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*

Taif

I entered the doctors' library at the hospital and almost immediately spotted Iman. She was sitting at a table, making notes, while blowing a bubble from her chewing gum. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and she had earphones plugged into her ears.

I made my way towards her, a small smile on her face. "Assalam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalam." She automatically replied, before looking up. Now that I was closer, I could see that her nose was red and she was sniffing.

"Are you sick?" I flopped down on the chair in front of her.

"Just a little flu. But I was told that I cannot be on duty today within the main hospital, so I asked if I can do some studying here instead, while technically still being paid for work." 

"Does Aunty know that you're sick and here?" I asked. It didn't seem like my mother-in-law to let Iman come to work while she was sick.

"Mama was asleep, and it didn't take me long to convince Appi to let me go because she was distracted by Hassam." She shook her head. "I didn't want to call in sick."

"Iman, we do get sick pay, you know?" 

"It's not about that. Not once have I called in sick for work, Alhumdulillah, and I don't want to start now." She tapped her pen against her notebook. "And it's not like I'm in the hospital itself. I'm here in the warm library." She looked up at me. "Anyway, how come you are here?" 

"I am trying to get a scholarship of sorts." I explained. "I want to start my training as a surgeon, and the hospital is offering a scholarship on the basis of passing a certain exam with over 90% marks. If I win this scholarship, I won't have to pay for the training. But if I don't, I'll have to pay the full amount."

"And how much is the full amount?" 

I scribbled something down on the top of the page of her notebook, and she glanced down at the number with a gasp.

"Taif..."

"So, as you can imagine, my whole future depends on me getting 90% or above."

"That's a high requirement." 

"It's about being a surgeon, Iman. Of course it's going to be hard." I turned away, starting to feel like I'd have to give up my dream of being a cardiothoracic surgeon. I couldn't afford it, and getting 90% or above seemed like an impossibility that I couldn't achieve.

"Work hard." She put her hand on mine. "Allah knows how much you want this, and In Sha Allah, if you do your very best, you will succeed. Ameen."

"Why is everything so much easier for the rich?" I muttered almost without thinking.

"You know what? I'll help you study!" She suggested. "It will help me as well when the time comes for me to take that exam."

"You don't need the exam." I realised too late that there was bitterness obviously present in my tone as I said that.

"What?" She blinked in surprise. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

I sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"What didn't you mean? What are you trying to say?" 

I turned my head, regretting my words.

"Are you suggesting that I would be a part of nepotism?" She asked. "That my father will buy a place for me in the training programme? Or that I don't even need to do anything. I'll just automatically get admitted because I'm the daughter of Dr Fawad Ali?" 

"I'm not saying that, Iman. It's just things are easier for you."

"How?" She stood up. "We are married. We live in the same household. Our situation is the same! How are things easier for me? You think I'll ask Papa to pay my fees?" 

"No, but you have a choice, Iman." 

"You know, Taif, I am not stupid. I know that people say those exact things about me, around me. But I didn't expect it from you!" She began to gather her stuff.

"I'm sorry, Iman. I didn't mean to hurt you." I stood up as well and walked around the table. "I sounded like a jealous a** right now, and I really am not. I got frustrated and I said those things, and I know that isn't an excuse, but please forgive me."

"I get your frustration, Taif. But you need to remember that we both are partners now. I am in the exact same position as you." She said, softly. "I will never use my father's influence or money to my advantage. Papa could have used his father's influence to become a surgeon in the best hospitals in Pakistan, you know. My Dada Jaan was a renowned neurosurgeon. But Papa did everything on his own basis. He didn't rely on Dada's Jaan's money, he won scholarships by his excellent grades. Ma Sha Allah. You think he'd raise me to depend on him to develop my career?"

I felt guilty for even thinking the possibility that Iman would use unfair advantages.

She placed a hand on my shoulder. "Yes, life is easier for the rich. But Allah doesn't reward hard workers based on their financial status. He rewards them based on their integrity, determination and desire to achieve their goal."

"On the scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me right now?" 

"Minus one billion." She smiled. "As I said, I understand your frustration. But you need to start remembering that I have no more advantage than you."

****

Even the damn exam had its own fees. I muttered colourful words under my breath, before submitting my application form to the admin office.

Iman had mentioned that people said things about her regarding her using her family name as an advantage to get ahead. But she was Iman Fawad, and I knew that she loved doing everything on her own basis. 

"I'm sorry, beta. We can't do much to help you financially." My mother had cried in front of me this morning, while my father had sat solemnly beside her. They both felt guilty for not being able to help me. In turn, I felt guilty for making them feel bad.

"Yes, life is easier for the rich. But Allah doesn't reward hard workers based on their financial status. He rewards them based on their integrity, determination and desire to achieve their goal." Iman's wise words rang through my mind again, and I smiled.

In Sha Allah, we will be fine. I just hope that Allah does what's best for us. And if that means that I can't be a surgeon, may He give me the strength to bear that with patience. Ameen.

*

Hania

"Smile!" Giggling, Hina ran around the back garden of my parents' house, holding her toy camera. She was a true Papa's Princess, and tried to copy everything that he did.

And Hamza? Yes, he loved his sons just like any father does, but Hina seemed to be just a little closer to his heart. Maybe, it was just because father's show their affection differently towards their sons than they do towards their daughters. But it was clear, that she had him wrapped around her pinkie finger.

As Hina played around with her kiddie camera, and Hamad rode his brand new bike around the paved part of the garden, I resumed reading my book. Ever since I'd become friends with Anaya Faiz, she has been recommending me amazing novels, and I had loved each and every one of them...too bad I rarely got time to read now. Every time I tried to read, my kids asked themselves, 'Why is Mama sitting peacefully?'. 

Hamad and Hina had both been given brand new bikes by their Dada Jaan. Hina only preferred riding hers when Hamza was around, while Hamad loved his bike so much that he called up his Dada Jaan and asked him to 'make Papa bring the bike here'. And naturally, his wish was a command for a doting grandparent, and the bike was sent over within a couple of hours.

"Assalam Alaikum."

I looked up and saw Iman walking towards me, looking exhausted. " Walaikum Assalam. I told you not to go to work. During flu, you use up your energy quite quickly."

She flopped down on the seat next to me.  She had already changed and was now holding a mug of coffee in her hand. "I'm fine."

"KHALLA!" Hina screamed happily, running over.

"Babe, not right now. I'm not feeling very well and I don't want you to get sick as well." Iman told her, gently.

"Look at my camera!" Hina held it up for her aunt to see.

"Wow, that's awesome, Hina. Very nice!" She gave Hina an air-kiss, and my daughter returned it. Those two were besties, Ma Sha Allah, probably even closer than me and Iman. My sister looked at me. "Where's Hassam?" 

"In Mama's room with her. Didn't you go and say Salaam to her?"

"I didn't disturb her, thinking that she was asleep." She looked up towards the sky, and I saw that there was a shadow worry over her normally relaxed expressions. The natural light in her eyes were dimmed, and the way she gazed up at the sky, it seemed like she was pleading with Allah for something. 

"Everything okay?" I asked her.

She turned to look at me again and gave me a small, unconvincing smile. "Alhumdulillah. I guess I'm just worn out. I should have called in sick." She glanced at the novel in my hands. "What are you reading?" 

"Nothing you'd be interested in." 

She took the book from me, and I felt grateful that I had a bookmark inserted. She raised both eyebrows as she read the title, "Enchanted? Like the Disney film?" 

*Not a real novel. Any resemblance to a real novel/story is purely coincidental.

"No. It's more metaphoric. Like how love is enchanting!" I said, dreamily. "Best part? It's written by a desi writer. I feel like we aren't represented enough."

"I agree on the second part, but the first part made me gag. Love is enchanting? Really, Appi?"

"It is enchanting!"

"You are a dreamer." She took a sip of her coffee.

"You don't think love is enchanting?" 

"I think love is an emotion, and there's nothing enchanting about emotions. It's just a part of being human." She shrugged. 

"Oh my God, you're so boring."

"I'm boring?" She grinned. "Really, Appi?" 

"Don't get started." I frowned, turning away. For some reasons the years of her taunting me and my supposed inability to have fun came crashing back into my mind.

"I didn't mean..." She seemed to have realised her error. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to behave like my past self. But I still find you boring. You are not impulsive at all." She grinned cheekily at me, and I knew that she really hadn't intended to be hurtful. She was just being a sister. 

"I can be impulsive." And nobody knows that better than Hamza.

Iman's phone rang, and she answered it almost immediately. "Assalam Alaikum, Taif."

I bit back a smile.

"What? Now?" She sounded confused. "Okay, I'll come. I'll check with Appi if she'll be fine. I'll be there soon. Allah Hafiz." After ending the call, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Everything okay?" 

"Mr Bukhari's cousin, Ghazala Phupho is coming over from Birmingham. Taif was saying if I can come home for the night. Will you be okay with the kids here?" She stood up.

"Of course. I'll call Hamza to stay over if necessary." I was studying her expressions. She looked tensed. I guess it was just a normal in-laws thing.

She walked off, and I suddenly realised something. Normally when Iman was around, there was liveliness, loudness and laughter. But recently, she was quieter and more sober.

Ya Allah, please always keep my Mani happy and away from all problems and troubles. Ameen.

*

Iman

I had been horrified when I'd discovered that Ghazala Phupho lived in the UK as well, in Birmingham. It meant that there was a good chance of her regularly visiting us.

Why couldn't it be my Fari Phupho rather than Taif's not-even-real Phupho?

I arrived home and closed the door lightly behind me, taking a deep breath. I felt weirdly nervous, but I walked inside, keeping up a brave façade. "Assalam Alaikum!"

From London, it could take up to two and half to three hours to get to Birmingham by road. And Ghazala Phupho's son had the privilege to drive his mother here, along with his wife.

Zakir Bhai and Afshan Bhabi sat quietly on the sofa, with glasses of cold drinks in their hand, while I could hear Ghazala Phupho even from outside the house.

"Walaikum Assalam!" Everyone replied.

I sat down beside my mother-in-law, who smiled at me. "Beta, how is your mother now?" 

"Alhumdulillah, better." I replied.

"How often do you visit your maika?" Ghazala Phupho asked, frowning.

"Her mother wasn't well, Phupho. She had to visit." Taif explained gently.

"Aur waise bhi, Maa Baap ka khayal rakhna jawan aulaad ka fardh hota hai." Mrs Bukhari added.

*"And anyway, it is the duty of grown up kids to take care of their parents."

"It's also her duty to take care of her in-laws." Ghazala Phupho glanced at me, almost in disgust.

"No, it's really not." Mr Bukhari spoke up. "It's Taif's duty to look after us, not Iman's. Not Islamically. Taif has a duty towards us and Iman, and Iman has a duty towards Taif and her parents. The fact that she looks after us is her good upbringing, and a caring personality." 

Ghazala Phupho was silently fuming. I had a feeling that she had specially come over to see how I was doing in this family. Some people loved to poke their noses in other people's family.

"Excuse me." I politely got up and headed to the kitchen, to get a glass of water. My mouth was feeling too dry. Does controlling your tongue makes your throat dry by any chance?

It turns out I wasn't too off the mark regarding Ghazala Phupho's intentions.

*

"Kuch halaat behtar huay?" Ghazala Phupho's voice floated up the stairs.

*"Did your circumstances improve?" 

I was at the landing, heading to the bathroom, and I had not intended to eavesdrop, until I heard something that made my blood boil.

"Maine kaha tha. Jahaiz maang laina chahiye tha. Maa Baap to kuch bhi karlete hain beti ke aaram ke liye, khaas kar ameer Maa Baap." Phupho continued.

*"I told you. You should have asked for dowry. Parents do anything for the comfort of their daughter, especially rich parents."

"We don't need anything. Why should we burden her parents when we have everything we need in life? A roof over our head, food on our table, enough money to pay the bills and rent." Mr Bukhari replied.

"Main tu kehti hoon, ladki ko bataye baghari uske baap see paisa nikal walo." Phupho spoke conspiratorially.

*"I'm telling you, without telling the girl, ask her father for some money."

I put my hand over my mouth, literally horrified by that woman's thinking.

"Ghazala Baji, you are here, most welcome. But please don't say such things, especially in front of Iman." Mrs Bukhari said, pleadingly. 

"Ek gadi to de nahin saka apne damaad ko uska baap. Us ne to bas apne sar se bojh utarnay ka socha. Yeh bhi nahin socha ke uski beti hamare liye bojh ban sakti hai." Phupho wouldn't shut up.

*"Her father couldn't even give a car to his son-in-law. He just thought about getting rid of his burden. He didn't even think that his daughter can become a burden on us."

That's it! I headed into my bedroom and slammed the door so hard, that I had no doubt that everyone got my message. Angry tears flowed down my cheeks and I resisted the urge to scream out. I bit my tongue, both literally and metaphorically, because I didn't want to seem like a badtameez. She was already saying such horrid things about my father, I didn't want her to further insult both my parents.

*Badtameez: Insolent person.

The door opened and Taif walked in. "Iman." Closing the door behind him, he walked over to me.

"She's testing my patience, Taif!" I cried out, a sob escaping my lips. "I will not be able to hold myself back any longer. Insult me, I don't give a s**t! But if anyone even thinks of talking crap about my parents, I will do something that everyone will regret!"

"I'm sorry, Iman!"

"Quit apologising! Give me a solution, not a sorry!" I snapped. I knew I was being unfair to him, but I wasn't used to quietly tolerating injustice. It was wrong on too many levels. "Your mother has asked me not to backtalk, and I have respected her so far, but Taif, my limits are being crossed. I will not remain silent much longer." I turned to walk towards my window, and my body physically ached from stopping myself from lashing out at that fasadan downstairs.

*Fasadan: someone who likes to create problems/dramas in other people's lives.

Taif quietly exited the room, and for a brief second I wished that he had the courage to stand up for me.

*

Taif

"Please do not talk about Iman or her family like that." I strode into the living room, jaw clenched.

"He's already a ran mureed." Ghazala Phupho shook her head at me.

*Ran mureed: dominated by his wife, also known as 'jorru ka ghulam'.

"You are being unfair, and downright horrible to her." I spoke politely, but inside me a fire of rage was building up. "If you are here, live in peace and harmony. Do not try to poison my parents' thinking against my wife and her family."

"Oh, so she has brainwashed you already?" Phupho asked. "Did you see the way she was slamming doors upstairs? Such attitude!"

"What, do you prefer that she comes down and talk back to you?" I questioned. "Please, Phupho. Don't ruin the peace of our family!"

"Taif, you've said enough." Ammi Jaan told me. "Please go. We'll deal with it!"

"Such disrespect for the adults! Astaghfirullah! Our Taif used to be such a good boy! I'm sure it's the influence of that girl!" 

I looked at Ammi Jaan, silently pleading with her to stop her before I crossed my limits.

"Ghairat hoti na tum main, to uske baap se apna haq khud mangte!" 

*"If you had any self-respect, you would ask her father yourself for your right!"

"Ghairatmand loug mangte nahin, khud kamate hain." I replied. "And what right are you talking about? Dowry is not a right! It's something reasonable, that parents give willingly to their daughter, but it's not something that should be demanded or expected. I married Iman, not her inheritance!"

*"Respectable people don't ask, they earn it." 

I was shaking with anger now, something I'd never experienced before. But the mistreatment of the girl who was doing so much to fit into my family was absolutely unacceptable. Call it old-fashioned, but defending Iman was a part of my duty as her husband, and I planned on doing so till the day I died...even though Iman was perfectly capable of defending herself. I headed out of the room and up the stairs, my head pounding with a dull ache.

When I entered the room, Iman was sitting on the bed. She looked up at me, wide-eyed. In a terraced house like ours, voices echoed around, even from one house to another. She had most likely heard everything.

I walked over and placed my hands on her cheeks. "You are respecting my mother and not talking back and fighting for yourself. But I will fight for you. Your silence doesn't mean your weakness, Iman. You are just repeatedly proving what a well-raised, strong girl you are. As you know, in Islam, the real strength is the ability to hold back your tongue."

"I was never known to hold back my tongue."

"But you are doing it now. Why?" 

She gave me a small smile. "Because I have in-laws who stand up for me. They don't give me the opportunity to defend myself, because they defend me in a way that only family can."

I sat down next to her. "This is bulls**t. She can't just come to our house and insult you like this."

"It would be worse if nobody stood up for me, while also expecting me to remain silent." She admitted. "But I can't complain when you and your parents are all fighting back for me."

"You are too good."

"I know." She grinned just as I pressed my mouth against hers. "Taif! Back off! I still have sneeze germs."

"Sneeze germs? Is that officially a medical term now?" I teased.

"It's an Iman-Term." 

I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her down onto the bed on our backs. "Iman-Terms are cute." 

As I leaned towards her again, she pressed a hand over my mouth. "Seriously, Taif. I don't want you to get sick as well. You're already at risk, by being so close to me."

"What kind of love comes without risks?" 

"Oh my God, you dork!" She giggled.

"And besides, I have a live-in doctor with me." I moved to lean over her completely, my hands resting on either side of her head.

"Taif..."

I leaned closer and kissed her neck, her jawline, her cheeks. I'd missed being close to her. She was proving herself each day to be stronger beyond my imagination. It made me feel proud of her. It made me want to love her more. And it was happening. I was falling in love harder and harder each day.

*

Iman

"Do you know why I am here?" 

Much to my despair, I'd found myself alone downstairs with Ghazala Phupho. Taif had gone out to get some naan, and my parents-in-law went to pray Isha upstairs. Zakir Bhai and his wife had gone out to see some friends.

To cause fires in people's lives? To destroy other people's peace? "I'm assuming it is to see your cousin and his family." I replied, tonelessly. And ruin their lives. And to taunt the hell out of the new bahu, because you are not the stereotypical Phupho until you do so.

Oops. Sorry, Fari Phupho, you are an exception to this rule.

"Oh, you naïve girl. They didn't tell you?" She shook her head, feigning sympathy. "Their financial circumstances are so bad, that they are at the risk of losing this house as well. How can they keep this from you?" 

I blinked at her, surprised.

"Do you want your husband and your in-laws to end up on the road?" She continued, lowering her voice so that nobody heard her. "You are the only bahu of the family. Do something for them. I'm sure your father will be happy to prevent your homelessness, right?" 

"Allah will take care of us." I kept my tone polite again. 

"Allah doesn't appreciate selfish people. And you are being selfish right now."

"If I was being selfish, I would ask him for help. But self-respect and self-sufficiency is very important to Taif. I won't do anything that would make him feel degraded."

She sighed. "Seems like I'll have to step in, for the sake of my cousin and his family."

I walked away before I lost my control. A'udhu billahi min ash-shaytaan-ir-rajeem. 

*'I seek refuge with Allah, from Satan, the rejected." We have been told to recite this when angry, in order to prevent yourself from saying or do something in the heat of the moment.

*

"Is the financial situation really that bad?" I asked Taif, when we were in our bedroom, getting ready for bed.

He looked up at me, surprised. "Why are you asking that?"

Ghazala Phupho had gone to a hotel for the night, with her son and daughter-in-law, to my relief. But she was going to be here bright and early for breakfast.

"Ghazala Phupho was telling me that there's a risk of us losing this house. Are we unable to pay the rent?" 

"Things are tight, but we will manage this month." He got under the duvet and took his glasses off.

"And next month?"

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." 

I got into bed beside him, and grabbed both his hands. "Listen, I have some savings, okay? I told you before. Please take that money. We are partners, equals. And this is my home as well, so I have a duty to provide for it as well." 

He looked at me. "Keep it for a rainy day, Iman." 

I felt worried out of my mind.

"I will not let my elderly parents and you come out on the streets." He promised me. 

"We won't." I corrected him. "Let me fully recover, and I will work overtime as much as I can. But, promise me, Taif. You will use my savings if things are looking completely hopeless. Let me feel like I'm a part of your family, your partner."

"I promise." He placed a hand on my cheek. "I love you, Iman."

"I love you, too."

He pulled me towards himself and kissed me, softly but deeply. "Small or big, this is our home and we will take care of it, Iman. We will fight to keep it."

"In Sha Allah." 

Maybe Appi was right. Maybe love was enchanting. Because despite the difficulties and concerns, being with Taif, I felt like I was a part of something incredibly special and pure. A companion who would hold my hand through all circumstances, good or bad. A partner who loved my strength, rather than be offended by it. 

He continued kissing me on the lips, on my cheeks, on my neck, making me feel like my skin was on fire, in the best way possible of course. 

MATURE

I reached down and pulled at his shirt. "I want you as close to me as you can possibly be." 

In the heat of the moment, I forgot my mild flu. I forgot about everything else but him.

I tilted my head back and gasped as I felt him gently bite the delicate skin on my neck, before soothing the light sting with his kisses. His hands reached under my shirt, resting on my bare waist. 

"Iman..." He groaned out my name, right before pulling my shirt off. 

The first time we had s*x in this room, he had turned the revolving fan on, faced away from us. Upon my questioning, he told me that it would help in drowning out the sound of the bed creaking. I'd laughed it off until one day, when my parents-in-law were visiting friends, Taif and I had gotten intimate, and I'd realised how loud the creaking of the bed really was. 

"Fan?" I asked him, now a part of our routine now.

He grinned, and I got up from the bed to turn the fan on, turning it away from us. I returned to bed, giggling softly, and he sat up, taking me into his arms. My mouth pressed against his, my hair curtaining our faces. As we kissed, he pulled me back down onto the bed, rolling me over to be on top of me.

We used protection and we made love long into the night. Once we were done, and as I lay in Taif's arms, hearing his gentle breathing as he slept, I glanced towards the window. The fan was pointed at the curtains, and as they lifted up, I caught a glimpse of the starry sky outside.

The night represents the difficulties in our lives, the stars represents the hope (the light in the dark), and the rising sun was the ease after the hardship. Everything was like a metaphor in our lives; everything can be used as a life lesson for us. 

We were having some difficulties, but we were like the stars in each other's lives, preventing the darkness from completely overwhelming us. There will be a morning, In Sha Allah. There will be ease.

We just need to be patient, and to always love and support each other as we did now.

*

"Husband?" 

"Yes, wife?" 

I grinned as I glanced at Taif, who had his laptop open on the bed, focused on typing something. "Breakfast time. Your Ammi Jaan is calling you."

"What's for breakfast?" He asked.

"Well, I made omelette, and you Ammi Jaan made parathay." 

"You made omelette?" He looked at me almost suspiciously.

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean? I can make stuff."

"With the grace of YouTube." He chuckled, getting up and walking over to me, grabbing my hands. "I need to leave for work in forty minutes."

"Okay, then hurry up." I turned to go.

"Sweetheart." Clearly he was still in the mood, after last night. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, my back against his chest.

My cheeks warmed up at the term of endearment. "Taif, literally everyone is downstairs." 

He leaned down to nuzzle my neck, before kissing it softly. He turned me around and looked directly into my eyes. "I love you. And I love this." He pointed towards my chest.

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

"No! I meant your heart!" His cheeks turned red now.

I burst out laughing. "Oops. My bad." I pressed my fingertips over his mouth. "We have to go, Taif. Seriously."

"Come to think about it, maybe I wasn't just talking about your heart."

"Okay, that's my cue to walk right out of here." I turned around and headed to the door.

I went downstairs, feeling happy and relaxed. At this point, it felt like nobody could spoil my mood...

...but I guess Ghazala Phupho's existence didn't depend on oxygen. It depended on sucking the happiness out of a person's soul.

"Iman, dear." Mrs Bukhari said, softly, as I sat beside her. "Ghazala Baji called and invited your parents for tea. She wants to meet them."

I looked up sharply at Taif's not-Phupho. 

"She got me to dial Jasmina Bhabi's number." Mrs Bukhari explained. "And she invited them over herself."

Fitay moun!

*Curses!

*

What drama is Ghazala Phupho going to cause?

Will Taif and Iman lose their home?

Do you think the idea of nepotism could become a potential issue between Iman and Taif?

Thoughts and comments?

Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote!