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*

Hooriya

While my youngest sibling was facing romantic drama, I was adjusting to living with a man who was not my direct biological family. I suppose honeymoon was different, as we were in a different location, in a different country.

But now we were home, our home. We were sharing a bedroom- something I'd only ever done with Haya before, and only when we were kids.

I uncapped a men's cologne and sprayed some onto myself. I breathed in deeply. "Well, that's one benefit of living with a guy." I grinned at my reflection in the mirror.

I'd been picky about the side of bed I slept on, and he hadn't argued regarding that since he didn't really care. He'd given me an entire wardrobe for my stuff, but a lot of our clothes were still in one wardrobe together, and it was still odd seeing my clothes hung beside male outfits. The dressing table- newly installed- was filled with my minimal make-up, perfumes, his colognes and aftershaves, and often his watch was found on it. 

But then there were other things. Like the water on the floor after he'd showered. Haya and I used to share a bathroom, and both of us were particular about drying up the water on the floor. Haya had been worse regarding that matter, since she was worried about injuries that would impact her cricket. So every time I entered the bathroom after Farhaan had a shower, I groaned internally.

But I supposed both of us were adjusting. Once he went into the bathroom after I'd had a shower and had found my bra on the door knob. I tended to put in on after a while as it was harder to wear it on wet/damp skin, and I had forgotten it in there- having just pulled on a shirt and exiting the bathroom. He'd come in the doorway, holding it up with a grin on his face. "Sorry, this isn't my size." He had joked.

And then there were moments when I felt relieved to have him by my side. Like when I got a bad dream, I just turned and snuggled into his arms. Feeling his strong arms around me gave me a sense of unimaginable comfort.

One sunny morning, I was in the living room, squeezing my novels into the bookshelf that mainly housed Farhaan's business management books. I had learnt that, despite the family wealth, the man of mine lived in a relatively modest place, and there was only a place for one bookshelf around here. I wasn't complaining though. I didn't care. I was happy, either way. I sat cross-legged on the floor, barely managing to fit in the last book on the bottom shelf. The 'bookshelf' itself only had two shelves, whereas the top surface was a table on which currently rested a glass vase that I'd placed red roses in.

"Hoor!"

I jumped at the sound of his voice. I had been home alone, arranging things around the flat and adjusting my own things. So far, the place seemed sufficiently Hoorified, as Haya would say. "Yes?" 

Farhaan walked into the room. "Assalam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalam." I glanced at him over my shoulder.

His eyebrows furrowed. "I think we need to replace that with a bigger bookshelf."

"It's fine. I'll manage." 

He came around and crouched down beside me. "Hoor, that man is in police custody- the one who almost ran you and Haya over."

"Tahira's stepfather?" 

He nodded. "Your father and I just spoke to the police regarding this."

"Now let the law deal with it. I'd rather focus on the fact that my twin sister saved my life." I whispered, my gaze fixed on the books that were now all lined up on the shelves.

He took my hand in his. "I owe Haya my life now." 

I looked up at him, and smiled softly. "Just don't thank her. She'll get offended. I thanked her and she threw a tantrum, saying that what she did was her duty and she didn't want anyone to act like she did a favour or something."

"Sounds like Aizah." He sat down properly on the floor, stretching his legs out. 

"Speaking of Aizah Appi, how is she doing? I messaged her, but she hasn't read it yet."

"She had meeting after meeting. They are on a strict time limit, so they are getting on with the work immediately. But on the weekend, both of them will go to Lahore for a night to meet our Phuphos."

"Do you wish you were there?" 

"It is crazy fun when we all get together." He smiled at me. "But right now I have my own responsibilities to focus on."

"Such as?" I asked, teasingly, also stretching my legs out.

"The B&B, the hotel revival...the biwi." 

I felt my cheeks warm up, but I brushed away the shyness and instead asked, "So, is the revival definitely going ahead?"

He nodded. "I have no idea how I'll balance everything, but at least Hamad will help me."

"Hamad Bhai? The one who always rides a motorcycle?" 

He laughed. "Yes, him. Hamza Uncle's son. He also sometimes stops by and helps out at Asghar sahab's garage." 

After a brief pause, I hesitantly asked. "But is it a possibility that you'll have to sell the B&B after all?"

"Nothing is impossible in business. When my grandfather formed the Rose Luxe, I doubt he ever thought that it would vanish from existence one day, only revived in the form of a Bed and Breakfast."

I thought over his words, before looking back at him again. "Forget anything else. Forget family history. Just between you and me, with this conversation never leaving this room...what do you want, Farhaan Faiz?" 

