ke chali gayi thi?” he rasps in his strained voice. Rehanna's hands freeze. A tear drips down her cheek. Rehman freezes too.

For the first time that night Rehanna looks at Rehman. Her eyes hold an immeasurable heartbreak. The kind that stabs Rehman in the heart like a wooden stake. “Beta mai tumhe chhod ke nahi gayi thi” she begins, her voice trembling slightly as she wipes Faizal’s face and neck with the cool cloth. “Mai kisi aur ko chhod ke gayi thi. Usko chhod ke gayi thi jisko mujhse nafrat hai. Mai usko chhod ke hai thi jisne mera dil toda hai.”

She looks at Rehman long enough to cement her point then she looks away. The moment she looks away Rehman closes his eyes painfully and looks to the ground. Rehanna heeds him no attention, focusing her entire energy on Faizal. The little boy curls up further in her lap and she can feel how his body still burns against her bare legs. 

“Mummy ek kahani sunado” Faizal murmurs tiredly. Rehanna presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. She takes away the now heated damp cloth and soaks it in the cold water once again. Rehanna didn't know where to start with a story, many classic stories ran through her mind but none of them felt right for the moment. She feels Rehman's eyes on her. And suddenly she has an idea. She hums with a sigh as she begins the story “Ek baar ek mulq ki shehzaadi ko ek dusre mulq me bheja jaata hai.” 

“Uss naye mulq me shehzaadi ko ek khunkhar khaufnaak shehenshah milta hai, lekin woh sachai nahi hai. Asal me woh shehenshah dil ke bohot achhe hain. Aur jab woh dono sath me hote hain. Aisa lagta hai ki poori qaynaat unko ek hona dekhna chahata hai…” She trails off as she looks at Faizal fondly. She can feel Rehman's eyes on her. She can feel his piercing stare. “Shehzadi ko shehensha se pyaar hogaya tha. mohabbat hogayi thi.” She turns to look at Rehman. 

The look in her eyes roots Rehman to the spot. This was the response to what he had blurted out days ago. Days ago when he had gone to apologize to her the morning after Rehman's monumental cock up, he had accidentally blurted out that he loves her. She hadn't said anything to him then. This was her answer to that. She loves him. She loves him too. His heart soars, joy floods through him. And then the look in her eyes stops him. Then her words slap him across the face. Pyaar hogaya tha. mohabbat hogayi thi. Tha. Thi. She loved him. In the past tense. 

Rehanna watches Rehman's face carefully. He opens his mouth and takes an inhale like he wants to speak but Faizal interrupts. “Mummy aage kya hua phir?” murmured Faizal looking up at Rehanna expectantly. Rehanna placed another cold cloth on his forehead. She sniffed back a tear that threatened to escape as she continued the story that most definitely wasn't based on true events. 

—----------

Same day @ 4 am 

Over the last few hours clouds had rolled into Lyari. The bright winter moon had been covered by them. A deeper darkness had taken hold of the sky. By four o'clock in the morning Faizal's fever had finally broken. Rehanna hadn't left his side for a moment. She was there constantly telling him stories, placing many cold compresses on his forehead, holding him close, and massaging his aching legs.

After three grueling hours his fever had finally broken and Faizal had fallen into a deep sleep. Rehman had stayed in the room the entire time. Along with him the dogs, Sultan and Raja, stayed attached to Rehanna as she sat next to Faizal. Raja rested his head on her feet, Sultan flopped down against her calves. 

Rehanna sighed in relief kissing his sleeping forehead once more as she wrapped her shawl around herself once again “Bye beta” she whispered to Faizal as she stood up gently untangling from where his arms had wrapped around her. The dogs seemed to realize what was going on. They realized she was about to leave. They whimpered as they nudged her with their noses. Rehanna crouched down to their level. Sultan licked her cheek. “Mai ghar jaa rahi hun ab…mujhe jaana padega. Mujhe maaf kardo” she whispered as she kissed both dogs. 

Rehanna stood up once more as she walked towards the door to Faizal’s bedroom. Rehman scrambled to his feet as he followed her out of the room. Uzair had been having a conversation in the hallway with the maids and immediately perked up as he saw her approach. “Areh Vakeel sahiba sab theek hai? Faizal theek hai?”

“Haan haan, Faizal ka bukhar toot gaya hai. Ab woh aramse sogaya hai.” She sighed wearily as she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders tighter. Her bare legs brushed together to fight against the chill of the early winter morning. Uzair nodded, his hands on his hips as he mulled over the information. “Chaliye ab mai chalti hun..kaafi der hogayi” she sighs as she smiles at Uzair. 

Uzair immediately frowns. “Nahi nahi aap kahi nahi jaengi. Bhai kuch boliye!” He turns to Rehman for support. Rehman stands in front of Rehanna, he takes a breath before he starts speaking. Trying to pour all of his love through his eyes and his words. Trying his hardest to not break down into begging. “Vakeel Sahiba. Kaafi der hogayi hai, aap soi bhi nahi. Thoda araam karlijiye phir dekhte hain.” 

Uzair nods in solidarity with his brother. Rehanna shuts her eyes briefly as she swallows hard. Every second in Rehman's vicinity was difficult. She wanted to cry and scream and ask him how he could hate her. She wanted to ask how he could do that to her if he says he loves her. She inhales deeply as she fixes a smile on her face. She pretends nobody spoke as she looks at Uzair  “Toh chaliye mai chalti hun Baloch Sahab, Faizal ke bare me update dete rehna mujhe please.” She pats Uzair's arm as she walks by him. Her shawl brushed by Rehman and he inhales deeply. 

As she disappears down the hallway Uzair turns to Rehman, “Bhai unko rokiye, bohot hogaya hai” Rehman runs a hand through his hair in frustration “Tujhe kya lagta hai ki mai itne dinon se kya karne ki koshish kar raha hun bhenchod?!” Rehman sighs “Tu idhar ruk. Mai jaata hun phirse baat karne ki koshish karta hun” 

—---------------------

Authors note: Please listen to Barse/ Naina by Rumi, Chayan

Rehanna chooses not to walk out through the haveli. She needs air. So she takes the side door out towards the garden. The cold December air whips around her bare legs. A shiver runs up her spine. The dew soaked garden lets out its intoxicating scent. A bird chirps in the distance. She stops for a moment and looks out at the dark garden. A few days ago she was dancing while crying in the rain. And Rehman had picked up the broken pieces of her and put her back together. 

Now she was broken. And this time Rehman wasn't there to pick up the pieces, because he was the one who had held the hammer. Rehanna sighs wearily as she looks out at the garden again. A happy memory invades her. 

It was sunset a few weeks ago, the weather had been lovely so Rehanna had been reading a book in the garden. Laying on a blanket under the shade of the large mango tree. Rehman had walked to her as he smoked. For a moment he just watched her. Then it seemed as if the devil had taken over him and he grabbed her and had her against that very mango tree. Rehanna had enjoyed that moment a lot, because while she looked around frantically hoping that nobody came by. Rehman muttered into her skin like a crazed man saying he hoped someone caught them. 

He fucked her hard enough to make the tree shake. Some leaves falling off the branches. The loving words he muttered in her ear made her cheeks burn and butterflies erupt in her stomach as she held onto him for dear life, ignoring the way her back was getting scratched up by the trunk of the tree. The book fell to the ground as her hands tangled in his hair to kiss him hard enough to take away Rehman's breath.  

She was so happy then. And now each happy moment she remembered was poisoned by certain words. ‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ A shaky exhale leaves her as she forces herself to look away from the mango tree under which she had many happy memories. Clouds roll over head as the cold air hits her cheeks. 

“Rehanna! Meri jaan!” She turns and sees Rehman walking towards her. Rehanna looks at him for just a moment before she turns on her heel and walks away.

