~ f i v e y e a r s l a t e r ~

Time flies by as though it has wings but the reflection in our mirror morphs into another ever so subtly, makes you wonder when and how it changed.

I'm still Hana Junaid after all these years but I wear a lab coat now and I usually stand in the OPD of a renowned hospital, file in my hands, stethoscope around my collar, checking on a patient that looks at me with all the trust in their eyes. I'm in the residency phase of my doctor's degree and today — today was a glorious day.

Stepping through the double doors, I pin my niqab back in place. I took it off to wear a surgical mask and now my heart still palpitates in my chest, blood rushes to my ears, I owe myself a treat for today. My feet halt at the sight of the congregation awaiting me in the corridor right outside the operation theatre.

What is the zoo doing here?

Nashwa and Hanaan sit on top of what looks like a coffin? praying. The twins Uzair and Huzair now thirteen years old hold a spade in each hand. Seventeen year old Zaid, taller and more sombre, hair flicked up in spikes, paces back and forth. My Dadi is sitting on a prayer mat while Ahmad Mamu flips through a file.

The twins go first. "We'll hide the body."

Nashwa nods. "My father will be your lawyer."

Hanaan raises her chin high. "I'll deal with any foreign intelligence agencies that come your way. English, Urdu, Arabic, Chinese, Spanish and soon French too. I can fluently converse, convince, coerce and curse in all."

Dadi turns her head sideways completing her prayer with the two salaams. She scrambles to her feet, reaching for my shoulders. "Is your soul burdened with guilt, Hana?" She blows a prayer all over my face. "I have prayed for you. Worry you not."

I blink many times. My eyes find Zaid, the sanest of them all.

He runs a finger through his spikes. "Makes you wonder how the two of us got born in such a crazy family, right?"

I grace him with a fond smile. "You and me both, Zaidi."

He smirks at that. "I could put up a vlog in your favour though. You'd have to ugly cry but make it look realistic. For that, you can take drama classes from Nashwa Aapi. I get ten percent profit for the sponsorship."

"But first of all—" Ahmad Mamu steps forward, handing me a plastic bag. "Puke your guts out, Care Bear!"

I do just that because some things never change. To this day, Hana Junaid gets light headed at the sight of blood and gore but she's slowly overcoming it even though there's no idiot around to hand her a chocolate bar to regain her colour.

I smile hypnotically despite the twinge in my heart. "Complete success!"

My very first surgery, even if it was under guidance and I only provided minor assistance and mostly observed it but it was my first surgery nonetheless.

I've come this far. I've come so far.

No one whoops in joy. No one utters an Alhumdulillah. No one drops down in sujood. All I hear are groans and sighs. Nashwa and Hanaan exchange disappointed glances. The twins cross their arms in annoyance too.

"We were hoping for some action, Hana."

"Hiding a body would have been totally cool."

"You really have to be so boring, Hana?"

I look at them in disbelief. "You wanted me to kill a patient there?"

They nod as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

What is wrong with them?

Before my shoulders can slump, a sudden cheer of joy erupts with a loud bang, confetti falls all around me. Hanaan and Nashwa whip out snow sprays from nowhere and I'm crying and laughing both, heavy under attack, fighting to keep the tangy chemical from getting into my mouth. Zaid's phone is out and he's filming it with a big wide smile on his boyish face while the twins blow on party horns, conical caps on their heads.

This is my soul tribe. I love them to bits!

A very funny sight catches my attention through all the snow around me. Ahmad Mamu wrestles a flower bouquet from Dadi who pulls it back like they're having a tug of war. They notice me now. Mamu let's go, grumbling under his breath. Dadi comes forth, beaming with pride before she hands me the bouquet of carnations: white, light red and dark red.

A breath-taking assortment.

"I'm so very proud of you, Hana," she whispers, taking my face in her hands and kissing the top of my head. "May Allah shower you with so many more blessings."

She gestures towards the bouquet and I hold it close to my chest. Finding a card inside, I read: What you seek is seeking you. And signed underneath: Rumi.

I scoff. Rumi? Why am I disappointed?

Besides, I'm not seeking a what, I'm seeking a who— Oh.

My voice is stuck in my throat. "He's back?"

Mamu nods. "It appears so."

My heartbeat is just a dull ache.

He didn't come back when Mamu did two years ago after a two year stay at Islamabad, working on his case, coming back when all was done and dusted.

So why now?

When I no longer await him, wonder what might have happened to him, ponder over the possibility that perhaps he and I could get to know each other better someday. He didn't come back so I moved on.

When I look up from the flowers, my eyes fall onto Hanaan. She steps closer to Zaid and asks him if she can see the video he just filmed. Zaid stutters, drops the phone and while Hanaan only arches a brow, Zaid goes red all over, bending low and picking it up, handing it to her.

I smile as Hanaan watches the video, my little sister, wrapped in her coral pink hijab, eyes sparkling at the scenes unfolding on the screen. Zaid watches her too before blinking several times, shaking his head and looking away. He's two years younger but he's so much taller than her. The twins make smooching faces at him.

I look at Nashwa now. She picks up the little girl from her carry cot and takes her into her arms. Little Zenia. One year old. Brown curly hair like her mother's but deep brown eyes like her father's and a composed temperament like him too. She and five year old Nashmia make a fabulous team.

I look at the card again, so many questions and even more concerns forming a spiky lump in my throat. Don't sever the ties you forge. My own words come back to me. My eyes find my Dadi's and she nods. Ahmad Mamu's brows snap together in sheer disapproval.

"You can't be serious, Hana."

Hana has only just been serious all her life. Does that not let her off the hook and let her be a little crazy like the rest of her family but for a certain someone instead?

Besides what am I risking when I already gave my heart away?

All I want to know is why he didn't come back straight away.

And if now, he's here to stay.

I hug the flowers closer to my chest. Mehr Un Nisa will love them too.

I walk past by Mamu. "Match-breaking really does not suit you well, Ahmad Aurangzeb."

His jaw drops to the ground. The twins hoot behind us. The sweet fragrance of carnations tickles my nose and my soul, both. Carnations. A symbol of respect, deep admiration and— I draw in a ragged breath.

Steady dear heart.

But how does he do it? Even after so many years.

...

Noman from Nashwa's apartment building was a total harami and Nashwa already knew it because she and Haala Mami saw him smoking outside when his Nani Jaan thought he was out to the mosque for his daily prayers.

So while Hanaan shipped Nashwa and Noman, Nashwa was at work contacting all his several girlfriends at MIT while he sent her coloured roses and love letters. Within the same week that we met him, a girlfriend of his actually flew all the way from Massachusetts to Karachi, Pakistan and raised all hell in Nashwa's apartment building while Nashwa and Haala Mami watched the scenes unfold, each holding onto their own bowl of popcorn.

Zaid filmed it for us and put up a vlog: ishq ki aag jalti nahi jalaati hai

When Nashwa reached her third year of biochemistry, Ahmad Mamu was working on a criminal case with an officer called Dawood Armani. When their forensic assistant went rogue at a very crucial time, Mamu called in Nashwa to help with some lab diagnostic reports. Nashwa felt insulted.

"I won't be anyone's second choice, you hear me?"

And then she laid eyes on Dawood Armani and immediately muttered a yes, of course I'll help just like that. Hanaan didn't even blame Nashwa for melting on the spot.

Dawood Armani is seven years older than us, taller than Ahmad Mamu, lean and fit with brown eyes with so much depth, Nashwa calls him Detective Dreamy.

His face is long and he carries a well maintained beard and only ever dresses in dark brown button down shirts, dark pants folded up to his ankles and black polished shoes, brown shades on his eyes and a handgun holstered to his belt. He rarely ever speaks, shows no emotion on his face and only ever focuses on his work.

One time, he smiled ever so slightly at a witty remark Nashwa made to Ahmad Mamu and Nashwa caught it. Sleep was unbeknownst to her ever since that day.

Until she married him.

Nashwa is not only a forensic scientist now but also a Mrs Crime Investigator as part of her forte of being a woman of many, many talents. Zenia is their daughter, as calm and serene as her father and much like her grandmother, Zarminah. Ahmad Mamu is totally besotted with the little baby girl.

But back when Nashwa was head over heels in love with the guy whose mind is exceptional at solving crimes, Ahmad Aurangzeb defied all odds and sat Dawood down after the case was settled. He related to him how Nashwa fancied him and Dawood nodded saying yes, he was aware. He didn't say how obvious that was because Nashwa always sighed around him and kept a cup of chai ready for him whenever he'd come around to collect lab reports.

Ahmad Mamu was agitated. He asked why Dawood Armani hadn't reacted to Nashwa's interest in him to which Detective Dreamy only said, "She is professionally associated with me, sir. Am I supposed to make a move on every girl that fancies me?"

Mamu was flustered but then Dawood Armani flustered him even more by saying, "I do not see any shortage of character in Miss Nashwa. She is fierce and passionate and only ever infuriated when the world isn't willing to work according to her preferences. If you permit, Mister Ahmad, I would like to be the calm to her chaos and take her to be my wife."

Ahmad Mamu couldn't reply to that. He was so red in the face he stormed away while Dawood Armani only calmly blinked. I know all this because Mamu had taken me with him to talk to Dawood Armani. I was squealing like a high school girl too and when we told Nashwa he proposed, Nashwa fainted.

Or maybe, she faked it.

Now they're happily married. Nashwa still smiles like a total goofball around him and Dawood Armani still barely ever speaks but whenever she's around, there's a soft amused smile on his lips and whenever they attend a family gathering, Zenia sits in his lap only, arms around his neck.

A truly beautiful family.

...

Five years of studying at university with my college friend Faria made me realise two things.

Firstly: she makes an excellent sidekick and to this day, she helps me get away with stealing blood samples from a patient that could be involved in Mamu's case.

Secondly: she's a hopeless romantic. She gives away her heart to anyone and everyone around us and just as quickly, those people disappoint her in their mannerism or environment un-friendly actions, giving her heart back to her so she may find a new owner just as quick.

But some people take your heart without you even realising it and they don't give it back even if they do not plan to stay. The most tragically beautiful part of such love is if you were ever given the chance to ask for your heart back because the emptiness in your chest aches so very much, you wouldn't even dare.

All my life, such people were fictional characters for me. And then suddenly it was a boy who left me his cat but made no promise of ever coming back.

He sits before me now, in the guest room of my house, just him and me, no one else around — it's him but it's not him at the same time. And for some reason, my heart aches.

Taha Muhammad has changed.

His posture, not so lanky. His grey-black eyes, so desolate and cold. His dark hair has grown both on his head and a bit on his face and he looks a tad bit old, not the immature boy that acted fourteen when he was twenty two. He does look like he's twenty seven now and even though he's just as skeletal as before, his arms and back are toned.

Above all, Taha Muhammad has learned to lower his gaze, keep his stupid smile in check, eyes no longer starlit but so very haunted.

What did the world do to him?

I gesture at the drinks before us. "Please, help yourself."

A can of Pepsi. A can of Sprite. A glass of water.

Hanaan said if he can give up on Pepsi, he can give up on me. Which is probably just her tactic of confusing me so I don't ever leave the nest and fly away.

Taha Muhammad reaches for the glass of water. He drinks it in three gulps. He sets it down. He reaches for the Pepsi can. My features morph into sheer appalment when he tips half the can in the empty glass and then proceeds to add some Sprite in it too. He settles back comfortably with the revolting mixture, sipping on it gently. Yet still, he does not smile.

Really, now? He's acting like he's at his own home.

I hold back my disdain. "What do you do these days?"

His eyes are settled on my hands in my lap. "Qasim, Yahya and I have started a little firm. Lawyers, private investigators and tech experts. We're looking for a manger but we've excluded Ahmad Aurangzeb from filling out a registration form."

I hold back my smile. So this is why Mamu is so aggravated these days? I thought it was little Musa giving him trouble sleeping at night.

"How's Tehniyat?"

His mouth twitches. "This interview is supposed to be about me but okay, we'll discuss the ladies too. Tehniyat and Qasim have moved back to Karachi, their baby girl Rehmat is a gorgeous princess turning five soon. Sila and Yahya got married two years back and now they're expecting a child."

Heat creeps to my cheeks. "I wasn't going to ask about Sila."

"You should." He sips on his glass. "There's a reason why I tried tagging along on their honeymoon, a loudspeaker microphone with me but Yahya threatened to sue Pepsi so they'd never manufacture again hence I stayed back. But I did change his ringtone to HE'S MARRIED WOMEN, MOVE ON and called him twenty four seven even at the most inappropriate times so his marriage would remain safe."

My brows arch high. "Don't you trust your brother?"

He shrugs. My heart twinges again. Why won't he smile?

"Sila is special."

"How so?"

"She's our cousin." He weighs his words carefully. "Autistic. She's completely sane, just lives in her own world, absent-minded. I once caught fire on my sleeve trying to boil pasta but forgot to add the water and she didn't even notice I was screaming and screeching. Yahya would say that's because she doesn't like me much but she zones out a lot. And only Yahya can bring her back into this world."

His smile widens at that. My heart skips a beat.

"Sila had this huge childhood crush on Yahya. Me being the awe-inspiring person I am saw it right away so every time she was near, I would push Yahya towards her or else I'd sing that song: Yahya and Sila sitting in a tree—"

He grins ever so slightly when I look away mortified.

"Yes, I was impossible. But Yahya wasn't always crazy for her. He warmed up when I talked to him to not be so insecure about a girl liking him. When Sila's mother cried to our mother one day saying a proposal lady had come and rejected Sila right in her face, let's just say Mister Yahya did not take it well. He proclaimed then and there he'll marry Sila because no one else can cherish her for who she is."

My heart warms up at that. "What was Sila's reaction?"

Taha's smile widens a little more. "She was serving chai and it just so happened to be me who suffered the burn when it fell from her hand. But then again, Tehniyat would say it's because she really hates me." He stops before adding, "Sila is also an impeccable artist. She picks up paint brushes and paints these mesmerising calligraphies of Quranic verses."

"That's beautiful."

He nods. "After their engagement, Sila sent two gifts our way. Yahya was jealous why she had named one for me. When we undid the packing, his anger cooled off. She had painted him a set of canvases saying Ma Sha Allah, Subhan Allah, Alhumdulillah."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing.

I can't hold back my smile anymore. "What was painted on yours?"

"One said Astaghfirullah, the other Auzubillah and the third was Surah An-Naas. You know, because it wards off all evil."

He's smiling too, eyes twinkling. He's coming back.

"I did experimentally cut Yahya's hair once when we were kids. Made him look hideously ugly. Sila cried when she saw him and when she found out I had done that to him, let's just say she never forgave me."

He looks up now before looking away.

"I trust my brother but I don't trust the world. And I truly adore the couple. I will do anything it takes to keep them together."

My hands are trembling and when my heart cannot withstand the feels, I blurt out, "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are, Taha Muhammad?"

His neck reddens all over, eyes going wild with stars I have searched in the sky but never once found all these years. His mouth twitches into a smile but it's not the same stupid smile that used to infuriate me so much.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes still trained on my hands. "Well, I do tell myself that every morning and my mother did try naming me beautiful lady but..." he trails away, peeking into my eyes, looking away just as quick. "You're the first one to make my heart skip a beat like that."

No, I don't need CPR either.

I clear my throat. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm soft and kind—"

"—you are. Undeniably."

Steady, dear heart. Remember all the times he made you want to slap that stupid smile off his face? Oh but where is that smile now?

"Yes, well—" my eyes catch sight of the scar along his neck. I have never seen it before. "You are beautiful inside out, Taha Muhammad. You have a wondrous mind and a valiant heart and the way you uplift those around you, perhaps people don't credit you enough for that."

His smile widens just a bit more. What more does he want me to say to revive that—?

"Oh my God!" I nearly jump off my seat. "You're Mehr Un Nisa?"

And just like that, his Cheshire cat smile returns. His eyes are starlit, all the coldness, all the darkness, all the ghosts gone just like that. And my heart is palpitating in my chest, wanting a way out and to this day I can't quite figure out what it is about him that makes me tremble on the inside, makes my knees go weak and my mind completely unnerved.

I'm in love, aren't I?

"Indeed." He grins from ear to ear. "The one and only. Mehr Un Nisa. Oh don't be so alarmed, Hana Jaan. I'm entirely male anatomy but my mother thought I'd be a girl and that's the name she chose for me: beautiful lady. Didn't even get a chance to look at me, much less hold me once she gave birth to me. She had to send me away for my own safety."

My spiking heart rate drops to null. "Your mother ..."

He swallows, face entirely grim. "Military agent. Intelligence officer. She was known for her competent tactics, mind blowing strategies and fail proof rescue plans, the things I've heard..." a soft smile traces his lips.

So that's where he gets it from? Oh my.

"She was compromised on a mission. Came back after months of being MIA. It was too late for her to get rid of me and when the past came back, enemies and interrogations not halted despite the baby in her womb—" he sucks in a sharp breath. "She barely managed to run away to give birth to me so I wouldn't inherit her share of torments. Her location was compromised again and the hospital blew up, herself murdered."

I watch the scar on his neck. Horizontal. Thin. As though a knife was run by his throat. What other scars does he hide under his clothes and on his soul?

"It was tough, digging out answers." He taps his fingers onto his knees. "Violent at times, life threatening at most. I wanted to come back with your Mamu two years back but I was showing signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." His eyes are lost again. "Nightmares, insomnia, impulsive rash behaviour, anxiety, even dyspnoea— troubles with breathing."

I'm having trouble breathing, myself.

"Tehniyat advised me to go for therapy. Getting married and forging new relations could cause uglier problems. I already had a family to love me so I should let them heal me."

He smiles again but I don't know if a smile so cold is a smile at all.

"And Tehniyat still denies she adores me so very much. She tried making Yahya Rehmat's favourite Mamu but joke's on her. That guy only brings her chocolates while I book Rehmi and myself a bouncy castle every month."

I purse my lips tight, trying to hold back my smile. What a compassionate idiot!

He looks up now, another peek into my eyes and then away. "You're supposed to be asking about my namaz and all but okay, since you're only interested in good looks and fitness I'll admit I still don't spend a fortune in haircare and skincare like Yoyo does but I perform wudu five times a day hence the noor on my face and I can now hold a plank for a whole thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?" I blink at him many times. "I could do that when I first started working out."

"Oh, sorry." He smirks, eyes alight. "I meant thirty minutes."

Damn! While I clench my hands in my lap, Taha Muhammad grins from ear to ear, the same stupid smile I've been missing so much. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny velvet box. It's the same one, the one I gave him years ago. He places it on the centre table between us.

"I had to go on a week long dry-out of Pepsi to devour that mentos."

So he did eat it?

He smiles mischievously, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a pack of mints, throwing one in his mouth. "Totally did not get a new addiction."

I bite back my own silly grin. "I hope you're doing better now."

He nods, black hair ruffling. "I still have nightmares but can wake up on my own without needing Yahya to slap me out of them. I can calm my breathing afterwards without needing Amma to hold me all the while. Haven't had an episode in the past six months so I figured it might be time."

He lets the silence stretch; I twist my fingers tightly.

And then he says, "Time to let the heart guide me back home."

Finally home.

When he walks out, reaching for the door, he stops short and I don't have to crane my neck to see who's standing there. Taha Muhammad says a polite salaam, hand on his chest, before stepping out between the two men. Mamu huffs as he walks into the guest room and Baba arches a brow at me.

"What do you say, mena?"

Ahmad Mamu shakes his head. "I stand by what I said all those years back, he's instability—"

Baba throws him a stern glare. "I don't recall you being my mena, Ahmad." His eyes soften when he turns back to me. "Say yes, Hana. I already interrogated him and every person that could know him to be assured he's a good boy that will cherish you forever—"

"—and be another child for you to look after. Don't say yes, Hana!"

Baba turns to Mamu again. "You do realise Musa spends most of his time with me and Humaira and we're basically raising him so I could influence him enough to call me Baba and you Ahmad instead?"

Mamu blinks. "He's my son!"

I pick up the tiny velvet box Taha Muhammad left behind and open it with trembling fingers, heart no less steady. Baba and Mamu halt in their bickering when I gasp, taking out the silver ring from the box, nothing too fancy, nothing too expensive but immensely ethereal nonetheless. It doesn't surprise me when my own fingers slip it onto my ring finger, to keep it there until he can put it on me himself.

After our nikkah.

Only then do I notice the tiny paper tucked in the ring whole. I pull it out, unfolding it, knowing that the tiniest handwriting awaits me and it better not be Rumi again— my heart flutters so very wildly.

Be my daylight. And under it, طه‎ signed.

My voice is stuck in my throat when I look at my father. My heart thumps so very loudly when I nod. And I feel so so vulnerable when my father takes me into his arms, pressing his lips against my forehead.

His eyes are ecstatic when he exclaims, "I can't wait to roast Ahmad on every single family event with my son in law beside me. This is going to be epic!"

Mamu stands in disbelief. "I can't believe you're saying yes, Hana. I really can't."

And I whisper now, with my own voice, "But I am. It's a yes from me."

Only now does the shadow lingering in the doorway of our guest room shift, bringing back a rush of memories. This once my heart doesn't tremble; it explodes into fireworks that conjoin with the stars in the sky of my life.

Because I am getting married. To a boy that is my very own starlight.

...

It's heartbreakingly beautiful to see your baby siblings grow up into big kids, creepy crawlies learning to walk and then soar all on their own.

My nineteen year old sister has blossomed into a beautiful lady. Still struggling to write with a pen, type on a keyboard and spilling only once in a while, Hanaan Junaid fluently speaks English, Urdu, Arabic, Chinese and Spanish and is currently learning French as well.

She surpassed all expectations when she decided she will not just live but live with grace and thrive not survive. She completed school and then college and now seeks to pursue short diplomas if not a university degree because already, Hanaan Junaid works at an internationally recognised literary agency.

While Hanaan adores and looks after the two babies in the family: Musa and Zenia, I have seen a glimmer in my sister's eyes that tells me she has accepted defeat at the hands of life but here's the thing, her elder sister most definitely has not.

Hanaan Junaid may think she will never marry someone, never have kids of her own. She's so very wrong because I pray for her every single day.

And so one day, I sat down with Zaid Yamin.

Zaid runs another YouTube channel now, where he explains Math concepts in the easiest most understandable way and so he's been generating an income at such an early age. He skipped two grades and Haala Mami distributed gulab jamun all over the city for his genius because he's already enrolled in BS Mathematics and Economics at a full scholarship at a prestigious institute in the city.

Zaid has a terrible habit of flicking his spikes up. Otherwise, he's a decent teenage boy.

"You've joined university at such a young age. Will you be marrying just as young?"

He smirks. "Are you proposing?"

I blink at him flatly. "You wouldn't say yes not when you've got eyes for Hanaan only."

"I don't think she sees me that way."

"Everyone's clueless to a lover at first, Zaidi. But wait till you're twenty and I will convince Hanaan myself, bring your rishta to Haala Mami. She already adores you for your lame ass comedy—"

"—why yes, thank you for bruising my pride. Taxes are applicable—"

"—I just have to shake her a bit and make her see what she doesn't allow herself to see. Haala Mami will love her for you. You can still support your father but you could move in with us. You're everyone's favourite at our place, Zaidi. Even mine."

He smiled sourly. "She's too good for me, too good for anyone at all. She's all the light the world needs but she herself is blind."

"Don't you believe in me, Zaid? More than that, don't you believe in the One who made you and me?"

He ducked his head, a flush creeping to his neck. "I pray to Him every night. To say Kun and let her be mine."

My heart squeezed for my sister even though I wanted to pull Zaid's ear real hard. "You keep doing that."

Allah has made us all with our so called imperfections. What all He makes is indisputably flawless. The times that transcend upon us can often be tragic. So we have to love ourselves, feel the pain of those around us and do our best to ease it for them.

Feel and hence, heal.

...

One thing that remained constant in all this time and more times to come is the equation: 

Hana + AN = Hanaan

"Shine!"

"What does that mean?!"

"KILL. In Japanese!"

Hanaan raises her blue goti to put onto Nashwa's red one. Nashwa pulls away the Ludo board and topples it over. Before Hanaan can even comprehend what just happened, Nashwa claps the dust off her hands, chin raised high.

Hanaan gasps. "You do that every time I'm close to winning!"

"The world has not come to a point where Nashwa may see defeat."

I sigh. "This is exactly why I prefer my textbooks over both of you."

Nashwa smacks the Ludo board against my head. "I hope your brain is back in place now."

"If a certain someone had not boxed up all my books and sent it away to Baba's office this morning, perhaps I would be in a better mood."

Hanaan crosses her arms over her chest. "Why yes, making sweet love to your books with multi color highlighters. What could be better than that?"

Nashwa smacks the board onto Hanaan's head this time. "Zenia is sitting right there." She points at the cot in which Zenia plays with her tea set. "Don't say such vile things."

Hanaan rolls her eyes. "What about you, smacking us on the head? Won't that violence transfer into her?"

"I wish. And yet the girl is entirely like her father otherwise we would have conquered the world already."

I roll my eyes this time. "You guys literally wasted my whole day."

Hanaan scowls. "Time spent with family is time spent wisely."

"I'm married to my books, remember? They're my family now."

"You're awful, Hana! I'll call Baba and tell him to sell the books to an old books store—"

"—they have my notes all over them! Are you out of your mind?"

"Hardly. I'm always stuck in there lonely by myself."

"This is no way to make me spend time with you—"

"—I don't know what else to do, Hana! You're married to your books now. You'll be married to Taha Muhammad soon and despite the fact that I kept you single this whole time for him, he won't be so generous in letting you stay with me—"

"—HOLD UP! You did what for him?"

She gulps. "He made me promise not to let you get distracted."

I narrow my eyes at her. "And what did you ask for in return? Our first born child?"

Her mouth forms an O slow motion before she slams her palm into her face. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did I not think of that?" She crosses her arms. "I'm naming your first three kids anyways."

Nashwa sniggers. "How many in total do you plan there to be?"

Hanaan raises both her hands in the air, ten fingers on display. Nashwa laughs.

I'm in a daze because it's true. All these years Hanaan Junaid kept me strong on my feet. She made sure I didn't stress eat during my exams. She motivated me to study, balance between work and play and live my life to the fullest, put my heart in all that I put my time in. Hanaan looked after me when I didn't even have the time to look at myself in the mirror on weekdays.

"So you've been taking care of me just because of him?"

She hisses like a cat. "How nice, Hana! Twist my words around me so I can choke to death—"

"—cut the drama—"

"—but that's right, you're no longer concerned for this little sister who is also brain damaged just because she has started to fend for herself—"

"—why are you bringing your CP in this?"

"Just because I can live on my own now, doesn't mean I no longer need you. Makes me wish I didn't overcome most of my CP problems—"

I pinch her on the side of her hip. "Don't even go there."

She howls out loud. "Why you gotta pinch me down there all the time?"

"Because you're being impossible again. What? Just because I didn't react to you going shopping with Amima Mami yesterday, you think I don't care about you anymore? I don't have to be jealous of your bond with her—"

Nashwa sighs. "How is my step-mom the centre of attention now? So much competition!"

Hanaan and I turn to her simultaneously. "Don't butt in, Nashwa!"

She gasps, clutching her chest. "You're both excluding me." She wipes away a tear. "In my own home too."

Hanaan meets my eye and we imitate an eye roll.

Nashwa points at her feet. "If you're both done with your petty quarrels, Allah gave me two feet so both of you could hold onto one and apologize to me."

Hanaan and I look at one another and roll our eyes once more. I wink at her then and she bites back her grin. We each reach for Nashwa's feet and tickle her underneath, not letting go when she screams and thrashes against our hold.

Because Hana & Hanaan will never let go of Nashwa. Nashwa who once tried tearing us apart to find herself a place now holds us together as if the world would fall apart otherwise.

And we love her for it.

This is what we have learned. To be the candle that lights another. To stand with each other, never against one another unless it's a board game, then it's all war no love. But if something or someone from this cruel world dares to hurt anyone of us, our candle flames evolve to forest fires— inextinguishable.

The discovery of strength through softness.

Living with love via kindness.

It need not end here if you give it a home in your heart.

The story of Hana & Hanaan.

~ t h e   e n d ~