"Hooriya, I never wanted to dedicate time to reviving a five start hotel. To me, it's like attempting to bring Titanic back to the surface. That's the reason I chose to start this B&B in the first place. But since this is something Papa wants, I feel like I should do it."

"They'd never want to sacrifice your dream though." 

"I know. But selling the B&B would be the last resort. For now, I want to attempt both, even though I know it's a very difficult task."

"I'll help you as much as I can with the B&B, I promise. I'll take care of your dream. You take care of Uncle's."

The smile he gave me made me feel like I'd made him the happiest man on Earth. "I have to be honest though, I'm not just doing it for you. I'm doing it for myself to. I love the Rose Luxe B&B too."

He wrapped an arm around me, and I leaned against him while we remained on the floor with our legs stretched out.

Sharing a room might be a strange and unusual experience, but sharing our dreams, goals and worries was a huge benefit of a good spousal relationship. 

*

Aariz

"Koi Mil Gaya." Rebecca Khalla sang softly under her breath.

*"I found someone."

"Who? A plumber to fix your plumbing? The water pressure of your kitchen sink is disturbing, Khalla." I shook my head.

She tut-tutted with her tongue. "Aariz, how did you get through medical school? You are absolutely clueless."

"I cheated in all exams." I joked. "But why am I clueless?"

"Since yesterday, you asked me three times if Haya was okay after the almost hit-and-run." 

"She's your friend's granddaughter. I was just asking out of concern." 

"Then why not ask about her twin, who was the main almost-victim?" She pointed out.

"Khalla, you are jumping to conclusions now."

"To absolutely right conclusions." She smirked.

"God! Khalla!" I shook my head as I opened the fridge door of her house for some milk to make tea for the both of us.

"Yes. God. He Himself have emphasised the sanctity of matrimony."

"How has me asking about someone's health been linked to matrimony?" 

"I repeat: clueless." She sighed. "Aariz, let me be direct then. You and Haya are clearly a match made in heaven. You both love cricket, but not as a main profession." 

"Millions of people in the world love cricket, Khalla." 

"You don't buy cricket art from all those 'millions of people'." 

I glanced sharply at her.

"I've raised you like a mother, Aariz. Don't question my maternal instincts."

I looked at her thoughtfully. She was right about not being less than a mother for me. While she and my mother both were Pakistan-originating Christians, my father is a Muslim and I was raised a Muslim. Nevertheless, Rebecca Khalla had always dropped me off- and picked me up from- my Islamic Studies classes at the local mosque between five and seven. She had also gained knowledge of Islam, to guide me accordingly. While a few distant relatives had questioned the idea of my Christian aunt raising me, my father had remained assured that Rebecca Khalla was the best person to be a maternal figure in my life after the demise of my own mother. Dad had trusted Becky Khalla with me in my childhood as much as he would have trusted my own biological mother. 

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I whispered, "I'd never question your maternal instincts towards me, Khalla. I trust you blindly."

She looked up tearfully at me. "My instincts are encouraging me to go ahead and speak to Haya's family about her."

Haya Rehan was a pretty girl, no doubt. No, she was beautiful. Ma Sha Allah. And her paintings proved that she had genuine talent as well. 

But there was so much more that I'd like to more before marriage became a possibility.

"You said you want me to chose the Bahu for myself. I have. Now are you backing out?" She asked, reading my expressions.

"I'm still sticking to my words, Khalla. But I want to know her more in an Islamically acceptable way, before I make any decisions."

"Of course." A huge pleased smile brightened up her face.

*

Sophie

Shalini Kumar was marrying George Barnes.

Two of my closest friends from university, they had been around at mine and Farhaan's almost marriage. And today, their love story had reached its ultimate destination, and now they were getting married in a Hindu ceremony.

Shalini made a stunning bride in a red and gold lehenga choli, with heavy gold jewellery adorning her, including a maang tikka. George had embraced the Indian/desi tradition and was wearing a sherwani. Like me and Farhaan, they'd wanted to start their careers before getting married, but unlike me and Farhaan, they had ended up married.

"Soph?" Shalini approached me once the wedding rituals were done. The bride and groom had now been walking around the hall talking to guests.

"Congratulations, beautiful bride!" I gave her a hug and stepped back. I wore a beautiful navy blue sari with a lace pallu which had a delicate silver border. I'd matched the outfit with silver high heel sandals and a silver clutch.

"Did it work?" She looked uncertain.

"Did what work?" 

She looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, before she continued. "Look, George and I have always shipped you and Farhaan. And we were genuinely worried about you..."

I gripped my clutch tightly. "Oh God. What did you two do?" 

"Remember I borrowed your phone to make a quick phone call when my battery had died?" 

"Umm... yes?" 

"I might have taken the number of that girl from your phone. Hooriya, was i?" 

I groaned. "What did you do, Shalini?"

"We had taken photos that night, including of your Nikah contract. Well...we sort of anonymously sent the photo of it to that girl Hooriya. We acted like immature- but overprotective- friends who only wanted you to be happy."

I gasped, mortified. "By destroying a marriage?" Again, I groaned. "Shalini, why would you guys do that?! Whatever happened, I don't blame anyone for it- certainly not that poor girl!"

Her eyes filled up. "Look, I'll apologise to her personally. We were just thinking of you."

"You didn't think of Farhaan? He'd been nothing but a good friend to you both!" I sighed. "Shelly, I know you love me, but you both really should back off. Whatever happened was good for everyone involved. I didn't want to be in a loveless marriage where my husband yearned for another."

"I'm sorry, I really am." 

"You'd have to apologise to Farhaan as well, if this impacted his marriage in any negative way." Shaking my head, I stepped back. "Good luck in your marriage life. I wish you both nothing but the best." 

"Sophie..."

But I just walked out, tears welling up in my eyes. Why was everyone pitying me? Why did I keep hearing 'Poor Sophie' everywhere? Yes, my ex-fiancé had been a bit of a confused man, but he had done the right thing at the end. We'd parted ways like mature adults. I didn't need or want anyone's sympathy.

As I got into my car and changed into comfortable driving shoes, a tear escaped my eyes and fell hallway down my cheek, before slowly trudging its way down. Even after everything, I didn't want anything to negatively impact Farhaan's life. He was not a bad person. He never had bad intentions.

My phone pinged and I took it out of my clutch, sighing as I saw the notification.

<Mikael Waqas: I need help. Financially. I mean, with my financial matters.>

<Mikael Waqas: When can we meet, Miss Khan?>

I tried to ignore him for now, I really did. But his next message made me worry for the fate of humans. 

<Mikael Waqas: I'm thinking of investing in a hot tub. What do you think? My budget would allow it?>

I glanced heavenward. Ya Allah, men complain about never understanding women. Yet the complexities of men's minds cannot be understood by me, despite my years of good education.

<Sophie: How is a 'hot tub' a good investment?! 🙄>

<Mikael Waqas: Well, it will relax me enough to make me understand my budget and my finances even more...😎>

I actually smacked my forehead. Either he was winding me up, or he really was massively terrible with his own finances. "Allah, give me sabr."

*

Hooriya

I was a part of the first official cousins' gathering in my sasural since the day of our return from the honeymoon. And this only included the younger generation, no parents or aunts and uncles.

"What is this behaviour, Mickey Bhai? Smiling into your phone?" Ifra teased the eldest of the bunch.

"I'm just winding someone up." Stretching his long legs out, Mikael Bhai set his phone aside and folded his arms behind his head as he sat on the sofa.

"Mama says you used to be so masoom in childhood." Tamanna Appi, his youngest sister said.

*"Masoom."

"Emphasise the words 'used to' and 'in childhood'." Syra, Rumaisa Phupho's daughter, giggled.

"Yaar, Mickey Bhai, get married now!" Ifra said. "We're awaiting your dulhan now." 

"And more money. Farhaan Bhai acted kanjoos while giving money to his sisters." Syra added.

"At least sisters get something. Brothers, as usual, face discrimination. We should sue." Jibril Bhai spoke up.

I smiled as I thought how that was something Rohaan would say. Sitting beside Farhaan, with his arm casually placed on the sofa behind me, I felt a beautiful sense of warmth, almost like how I felt amongst my own siblings. I was blessed to have such wonderful in-laws. I felt grateful that Mama had met Hareem Khalla, which had set the foundation of mine and Farhaan's story.

I had a wonderful family, I was about to start my dream career. Alhumdulillah, I had it all.

And this is how one evening amongst my husband's cousins made me think about a girl who wasn't as fortunate as me. And an idea formed in my head.

*

"I want to ask Tahira to come work at the B&B." I told Farhaan when we were back home.

He looked at me, surprise. "You what?" 

"We can help her gain experience so that she improves her chances while stepping out into the real world. Let's face it; today's world doesn't make it easy for people who have no work experience." I paused. "If it's okay with you, of course."

He looked thoughtful for a few moments as he paced our bedroom. "Well, as long as she's willing to provide a DBS certificate, I have no issue."

A DBS (Disclosure and Barring Service) check is requested by employers in the UK, where a copy of a potential employee's criminal record is provided.

"I know that Arsalan knows her and cares about her. But if she's going to be working with you, along with the rest of our staff, I definitely need the DBS certificate." He added, sitting down beside me.

"I'll talk to her." I smiled.

He ran a hand over the back of my head. "Arsal must really like her, huh?" 

I thought about how my youngest brother had suddenly seemed brighter since Tahira had made an appearance. "Yeah, I think he really does."

"Is it a sibling thing?" He rested his arm around my shoulders in an almost casual grip. "Falling for someone at a young age?"

I gazed up at him, a small smile slowly appearing on my face. "I think Arsu is following Yasin Chachu's footsteps more than me, because my story started a very long time ago." I leaned up to kiss his cheek, then rested my head on his shoulder. 

*

I look like Mama. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror the next morning.  I was wearing a navy blue suit with a tucked-in cream coloured blouse and black stiletto court shoes. My hair was in a neat braid, and I wore natural coloured lipstick. I was training to manage the B&B, so I wanted to look the part.

"How do I look?" I excitedly asked Farhaan the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

He was wearing his work trousers and was rubbing the towel through his damp showered hair. His eyebrows rose as he saw me. "Like the boss that you are, Mrs Farhaan."

I smiled at him. I stepped closer to him, but my foot twisted in those shoes. Reality sunk in and I realised that it was not a good idea for me to wear those stupid shoes. A) Those triangular-front shoes almost made me feel like someone was crushing my toes. B) I wasn't used to walking in these killer heels- and I mean, literally killer. They could make you have a fatal fall.

"Hoor, why are you wearing shoes that you're clearly not comfortable in?" He walked over and steadied me.

"Because boss women don't wear cute ballet pumps. They wear these killer heels that make them feel empowered."

"Why? You're the boss; you get to wear what you want, and not how society perceives a boss woman." 

I placed my hands on his bare biceps. "Does a boss get to do whatever she wants?" 

"Without a doubt." His gaze was locked on mine, his voice husky with desire.

"And she can do it with whoever she wants to do it with?" I lowered my voice, even though it was literally just him and me in our own flat.

"In this flat, it can even be anywhere." He chuckled.

I widened my eyes at him. "That would be a scandal!"

"And who would fuel this scandalous fire? The furniture?" 

I stepped back and he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. And as he pressed his lips against mine, I knew that if this continued, we would lose out a few hours of yet another precious day where I should be learning the ropes.

But my logical side was pushed aside roughly by my intense desire for him.

And then we were late for work.

We were definitely very, very late.

*

Arsalan

"Is there a reason why you asked me to come out here for a walk, Chachu?" I asked Yasin Chachu as I walked in the back garden of the Tariq family home.

"I felt like we should talk, Arsal."

"Everything okay?" I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I looked at him. Since knowing that Tahira was now safe- and not too far from me- my heart had lightened up and my mind was more at ease.

"You know what one of the worst parts about love is?" He asked, to my surprise. This was not a conversation I expected to have with my uncle. When I didn't reply, he continued, "It's wrong timing." 

I bowed my head as we walk, nibbling on my lower lip.

"You know you've met the right person, but you also know that the timing is very bad." He looked at me. "I know that better than anyone else."

I didn't interrupt. Paying full attention to his words, I nodded to imply my understanding and maybe my agreement.

"I was in a similar situation, kid. When I left to study for my Masters in LA, I thought it was all over. I then made myself determined to focus on my education and my career. And because it was meant to be, years later I met your Saba Chachi again by chance. And now here we are."

"Yes, but how can I let go with no guarantee that she'll come back in my life?" 

"Arsal, if she's meant to be with you, she'll definitely come back. But if it's not meant to be, no matter how hard you try, even if you call an Imam for a Nikah immediately, it won't happen." He placed a hand on my back. "You're barely twenty, Arsalan. In Sha Allah, you have a nice and bright future ahead of you. Focus on finishing your education and building your career. Let her step out of the darkness of her life and find a way for herself as well. If you are meant to be, nothing can keep you and her apart."

"Chachu, I'm worried sick about her. I don't know what to do." I sighed heavily. "She didn't deserve the darkness. She deserves sunshine and happiness."

He looked at me with a nostalgic look on his face. "We want nothing but sunshine for the ones we care about, my boy. But take it from me; both of you have a lot to growing to do. I'm not just talking about maturity. There are many aspects of one's personality and character that must be sharpened before even considering marriage. Allow yourselves to reach their at your own pace. Don't rush, don't force her to rush either."

"I'm just worried."

"About?"

"That while finding her way out of the darkness, she's going to realise that she doesn't need me in her life." 

"Then it's not meant to be. And if such is the case, do not despair. I have faith in Allah that whatever is written in your future is the best option for you. Having sabr could lead to an astounding amount of rewards; unimaginable rewards for your patience." 

Chachu was right. I had a lot of growing up to do. I was yet to become the lion that Tahira was sure I could be. And until I reached that position, I wouldn't even think about marriage.

*

Hooriya

I arrived at the shelter later in the late afternoon, ready to talk to Tahira about the potential job offer I had for her. I had been planning my words throughout the car ride because I didn't want to hurt her self-esteem by blatantly offering her the job. I wanted to carefully propose the offer, and make her understand that it was a hundred percent her choice to accept the job, and that she wouldn't be offending me if she chose not to accept.

But as I entered the shelter, an unfamiliar woman in her late thirties or early forties entered the lobby, making her way to the front door by which I stood.

"Excuse me." She muttered, causing me to step aside. But before she walked past me, she looked up and her eyes widened. 

"Can I help you?" I asked when she continued staring.

"A-Are you one of the twins?" She asked softly, placing her strangely cold fingertips on my cheek.

I instinctively stepped back. "W-Who are you?" Don't tell me this is a repeat of Zareena. I've had enough encounters with psycho psychics. Don't want another one!

"My name is Mariyam Zohaib." She whispered out.

Zohaib? Mama's maiden name Zohaib? 

"My dear, I think... I think I'm your Khalla."

*

*REQUESTED SCENE*

Rohaan

"Yasin will be heading to work after his little chat with Arsal. And I have to run a few errands. Yamna will be here for a few hours, and then I'll be back." Saba Chachi told Mama.

"Of course, Saba! This is her home too!" Mama smiled warmly at Yamna, before glaring daggers at me as I stood by the kitchen isle eating an apple. "We'll take good care of her."

But as I observed the conversation, I noticed that Yamna seemed quieter. She stood by her mother, her gaze lowered, clutching the straps of her lilac backpack. And as our Chachi turned to go, the little hamster grabbed her mother's hand and silently shook her head as tears filled her eyes.

"What's wrong, jaani?" Mama leaned down. "This is your Tayan's house. You always stay with us when your parents are busy. What happened today?"

"It's okay, ladies. Don't worry. I'll talk to her." I stepped forward. "Come on, hamster." I nodded at Yamna to follow me. Then I headed down the hall, almost thinking that she'd completely ignore me. But the sound of her white pumps tapping lightly on the laminated floor of our home made me smile to myself. "Have a seat." I gestured at the staircase where Yamna usually enjoyed sitting. "Are you scared of me?" I asked, sitting down beside her. 

She scoffed, even as she slid away from me, closer to the wall. "No! Tayan can handle you if you do anything to upset me. I don't need to be scared of you."

A small amused smile appeared on my face, but I pushed it away. "Did the bullies say something to you again?" 

"Why does it matter to you? I'm just an annoying hamster for you!"

"The thing is, Yum-Yum the hamster, ultimately, we are from the same family tree. We are family. Only I get to mess with family, not outsiders." I spoke gently.

She sulked. "You're a meanie."

I laughed. "I'm not kidding though, Yamna. Tell me if anyone messed with you. And what is causing you to not want to stay here with us?" 

And then tears started streaming down her face, to my surprise. "You're always so mean to me! I'm scared to stay here! Last time I had a bad dream that you shaved my hair off and that's why I don't want to stay here!"

I laughed so hard that it echoed all around the foyer. "Oh, Yamna. I'm like a brother to you. And that's what brothers do; tease an annoy their siblings, especially the younger ones."

She looked at me with so much sadness in her eyes that I instantly sobered up. "I already get teased too much at school. In a very mean way."

And to say that my heart actually ached for her would actually be an understatement. After all, at the end of the day she was our Yasin Chachu's daughter, and we all adored him. None of us would ever want his daughter to be hurt or harmed in any way. I held out my fist. "I promise that I won't shave your hair if you fall asleep here. I'll be nicer."

She pounded my fist lightly and smiled begrudgingly. "Always remember that promise."

"What promise?" I teased.

"Meanie."

"Hamster."

She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, staring straight ahead. But a few seconds later, she looked at me sideways and started giggling hard, causing me to chuckle as well.

Family. They're your enemies, but they're also people you just had to look out for.

*

Ugh, this writer's block. I spent two out of my three days off trying to get over it. 

This chapter was rubbish and all over the place, so sorry!

Should Tahira accept Hoor's offer?

Thoughts and comments?

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