Chapter 10.

✵

"Rangeen chachu, zara eik baat batain, yeh naya minister humaray ghar mein rahay ga?" Filza enquired.
[Rangeen uncle, tell me one thing, this new minister will live in our home?]

With her arms wrapped around the headrest of the car, she leaned forward, her head resting on one side of the chair, looking at the elder man as he drove her towards her university. Only last week had the general elections taken place, and as expected, Arham Alamgeer had successfully won the seat in Mushkpur, getting a clean sweep he entered the provincial assembly and without any opposition was nominated as the chief minister.

"Ji Filza beti, woh ap keh ghar ki pichli annex mein rahain gai." He said.
[Yes Filza daughter, he will stay in the annex behind your house.]

"Ooh! That's very interesting." She grinned.

More to herself, than to the man she called uncle. Filza slid back into her seat, her legs clad in black leather pants crossed over each other. Nails painted a crimson red danced over the leather console digging their crescent shapes into it. Her mouth was set in a grin as the car rolled through the iron gates of the university. Playing with the name chain in het neck, she slid her sunglasses on, stepping out of the car as he stopped in front of the doors.

"When do I pick you up?"

"How about four thirty?"

"I'll be here then — you better not go somewhere else." The man warned.

"'Course not Rangeen meri jaan!" She teased.
[My life!]

"Yahi baat apni aunty ko aakar kaho. Us nai tou humara jeena haram kar rakha hai." Rangeen grumbled under his breath.
[Say these exact words to your aunty. She has made my life a living hell.]

"Barish Khanum itni achi, masoom si tou hai. Ap ainwi un par ilzam nahi lagain," she replied.
[Barish Khanum is so nice, so innocent. You are slandering her for no reason.]

"Whatever your floats boat."

"You mean 'whatever floats your boat', anyways, g'bye Rangeen I'll see you in the afternoon!"

Her flat sandals with the gold Hermes emblem crushed the loose gravel as she covered the remaining distance to the sandy steps. Capturing her hair in a ponytail, she brushed the remnants of her curtain bangs behind her ears, accidentally hitting her sore helix piercing. Hissing under her breath, she ran into the covered corridors, the silk ribbon on her camel colored tote flew around in the air behind her. A gentle breeze touched her bare arms, the half sleeves of her fitted tee kept them from getting too sweaty in the autumn weather.

With an arm wrapped around the leather strap, she pinched the threads in between her fingers, sweat marked the brown leather. Fiddling with the volume button of her mobile phone she looked through the large arches in the walkway. Flowers and vines crawled up the brick walls and wrapped around them in a choking grip, the perfumed scents would once have made it impossible to breathe without inhaling their sweet scent but the autumn made it a presentation of the decaying colors. Her shoulders squeezed through the bodies of her seniors, her eyes trained on the floors — too scared to make eye contact.

"Urm—excuse - excuse me!" She whispered.

Walking towards the two relatively friendlier looking girls, Filza took a deep breath. Who said the first week in university was easy? To meet unknown faces, to come face to face with teachers and students ten folds more intimidating, was something one needed an immeasurable amount of talent for. Raising her dark amber sunglasses, resting them on the crown of her head, Filza forwarded her phone in their direction, fingers crossed that ragging would not be her fate.

"How may we help you?"

One of them asked, the loud sound of her smacking the gum against the roof of her mouth caused Filza to shudder.

"Cou-could you tell me where is the department of - of English Literature?"

"You're an english major?"

The other one spoke up, her red hair, with thin finger coils pulled into a high ponytail, asked. Her bright blue eyes beaming at her.

"Yes."

"That's so cool! We're art history majors. I'm Heer Asad!" The one with the curly hair, introduced herself.

"Name's Afiya Durrani. Who are you?"

"F-Filza Azmaray Khan."

Her gaze flickered from Afiya's face to Heer's. Realization flooded their faces before it they turned back to oblivious looks. As if her status, the power that her name held meant nothing. The two hugged Filza, smothering her in their floral perfumes.

"You're officially our best friend now. However, a friendly advice, don't tell anyone your surname!" Afiya said.

"Alright—thank you, but the question remains, could you guide me to the faculty of English Lit?"

"Of course! It's right by our department. We'll walk you there!"

The two lead her, making space for her to walk in the middle of them. Gazes from every corner of the large grounds fell on the peculiar trio. Pressing her lips together, Filza wiped the sweat off of her upper lips. The walk on the cobblestone pathway seemed to last forever. It curved with red bricks lining the sides, fir trees towered over them and gave enough shade to protect them from the rays of direct sunlight. Her skin began turning red in patches — just one of the many consequences of how she felt. Her throat clogged up, deep breaths one at a time she reminded herself to keep strong.

They walked her to the auditorium her class was being held in. Exchanging her numbers with them, she walked into the room. A wooden podium was placed to one side, with three blackboards joined side by side. The words 'Introduction' were written in light yellow cursive. Large windows at the end of the auditorium allowed for sunlight to pass in, white lights kept the class alight as the occasional dark cloud passed by. Scratching the back of her head, she slid into a random seat in the middle of the class pulling her notebook out.

The phone inside her tote buzzed, a text message from her father. The contents of it instantly helped her heart lighten up. Her parents had braved through such turbulent pains and time, she could get through a lecture on her own — or she hoped. Her hopes fell out of her body as a strict looking man walked into the class. His back was straight — the posture her mother hoped she would adopt to soon. A small mustache over his thin crescent lips and a bald head that shone like the sun itself. He passed a smile to the half empty classroom, handing out thick worksheets — assignments from day one had been professor Durrani's signature move since day one.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

"Arham is this it? You sure nothing is left inside the car?" Lyana looked at him.

"Nope. We brought the rest of it in inside. Now it's just going to be a pain setting it all up." Arham replied.

"We'll help you out, minister sahab." She pinched his chin.
[Sir.]

Arham Alamgeer, chief minister of Mushkpur — the title still seemed like a dream. Six nights and seven days had already passed since the general elections but who was counting? Not him for sure. When the final ballots had been opened and the television screes had turned bright red with confetti pouring in from all directions, celebrating his win, Arham had lost his calm. Words left him, his mouth turned dry even as his parents and family congratulated him. Was it that easy achieving your dream? Was he really given what he wanted on a silver platter without much effort? He could not believe it.

"Kis khayal mein kho gaye ho?" Lyana patted his shoulder.
[In what thoughts are you lost?]

"Nothing."

He shook his head, nearing the curtain covered windows of his study room. He held the deep green curtain in the crook of his finger, pulling it back. Staring out of the window his eyes ran through the visible part of the estate. As far as his vision could see, there was nothing but vegetation and flowers. Everything in pristine condition. Autumn it seemed — did not hit this part of the country as hard as it hit the rest of it. The place was in a time capsule of its own. Even in all it's modernity, Arham sensed the old charm — the part that linked it to it's rich past and heritage.

"Don't lie Arham. You're not yourself."

Lyana's worried whisper caught his attention. Pivoting, he neared his mother, resting his hands on top of her shoulders. He stared into her eyes — offering silent reassurance.

"Kia ho gaya hai ap ko? Aisay tou kabhi nahi thay. Kuch bhujay bhujay so rehnay lagay ho, khayalon sai majal hai jo ap bahir nikal aain. Aur ab mujh sai jhoot bhol rahay hain." She said.
[What has happened to you? You were never like this. You've started to stay a bit upset, there is never a chance that you come out of your thoughts. And now you're lying to me too.]

"It's nothing mama. I'm just still in shock, I can't get over this. I'm a minister — I've finally done what I dreamed of. A part of me can not believe that it was all handed to me so easy. Where is the part where I was going to struggle?" He said in one go.

Looking at his mother for a second he stared at the portrait of Quaid-e-azam, before resuming his rant.

"You know what mama, mein tou is dafa jeetnay ki umeed bhi nahi rakh raha tha. Kitnay log hain jinko saal lag jatay hain, magar mein eik hi baar mein apnay mukam par pohanch gaya hun. Mein nashukri nahi kar raha bas thora sa heiran hun." He explained.
[You know what mama, I was not even expecting to win this time. There are so many people for whom it takes years, but I reached my destination in the first try. I am not being thankless, just a bit shocked.]

"Arham how you feel is completely normal. Jab har koi ap ko harnay ki tiyaari ka keh raha ho tou eik dum sai aisay jeet jana bohat shocking hota hai. Par beta har isnaan apni takdeer likhwa kar aata hai. Agar ap keh hissay mein manzil paany ki mushkil nahi thi tou ho sakta hai is ko panay keh baad ap ko eik kathan rasta tai karna ho. Par Allah karay ap ki zindagi mein kabhi koi mushkil na aaye, liking agar aai tou yaad rakhna, khuda kabhi zaroorat sai ziada bhoj nahi dalta kisi par." Lyana said.
[When everyone is telling you to prepare to loose then winning all of a sudden seems a bit shocking. But my child every person comes with their fate written. If there  isn't the struggle of reaching your destination in your fate then who knows there might be some after reaching this position. Although I hope Allah never brings any troubles in your life, but even if they do come, just remember, God doesn't burden anyone more than necessary.]

"Arey wah bhai meray saath reh kar ap ki mama samajhdar ho hi gayi hain!" Alamgeer spoke.
[Oh wow dude it looks like after staying with me has become intelligent too!]

He walked towards his wife and son, his words breaking the silent tension that had been reeking out of the room. Dropping a kiss on the side of his wife's head, Alamgeer wrapped a hand around his son's shoulder. Throwing a kiss on the region between his ear and forehead he ruffled his hair.

"We're so proud of you Arham, and I think there is something you deserve to have now." Alamgeer spoke.

He fiddled with his pockets, retrieving a small black box he passed it to his son, stepping back. The husband and wife waited in silence for their son to see what it was. Arham was stunned seeing the familiar brooch inside the box. It's delicate build still shone with clarity, as if it had not aged a day.

"This brooch belongs to your great grandfather. I think — we think, you'd have made him immensely proud. I want you to have a piece of him with you, so that it gives you comfort."

Arham felt himself moved to tears the longer he looked at the brooch.

"Why — why not Aliyaar?"

"Aliyaar has us, to remind him that he belongs where he is. That we are proud of him. You though, are going to be far away from us, so I decided it would be best we gift this to you."

"Arham, no need to worry. Aliyaar knows, and he was very ecstatic about this being passed on to you — he has claimed your grandfather's notebook. We would never want you to have a feud with your brother."

His mother's words gave him reassurance — unfortunately, it is not the people that plan.

✵

Sorry for a delayed update.
I had to because of Ashura.
But we're back on track so update on Sunday <333

The fire is burning.
It is building do we see?

Thoughts, comments and prayers here