Kajal Hai Faila Jaye 

Mann Aiso Kyun Murjhaye 

Kis Se Ye Dukh Hai Main Kahun 

Aanchal Main Bandhi Hai Jo 

Kasmein Tumhari Hai Woh 

Kaise Zehar Yeh Mein Piyun 

Rehman rushes forward, his hand reaching forward to grab her wrist. Rehanna gasps as she feels the warm weight of his hand on her wrist. She turns and finds herself face to face with Rehman. He holds her eyes as he holds her hand and bends his head to kiss the back of her hand. A sound of shock leaves her throat before she can stop it. She can feel the apology on his lips as they brush the skin of her hand.

His lips pull away from her skin reluctantly. He touches his forehead to her hand like he was begging for forgiveness and praying to the highest power in the universe. Rehanna freezes. On one hand she wants to pull away and slap him. On the other hand she isn't able to bring herself to move or speak. Her hand moves slightly in his grip. Thunder rolls in the distance. Lightning flashes in the sky. The scent of petrichor in the distance filling their noses. 

He lifts his head up and brings her hand over his heart. “Meri jaan mujhe maaf kardo” he says in a voice that sounds like it was dragged through hell. Rehanna looks at him. It's clear Rehman hasn't slept properly in days. Faint dark circles bloom under his eyes, his eyes look exhausted and grief stricken. She can feel his beating heart and warm chest below her fingers. She can feel the expensive cotton material of his kurta beneath her palm. He expects her to speak. Each second between them drags like a century. 

Then Rehman shocks her by sinking onto his knees. The marble stone was cold beneath his knees. Her hand still rests in his as he looks up at her like she is his saving grace. He brings his lips to her hand again pressing a reverent kiss on each knuckle. “Kamse kam yun khamosh naa rahiye. Mai darkhuast karta hun ki aap kuch toh bolein meri jaan” Thunder rumbles closer to them now. The wind billows wildly, trees shake, and flower pots fall over. 

Sajna Teri Yaad Ki Maari Main Toh Bhul Baithi Saari Duniya 

Ankhiyan Kahin Chain Na Pave Kaise Guzri Hai Tum Bin Ratiyan 

Sajna Teri Yaad Ki Maari Main Toh Bhul Baithi Saari Duniya 

Ankhiyan Kahin Chain Na Pave Kaise Guzri Hai Tum Bin Ratiyan 

Rehanna watches him carefully. The desperation, the remorse, the grief. All of it written on his being. He wanted to hear her speak? Fine then. She would speak. Her lips part with a shaky exhale. Words she wants to scream bubble through her. She silences them inside of her as she says something cold enough to freeze lava. Rehanna leans forward slightly, her face ever so slightly closer to his. “Aapne bola ki aap humse nafrat karte hain.” she whispers coldly.

This. This was the first thing she had said to him after the fight. Her melodious and beautiful voice slices through Rehman even if she was saying words that shattered him. As soon as her words end the sky breaks open. Torrents of rain fall from the sky. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes. Wind pushes the rain sideways to spray both of them slightly even under the cover of the Verandha. 

“Mujhe maaf kardo” he whispers hoarsely “Meri zindagi ki sabse aitihasic ghalti thi woh. Unke lafzson ko apne zehen me baithne dena, jin lafzon ko mai ratti bhar bhi nahi maanta, sharab ne mere muh se nikalwadi.” He begs her to believe his words with his eyes. “Mujhe khud yakin nahi ho raha hi maine keh kaise diya woh aapko. Nafrat mai aapse kabhi bhi nahi karsakta kyunki asli nafrat mai apne aapse karta hun”  

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na 

Naina Bheege Jaise Saavan Barse 

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na 

Naina Bheege Jaise Saavan Barse 

She laughs as she wipes away the fresh tears in her eyes. “Ab bol toh diya aapne… aur uske uppar aapne boldiya nikaljao MERI haveli se?” She tilts her head at him “Nafrat ek baat hai… aur kisi ko dafa karna woh alag baat hai” She hisses at him as she fights the lump of tears in her throat. “Aap har baar mujhse bolte the ki ye ab mera bhi ghar hai. Aapne mujhe mere hi ghar se nikal diya? Meri izzat ki, mere aapki vakeel hone ki. DONO ki aapne dhajiya udadi ek hi second me!” She barks out a laugh of disbelief as she snatches her hand away from his grip. Torrential rain pours around them. “Aur mai aapko maaf kardun?” 

Rehman breaths shakily from his knees. He expected this. But hearing her pain, that he caused her, from her own mouth hurt more than he had anticipated. The tears dripping down her face illuminated by sporadic lightning made her look hauntingly beautiful. Even her sadness was beautiful. Rehman held her knees in desperation, he touched his forehead to her knees. Telling her that he was at her mercy now. “Meri rooh, meri jaan, ab aur na tadpao. Wapas aa jayie. Mujhe puri zindagi maafi mangne dijiye” 

Rehanna didn't stop her tears, now they flowed down her face in long rivers. The laugh that ripped through her sounded wrong, it sounded pained and animalistic and soaked with tears. Her hand gently raked through Rehman's hair. He pulled his forehead away from her knees. He looked wrecked, his eyes glossy. He shivered against her hand when he felt her hand in his hair. Her nails dragged along his scalp in the most perfect way. He groaned into her touch, the most comforting thing he has felt in 15 days. “Aap mujhse mohabbat karte the na?”

“KARTA HUN, be-had, be-intehan, aisi mohabbat karta hun mai aapse” his chin trembles slightly as he looks at her like the mere idea of her thinking that he used to love her was painful. He nuzzles his head into her warm palm that now rested against his cheek. She huffs out a laugh from her nose as she rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from screaming at him that she loves him too. She takes a deep breath “Toh phir, yun humko rulao na” she says coldly as she looks at him with a painfully cold look.

Roka Nahin hai tumhein jao jahan dil kahe 

Jogi Mein Teri Hi Rahun 

Suni Nigaahein Meri Soyi Na Raatein Koi Kaise Intezaari Main Sahun

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na Naina Bheege 

Jaise Saavan Barse

Rehanna pulls her entire body away from him. A ripple of mind numbing pain rips through both of them. A shaky gasp leaves Rehanna, her lip trembling as she can't stop the choked sob that leaves her throat. Her mind barks orders at her. Move. Back away. Don't fall for the look on his face. Don't fall into his arms and sob again. Don't do it. Her feet slowly but surely back her away. Her eyes force her to watch the pained expression on his face before her brain forces her to completely turn away. 

Rain lashes the haveli as she walks down the covered verandah. She steps out into the rain, wrapping her shawl around her head uselessly. She turns to look at the broken husk of Rehman still on his knees, still on the floor, still watching her. Cold December winter rain soaks her within seconds. As the rain soaks her Rehanna feels her hot tears mix with the cold rain water. She forces herself to look away before she runs back to his arms again. She forces herself to walk away again. Even if it ripped her to shreds. 

—----------------

December 25 @ 1 pm

Rehman’s Office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Jee Karda- Rock version

Ae dil hai mushkil

Saiyaara- From the movie saiyaara

Rehman is getting desperate now. Everyone can see it and even he knows it. He is consumed by thoughts of her day and night. At night he doesn't sleep because he thinks about her, when he falls asleep he dreams of her, when he wakes up he reaches across the bed to pull her close, then he hates himself for the rest of the day until sleep forces his hand. He can see her now. He can see her infront of his eyes like a fucked up mirage. Twenty five days without her had ruined him.

He sits in his office like the king he is. Cigarettes piled in the ashtray, packs and packs. He was chainsmoking constantly. If Rehanna was here she would chastise and scold him for the terrible habit of chainsmoking. His eyes flick over to the sofa set that she used to sit and work on before he gifted her the office across from his. He can see her there now. Her hair pulled back into a messy bun as she pours over papers. Her eyes narrowed to focus on something. Rehman smiles at the empty air.

Rehman takes a drag off of his cigarette. Down the hall bricks and construction tools clatter. Rehman has learned to ignore it. Every member of the haveli constantly asks him what he had been doing there but Rehman never responded straight. He always told them to wait and watch. The main construction of what he was renovating was done. Now it was time for the decor and aesthetics. Rehman shuts his eyes with a smile. He imagined Rehannas reaction already. She will be so happy when she comes back home to him. His jaan would be home soon. He knew it in his soul. 

“R-Rehman bhai” Stutters out a mousy looking bespectacled man who was seated in front of Rehman. The man clears his throat and returns to his normal voice “Agar aapne faisla kar liya hai toh phir kagazat shuru karein?” Rehman's eyes flick lazily to the man sitting before him. The look is cold and cruel. The looks Rehman Dakait was known to give. The kind that made men freeze. But there was a different anger in it. An anger that only Rehman knew the meaning of. How dare anybody interrupt thoughts of her. 

“Haan. Kagazat banaiye vakeel sahab” He says coldly. Rehman was getting desperate now. This was low even for him. He knew it. And still he is saying yes. Rehanna wasn't responding to any of his attempts and now the sadness and pain was turning into frustration and anger. He had fucked up yes, but this was dragging out. Rehman needed to figure out a way to get her mad enough to fully confront him without shutting down coldly. This is all he could think about.

The lawyer sitting in front of him, Waheed Qatra, nods with a barely concealed grin. This was the moment he was waiting for. His hands fumble slightly as he reaches for his briefcase. From within it he pulls papers for Rehman to sign. One termination notice. One hiring contract. “Mujhe pata tha ki aap haan bolenge bhai. Maine kagaz pehle se kagaz bana diye hain”

He hands the papers to Rehman. Rehman signs them without looking too hard. He doesn't want to take the chance of backing out of his decision. 

Waheed chuckles warmly “Bas bas Rehman bhai, kaam hogaya. Aaj se Rehanna Randhawa aapki vakeel nahi hai. Aapne sahi faisla liya hai” Waheed packs the papers away carefully “Kitni unprofessional ha woh. Mai hamesha se jaanta tha. Kaun apne client ko pacchis din ke liye ignore karta hai? Chee chee chee”

Rehman barely hears it. If he had he would have strangled the man at the disrespect of Rehanna. He just hopes his plan works. Because he had just fired his lawyer and the love of his life. And he had just hired her biggest rival. Hoping she got angry enough to come back to him.

—----------------------------

Same day @ 3 pm

Rehanna Randhawa’s apartment, Hindu colony, Lyari, Pakistan

Today was Christmas but Rehanna knew she was an idiot hoping for some kind of Christmas miracle. She knew that as she went about her day. In fact she had a feeling that something really very shitty was about to happen today. Rehanna scrolls lazily through her phone. Hoping for some random thing or the other would catch her eye and distract her. 

Because she had imagined her first Christmas with Rehman. She would have taught him all about the holiday. She can imagine how he would grumble about the impracticality of the holiday like an old man. Saying that it makes children soft to believe a fat red man brings them presents magically. She would have teased him saying he was just upset because he was most definitely on the naughty list and wasn't getting a present. He would have been grumpy and begrudging but Rehanna knew he would secretly enjoy everything. She also knew Rehman would have taken it upon himself to be Santa for the entire haveli. 

Rehanna groans in pain as she shakes her head trying to pull herself out of thoughts of him. Rehanna had never been hung up on a man. Mostly because now that she thinks about it she never really truly loved anyone she had been in a relationship with. Twenty five days and the mere thought of him still pained her soul. R&AW ate gaalis from her on a daily basis because this was entirely their fault. It was entirely their fault that she had fallen in love.  

Suddenly there is a knock on her door and a terrible feeling brews inside of her. She gets up and goes to open the door. Rehanna blinks in surprise. God she hates it when she is right. 

In front of her stands Waheed Qatra, an absolute bastard who just so happens to be a lawyer. Waheed had been a lawyer at the Karachi high court where Rehanna had worked for a year before meeting Rehman. Waheed was a bastard of the highest order who always stepped over her, blocked her, tried to undercut her and ruin her cases in front of the judges. “Merry Christmas Randhawa” Waheed grins as he hands her a file. 

“You are the opposite of a merry christmas Qatra” she deadpans as she takes the file from his hands. “Save your jabs until after you read that file Randhawa” he leans against her doorway. Rehanna quirks a brow at him as she flips open the file. She can't believe the words she is reading. The world tilts violently; she has to force herself to take a breath. 

Rehman was firing her. Rehman was firing her and had her on a 10 day retainer. Those 10 days honestly felt comedic more than anything. A strange and painful cocktail of emotions brew inside of her. The words on the page make no sense to her as her eyes water and blur. She was being fired for breach of contract. 

Apparently she had ignored her duties for twenty five days with no formal reason. Formal reason? Rehman wanted a formal reason? How could she submit a formal reason when he was the reason? Rehanna has a strong urge to stomp over to the haveli and give him a piece of her mind. That feeling dissolves as she sees his signature at the bottom of the page. 

Rehman had decided. He was going to fire her. Who was she to deny him that? Who was she to deny him the easy way out. Waheed watches her read the document carefully, the shitty smile on his face keeps growing second by second. “Pen chahiye?” he grins, holding it out to her. Rehanna doesn't speak as she takes the pen from Waheed. Betrayal and heartbreak flows through her so hard she doesn't even understand or comprehend it anymore. She holds the page up against her door and signs the page. 

She hands it to Waheed. Who takes it and puts it back into his briefcase. He can see she looks wounded and kicked. Most definitely in shock. “Do you want to know who he hired?” he asks. Rehanna nods as she fights back any display of emotion. Waheed grins “Rehman bhai fired you…And he hired me” Rehanna swallows hard as she slams the door shut on Waheed’s face. She can hear his laughter as he leaves. She can feel the numbness clawing at her again. Christmas is ruined. 

—---------------------------

Same day @ 4 pm

Rehman’s Office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Rehman can't believe it. He stares at the papers in his hand with a slacked jaw. He can't believe it. Rehman always loved seeing her signature next to his on all papers. He loved seeing her name next to his name. Her elegant and swirly letters next to his comparatively shit handwriting. It always made him smile internally. How even though they were different, they looked beautiful next to each other.

But seeing her signature on these papers instead of her beautiful angry face in front of him shattered everything Rehman was trying to do. She didn't come to argue with him, she didn't yell at him. Everything he had banked on had just dissolved the floor under his feet. Rehanna had signed the termination contract. She was no longer his lawyer. 

She no longer had any reason to remain in Rehman's life and to make matters worse Rehman had attached a fuck you with the event. Rehman had hired her rival as his new lawyer. It was a fuck you he didnt mean, but it was a fuck you he had sent anyways. He sank into his chair holding a hand over his mouth.

What had he done? And how had he managed to make it worse? 

And most importantly how was he going to bring her back? 

HOW DO WE FEEL EVERYBODY?

Rehman doesn't notice it at first. One day he's listening to a conversation, and the next he's realizing he knows how she takes her tea, what songs she hums under her breath when she's distracted, and exactly which expression means she's about to argue with someone.

He starts remembering things she mentions once and never brings up again. A favorite childhood snack. A book she loved. A flower she thinks is underrated. Months later, she'll casually mention one of those things and stare at him when he remembers every detail.

The first time she fixes his collar, it's completely absent-minded on her part. She smooths it down, tells him he looked ridiculous, and walks away. He spends the next ten minutes trying to remember what anyone else was saying.

He catches himself looking for her in crowded rooms. Not consciously. His eyes just drift toward where she usually stands.

If she arrives somewhere late, he notices immediately. If she's absent, he notices even faster.

She becomes the first person he looks for when something funny happens and the first person he wants to tell when something good happens.

He learns the sound of her laugh before he realizes he's done it. In a room full of people, he can pick it out instantly.

If she wears anklets, the sound instantly perks him up. There is no sweeter melody than the soft clinking of metals against her ankles.

He starts collecting random facts about her without meaning to. Not important things. Tiny things. The way she always pushes sleeves up when she's focused. The way she rereads messages before sending them. The way she steals fries from everyone else's plate despite ordering her own.

Whenever she talks about something she's passionate about, he listens far longer than anyone else. He may not understand half of it, but he remembers every word because she's the one saying it.

His friends notice before he does. They'll catch him staring at her while she's talking and exchange knowing looks behind his back. Uzair is skeptical at first but once he meets her, he realises why his brother is hooked. She really is just an angel in disguise.

He becomes oddly protective of her comfort. He'll quietly move her chair away from direct sunlight or hand her a glass of water before she asks.

If someone interrupts her repeatedly during a conversation, he'll find himself annoyed on her behalf.

The first time she gets genuinely upset, he's surprised by how much it bothers him. Her bad mood somehow affects his own.

She could be surrounded by ten people, perfectly fine, and he'll still glance over every now and then just to make sure she's okay.

He starts saving things she would like. A funny video. A song recommendation. He'll see something and immediately think, She'd laugh at this.

If she compliments him, even casually, he remembers it for an embarrassing amount of time.

She once calls him pretty instead of handsome. He spends the rest of the day pretending that didn't affect him while internally replaying it every few hours.

He begins noticing when she's tired. The slight droop of her shoulders. The way her voice gets quieter. The little yawn she tries to hide.

Whenever she's around, his mood improves without him realizing it.

When she's not around, he catches himself checking his phone more often than usual.

She'll mention wanting to try a café, visit a bookstore, watch a movie, and weeks later he'll somehow remember every single one.

The realization doesn't hit him all at once. It happens in pieces. In a hundred tiny moments.

The moment it finally clicks is painfully ordinary. She's laughing at something stupid. Sunlight is hitting her face. Nothing remarkable is happening.

And suddenly he thinks, completely unprompted

"I could spend the rest of my life listening to that laugh."

The thought scares him a little.

Mostly because he means it.

Naya pyar hai, (This love is new)

Rehman starts carrying things for her long before either of them acknowledges how often it happens. At first it's practical. She's trying to juggle too many bags at once, struggling to hold a coffee while looking for something in her purse, balancing books against her chest in a way that makes it obvious she's about to drop at least one of them.

Without thinking, he reaches over and takes whatever seems heaviest. The strange part is that he never asks. One second she's holding something and the next it's in his hands. After a while she stops being surprised by it. The moment they leave a store together, she automatically passes him the heavier bags. If she's carrying boxes, he takes the largest one before she can argue. If she's moving furniture, he somehow ends up doing most of the lifting. Neither of them ever discusses when this arrangement started. It simply becomes one of those things they both accept without question.

What surprises her isn't that he carries things for her. It's how attentive he is to things she never actually complains about. She'll mention once that a certain bag hurts her shoulder if she carries it for too long, and months later he'll still take it from her the second he sees it.

She'll spend an entire afternoon insisting she's fine, only for him to quietly point out that she's been switching the weight from one arm to the other every few minutes. Sometimes it feels like he's paying attention to details she isn't even aware of herself. Whenever she asks how he notices these things, he shrugs as though the answer should be obvious.

The truth is that by this point he spends so much time observing her that little changes rarely escape his attention.

There are days when she deliberately refuses his help just to see what happens. She'll insist she can carry everything herself, balancing an unreasonable number of shopping bags on both arms while stubbornly walking ahead. Rehman usually lets this continue for about thirty seconds before taking half of them anyway. The conversation that follows is always exactly the same. She tells him she's capable of carrying her own things. He tells her he never said she wasn't. She accuses him of being impossible. He informs her that she's the difficult one. Somehow he still ends up carrying everything by the end of it.

The thing she eventually realizes is that carrying things isn't really about the bags themselves. It's the fact that his first instinct is always to make things easier for her.

If something looks inconvenient, he fixes it. If something seems heavy, he takes care of it. If there's a way to remove even a small discomfort from her day, he does it without thinking twice.

Rehman isn't naturally expressive when it comes to affection, so his feelings have a habit of appearing in practical ways. He won't always tell her he's worried she'll tire herself out. He'll simply take the weight from her hands and continue walking as though it's the most normal thing in the world.

Remembering her favorite snacks starts the same way everything else does—with information she doesn't expect him to keep. She mentions things casually. A candy she loved as a child. A brand of chips she always buys when she sees them. A particular drink she likes but never remembers to get for herself. Most people hear those details and forget them within the hour. Rehman somehow stores them away indefinitely. Months later she'll find him returning from a convenience store with her favorite snack in one hand and something for himself in the other, looking genuinely confused when she asks how he remembered.

Sometimes she thinks he remembers things about her more accurately than she does. She'll walk into a store, stare at an entire shelf of snacks, and admit she can't decide what she wants. Rehman will immediately reach for the exact thing she usually picks.

The first time it happens she assumes it's luck. The tenth time she realizes it definitely isn't. Somewhere along the way he's memorized her preferences with frightening accuracy. Not because he sat down and tried to learn them, but because he listens whenever she talks.

He never makes a performance out of these gestures. That's what makes them mean so much. He doesn't hand her favorite snacks over with some dramatic explanation about how he remembered her mentioning them three months ago. Usually he just places them beside her and continues whatever he was doing. Half the time she has to ask whether they were meant for her. His answer is always the same. "Who else would they be for?" As though the possibility of buying something specifically because it would make her happy is completely self-explanatory.

There are moments when she starts noticing how often he thinks about her when she isn't around. She'll receive a random text message containing nothing but a photograph from a grocery store. A few minutes later another message arrives. Saw this and thought of you. The realization catches her off guard every time. Rehman isn't the type to constantly verbalize affection. Yet somehow the fact that he saw something ordinary during his day and immediately associated it with her feels more intimate than any grand declaration ever could.

Walking beside her brings out a protective streak that he never consciously acknowledges. It starts so subtly she almost misses it. Every time they're walking near traffic, he automatically moves to the outside of the sidewalk. Every time they cross a road, he positions himself between her and the cars without seeming to notice he's doing it. The habit is so natural that she suspects he isn't even aware of it himself.

Once she finally notices, she can't stop paying attention to it. No matter where they're walking, he always ends up closest to the road. If she changes sides, he'll eventually switch places with her again. Sometimes it happens so smoothly she barely registers it until several minutes later. When she points it out, he immediately denies everything. According to him, he's just walking normally. According to her, he's completely incapable of being subtle.

The arguments become increasingly ridiculous after that. She starts intentionally moving to the traffic side just to watch his reaction. Rehman usually tolerates it for a few minutes before finding some excuse to switch places. He'll claim he wants a better view of something. He'll pretend he needs to avoid a group of people. Once he actually attempted to convince her that the pavement looked smoother on the other side. None of his explanations are remotely believable, and both of them know it.

What makes the habit so endearing isn't the protectiveness itself. It's how instinctive it is. Rehman doesn't pause to think about whether she needs looking after. He doesn't calculate risks or consciously decide to be protective. His body simply reacts before his mind catches up. Somewhere along the way, keeping her safe became automatic.

Making sure she gets home safely becomes another routine neither of them remembers establishing. In the beginning he asks her to text him when she arrives. It seems reasonable enough. Then it becomes something that happens every single time she leaves. If it's late, he waits for confirmation that she's inside. If she's taking a ride home, he checks whether she got there safely. If she's walking, he pays attention until he knows she's reached her destination.

The messages are usually brief. Sometimes it's just a simple "Home?" followed by a thumbs-up when she confirms. Other times it's a reminder to let him know when she arrives. The words themselves aren't particularly emotional. What matters is the consistency. No matter how busy he is, no matter how tired he is, he always remembers.

She doesn't realize how much she's grown accustomed to it until one evening her phone battery dies before she can text him. By the time she manages to charge it and turn it back on, she finds multiple messages waiting. None of them are dramatic. None of them are angry. They're simply increasingly concerned attempts to make sure she's okay. For some reason that affects her more than if he'd openly admitted he was worried.

Rehman would never describe himself as someone who worries excessively, but she learns very quickly that he becomes restless when it comes to her safety. If she's running unusually late, he notices. If she changes plans unexpectedly, he notices that too. He trusts her completely, yet that never stops him from wanting confirmation that she's alright.

The concern isn't rooted in possessiveness. It's much simpler than that. The thought of something happening to her is enough to make his chest tighten in a way he doesn't particularly enjoy.

Eventually she begins sending those messages before he can ask for them. Not because he expects it, but because she likes knowing he'll read them. She likes the certainty of receiving a reply a few moments later. She likes knowing someone is waiting for that confirmation. More than anything, she likes knowing that among all the people in his life, she's become someone he thinks about even after she's gone.

Rehman's affection has never been loud. It exists in the small decisions he makes every day, in the habits he's formed without realizing it, and in the countless ways he quietly chooses her comfort before his own.

Long before he ever says how he feels, he's already showing her.

Naya intezaar (This wait is new)

The first time she steals one of his hoodies, it isn't even intentional. She gets cold, he tells her to take it, and neither of them thinks much of it at the time. The strange part comes later, when the hoodie somehow never makes its way back to him.

Weeks pass. Then months. At some point it becomes permanently incorporated into her wardrobe despite technically belonging to someone else. Rehman notices, of course. He notices because he notices everything when it comes to her. Every now and then he'll see her wearing it and feel something in his chest tighten unexpectedly.

There is something strangely domestic about seeing another person so comfortable with your belongings that they stop treating them like borrowed items. The hoodie stops being his and becomes hers in every way that matters. Whenever someone points out that she's wearing his clothes again, he acts as though it isn't worth discussing.

Secretly, he likes it far more than he intends to admit.

Eventually it develops into a habit that neither of them questions. If she's cold, she reaches for his hoodie before asking. If they're spending time together and she notices one draped over the back of a chair, she'll put it on without thinking twice. Rehman never objects. In fact, he becomes suspiciously willing to leave hoodies behind whenever she's around. She begins finding them in her apartment, in her car, mixed in with her own laundry. The number of sweatshirts he supposedly forgets becomes statistically impossible. The truth is that he enjoys the quiet familiarity of it. There is something comforting about knowing pieces of his everyday life have found a place among hers.

What surprises him most is how quickly it starts feeling normal. There should probably be something strange about walking into a room and immediately recognizing one of his hoodies because she's wearing it. Instead, his brain accepts the sight with alarming ease.

Somewhere along the way, seeing her wrapped up in his clothes became one of those small things capable of improving his mood instantly. He never tells her that, of course. If she asks, he'll claim she simply steals too much. She'll remind him that he gave her most of them voluntarily. He'll insist that's not the point. Neither of them will acknowledge the fact that he always seems pleased when she keeps them.

Late-night tea becomes another ritual that develops so gradually neither of them notices it happening. It usually starts on evenings when neither of them feels particularly tired. They stay up talking longer than intended, one conversation leading into another until the hour becomes embarrassingly late. At some point one of them suggests tea. More often than not, it's Rehman. He disappears into the kitchen while she remains where she is, and by the time he returns he's carrying two mugs because making tea for only himself no longer occurs to him automatically.

Those late-night conversations become some of his favorite moments with her. There is something different about people after midnight. The world feels quieter. The usual distractions disappear. Conversations drift naturally from one subject to another without either of them paying attention to where they started. Sometimes they discuss serious things. Sometimes they spend half an hour debating something completely ridiculous. The topic rarely matters.

Rehman simply enjoys listening to her when she's relaxed enough to speak without filtering every thought. She has a habit of becoming more animated when she's comfortable, and he finds himself watching her more than participating in the conversation.

She eventually realizes he knows exactly how she takes her tea. Not approximately. Exactly. The amount of sugar. The amount of milk. The specific way she likes it prepared. She never remembers telling him any of those details. When she points this out, he looks genuinely confused. From his perspective, he has made her tea often enough that remembering should be expected. The fact that he can recall the smallest preferences without effort doesn't seem remarkable to him. It only seems remarkable to her because she's beginning to understand how much attention he pays when she isn't looking.

Falling asleep on his shoulder happens by accident. At least the first time. They're sitting together after an unusually long day, both too tired to hold a proper conversation. One moment she's awake. The next she's drifting in and out of sleep without realizing it. Rehman notices immediately. He notices because her responses become slower, her eyes keep closing, and she begins leaning slightly closer every few minutes. By the time her head finally settles against his shoulder, she's already asleep.

He freezes.

Not because he wants to move away. Quite the opposite. The problem is that he suddenly becomes intensely aware of every movement he makes. He doesn't want to wake her. Doesn't want to disturb her. Doesn't want to acknowledge how absurdly pleased he feels about something as simple as her trusting him enough to fall asleep beside him. For the next hour he remains almost completely still. His shoulder eventually goes numb. He refuses to do anything about it.

After that, it starts happening more often. Long car rides. Movie nights. Evenings spent talking until exhaustion catches up with her. Rehman eventually becomes accustomed to the weight of her head against his shoulder, though the feeling never loses its effect on him. There is an intimacy in being trusted during someone's most vulnerable moments. Every time she falls asleep beside him, some part of him feels quietly honored by it.

The funniest part is that she never understands the extent of his internal crisis. She wakes up refreshed and comfortable while Rehman has spent the last forty-five minutes debating whether adjusting his position would disturb her. The moment she apologizes, he dismisses it immediately. He tells her it isn't a big deal. The truth is that he would willingly remain uncomfortable for hours if it meant she could rest peacefully.

The casual touches begin so gradually that neither of them can identify when they became normal. At first there's a certain awareness whenever they make contact. A brief hesitation. A moment where both of them notice it. Over time that awareness fades. Touch becomes integrated into their interactions so naturally that it stops feeling significant.

She starts nudging his shoulder when she wants his attention instead of calling his name. Rehman begins resting a hand against her back when guiding her through crowded spaces. She reaches over to adjust something on his jacket without thinking. He brushes a piece of lint off her sleeve mid-conversation. None of these gestures are particularly intimate on their own. What matters is the ease with which they happen.

The change becomes obvious when other people start noticing it before they do. Uzair and Hamza exchange knowing looks whenever she leans against him without hesitation. Someone eventually points out how often Rehman reaches for her during conversations. Neither of them understands what everyone else finds so remarkable. By that point the contact feels entirely natural.

Rehman doesn't consciously decide to stand close to her. He simply does. She doesn't deliberately seek him out whenever they're in the same room. She simply gravitates toward him without realizing it.

There are countless examples of it scattered throughout their days. Her hand brushing briefly against his arm while she's laughing. His fingers resting against her shoulder when he's speaking to her. The absent-minded way she fixes his collar or smooths down a wrinkle in his shirt. The equally absent-minded way he moves a strand of hair out of her face when it keeps blocking her vision. None of these moments receive any attention when they happen. They are too familiar by then. Too deeply woven into the fabric of their relationship.

Rehman eventually realizes that this is what comfort looks like. Not grand declarations or dramatic displays of affection. Just the quiet certainty of another person's presence becoming part of his everyday life. Somewhere between all those ordinary moments, the space between them disappears entirely.

Kar loon main kya apna haal (What should I make of myself)

Rehman has never been particularly comfortable with crowded places. It's not that he dislikes people. He simply prefers knowing where he is going, having enough space to move, and avoiding unnecessary chaos whenever possible.

Unfortunately, crowded places become significantly more frustrating once she is involved because he becomes incapable of focusing on anything except whether she's still beside him.

The first few times it happens, he doesn't think much of it. A busy market, a packed shopping mall, a festival where people are moving in every direction at once. He keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hasn't gotten separated from him. He tells himself it's common sense. Anyone would do the same. The problem is that he continues doing it long after he's confirmed she's perfectly fine.

It starts with small gestures. A hand resting lightly against her back when they're moving through a crowd. A quiet "this way" whenever people begin blocking the path ahead. He positions himself where he can keep an eye on her without making it obvious. If someone bumps into her, he notices immediately. If she falls behind, he notices that too. There is something about crowded spaces that brings out an instinctive protectiveness in him, though he would never describe it that way. If anyone asks, he'll claim he's simply making sure they don't lose each other.

The first time he reaches for her hand, it isn't romantic. At least that's what he tells himself afterward. They're trying to make their way through an unusually crowded area, people constantly cutting between them and forcing them apart. One moment she's beside him. The next she's several steps away because a group of strangers has moved between them. Before he can even think about it, he's reaching back and taking her hand. He simply guides her through the crowd and continues walking.

What catches him off guard is how little he wants to let go afterward. Once they're somewhere quieter, he becomes aware of the fact that their hands are still linked. For a brief moment he considers pulling away. Then she shifts slightly closer, still talking about something completely unrelated, and the opportunity passes. Neither of them acknowledges it. Neither of them mentions it later. Yet after that day, hand-holding becomes one of those things that happens naturally whenever a place becomes too crowded.

She eventually starts reaching for him first. Sometimes she doesn't even realize she's doing it. They'll enter a busy street or a packed train station and her hand automatically finds his. Rehman always notices. Every single time. No matter how often it happens, there is still a small part of him that feels absurdly pleased by the fact that her first instinct is to reach for him when things become overwhelming. He never comments on it. He simply closes his fingers around hers and continues walking as though it has always been that way.

Looking after her when she's sick introduces him to an entirely different kind of helplessness. Rehman likes solving problems. He likes being useful. If something is broken, he fixes it. If something goes wrong, he finds a solution. Illness doesn't work that way. He can't simply make her feel better, and that frustrates him more than he expects.

The first time she gets sick while he's around, she insists she doesn't need help. This is entirely predictable. She spends the entire day claiming she's fine despite looking exhausted, sounding terrible, and clearly running a fever. Rehman listens to this argument for approximately five minutes before deciding he is no longer interested in her opinion on the matter.

What follows is perhaps the closest thing she has ever seen to him becoming bossy. Not rude. Not controlling. Just completely unwilling to entertain her stubbornness. He makes sure she takes medicine on time. He reminds her to drink water. He brings food even when she insists she isn't hungry. Whenever she tries getting out of bed to do something unnecessary, he gives her a look that immediately communicates how unsuccessful that plan is going to be.

The surprising part is how gentle he becomes during all of it. Most people know Rehman as someone composed, practical, and intimidating when he wants to be. Very few people get to see the softer side of him. The side that carefully checks whether she's comfortable. The side that remembers exactly which soup she likes when she's sick. The side that lowers his voice without realizing it because she has a headache. The side that remains patient even when she's grumpy from feeling unwell.

There is something oddly intimate about being cared for when you're sick. Illness strips away pride in ways most situations don't. You're tired, uncomfortable, and not particularly concerned with looking presentable. Rehman sees all of it and doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. He never makes her feel guilty for needing help. Never acts inconvenienced. Never treats her vulnerability as something embarrassing. If anything, he seems grateful for the opportunity to take care of her.

One afternoon she wakes up after falling asleep unexpectedly and finds him sitting nearby with a book in his hands. For a moment she just watches him. He notices almost immediately and looks up.

"How long have you been sitting there?" He shrugs. "Not long." She knows that's a lie. Mostly because the tea beside him has already gone cold.

Sitting beside her when she's upset becomes another habit he develops without realizing it. Rehman isn't naturally drawn to emotional conversations. He cares deeply about the people in his life, but his instinct has always been to solve problems rather than discuss them.

If someone is struggling, he immediately starts searching for practical solutions. If someone is stressed, he looks for ways to fix whatever is causing it. The problem is that not every difficult moment can be solved.

It takes him time to understand that sometimes she doesn't need answers. Sometimes she doesn't need advice. Sometimes she simply needs someone willing to stay.

The first few times she's upset around him, he approaches the situation the way he approaches everything else. He offers suggestions. Potential solutions. Different ways of looking at the problem. She listens politely, but he eventually notices that none of it is helping. The issue isn't that his advice is bad. The issue is that she isn't looking for advice at all.

One difficult day she barely says anything. She just sits there staring at the floor, clearly overwhelmed by something she isn't ready to talk about. Rehman begins mentally sorting through possible solutions before stopping himself. Instead of speaking, he simply sits down beside her.

Minutes pass. Then more minutes. Neither of them says much. Eventually she leans slightly toward him. For the first time, he understands that his presence is helping more than any solution he could have offered.

After that, he starts paying closer attention. He learns the difference between the moments when she wants advice and the moments when she wants comfort. He learns that some frustrations are temporary and simply need to be vented. He learns that sadness often becomes easier to carry when someone is willing to sit with it instead of trying to remove it immediately.

Eventually he becomes surprisingly good at it. Not because he suddenly stops wanting to solve problems, but because he learns that comfort is its own kind of solution. Sometimes she needs reassurance. Sometimes she needs distraction. Sometimes she needs silence. Rehman begins recognizing the difference with impressive accuracy.

He learns that she appreciates physical affection more when she's upset. He learns that she tends to withdraw into herself before talking about what's bothering her. He learns which distractions work and which ones don't. Most importantly, he learns that being present matters far more than being perfect.

The gentleness in all of these moments catches her off guard because it exists beneath so many layers of practicality. Rehman will always be protective. He will always want to solve problems, carry burdens, and make difficult things easier.

Yet the longer they know each other, the more she discovers that his protectiveness isn't rooted in control. It comes from care. It comes from paying attention. It comes from wanting her to feel safe enough to fall apart when she needs to.

Aye dil-e-beqaraar (O restless heart)

Rehman accumulates photographs of her the way other people collect receipts they swear they're going to throw away later. None of them are particularly remarkable on their own. She isn't posing for them. Half the time she doesn't even know they're being taken. They're the sort of pictures most people would delete immediately because nothing important is technically happening.

She's standing in line waiting for coffee. She's reading something on her phone with a small frown between her brows. She's laughing at a joke someone else made. She's staring out a car window during a long drive, completely unaware that anybody is looking at her. If someone ever asked why he kept those photos, he wouldn't have a proper answer.

The truth is that every time he looks at them, he remembers exactly what that moment felt like. The weather. The conversation. The reason she was laughing. The song that happened to be playing in the background. Somehow those ordinary moments become worth preserving simply because she was part of them.

The collection grows much larger than either of them would probably consider normal. Rehman never intends for it to happen. Every photograph starts with the same thought. She looks happy. The lighting looks nice. This would make her laugh later. One picture becomes ten. Ten become fifty. Before long, his camera roll contains enough evidence to make the situation impossible to explain away. The worst part is that he doesn't even realize how often he's doing it until someone catches sight of his gallery and starts scrolling. Suddenly there are dozens of photographs of the same person scattered between everything else. Tiny pieces of her day that he decided were worth keeping.

What makes it worse is that he rarely takes photographs of anyone else. Most people could disappear from his camera roll entirely without him noticing. Yet somehow he has pictures of her trying to read restaurant menus in poor lighting. Pictures of her holding drinks she insisted she didn't want before immediately stealing them from somebody else. Pictures of her looking unimpressed after losing an argument. Pictures of her smiling at things she doesn't realize make her smile. The pattern becomes embarrassingly obvious once someone points it out, though Rehman spends an impressive amount of time pretending otherwise.

Remembering conversations from months ago becomes another habit he develops without understanding why it surprises people so much. As far as he's concerned, if she tells him something important, of course he's going to remember it. The fact that other people forget details doesn't really occur to him because he isn't paying attention to what everybody else says. He's paying attention to her.

She mentions things casually and assumes they've disappeared into the void the moment the conversation ends. A childhood story she suddenly remembers halfway through dinner. A book she loved when she was younger. A place she's always wanted to visit. An offhand comment about something she'd like to learn one day. Most of those conversations happen once and are never revisited.

Months later she'll bring one of those subjects up again only to discover that Rehman remembers every detail with alarming accuracy.

At first she assumes it's coincidence. Then it keeps happening. She'll stop in front of a bookstore and mention a novel she talked about half a year ago. Rehman immediately remembers the title. She'll reference a story she told him once during a late-night conversation. He remembers the names of the people involved. She'll casually mention wanting something she'd forgotten about herself, only for him to remind her of a conversation that happened months earlier. Eventually she starts looking at him differently whenever it happens because remembering details is one thing. Remembering them consistently is something else entirely.

The strange thing is that Rehman never treats those memories as impressive. He doesn't realize how unusual it is because remembering her has become effortless. Other people require concentration.

With her, information simply stays. He remembers things because they're attached to her, and somewhere along the way his mind decided that made them worth keeping.

One of his favorite things, though he'd never admit it out loud, is listening to her talk about subjects she genuinely loves. Not things she discusses out of politeness. Not topics she feels obligated to care about. The things that immediately make her eyes brighten and her voice become more animated. Everybody has subjects like that. Things capable of transforming an ordinary conversation into something much more alive. Rehman learns hers quickly.

He learns that certain topics make her forget to be self-conscious. He learns that when she's excited, she talks with her hands more. He learns that she has a habit of speaking faster when she's passionate about something and then immediately apologizing afterward because she's convinced she's been talking too much. The apology never makes sense to him. As far as he's concerned, she could continue for another hour and he wouldn't mind.

Sometimes she catches him watching her during those conversations. Just listening. There is always something slightly embarrassing about being caught paying that much attention to somebody, so Rehman usually looks away and pretends he wasn't doing anything unusual.

She never realizes how much information he's absorbing during those conversations. Every recommendation she makes. Every story she tells. Every opinion she shares. Months later she'll reference something she barely remembers mentioning and discover that Rehman still does. It isn't because he has an exceptional memory. It's because hearing her talk about things she cares about has become one of his favorite experiences, and people tend to remember the things they enjoy.

The realization that she's become his favorite person arrives slowly enough that he almost misses it.

He notices that she's the first person he wants to tell things to. Whenever something amusing happens, she's the person he thinks of. Whenever something frustrating happens, she's the person whose opinion he wants. When he sees something interesting during his day, his immediate instinct is to send her a picture. When he hears a joke she'd appreciate, he makes a mental note to tell her later.

Without meaning to, he begins filtering experiences through the question of how she would react to them.

The change becomes especially obvious whenever she's absent. A funny story happens and he reaches for his phone before remembering she isn't available. Somebody says something she'd have found ridiculous and his first instinct is to look toward her before realizing she isn't there. The absence feels strangely noticeable in ways he doesn't entirely understand. It's only then that he begins recognizing how thoroughly she has woven herself into his daily life.

He starts comparing new experiences to old memories involving her. A restaurant becomes the place she laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. A song becomes the one she spent weeks obsessing over. Entire locations become attached to memories of conversations they had there. She leaves traces of herself everywhere without realizing it, and Rehman finds himself noticing those traces long after she's gone.

The truth is that becoming his favorite person doesn't happen because of one grand quality. It happens because of a thousand small ones.

If somebody asked him when it happened, he wouldn't be able to answer. Somewhere between memorizing conversations she barely remembered having, collecting photographs he couldn't bring himself to delete, and listening to her talk about things she loved with an attention he reserved for nobody else, she quietly became the person he looked for first. The person he wanted to share things with. The person whose presence made even uneventful days feel better.

It's a realization he keeps entirely to himself for a long time. Not because he's ashamed of it, but because saying it out loud would make it real in a way he's not prepared for.

So instead he continues doing what he's always done. He remembers. He listens. He collects photographs. He watches her smile at things that make her happy. And every day, without ever saying a word about it, he loves her a little more than the day before.

Mere dil-e-beqaraar tu hi bata (My restless heart, you only tell me this)

Rehman develops a habit of playing with her hair long before he consciously realizes how attached he has become to the gesture. It starts innocently enough. They're sitting beside each other, she's focused on something else, and a strand of hair keeps falling across her face every few minutes.

Eventually he reaches over and tucks it behind her ear without thinking. The movement is so natural that neither of them pays much attention to it. After that, it starts happening more often. He'll absent-mindedly smooth down flyaways while she's reading. He'll brush a strand away while she's talking. Sometimes he'll twirl a section of her hair around his fingers during long conversations without even noticing he's doing it.

Physical affection has never come particularly easily to him, yet touching her somehow feels different. There is no awkwardness attached to it. No hesitation. Just the quiet certainty that she belongs within his space and that reaching for her has become as natural as breathing.

She notices the habit before he does. At first she thinks it's accidental. Then she begins paying attention and realizes it happens far too often to be coincidence. Whenever they're sitting together, his hands inevitably find their way into her hair. Sometimes he's fully aware of what he's doing. Other times he's distracted by a conversation or focused on something else entirely, yet his fingers still drift toward her without conscious thought.

The realization amuses her endlessly because Rehman remains completely oblivious to how obvious he is. When she finally points it out, he immediately denies everything. The denial lasts approximately thirty seconds before he realizes he's currently absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair while arguing that he never does such a thing.

What she loves most is the comfort behind the gesture. There is nothing performative about it. He isn't trying to be romantic. He isn't attempting to impress her. If anything, the habit exists because he's comfortable enough to stop monitoring his own behavior around her. The affection slips through in unconscious ways. A hand resting in her hair while they're watching a movie. Gentle fingers working through the ends while she's lying beside him. Small moments that reveal how much he enjoys simply being close to her.

Unexpected cheek kisses become another thing neither of them remembers introducing into the relationship. One day they aren't there. The next they seem to happen constantly.

The first one catches him completely off guard. She's leaving after spending the afternoon with him, he says something mildly amusing, and before either of them can think about it she leans forward and presses a quick kiss against his cheek. Then she walks away as though nothing unusual has happened.

Rehman spends the rest of the evening thinking about it far more than he would ever admit.

The problem with small gestures is that they often carry more weight than dramatic ones. A cheek kiss isn't particularly significant on paper. It's brief. Casual. Over almost as quickly as it begins. Yet Rehman discovers that something about them affects him disproportionately. Perhaps it's because they always happen unexpectedly. Perhaps it's because they're never performed for attention. Whatever the reason, he finds himself becoming embarrassingly fond of them.

Before long they become woven into ordinary moments. A quick kiss before she leaves. One after he does something thoughtful for her. One when she's feeling particularly affectionate and doesn't have a better way of expressing it. Every single time, Rehman reacts the same way. A brief pause. A barely noticeable smile. The faint look of someone trying very hard not to appear pleased despite failing completely.

Eventually he starts returning them. Not often at first. Rehman has always been slightly more reserved when it comes to initiating affection. Yet the longer they're together, the easier it becomes. Sometimes he'll lean down and press a quick kiss to her cheek while walking past her. Sometimes he'll do it after she says something that makes him laugh. The reactions are always worth it. She never expects it, and he secretly enjoys catching her off guard for once.

There is something deeply endearing about how quickly these small displays of affection become integrated into their daily lives. Neither of them treats them as remarkable anymore. They simply exist. Tiny reminders of love scattered throughout otherwise ordinary days.

Sleepy cuddles are perhaps the most obvious example of how much their relationship changes over time. In the beginning there is still a certain awareness whenever they find themselves curled up together. A consciousness of where limbs are positioned and whether they're taking up too much space. Eventually that awareness disappears entirely. Rehman reaches a point where pulling her closer feels as automatic as adjusting a blanket.

He discovers very quickly that she's significantly more affectionate when she's tired. The closer she gets to falling asleep, the less concerned she becomes with personal space. She'll curl against his side without thinking. Rest her head against his chest while barely awake. Reach for him in her sleep with complete confidence that he'll be there. Rehman pretends not to find any of this devastatingly adorable.

The reality is that those quiet moments become some of his favorites. There is something uniquely intimate about being trusted in someone's most vulnerable state. When she's exhausted enough to stop overthinking, every action becomes honest. Every instinct leads her toward him. Sometimes she'll fall asleep halfway through a conversation and wake up hours later still tucked against his side. Sometimes she'll barely open her eyes before immediately moving closer again. Each time it happens, Rehman feels the same quiet warmth settle somewhere in his chest.

He learns all her sleepy habits without meaning to. The way she buries her face into whatever she's cuddling. The way she steals blankets and then denies doing so. The way she unconsciously seeks warmth whenever she's cold. He memorizes these details the same way he memorizes everything else about her. Not deliberately. Simply because paying attention to her has become one of the most natural things in the world.

