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*

Hooriya Rehan Tariq

"Behaya ladki! Idhar aao!" The screeching of the middle aged woman made me wince.

*"Shameless girl! Come here!" 

I walked over to the edge of the terrace and peeked down. "What happened?" 

From the garden next door, the woman glared up at me. "Sambhal le apni pehn no. Dil karda ay rak ke chapair maraan uday moun te!"

*"Sort your sister out! I feel like slapping her right across her face!"

I opened my mouth to argue, but a voice beat me to it.

"I dare you to lay a finger on my sister!" A growl beside me made me turn and I sighed. 

"Rohaan." I grabbed the upper arm of my twenty-year-old hot headed younger brother.

"Astaghfirullah!" The woman touched her ears. "Kuch sikhande nai Maa Baap aaj kal sawaye badtameezi de."

*"Parents don't teach anything these days but insolence."

"What happened, Aunty?" I asked, taking charge as the eldest sibling.

"Your sister broke my window while praying cricket." The woman shook her finger warningly at me. "Aan de to apni maa noun. Dasdiyan main ono." 

*"Let your mother come. I'll tell her."

"Aunty, I'm sorry. We'll pay for the damage, I promise." I tried to act like a mediator.

"Baap aina changa hunda te bacheyan noun tameez sikhai hundi." She continued.

*"If the father was so good, he would have disciplined his kids."

"Baap pe nahin jao tussi!" Rohaan yelled out. 

*"Do not insult my father!"

I turned and dashed inside the house, running down the stairs. "Haya!"

We were on a family holiday in Lahore, and had rented out a place to stay. So far, there had been complaints every day about Haya breaking something or the other. 

As I got to the foyer, Haya was just running inside, looking sheepish. 

"Haya..." I said, wearily.

"I apologised to her, but she just got started!" Haya was not my identical twin, but we looked very much alike nevertheless. She had a lighter hair colour though, and a beauty mark under her left ear. Also, she had shoulder length hair, whereas mine was almost waist-length. "I didn't do anything intentionally."

Rohaan came down the stairs behind me. "Next time do it intentionally. In fact, I'll go and do it right now."

"Rohaan." I glared at him, before turning back to Haya. "Just play carefully."

"It's not my fault I'm super at sixers." She shrugged, not-so-modestly. She looked at Rohaan. "Where did you run off to? Get Arsal and let's play." 

"Don't break anymore windows." I warned them.

"I'll try to play like Rohaan, and then I won't be able to." Haya giggled. In retaliation, Rohaan pinched her arm.

"Try beating me at football, Behaya." He muttered.

The two kept bantering as they headed out.

"Hoor, call Arsal!" Haya called out over her shoulder before the door closed behind them.

Rolling my eyes, I went into the living room where I just knew I'd find Arsalan, the youngest of our bunch. He was writing away in his journal, frowning thoughtfully. "Rohaan and Haya want you to play cricket with them."

"Every time I play with them, I get embarrassed. Someone always comes to yell at us, in particular Haya." He muttered, without looking up at me. "By the way, Mama said by the time she gets back, be ready. She wants to take you shopping for Farhaan Bhai's wedding."

My heart sank. The wedding of Farhaan Faiz was something everyone was looking forward to.

Everyone but me.

Sure, Sophie was a nice girl, very friendly. Sure he loved her. Sure they looked stunning together. 

"Waise, kabhi unhain bataya kyun nahin?" Arsal suddenly asked, raising both eyebrows at me.

*"By the way, why didn't you ever tell him?"

I looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?" 

He smiled knowingly at me. "Hoor Appi, I know more than I let on." He got up. "I'm going to sleep for a bit. I think my jet lag isn't over still. But think about my words."

I also got up and headed upstairs to the room where I was staying. 

They say we get over childhood crushes as we grow up. But what if the childhood crush develops into something so deep that it's irrevocable? I shook my head, forcing myself to leave the world of fantasy. I've read many stories, but happy endings only belong in fiction... real life isn't always as simple.

Right?

*

A loud knock on the door made me smack a palm against my forehead. "Haya, can you ever knock like a human, rather than Godzilla?" 

She threw the door opened and entered. "What are you up to?" 

"I'm reading."

"Allah! Your education was literally about reading! Live a little." She sat down on the bed. "Rohaan and I were thinking about going to a café nearby for coffee and sandwiches." She grabbed my book for me. "What's with you and these sappy romance novels?"

"Give it back!" I reached for it.

"'My heart started pounding faster, and I felt butterflies in my stomach.'." She burst out laughing. "Maybe she needs to see a doctor?" 

"Give it back, Haya!" I got up and snatched the book back from her grip. "Behave."

"Do you imagine Farhaan Bhai when you read these things?" She asked suddenly.

My cheeks burned. "Behave, Haya. He's about to get married."

"Yeah, to the wrong girl. Duh. It should be you." She walked around the room, opening and closing the wardrobe doors as if exploring the place. "Your room is bigger than mine." 

"You chose your own room after seeing all rooms." I said, tonelessly. "And don't ever mention that again. Farhaan is marrying Sophie, and she's a very sweet girl."

"Yeah, but I'm biased. So I'll still say that I ship you two." Shrugging, she walked out of my room.

Narrowing my eyes, I followed her. "Did you just come to room for casual talk?" 

She turned around, her cheeks turning red, and she nodded. But she was clearly hiding something behind her back.

"What did you take from my wardrobe?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

She held up the item and I gasped. "Seriously, Haya?" 

"Shut up." She muttered, her gaze lowered.

"Since when does the great Haya Rehan reads romance novels?" I burst out laughing.

"I'm bored. I want something to do." She didn't meet my gaze.

"This place has Wi-Fi. You have your phone, your tablet. And you choose my romance novel?" I was amused. She always had pretended not to care for romance.

"I just want to make fun of it, okay?" She looked irritated by my teasing.

"Or you want to dream of Prince Charming."

"Eww." She smacked my arm with the book. "Buzz off. And if you mention a word of this to anyone..."

I just grinned.

"Hoor, I'll kill you." 

"Rohaaaan...." I called out.

"HOORIYA REHAN TARIQ!" She hissed at me.

I giggled again, knowing that I was going to tease my twin about this for a very long time.

*

Farhaan Faiz Jamshed

"Mr Farhaan." An urgent voice called out to me.

I looked up to see a stressed out Julia, the manager of my 'Rose Luxe Bed & Breakfast' running towards me. "What's wrong?" 

"Someone forgot to place the order for fresh towels. We are sort of running short." Her face turned pink as she informed me.

I sighed. "How many times will this keep happening? Whoever forgot needs a final warning." I headed past the reception desk towards the door that led to the basement, where the stock was kept. Providing the luxuries of the hotel, with the more reasonable price of a B & B, I had chosen this rather than a chain of hotels because it was less of a headache, and would give me more time to focus on helping out my favourite mechanic, Asghar Sahab at the garage near my home. The location of this B&B was very popular because tourists loved the view of the English countryside, and there were quite a few walking/hiking trails around. 

How am I meant to hold my wedding here when my staff cannot even order fresh towels?

My phone pinged, indication a notification. I quickly took it out and glanced down at it. It was a job alert for Assistant Lecturer at a university in London. Unlocking my phone, I shared the link with the person for whom I'd signed up for these job alerts.

<Farhaan: Here's another one, Hoor. I didn't get a chance to look at it, but see what you think.>

Hooriya Rehan had always turned to me to ask for education or career advice. Since my Phupho and her mother were best friends, or families always ended up mingling together, and Hoor had told me at one such social gathering that she wanted to be an English lecturer. 

<Hoor: Thank you!>

I smiled, putting my phone away. 

"You used to be a lecturer's assistant for a while at university. Help Hoor out when you can." Hareem Phupho had told me.

"Mine was unpaid work, Phupho." 

"Come on, Farhaan. You're one of the oldest ones amongst the bunch. They'll all look up to you for advice at one point or another. Help her. She's a bright girl."

I knew Hoor was a bright girl. I used to tutor her and she used to grasp everything quite easily and quickly.

And then my phone started ringing and I glanced at the caller ID.

Sophie.

My fiancée.

 I answered the phone after a few seconds. "Assalam Alaikum, Sophie."

"Walaikum Assalam. Farhaan, my parents wanted to know if you could come over for lunch tomorrow?" Her soft voice came through.

"Tomorrow? Soph, it's a bit of a short notice. You know I'm busy with wedding preparations." 

"Come on, Farhaan. You have to eat, so why not eat with us?" Her tone was light and warm. 

"If I come, I can't stay for long, okay?" I exhaled out as I looked around at the severe lack of towels. 

"I promise that nobody would force you to stay longer." 

"Fine. I'll be there. What time?" 

"One. Thank you, Farhaan!" 

As the call ended, I just stood in the stock room for a while, gathering my thoughts. Sophie was a beautiful girl, inside and out. In fact, her inner beauty is what had attracted me to her. She was kind beyond words and very compassionate. She adored my family, and my family really liked her too. It was a simple story, with no added complications. We met, we wanted to marry and our families agreed.

Very easy. Very simple.

So, what was the issue here?

*

Hooriya

I stood in the en-suite bathroom and cried silently. It hurt a lot, but I didn't allow myself to express it in front of anyone. Of course, Haya understood. And now it seemed that Arsal understood as well. Splashing water on my face as I glanced up at myself. "Be strong. If you want to be a lecturer, you have to be stronger. You'll have to one day speak up in front of a bunch of mainly young adults. Nothing can be scarier than that right?" 

Composing myself, I came out of the bathroom and patted a towel over my face. 

"Haya Rehan Tariq!"

I groaned. Was it already time to play mediator again? I wouldn't be surprised if the aunty next door had ambushed my parents in the driveway. Tossing the towel aside, I left my room and rushed downstairs. I had to defend my sister when she didn't intentionally do something wrong.

Back from a day of literature conferences, my parents stood in the living room. Papa looked almost amused, his arms crossed over his chest, while Mama looked weary, her hands on my hips.

"Assalam Alaikum." I said as I came in, heading straight to Papa and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"Walaikum Assalam." Both of them replied, as Papa kissed the top of my head.

"What did Haya do?" Mama asked. 

"That old hag filled your ears, right?" Rohaan's voice again didn't allow me a chance to speak up, as he came behind me. "You know what she said? That she want to slap Haya!"

"What?" Papa frowned.

"Mama, we were playing cricket. Haya hit a sixer and broke a window. It wasn't on purpose." Rohaan continued being my twin's advocate.

Mama looked at Papa. "Hadd hai, Rehan. Shikayatein to aise kar rahi thi jaise Haya ne unka sona chura liya ho."

*"It's the limit, Rehan. She was complaining as if Haya had stolen her gold."

"Did she threaten to slap Haya?" Papa was still stuck on that one particular sentence.

"No, Papa. She said she felt like it. She didn't threaten her." I spoke calmly, trying to calm my father down.

"But she would have if Haya was close enough." The Provoker of the Year, Rohaan added.

"Don't you have anything better than to set metaphoric fires everywhere?" I asked him. "It's okay, Papa. If you just pay for her window repair..."

"Absolutely not." Mama shook her head. "I admit it was an accident, but the one who broke it should pay for it." 

I knew for a fact that Haya had already used up her savings for the month. She was looking for jobs, but for now she relied on pocket money. "I'll pay for it. Haya can owe me."

"Did she use up all her money again?" Mama asked, drily.

I looked at Papa, silently pleading with him to step in.

"So what, Anya? It's okay. The pocket money is for them to do whatever they want to do...as long as it isn't haram or illegal." My father pointedly grinned at Rohaan as he said that. "Am I clear, kid?" Then he looked at Mama again. "I'll pay this time. Haya can owe me if you want."

"Come on, Mama. Haya didn't really do anything wrong, admit it." Rohaan wrapped his arm around our mother's shoulders.

She melted. "I adore how you kids stand up for each other, Ma Sha Allah." She glanced around. "Where's Arsal? I got him a book that he might like." 

"What did you get for the rest of us becharay?" Rohaan teased us.

*Becharay: poor/pitiful (plural).

"You and Haya don't really read." Mama said. "But, Hoor..." She gave me a small smile as she pulled a book out of her back. "For you." She turned back to Rohaan. "Because we're fair parents, we got your favourite snacks, as well as Haya's." 

I excitedly took the book from her. "Thank you, Mama!" I squealed, giving her a hug and then racing out of the room with the book, hearing my parents laugh behind me.

Some may say that I live in a world of fantasy, the most comfortable in fictional lands. And it was true; the only tears I shed there was for characters that I knew weren't real. It wasn't real sorrow, real pain that I felt in the world of fiction. It took me away from the real pain that had constantly eaten away at me ever since we'd received Farhaan Faiz's wedding invitation card.

*

Farhaan

"Done!" I wiped my hands on a dirty rag, before tossing it aside. "Looking good, Asghar Sahab." 

The aging man nodded at me. "You always work quickly, but your work is always exceptional. Ma Sha Allah." 

I grinned, modestly. "It's nothing like that. I just enjoy doing this so much." 

"I have noticed something, Farhaan. If you don't mind me saying this..." He cleared his throat.

"Sure." I glanced at him. 

"You seem distracted. Almost as if there's a dilemma in your mind that you're trying to solve." 

I glanced away from him, walking towards the open doors of the large garage. The sun was setting, the sky painted with hues of orange, purple and yellow. "I made a decision, a major decision. And it felt right initially, you know. Like it was the right thing to do at that time."

"But now it doesn't seem right anymore?" 

I thought of Sophie. She was an incredible person. I enjoyed talking to her, and she respected the boundaries of mehram and non-mehram, so we had maintained a no-physical relationship so far. We'd even only met alone in public places. If we were in quieter places, it was around her family or mine. "On the face of it, there's no issue with this decision. It's a good decision, and everyone is happy with it." 

"Then what's the problem? Are you not happy with it?" 

"I thought I was." I turned to face him. "This wedding is something that Sophie and I both wanted so much, but I myself don't know what the problem is. I have this weird, nagging feeling inside me that just keeps getting stronger and stronger and it's frankly pi**ing me off, pardon my language."

"Do an Istikhara. And be honest with the girl." The man held wisdom in his eyes, the wrinkles on his face acting as an evidence of his experience.

"How did you...?"

"Call it an instinct." He gave me a kind smile. "Istikhara is the best form of decision making for us Muslims." 

"I think I'm a little afraid of the answer. How will I face her if the answer is negative?" 

"Be open and honest. Lying or hiding things helps nobody. Honesty may hurt initially, but in the long run, it's the right thing to do, beta." 

*

My mother had, since day one, told me that Istikhara is highly recommended when making major decisions like marriage. And now, when the nagging feeling eating away at my mind, I finally did what she'd suggested.

Istikhara salaah is a non-mandatory prayer used to make major decisions. It usually gives a person the answer in one form or another, be it a dream or just a feeling.

So, that very night, the day before I was supposed to have lunch with Sophie and her parents, I prayed the Istikhara salaah, asking my Allah whether it was right for me to go ahead with marriage with Sophie.

I woke up to a negative reply. Everything inside me told me that I shouldn't be marrying Sophie Khan.

*

So...here's the answer everyone's been waiting for... this story is about Hoor and Farhaan. But is it a happy story, or full of sadness and drama?

Sophie seems like a good person. Will Farhaan go ahead with the marriage or not?

Thoughts on Hooriya's bond with her siblings?

Thoughts on prologue overall?

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