My parents' room is themed maroon. The wall behind their bed is plastered with maroon wallpaper with golden block print. Their furniture is mahogany brown and my mother has decorated it with several flower vases, Dadi's crochet table mats and frames on walls with Quranic verses.

I sit on her bed, Baba and Dadi sitting on the two chairs in the corner watching me with wide unblinking eyes. The morning sun seeps through the golden curtains, streaking me with heavenly light. I watch their exhausted faces, from taking shifts at the hospital to stay over with Hanaan, Dadi keeping up with house chores while my mother wasn't present and Baba running back and forth between his office, home and hospital.

We're all in this together but no one's really on the same level of life as me.

Baba runs a hand down his face. "I will need some time."

Dadi mirrors his perplexity.

I wonder what bothers them more; Hanaan capable of doing all this or me bearing the entire brunt of her actions? Taha Muhammad smiles from ear to ear in my head. You've got no proof for her sins.

I sit back. Testing people's loyalties is my new passion.

Ahmad Mamu proved himself to me when I woke up at five after a twelve hour blackout and found him sleeping on the couch in our lounge, laptop and files scattered about the centre table, many empty cups with tea bags hanging out sitting in the sink in my kitchen. He woke up at seven and excused himself to go prepare for his court proceedings today. He didn't get a chance to talk to me, I had locked my room, I was working out.

Today Hana woke up early and prayed Fajr. Hana prayed to Allah to side by her because she didn't expect anyone else to. Hana made herself a smoothie and Hana exercised. Hana made herself breakfast and prepared a bean and potato salad to take with her to the hospital later. Hana even baked some quick fudge brownies for Hanaan, the perfect blend of bittersweet. Hana waited for Baba to come home before he headed back to work and Hana told him and Dadi everything.

They can take all the time they need. Today Hana is in no hurry.

"What now?" Baba's lack of questions surprises me but so be it. "Yahya is handling the case, you say. They are working with cyber-crime, till now Waheed must be aware of the takeover on his accounts, he will react impulsively but Ahmad and his boys are already looking into it." He runs a hand down his face again. "What do we do with Hanaan?"

The million dollar question, ain't it?

"Baba."

His eyes look up into mine; bloodshot. The ghosts flickering behind them apologise to me but today they do not tarnish my wrath. "Mena."

I laugh inwardly. RIP jugnoo.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ears. "You have to tell this to Mama." His eyes widen. Before he can refuse, I add, "Hanaan is her entire world, Baba. She will not accept this truth from my tongue. She will see my faults in this whole fiasco, ask me why I took those pictures of me in the first place that could tug at a man's heartstrings. She will not see Hanaan's fault in sending them over to Waheed neither will she hold Waheed entirely responsible for photoshopping my face on nude bodies." Baba flinches. Good.

"Hana." Dadi seeks my eyes. "Your mother loves you—"

"She loves Hanaan more."

Truth strikes like a shard of ice, painfully cold. They avert their gazes.

Baba takes in a deep breath. "What Hanaan did is absolutely wrong, she needs to realise it and make up for it. But we must let her heal first."

Dadi peers into my eyes. "But what about Hana's wounds?"

They watch me with bewilderment. I let them wallow in this pain. Some wounds never heal. Forever they shall watch me bleed.

"Nashwa will meet me at the hospital in half an hour." I get up to my feet. "We need to inform Hanaan what has happened ever since she collapsed so she knows what's coming." I relish in the shock on their faces.

Hana is up on her feet so quick?

Hana is done being under other people's feet.

"I should get going."

"Hana—"

Dadi holds Baba back and I don't turn to answer him, I cannot take the risk of giving in to his words. Parents should never have to choose between two children but always always they choose the one which needs the mercy of the other. If I forgive Hanaan and take her back into my arms, our family will be whole again but what would become of me?

By the doormat of my house I stop. A bouquet of pale pink roses sits by wrapped in silver paper. I turn it around to check for a card but find none so I pick it up and step outside the main gate, discarding it into the large bin that waits for the trash truck to come and empty it.

Someone's playing a trashy game. And I'm not up for it.

Chacha Ali Gul drives me to the hospital. When I called Nashwa this morning via my landline, she asked me where I disappeared to yesterday. I didn't hold back from telling her I wasn't ready to face Hanaan so Mamu took me home and he stayed with me. She must face reality too. Ahmad Mamu is still my Mamu and I don't have to cut that tie with him just because he cut his with hers. That's their problem, not mine.

Nashwa asked her Mami, still on the phone with me, if she could come over to the hospital. I could hear her telling Nashwa of course Hana would need you, what would she do without you? Something in me eased now that Nashwa and Haala Mami are on good terms again but I didn't let Haala Mami's disdain get to my heart because she's that auntie that loves to compare her daughter with me.

So be it. Let her have her cake and the calories that come with it.

At the hospital, I walk with meaningful strides knowing where every footstep is leading me. I watch with yearning eyes, the doctors running about, lab coats flapping behind them, stethoscopes around their collars, signing files and checking on patients who look at them with all the trust in their eyes. I want that someday for myself and it is ironic, I've been a caretaker to Hanaan all my life and though I'm tired of it, I know it's what I am best at: caring relentlessly.

People point it out as a weakness of mine. I aim to make a successful career and skyrocketing bank balance out of it.

In sha Allah.

My steps halt and my mouth sours when I see Nashwa standing by the door of Hanaan's room. It's not her that bothers me but rather the bouquet of red roses in her arms. She pulls her head back and sneezes all over it. Beside her, sitting on a bench with a back pack by his feet, Taha Muhammad watches her with amused eyes and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. "Mind the germs, will you."

Nashwa blows her nose and hands it back. "Weren't you taught to say yarhamukallah instead?" She clicks her tongue. "Modern Muslims forgetting their Islamic heritage."

He flashes her a coy smile. "And here I thought only Hana was an Amma Jaan. It runs in your family."

She shakes her head. "I like to point out people's ugliness. Hana points out consequences we don't see."

"And consequences mean nothing to you?"

"I like to think all my actions are calculated."

Taha Muhammad looks impressed.

Nashwa rubs her nose. "Hana however firmly believes I'm bad at math!"

He laughs whole heartedly and something in my chest pinches. What calculation did Nashwa do exactly when she left that notebook for him at their university?

I walk closer and they straighten. Taha Muhammad runs a hand through his dark hair, twilight eyes taunting me. "Hana Jaan."

I roll my eyes at him. "Do you really have nothing to do in life? No purpose? No vision?"

"I had two classes this morning, from eight to ten." He checks his smart watch. "It's past noon and I'm not one to stay after class to lick my Professor's brain." His smile widens when I avert my gaze. So what if I took my studies seriously?

I extend my hand to Nashwa. "My phone, please."

Taha Muhammad places it on my palm instead. "I picked it up once Boss Lady put it aside in your sister's room yesterday." His eyes glint. "I'll return her singing video if you promise to be a good girl first."

"Excuse me?"

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a Pepsi bottle, winking at me. "You can kiss my feet later."

Every inch of my skin is on fire. I needed that video. Whatever plans I had with it, it did not concern him. If he went through my phone to remove that video, what else did he go through? My gallery? My numerous screenshots of notes and textbooks?

Nashwa sneezes again and I turn to the flowers in her arms. It is unlikely for Nashwa to bring flowers for Hanaan, she's not so formal, she's even allergic and red roses? Someone's sending her roses and she brought them over so Haala Mami would not question them.

Red for Nashwa. Pink for Hana.

"Keep trying." Taha Muhammad pulls the bottle away from his lips. "You might just set them on fire with your eyes." He waves a hand in front of his nose. "Jealousy's in the air."

"Are you sending these to her?"

"Maybe."

"Ah no!" Nashwa shakes her head. "I bought these for Hanaan," she says defensively. "With my own money. No one's sending them—"

"I saw a similar bouquet by your doorstep yesterday. These look fresh."

"Let's consider the proposition. What if I am sending these to her?" Taha challenges. "Does that bother you, Hana Jaan?"

"Better you than Waheed, I suppose."

Clouds gather behind his eyes. Curiosity will get the best of him. He scratches the back of his neck. Nashwa's nose is reddening again, she's about to sneeze, she does.

The door to Hanaan's room opens and Doctor Amima steps out. She closes the door behind her and watches us one by one. Her eyes stop on me. "Hana."

I arch a brow at her. "That would be me."

"I can see that."

Today she wears a mauve colour hijab over a purple shirt and again black jogger pants. Her black sneakers have purple highlights to match her attire and are ticked with Nike. Today her silver wrist watch is accompanied by a bronze bracelet with purple stones in it. Doctor Amima is a flower all over. Soft face and delicate beauty but her voice and words and attitude are entirely made of thorns. They prick when she says, "You disappoint me."

My eyes flit over to an alarmed Nashwa and an amused Taha.

I arch my brow again. Care to elaborate?

"As a doctor—" she folds her arms across her chest. "My duty is to my patient. Be that a criminal, a serial killer, a married cheater, home wrecker or a heart breaker. It does not influence my efforts for their recovery; I put my best in healing even the worst." Her eyes flash at me. "Although, once they have recovered, I am immensely brutal with them. But this is just your sister." Her arm flies to the door behind her, eyes gleaming. She pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and holds it in my face. "And you announced war when she was at her weakest."

I stare at Hanaan's redemption list. Why is my heart beating so fast?

"What sort of a woman are you, Hana Junaid? To stab from the back, to fight someone half your size—" I draw in a sharp breath "—in intelligence and morale, to fight someone not even armoured when you hold so many weapons?"

This is not fair. She doesn't even know—

"But more so, what sort of an elder sister are you?"

Why do I feel bad? Why is my heart squeezing? This is exactly what I took four painkillers for this morning. To not feel.

"Be grateful." Her cool flames diminish to a cold frost. "She never saw it else she would have shattered even under the influence of those drugs."

Wasn't I the fragile one? No one looks out for me like that.

"Since yesterday, she has been asking for you. I see remorse in her eyes blazing so bright, no wonder she's burning on the outside with a fever of one hundred and two."

Another squeeze in my heart. I don't want to feel. I don't want to feel.

"I do not know what she did to you, Hana." Doctor Amima extends Hanaan's list to me. "But I can tell she regrets it more than anything. Don't cut the ties that can be untangled—"

"—I'm only human."

She nods. "You bleed when you're cut, you die when you bleed too much." Her eyes are filled with a sadness I cannot make much of behind the hard exterior she is putting on the front. "But ask yourself; will your heart really not bleed if your sister's does?"

No. Because I will not allow it.

Her cheeks pull up behind her niqab into a smile. "I'll let you go in and figure that out for yourself." She reaches over to grab my hand and places the list on it. "And I'll see if you disappoint me again, Hana. I don't think you used a pencil on that paper just because it was the only thing lying about." Her eyes smile again. "Some mistakes can be erased and you wanted that margin. The margin your sister couldn't give herself."

She buries her hands deep into her pockets and walks away.

I look at the paper in my hand. I did write if over when with a pencil. And I do carry an eraser in my tote bag with me. My heart skips a beat. First Taha Muhammad deletes that video off my phone, now Doctor Amima. Isn't the whole world on the lookout for Hanaan?

"For when, if, Hana loves me again." I stiffen as the scent of a cool and masculine drugstore body spray hits me. "Adopt a new Persian cat, dye Nashwa's hair brown again—" he looks up at Nashwa —"I knew your hair wasn't naturally red, ouch!" I fold the list and slide it in my bag. Taha Muhammad holds his ribs where I elbowed him.

He glares at me. "I thought you'd be soft but God, you're pointy."

"Are you fat shaming me?"

His eyes widen in alarm. "No—"

"—and you're also invading my personal space. Both physically and mentally."

"I knew I had an effect on you—"

"Mind your limits, please!"

He watches me, from under long eyelashes, his stupid Cheshire cat smile infuriating me. "Did Doctor Beautiful hit a nerve?"

Doctor Beautiful? He hasn't even seen her face.

"Oh I like this!" His grin widens as he looks past me. I turn over my shoulder to watch Yahya heading over, dressed decently as always in a button down shirt over jeans, soft hair falling delicately on his forehead, his posture straight and not lanky like Taha's. Taha steps forward and takes his brother in his arms, kissing his forehead. "Right on time, Yoyo. We're pulling a heist. You and me."

Yahya's watchful eyes take in Nashwa and me. "Is that so?"

Taha nods. "Consider it a test of my abilities. We're pulling out a file from archives in this grand private hospital." His eyes are glinting with the brightest of moons I could have ever seen. Yahya would never agree—

"Why not?" He folds his arms across his chest. "It'll make a grand story for Sila, I suppose?"

Sila. Right. He's engaged.

Taha scoffs. "The things we do for love, brother."

"Love?"

Taha nods. "We're going after a woman. Target information is her marital status."

"Do you even know her name?"

"Amima." Nashwa pipes in and I subject her entirely to the heat of my gaze. She shrugs at me, stars in her own eyes, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Amima Fareed."

Taha holds his heart. "You, Boss Lady, have eased the entire dilemma for me. All we gotta do is pull costumes. I'll be the doctor. Yahya, you can sit in a wheelchair and pretend to be heavily drugged and drowsy, drooling all over as you do in your sleep—"

"—my acting skills are limited and no one would believe you to be a doctor with that face—"

"—beautiful as it is—"

"—I support a more serious and graceful personality; I'll trick the eye."

"And you call me self-obsessed."

They turn to us and Nashwa sighs. Before she can volunteer to join in, I shake my head at them. "Tell me this is a joke."

Yahya crosses his arms. Taha grins at me. "Do we look like a joke?"

You do. I let the silence stretch out before I say, "You're violating a woman's privacy and respect—"

"Hana Jaan." Taha Muhammad picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "Loosen yourself a little, won't you? We're not assaulting her, we're not spreading fake news or creating a scene, just slipping in, testing our skills and slipping back out with a trace of information—"

"Would you like it if some idiotic boys did the same with your sister?"

His eyes flash. "Why don't you just be concerned about your sister, not mine? After all that's your sister in there." He points behind me at the door, voice cold. "Not mine."

And it's not my fault she's in there.

I raise my chin high. "If you get caught you'll owe me a favour."

He grins that stupid wide smile of his. "But if I don't get caught, you'll owe me a favour instead." The moon in each of his eyes flashes dangerously at me.

I'm one lawyer's daughter, another's niece. I cross my fingers behind my back. "Deal."

He laughs, Yahya grins besides him and Nashwa is taken aback. We watch them disappear into a staff room before she turns to me. "Your vibe is different today."

I shrug. Painkillers in my bloodstream. And agendas on my mind.

"Ready for this?" she gestures with her eyes towards Hanaan's door.

I take in a deep breath. "You'll do the talking?"

She nods. "I'll take it easy on her though; don't expect me to fire all bullets at once."

I don't.

She knocks on the door and I mutter a prayer to Allah. I don't focus on my heartbeat or the blood rushing in my ears. As much as Taha Muhammad exasperates me, he has distracted my mind successfully which will come back to bite me later.

But this has to happen. I must face Hanaan at some point. If I cower away now, hide in my room and 'take my time to heal', I may appear as weak and I cannot let my own self shatter me, prove me fragile. Because I know for a fact I'm not.

We step in slowly, Nashwa goes in first, I do after her.

My heart lurches in my ribcage wanting a way to her; Hanaan.

Her aura hits me first. Bright and radiant as always, smiling to my mother who spoon feeds her porridge. Her existence hits me then, those dry branches in my chest poking at my throat, at my chest, at my heart in so many places, it may just puncture. But there's a slow ache spreading about in my chest. A longing. To take her hands into mine and say her name with a sob and all this would just be a terrible nightmare. I would wake up to her face staring into mine, demanding pancakes for breakfast, Hana!

Armour up, Hana. Pain for pain.

Nashwa drops the flowers by Hanaan's side and I ask, voice emotionless, "How are you?"

She gulps, the little lioness, as she looks in my eyes. All she does is nod. I take satisfaction in that. I catch my mother's eye as she sets aside the porridge bowl and begins to tidy up the room. I can't do this with her around.

"I baked you some brownies." I take out the box from my bag.

Hanaan's eyes light up the way they always do at my bakings. "You did?"

I hum, handing over the box to her, catching my mother's smile. Hanaan struggles to unlid it, I do not help her. Once she manages, she takes a deep breath in, letting her eyes close to the heavenly aroma of cocoa. Her shoulders pull back and loosen. Her face is paler, I notice. There are dark circles under her eyes and she looks flimsy. In these few days, she has lost a lot of weight. I look over to my mother, so has she.

Nashwa and I sit down by Hanaan's bed. I am silent as my mother asks Nashwa if she's all prepped up for her university classes that start tomorrow. Nashwa tells her she has bought some abayas and stoles because a chadar is too troublesome to manage and doesn't do much good since it slips. And now that she's heading into a bigger world, she wants to be hassle free and confident but also modestly covered. My mother smiles at that and praises her with a Ma Sha Allah.

My mother gets up then. "You two stay with Hanaan. I have to get her some clothes from the house, I'll be back in an hour." We watch her go and when we turn back to Hanaan, the entire atmosphere of the room has shifted.

My heart throbs at the sight of her. Neha wasn't sweet talking when she said Hanaan is pretty, she is. From first sight only, you can tell she's a cheeky angel but today all her lights are out.

She looks between Nashwa and me. I catch the tremor in her hands and the trembling in her lower lip. When Nashwa takes her hand in both of hers, I hold my gaze with Hanaan knowing that if I look away now, it would break her apart. And I know all too well how excruciating that feels.

Will your heart really not bleed if your sister's does?

We're both bleeding: Hana and Hanaan.

"Hana."

My glass heart cracks. Nashwa pries Hanaan's eyes away from me. "I'm about to fulfil my dreams of becoming a newscaster so you better listen to me carefully and vigilantly." Hanaan's eyes flicker from Nashwa's to mine.

Look away please. Don't look at me, don't make me feel all this I'm feeling in my chest.

"It's a lot to take in," Nashwa continues. "But you have to be brave and listen because it hasn't ended yet." She clears her throat. "Welcome back to Nashwa News. Headlines for these seven days—"

"—I'm so so sorry."

Nashwa frowns. "I'm in the middle of something!"

"Hana..."

What am I supposed to say? And what does she deserve to hear?

I nod ever so lightly for the sake of my own bleeding heart, then gesture towards Nashwa. Hanaan tries speaking again but I don't meet her eyes. It doesn't end here.

Nashwa begins from the beginning and it's like reliving a nightmare. How we found her tablet, how we found Waheed's messages. She doesn't skip the part where I slapped her and Hanaan's eyes widen at that, muttering sorry again. She adds with a laugh how she made me do all the house chores and Hanaan's eyes flit to mine in an apology all over again. Nashwa tells her how we went to Ahmad Mamu and found Taha and Yahya there. Again she doesn't skip how Ahmad Mamu lost his control over hearing Waheed's full name.

She tells her how we partnered up as super spies and I went to a party full of lawyers with an earpiece in my ear. When she reaches the part where Zimal told Waheed Nashwa's name, Hanaan covers her mouth with a hand. I look Hanaan squarely in the eyes when Nashwa mentions the pool scene and Hanaan lets out a hiccup, tears escaping her eyes, this once, her eyes not meeting mine. Nashwa continues onwards to her searching for the non-existent file, the fiery argument with Haala Mami and then Yahya needing Hanaan's signatures on the complaint for a case against Waheed.

When Nashwa is done, Hanaan is in a state of shock, mouth opening and closing many times. If Mama were to return now, she'd throw a fit on us for doing this to Hanaan. But Hanaan's not just any fourteen year old girl and Nashwa and I aren't just any eighteen year olds. We've seen life at its ugliest when we should have been prettying ourselves with cosmetics.

"Hana, I'm sorry."

Rage boils in me. How can she still say my name so easily?

"You knew what you were doing, Hanaan." Words come on their own with adrenaline pumping in my veins. Her gaze lowers to her hands. "You knew it would hurt me but you did it anyway."

Tears streak her cheeks and fall to her clasped hands taking my heart down with them.

Come back, heart. Stand your guard.

"I should forgive you, Hanaan. Because it's supposedly the right thing to do. But I'm broken apart in fragments here." I point to my chest, speaking in a shaking voice and she hiccups again making me flinch.

But she needs to hear this. I need to say this.

"It will take me some time to gather my pieces, glue them back together as best as I can. I do not want to cut you on my edges so try to understand if I'm not your Hana for a while. Or even for a very long time." I stand up from her bed. "You owe it to me. For all the pain."

She nods furiously, head bowed low, a cry escaping her that she tries stifling, hand going to her mouth but hitting her neck instead and my own chest shakes as I wipe a hand against my cheek.

Nashwa pulls Hanaan into her chest and I watch as Hanaan breaks down crying into her arms, Nashwa just rubbing her back. It is in moments like these I imagine what Zarminah Mami must have been like when I see Nashwa at her purest but as Hanaan mutters continuously I didn't want this to happen, I didn't mean this to happen, I'm the worst, I'm the worst, I'm so sorry... I turn away, not trusting my own heart to hold back from taking her into an embrace.

Ana uhibbuki. I hear her from her voice note. How could she hurt me then?

I see Ahmad Mamu and Doctor Amima standing in the doorway. Doctor Amima steals her gaze away. Ahmad Mamu doesn't smile, just gives me a nod of confidence. I clear my throat, Nashwa and Hanaan separate. We each clean our eyes of our sorrows and griefs and thankfully, Doctor Amima gives us this moment.

Before she steps in, Ahmad Mamu hands her a glass of cold coffee. She mutters a thank you and adjusts the straw underneath her niqab to sip on it. Mamu steps forward and gives the other glass to Hanaan, "Your chocolate milkshake with rainbow sprinkles."

After all the voice recordings I made him listen, I'm not surprised he's sympathetic to Hanaan. But really? Cold coffee for Doctor Amima and none for me?

You're being fragile now, Hana.

He sits down by my side and we watch as Doctor Amima bends over to the ground with a dry erase marker in her hand. She draws boxes on the marble and begins numbering them when Mamu asks, "Hopscotch?"

She doesn't turn around, just hums in response. "You up for a challenge, Hanaan?"

Hanaan forces a smile. Mamu scratches his jaw. "Is that safe? She did hurt her head."

She stands to face him now, arms crossing over her chest. "Am I not a certified neurologist, sir?"

"Degrees can be fake—"

"—do I hear you questioning my integrity?"

Mamu raises both his hands in the air. "All I'm saying is, she does have a recent head injury. They don't heal so quick, they take their time. I speak from experience, mine still gives me killer headache to this day—"

"—perhaps you should get it checked, then?" I notice she doesn't look him in the eye, but at his shoulder only. She turns to Hanaan and sits by her, one leg over the other the way I can never with my thighs. They both sip on their drinks, Hanaan still hiccupping in between. "Hanaan has been resting for more than five days now, enough time for her brain chemicals to readjust in case the shock of the fall was too severe. I need to check her balance—"

"—she already has CP," Mamu points out. "Her coordination lacks thereof."

"Mister Ahmad." Doctor Amima rises to her feet, shoving her hands in her pockets as Mamu does so often himself. Nashwa and I exchange a glance at her power posture, tall and slender as she is. "Would you trust my education and leave me alone with my patient?"

Mamu scratches his jaw again; I notice his ears turning red. "Fine I will not interrupt."

"I intend to play with her." She puts one foot by the side of the bed and tightens her Nike shoelaces. "Hopscotch is a game of one legged jumping. I would like my space and comfort for that. The door is there. Show yourself out would you, sir?" She points at it and Nashwa raises a hand to cover her gaping mouth.

He stands up, a slow smile tugging on his lips. My very handsome Mamu shoves his hands into his pockets. "You've grown through what you went through, Miss Amima, quite beautifully too. Of course I will respect your space and comfort. It would be dishonourable of me to not do so."

If only Taha Muhammad was as courteous.

Her hard exterior softens as he walks out, leaving all of us astonished. Miss Amima, he said? Doctor Amima clears her throat. "Will you two play with us?"

Nashwa checks her wrist watch. "I have to get home. My Mami only gave me an hour."

Doctor Amima's eyes fall on me. I shake my head in an apology. "I'll let you two play." I would just make Hanaan miserable with my presence.

Nashwa steps forward, places two brownies from the box on a plate by Hanaan's bed. She waves Hanaan goodbye with the box still in her hands. We run into Ahmad Mamu right outside the door. I close it behind me as he reaches over and swiftly takes Nashwa's car keys from her hand. She opens her mouth to retaliate but he pockets it.

"You can go home with Hana's driver."

"My driving skills are highly impeccable—"

"I doubt the survival abilities of those who may come in your path are as impeccable." Mamu checks his watch. "I'm late for a meeting. I'll catch up with you later."

We watch him walk away and I turn to Nashwa. "Thank you."

"Out of all the many things, remind me, what for?" She is still eyeing his back with hot daggers.

"For tending to Hanaan."

For holding her when I couldn't. For speaking to her when I wouldn't.

Damn it. I was too soft in there.

She shakes her head at me and looks through her bag. I catch her notebook there, the one she left at her university on her visit and Taha picked it up. She pulls out her buzzing phone. She catches me staring and rolls her eyes. "Haala Mami." She holds the phone too close to her chest.

"Nashwa?" Something in my mind begins to turn. "You and Taha get along well."

"He's cool. I mean him and his brother and their adventures in life." She sighs dreamily. "They're living my dream life of becoming crime investigators while I'll be stuck at university from tomorrow studying chemistry and biology mixed together into a demon called biochemistry."

"Have you two been in contact?"

She nods. "He found my Instagram in Hanaan's blocklist on that account she made of you. He messaged me his email address there via his own account and wanted the data download we requested on Instagram and also the screen recording I made of the chat. He didn't have time to do that before he deactivated both accounts. He also told me to look for the file Waheed wanted. We could photoshop it and trick him."

Why didn't he contact me instead? Am I not Hanaan's sister? Did I not live in the very house in which the file was supposed to exist?

"I need a page."

She sighs in exasperation as she pulls out the very notebook Taha Muhammad had in his hands just yesterday. "Help yourself. Everyone else has been."

I take it. Nashwa straightens and I turn to see my Dadi approaching us with a bag in her hands presumably with Hanaan's clothes. She tells me my mother won't be coming for a while because Baba is talking to her. Nashwa asks her if the driver is here now but Dadi shakes her head, she sent him off for some chores, he won't be back for a while. Nashwa sighs and disappears to make a call to her Haala Mami. Dadi steps into Hanaan's room.

I take this time to flip through Nashwa's empty notebook. Please don't be true. I reach a page in the middle of the notebook that confirms my worst suspicions. A shiver crawls down my spine. On the centre of the page, a cell phone number is scrawled in the tiniest handwriting ever. And underneath it, طه‎ signed. I tear the page away with cold fingers and slide it in my bag, putting the notebook back into Nashwa's.

Ahmad Mamu didn't give him the information he needed.

What game is Taha Muhammad playing?

Just as Dadi steps out of Hanaan's room and Nashwa returns, a commotion rings out in the corridor. We turn to see Taha and Yahya running towards us, hands handcuffed to each other. A burly guard runs behind them. I have to hold my flushed expressions at the sight of Yahya wearing a lab coat and Taha's large framed glasses, looking like a fine doctor himself. Taha Muhammad on the other hand looks absolutely stupid dressed in a flimsy white polka dots button down shirt and matching trousers, no shoes.

"Oye! Get back here!" The guard brandishes his stick behind them.

"Run fast, you idiot! I knew you only went to the gym as a show off for Sila!"

"I lack your deficiency of body mass, Taha Muhammad!"

"And you severely lack the ability to lie, Yahya Afaaq!"

"For heaven's sake!" Dadi cries out.

All the heart ache and chills vanish as the sweet taste of victory flourishes over me, sweeter than the brownies this guard devoured earlier this morning.

Sober and mature he called me? It takes a bit of that to scheme.

As though he's read my thoughts, Taha Muhammad narrows his eyes at me, eyes that tell a tale of a melancholic night with only the lonely moon as a witness. I smile ever so gently at him the way I do at my test scores.

Hana never fails because Hana always prepares. 

So guess who owes me a favour now?

edit: doctor amima was harsh with hana because shes been taking care of hanaan and those panic attacks back in chapter 16 were serious. so when Hana kept Hanaan's list with the edit by her pillow, it does make her worry in case hanaan collapses all over again.

i have a little task for you. go back to chapter three and revise it to fish out 'Zayaan'. you'll need the reference for the next chapter :)

let me know what you thought of Hana & Hanaan's interaction. 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.