What makes those moments special isn't the physical closeness itself. It's the comfort. The complete absence of tension. Neither of them is trying to impress the other anymore. They exist together exactly as they are. Sleepy, comfortable, occasionally ridiculous, and entirely at ease in each other's presence.

Quiet mornings become his favorite part of living life alongside her.

Rehman has always appreciated solitude. Before her, mornings belonged exclusively to him. They were quiet, predictable, and largely uneventful. Then she became part of them.

The first thing he notices is how much he enjoys waking up beside someone he genuinely likes spending time with. Not just loves. Likes. There is a difference. Plenty of people are pleasant in carefully planned moments. Very few remain pleasant before coffee, before conversations, before either person has fully woken up. Somehow she manages it effortlessly.

Their mornings rarely involve grand romantic gestures. More often they're built from small routines. Sharing breakfast. Existing in comfortable silence. Trading lazy conversations neither of them will remember later. She sits across from him scrolling through her phone while he drinks tea. Sometimes one of them reads while the other talks. Sometimes neither speaks at all. The beauty of it lies in how effortless everything feels.

Rehman begins looking forward to those hours more than he expects. There is something deeply comforting about knowing exactly how she takes her tea. About hearing her sleepy voice from another room. About finding evidence of her existence scattered throughout a shared space. These moments would probably seem boring to anyone observing from the outside. To him, they feel invaluable.

Sometimes he catches himself watching her during those quiet hours and feels a strange sense of disbelief.

Just the simple realization that this is his life now. That the person sitting across from him, stealing bites of his breakfast and talking about something completely random, has somehow become the center of his everyday existence.

Pehla nasha, pehla khumaar (The first intoxication, the first hangover)

Somewhere along the way, loving each other stops feeling like something either of them actively does and starts feeling like something that simply exists. Neither of them can pinpoint exactly when it happens. There is no dramatic moment attached to it. No specific day they can circle on a calendar and say, this was it.

Instead, it arrives so gradually that they only recognize it in hindsight. One day Rehman realizes he no longer spends time questioning what she means to him. He no longer catches himself being surprised by how much he cares. The uncertainty that once accompanied those feelings has disappeared completely.

Loving her has become as natural as every other part of his life. It requires no effort, no deliberation, no conscious decision-making. It simply exists in the same way breathing exists. Constant. Familiar. Unquestionable.

The relationship settles into routines so comfortably that neither of them notices them forming. There are certain messages that arrive at the same time every day. Certain phone calls that happen automatically whenever something interesting occurs. Certain places they always visit together and certain traditions that emerge for no reason other than the fact that they enjoy them.

What begins as coincidence slowly transforms into ritual.

A particular café they always end up returning to. A television show neither of them is especially invested in but somehow continue watching together. The way they always sit in the same places when spending time at each other's homes. These routines would probably seem insignificant to anyone else. To Rehman, they become some of the most comforting parts of his day.

He discovers that love is often hidden inside repetition. Not because repetition is exciting, but because it reflects choice. Every routine they build together is something they continue choosing over and over again. Every shared habit becomes proof that they have created a life that fits around both of them.

Rehman has never been particularly sentimental about these things, yet he finds himself becoming unexpectedly attached to them. A morning feels slightly incomplete if he doesn't receive a message from her. A restaurant feels strange if she isn't sitting across from him. Entire sections of his life quietly rearrange themselves around her presence until imagining them without her becomes difficult.

One of the things that surprises him most is how little they need to explain themselves anymore. In the beginning, understanding each other required effort. Conversations. Clarifications. Learning.

Over time, that effort becomes unnecessary. Rehman starts recognizing her moods before she says a word. He can tell when she's tired by the way she walks into a room. He can tell when something is bothering her from the expression she makes while pretending everything is fine. Sometimes she only needs to look at him for him to understand exactly what she's thinking.

The same thing happens in reverse. She learns the subtle differences in his silences. The distinction between quiet contentment and quiet frustration. The way he rubs the back of his neck when he's stressed. The specific look that means he's about to disagree with someone but is still deciding whether the argument is worth having. There are entire conversations they manage without speaking. A glance exchanged across a crowded room. A raised eyebrow. The smallest shift in expression. Somehow it becomes enough.

Friends notice it before they do. Someone will ask a question and both of them answer simultaneously. Someone will mention a problem and she'll already know exactly what Rehman is about to say. People laugh about it. Make comments about how much time they've clearly spent together. Rehman usually dismisses those observations with a shrug, though privately he understands what they're seeing.

Familiarity has woven itself so deeply into their relationship that understanding each other no longer feels like work.

There is a particular kind of comfort that comes from being known completely and loved anyway. Rehman never expected to value that feeling as much as he does. She knows all the things he tries not to show people. The stubbornness. The occasional bad moods. The tendency to carry too much responsibility on his own shoulders.

She has seen every version of him, including the ones he doesn't particularly like, and has never treated any of them as reasons to leave. The same is true for her. He knows her flaws as well as her strengths. The insecurities she tries to hide. The habits she apologizes for unnecessarily. The parts of herself she sometimes worries are difficult to love. None of that changes anything.

If anything, knowing those imperfections only deepens the affection. There is something profoundly reassuring about reaching a point where neither person feels the need to perform. They stop trying to appear more impressive than they are. They stop hiding ordinary human flaws behind carefully maintained images. What remains is something much stronger than infatuation. Trust. The certainty that they can exist exactly as they are and still be wanted.

Home begins to mean something different because of her. Before, it was always a place. An address. A building. Somewhere he returned to at the end of the day. Gradually that definition changes without his permission. Home becomes wherever she is. Not in an exaggerated or poetic sense. In a practical one. The feeling he associates with home—comfort, safety, familiarity, peace—starts appearing in her presence instead of a location.

There are days when neither of them does anything remarkable. No adventures. No important conversations. No memorable events. They spend hours occupying the same space while focusing on entirely separate things. She reads while he works. He watches something while she scrolls through her phone. Occasionally one of them shares a thought. Occasionally they don't. Yet somehow those days remain among his favorites. Not because of what happens, but because of how peaceful they feel.

That peace becomes one of the defining features of their relationship. Rehman never has to wonder where he stands with her. Never has to second-guess her affection. Never has to work for reassurance because reassurance exists naturally within everything they do. The relationship no longer feels fragile. It no longer feels new. Instead, it feels solid. Reliable. Like something built carefully over time rather than stumbled into accidentally.

Loving her becomes integrated into every part of his life in ways both large and small. It's present in the routines they share, the habits they've developed, and the countless details they've memorized about one another. It's there in every inside joke, every familiar glance, every moment of understanding that requires no explanation. He stops noticing individual acts of love because they have become inseparable from daily life itself.

Sometimes he thinks about the version of himself from the beginning. The man who memorized small details without understanding why. The man who found himself looking for her in crowded rooms. The man who carried things for her, remembered her favorite snacks, and convinced himself none of it meant anything. Looking back now, the path seems obvious. Every small moment led here. Every quiet act of care. Every conversation. Every ordinary day spent together.

The realization doesn't overwhelm him the way he once imagined it might. Instead, it settles over him with the same warmth that has come to define so much of their relationship. A simple truth. A steady certainty.

She is his favorite person.

She is the first person he wants to tell things to, the person whose opinion matters most, the person who can make difficult days easier simply by existing. She is the person who knows him better than anyone else and the person he trusts most in return. More importantly, she is the person who makes the world feel familiar no matter where they are.

By the time Rehman understands all of this, it no longer feels like a revelation. It feels like something he has known for a very long time.

Because after everything—the realization, the quiet acts of care, the growing affection, the softness, the protectiveness, the love woven into everyday moments—it all comes back to one simple thing.

Home is no longer a place he returns to.

Home is her.

Chaahe tum kuch na kaho Maine sun liya Ke saathi pyar ka Mujhe chun liya Chun liya, maine sun liya (Even if you didn't say anything I've heard it That the companion of your love You've selected me to be that You've selected me, I've heard it)

asjafj hope u guys liked it!! as always, likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated <33