Irma held the sleeves of her shirt, bunching them into her fists. The cup of tea was getting cold in front of her but she hadn't taken a sip.

"I can't thank you enough for making this possible. "

The voice of her mother in law, which Irma was trying to tune out, reverberated in the space of the drawing room. There was an awkward silence which was occasionally being broken by the woman's constant talks only. Both Farwa and Irma were silent. Sarim hadn't chosen to stay with them. He was in the lounge and he wasn't happy with this development, or lack thereof. He didn't see the point but Irma wanted to do this so, trusting her he hadn't shown that much disapproval, albeit begrudgingly.

"It's good that Irma hasn't yet filed for the Khula. It's necessary that both her and Mohid talk before that. Working things out and patching up."

Irma gave her a cursory look. She hadn't branded her mother in law as a cruel person because in her almost a year long marriage, the woman had never shown much tendency to be vile. She was often lost in her own world. But right now, listening to her rambling on about the potential patch up she'd conjured in her mind because Irma had agreed to talk to Mohid, Irma could say she was cruel. Sometimes mere ignorance is the biggest cruelty you can show. The fading bruises on her body stung more than they had all week. She still had the physical signs of what had gone wrong between her and Mohid, the emotional baggage was something she'd need years to push to the back of her mind and here she had her very optimistic mother in law raving on about how things were going to get settled down very soon.

Surely, the one who's subjected to something knows what it truly means to live through it. Rest of the world couldn't care less.

"You should call Mohid here. Irma won't be leaving her house under any circumstances. We don't trust anyone on this. So, don't even insist on taking her with you to meet Mohid."

Farwa had seen Mrs. Sajjad's next request, or suggestion coming and she had already declined it much to the woman's annoyance. What did she think? Just because Irma wanted to have a word with Mohid, things would get back to normal in the blink of an eye? Farwa frowned at her frustrated expressions. Surely, she wasn't thinking like a woman or as someone who had her own daughters too. She was right now just the mother of a son who had ruined everything in his life with his own hands.

"That's not fair. You know Irma is safe with us."

"She endured six months of abuse on the hands of her husband in her own house. That's rich coming from you, auntie."

Sarim stood in the door with his hand folded on his chest. He was giving Mrs. Sajjad a narrowed look, as if to try him and the woman wasn't fool enough to do that, launching into a debate with him. She nodded defeatedly.

"Well, I'll send Mohid in the evening. "

She proceeded to get up and take her belongings. Sarim's presence had tensed the environment some more and she no longer wished to stay here anymore. She was taking her leave from Farwa and then came to Irma hugging her lightly. Irma didn't show any reaction, there was nothing warm about this embrace anyway.

"I just hope that after talking to him you'll make a wise decision, Irma. It's not just about you and Mohid, It's about your unborn child as well. Think about all that will follow if you go with the Khula. A family once broken can't be put together again."

She patted Irma's head and as she walked out of there, Irma kept on looking at her retreating back.

A family once broken can't be put together again.

But wasn't the same true for a life as well? A person's spirit, hopes, dreams. Once broken can't be put together again.

Sarim held her from her shoulder and she immediately looked up. He gave her a reassuring smile.

"Me and Ammi are right here. There's nothing to be worried about."

She reciprocated his smile. This support meant so much to her and one day when she'd be in a better mental and physical state, where she'd be able to talk casually about the mess that her life was at this point, she'd tell them how their trust in her was the sole wall she could lean against and breathe.

___

For as long Irma was married to the guy and lived with him, where he was the only person she used to see on a daily basis for the most part, she was well aware of the limited amount of emotions Mohid showed. In the beginning it was about smiles, then came the annoyance, then came the fury wrath. She thought she'd seen it all but unease wasn't something Irma had thought of seeing on Mohid's face and his body language when he came to the drawing room and sat in front of her.

Sarim hadn't left the house the whole day even though Mohid had called to tell Irma he was going to be there in the evening. Right now he was with Farwa in her room which was just across the guest area. He was taking any chances and as much the situation was morbid, Irma found it cute and had smiled a little.

Just a little because after that Mohid's car had stopped in front of the house and he had come inside where Irma was already waiting for him.

"H..how are you?"

His question was asked in a meek voice. Irma was taken aback by it. Then the shock was replaced by irony.

"You'd know better. I wasn't the one beating myself. You should know the effect of your own hands, no?"

He shifted in his place and Irma found it surprisingly boosting. He deserved to be on the edge.

"Look, Irma. I'm sorry."

"Not the kind of tone with which you threatened me of never getting divorce out of you."

He shook his head in desperation.

"I was scared."

"Of losing your punching bag?"

"Irma, that's not.."

"That's what I knew myself in your life, Mohid. This is the only truth I know."

The silence that followed was deafening. Mohid had pursed his lips. He wasn't expecting the biting remarks from Irma. When he was told by his mother that Irma was ready to meet him, he had envisioned the same scenario that had taken place in their bedroom quite often. Him beating her and her not uttering a word and the next day him acting all normal and her playing along. This was something he wasn't prepared for. This Irma who seemed like she agreed for this meeting just to say what she had never gotten a chance to say instead of talking things out with him.

"When we were in university, I didn't know you but you knew me. You knew my name, you knew who I was. The class topper who was adored by all. Was this a reason for you to say yes to the proposal?"

Mohid opened his mouth to deny this but then he stopped. Irma wasn't expecting any coherent denial from him anyway. Because she knew this already. Had known for a while now.

"You wanted a trophy wife. Someone you could flaunt to your friends and batchmates and who else other than the once bright class topper who was never seen after we left university. Who was often told how bright her future was but couldn't even try to achieve that bright future. And now she is your wife. Someone once everyone looked up to was now in your life, under your hold and you could do whatever you want because she was already so exhausted from her home environment and you were hope, her ticket out. And you used it well. You showed her dreams. You talked sweet to her. Made promises and she thought this was it, her wait for a life changing something was over. You were her something who would take her away from every bad."

Irma shook her head if she was chiding herself. That once naïve self which was now battered to its limit. Littered with bruises and each mark screaming at her to never trust anyone.

"I was your prize to show. And you got what you were trying for. Praise. Compliments and envious stares. You gloated in that and as long as you were the center of attention, you kept me in the same lala land you had promised me. But that was only till the focus went back to me. People started coming to me and you were once again pushed to the sides. You didn't like it. You hated it. And then you hated me."

"I never hated you!"

"You don't keep on using your fist on someone you love, Mohid. But you used that on me. Your fists, your slaps, your explicit words. You used all that on me. And I was so under the spell of the dreams you showed me that I kept on hoping that it's just a phase, that you'd get out of it."

She didn't even try hiding or wiping her tears. She wanted him to know that she was crying on what they had lost, or what they never had. She was crying on the illusion of it all and she wanted him to know she won't be crying again. She won't lament on what could've beens anymore. This was the last straw. The last time. The last of everything.

"Wonder why it took me so long to leave it all behind?"

Mohid had no strength in him to even look up.

"Because I believed in the dreams you showed me. Because dreaming was forbidden in my life. And you came barreling through it with those in the palm of your hands. Dreams. And then you became a nightmare. Pretty heavy cost for just a mere dream of breathing in fresh air without any constraints."

Her eyes were glassy now. The tears had stopped long back. Mohid was silent. Maybe it was the first time when Irma talked and he listened.

"I can't live with you any longer, Mohid. I will not be able to live if I keep on hoping for you to get better, or a decent human who doesn't raise his hand on me. There's just too much at stake and I can't risk it."

He scrambled to his feet as if stung and sat close to her. Irma didn't stop him. It was the last time anyway. He didn't know that but she was sure of that.

"Please, Irma. I swear I'd change. I'm sorry for everything. For making your life a living hell, for giving you so much physical and mental trauma. For threatening you the other day. I'm so sorry. Please. Don't do this to us. To the family we are going to become soon."

The baby.

Irma suddenly became aware of the small distance between them and stood up, widening it. He had raised his hand on her knowing full well she was pregnant. She couldn't trust him with the baby.

"That's the main reason why I'm taking this decision."

She took another step back and Mohid had no guts in him to stop her.

"I can give you a chance for myself. I was used to your violent ways anyways. We can try doing this again but for my baby, I refuse to even think of it. I was still pregnant when you last beat me, Mohid. The baby was still very much inside me that time and you didn't even care for that so why should I? I'm only protecting my child. I can't forgive you for the sake of both me and my baby. This is me making this right."

The finality with which she had said these words were like a full stop to a story which started a year back between Mohid and Irma. Mohid was reeling from her words and then he started pleading his case in earnest. Irma was unfazed. He was about to touch her arm when someone stood between him and her. Mohid glared at Sarim who pushed him back slightly, not a hard shove, just enough to tell Mohid that he had lost the right to talk to Irma like a husband.

"You heard her. Now get lost."

"I'm still talking!"

"No one's listening. Just vanish already."

Sarim's words had no amount of flexibility in them.

"I will not stop trying, Irma. I will keep on fighting. You can't just lock me out of your and my baby's life like this!"

"This is the first time I'm making a decision in this relationship, Mohid. And I'm pretty sure this is the first right decision. And last as well."

Manzoor came inside and started pulling Mohid away from the siblings. Sarim gave a last hard stare in the direction Mohid had just gone and turned to Irma. She couldn't look him in the eye. She was ashamed. How disappointed he sounded the last time they had talked about it in her room.

"I'm so proud of you."

His words made her look at him with a start. He hugged her and as usual his embrace felt like a protective cocoon to Irma. He was her safe haven. Had always been. Her brother and her best friend. The person she could trust with her eyes closed. The only person in her life who had listened to what she wanted to say, who respected her decisions and was by her side every single time.

"I'm sorry for what happened, I wish I could change it for you, Irma. I wish you wouldn't have to walk on eggshells to get to this point in your life where you know your self worth. I wish things wouldn't be as hard as they are."

Irma wished the same. But this is life and it often has harsh lessons for people with soft hearts.

_____

Life is merely a cycle of living through your firsts and not repeating those or living through those. Some make you, the others might break you but both ways they leave an impact.

It was Irma's first time being at the family court. Her first time meeting the officials. After that it became less frightening and more of a lesson that this happens when you choose a twisted road towards something you can get by being just a bit brave.

She saw Atif uncle and another lawyer, a lady talking amongst each other. She saw her appeal for Khula being presented to the officials. She heard them asking for the reason and she heard herself giving those. She saw the approval in their stance hearing her story.

She was determined to never let anyone walk over her as she saw them making her file. Her eyes had hardened and she placed her arm securely over her midriff. Her lawyers were told that her appeal had been accepted and a notice would promptly be sent to her husband soon.

She didn't let her resolve break throughout the process and she was glad that she was surrounded on both sides by two people who could never agree on something but for her they had forgotten their own differences. Sarim and Nauman were with her.

And Irma was sure the victory was hers.

______

Yusra opened the already ajar door to Elaf's room all the while balancing the tray of tea mugs and snacks on her hand. It was evening tea time and as per the norm, Elaf and Yusra would spend this time sipping tea, munching on bakery cookies and talking about things they had already talked about some hundred times. A typical mum daughter time, nothing else.

But what Yusra wasn't expecting on this perfect Sunday was seeing her daughter surrounded by papers and books. Elaf was studying more than she usually did, maybe it was the pressure of the final semester rolling in soon or Elaf wanted to perform well the remaining days at the university, Yusra didn't know. She was just pleasantly surprised seeing Elaf not perked up at the prospect of tea and cookies like she usually would. She hadn't even discarded her work yet. Her focus was still on the notebook opened in front of her.

"Piled up your work again?"

Yusra asked, extending a cup of tea towards Elaf which she took with a tired smile.

"Not really, Mama. I'm all caught up. In fact I'm more than caught up."

"Then what's all this mess?"

Yusra asked, pointing around. Elaf shrugged.

"I'm making notes for Sarim. He's missed quite a lot of classes due to his home situation so I'm trying to be a good friend here."

Yusra raised an eyebrow and then smiled lightly. She had been hearing this name a lot for months now, Sarim. She still hadn't met the guy but seeing Elaf all praises for him all the time had piqued Yusra's interest as well.

"How's his sister now?"

Elaf's smile dimmed and Yusra watched the shift with questioning eyes.

"She's alright I think. They have applied for the Khula and they are hopeful that the court will grant them that as well. Her in-laws are pretty adamant on patching up but Irma is not having any of it. "

"Rightfully so. Bearing domestic abuse is never okay. She did the right thing by ending the relationship."

"Yeah, she did. But It's not easy for her, Mama. She's pregnant and she's so emotionally drained. I feel so bad for her. She doesn't deserve this. In fact none of them deserve all this. Sarim, his parents and Irma."

Concern was dripping from every word she spoke and Yusra was searching her face. This wasn't just a friend worried for another friend. There was something deeper to this which Yusra felt was too raw and new right now for Elaf to even notice. But Yusra was her mother and she had picked on it. Maybe it wasn't as deep as Yusra thought it was, but whatever that maybe, Yusra wanted Elaf to feel it herself and then come to her like she always did. Because it felt good. A promising start of something.

"It is a hard time, yes but don't feel sorry for her. She took a stand at the right time and ended things. Not many people out there have this kind of courage. She got support from her family and that's appreciative. She will now live with her parents without having any abuse in her life. This is her win. She didn't become a mere newspaper story, Elaf. That itself is something seeing the condition of this society."

Elaf couldn't agree more. Her mother was right. But she felt her heart twisted whenever she thought of Irma's hollow eyes or Sarim's distraught state. She prayed that they'd get some normalcy back in their lives because they were some of the best people she'd ever met in her life and they didn't deserve it anyway.

_____

"How does it feel to be finally independent?"

Bisma asked, taking her seat right in front of Safwa. Safwa just grinned, closing her phone. She had just received her salary in her account and that was the reason enough for her to be over the moon. It was her first hard earned money. She'd literally worked through the disapproval of board members and proved herself to be capable enough of handling business dealings. It was just her first month but she was doing great by the standards of a newbie. Business was in her genes and it hadn't happened before that a Kirmani wouldn't be aware of the strategies of the corporate world. She was living to her surname.

"It feels great. Liberating."

Bisma nodded with a smile. She was the witness of how hard Safwa had worked this whole month. She had earned the paycheck she had received.

"How do you plan on spending it?"

She was asking as if Safwa already didn't have enough money in her account anyway but this was different, this was purely, without any doubt Safwa's own money and it mattered how she wanted to spend it.

"I'm not sure. Gift something to you and Nusrat Aapa. Take my friends on a treat. I might do that later because Sarim isn't in the mood these days and without him our squad isn't complete. Or I can have a shopping spree and girls only time with Elaf. Can go on a movie with Hesham, but that greedy ass won't stick to just that. He'd demand a full course meal. There are many options, you know."

"What about Izaan?"

Bisma's question was abrupt but the way she was gauging Safwa's reaction was telling that she had asked this with a purpose.

"Izaan. Well I might gift him something as well."

Gift for Nusrat Aapa, Bisma and Izaan.

Family.

Bisma was still looking at her when Safwa took a deep breath. Now was the time. She could feel it.

"Phupho, I have been meaning to tell you something. I just don't know why I was stalling it. I have no reason for that, I mean you are Phupho I can tell you everything and you always listen. It's just..."

"Stop rambling, Safwa."

Safwa chuckled nervously. God, it was harder than she had thought. But why was it hard?

"I...I'm.."

"You like Izaan."

Safwa frowned.

"I do but I think it's a tad bit more than just liking. I'm in love with him."

The clarity in her voice had left the jumbled up mess she was just a while back. She was so sure, so confident, so in love.

Bisma chuckled softly.

"Really?"

"Yes, I'm sure about it. And I think he's on the same lines. Though we haven said the words yet but you know sometimes words aren't necessary. In our case they never are. So yes, this is something I was supposed to tell you for so long but I don't know why I didn't."

"What was stopping you?"

Bisma asked, twirling the pen in her fingers. Safwa was expecting her to demand details, be excited or just straight out tell her to invite Izaan over. Nothing of that sort happened. Instead Bisma chose to ask a question Safwa herself wasn't sure what the answer to was.

"I don't exactly know. I mean it's not like you were going to have any objection. You have met Izaan, haven't you. And he's good at making an impression on people. I think I was just nervous because it's the first time I'm telling you about a guy I like. We haven't done this before."

Bisma nodded. Safwa kept on waiting for her to say something more but that never came.

"Phupho?"

"I think I had a hunch. I just wanted you to tell me yourself."

"I swear I wasn't hiding it from you on purpose. You can ask Nusrat Aapa. It's really not a secret. We aren't each others' hidden truths. No."

Safwa vehemently wanted Bisma to believe that she wasn't doing it deliberately. She could feel Bisma was put off by this but that would be weird. Bisma wasn't easily put off by things Safwa did. This was the best thing about her, Bisma was always open minded when it came to life dealings.

"It's good. You are growing up. Figuring out your feelings. It's refreshing to see you like this."

Just this? Safwa's frown deepened. Why was Bisma so ambiguous?

"I have a meeting in a few so I'm heading for that. You should go home. You did enough work today."

She picked up her folder and giving Safwa a smile so unlike her usual, went out of the cabin, leaving Safwa very confused. She wouldn't accept it right away but the creeping feeling in her heart was nothing but hurt.

_____

Maryam took another sip of the lemonade and tapping on the steering, gave Ibsam a one over. He was sitting silently on the passenger seat. His hands were without any drink because he refused to buy one stating his mother's lemonade was far better than what the university canteen spot was selling as an excuse of lemonade.

"You know for someone who's always at loggerheads with his family, you are pretty soft for them."

Her remark had startled Ibsam. He snorted but didn't contradict.

"I mean it's just lemonade. Still you can't drink if it's not made by your mum. A softie Mama's boy at heart, hm?"

"Now that's not true!"

Maryam shrugged her shoulders which said that she didn't believe him and wasn't deterred by his denial.

"Look, Ibsam. I hate being all philosophical because it really hinders my charm of a heartless hottie but just for you imma try okay? Look, desi parents and their love doesn't come with the stereotypical unconditional brand. They love achievements, they love sharpness and the kid who boasts of both of these often gets a major portion in the care and adoration department. That's normal. But that doesn't mean they love you any less. You gotta stop comparing what you have going on with your parents with what their bonding is with your brother. That's only going to make you more bitter than you already are. You yourself mentioned that he's kind of the star of your family and you always look up to him, no? Your parents do the same. They love you as you and they love him as him. You should be happy with that. If you want them to love you like they love him, are you by any chance at his level? No? Then what is even the fuss? You should be glad your parents don't turn every single thing into a business deal. Stop being an ungrateful swine."

She finished her speech with a long sip of her lemonade. Ibsam wasn't expecting this rebuking from her. He was eyeing her with his mouth hanging open.

"Yeah, yeah we all have our moments. Just stop sulking eh? I'm on the verge of pulling all my hair out because of you. Do you realize how much negative energy you have filled my car with? If I tumble over on my way home I'm totally coming back to haunt you in your dreams. Talk to your brother. Discuss your issues. Stop throwing it on me just because I'm the only person from our so-called friend circle who's still tolerating you. Now we aren't talking about it. I had my moment and it's passed."

She was right. Even after having Shoaib approach him and talking through things, still he was bitter and that was Maryam's last straw. She saw an opening and used it. She could just hope Ibsam had also the flaps of his mind opened when she was talking.

"Should I drop you home?"

She asked on which he shook his head. Her car was too big for their lane and he had gotten it cleared the other day when he checked the width of the lane specially. She could never come inside in her car. A stark contrast to how his bike always looked so tiny in her avenue whenever he went to see her at her family bungalow. He didn't have to worry about parking it anywhere.

"I will get home on my own and I will talk to my brother as well."

Maryam sighed with relief.

"About fucking time."

_______

Izaan was busy reading an article on his laptop when he heard the knock on his door and mumbling a soft cue to come in; he hadn't expected to find Ibsam in his room.

He left the opened article as it is and sat straight on his bed.

"Bhai, can we talk?"

Izaan smiled and beckoned him to take the seat in front of him. He was glad that Ibsam had himself chosen to talk because Izaan was going to do it sooner or later. It was high time they sorted this out like families do.

"First of all, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being an ungrateful swine, I guess."

He repeated Maryam's choice of words and realized no matter how crude but it was totally fitting. He had acted like that for days.

"That's some harsh words."

"But it's the truth. I was rude to you. I even fought with Amma. And about you and Safwa..."

"Ibsam."

Izaan stopped him before he could talk about it any further.

"Let's just keep it to us. What happens between me and Safwa is our business hun? Let's just talk about why you hate me so much."

"I don't hate you, Bhai. I never can."

He was exasperated. All his bitterness aside he could never imagine hating his brother. His loving and always sane brother.

"You haven't given me a chance of thinking otherwise."

"I'm just a bitter and jealous brother you can say."

"That's not as bad as you make it sound."

"Bhai, I..just. You know me right? You know how I've always been the one who's never satisfied with what life has given him. Be it our social standing, financial status or anything. I always compare myself with others and it was people from outside at first, my friends, my class fellows who had it better than us, you had better clothes and better shoes than me. But then I started feeling in my own house too. There was a difference, in the way Amma and Baba and even Abba treated you and both me and Ibtihaj. I wanted them to dote on me the same they did to you. I already had to share my love with a twin and seeing that love also came after being handed over to you, as a left over, it made me bitter and I started comparing myself with you. It was wrong and I know it was my own mistake but I just...I couldn't stop. I still can't stop."

Izaan sighed. He hated how conflicted Ibsam was and somewhere he also had a part to play here. Unknowingly but he was responsible to some extent.

"Left over love? That's wrong. Do you actually think that Amma and Baba give my leftover love to you and Ibtihaj? They loved you both as someone who came after me to fill in a gap not the kids they gave birth to just like they did to me? Are you hearing yourself?"

His tone was the same calm that was a part of his personality but there was something simmering underneath.

"The whole week and beyond, where you were lashing out on Amma. I didn't know what was going on, but I felt it. That stressed and hurt Amma was, Ibsam. I knew it was something related to you because she'd go all silent whenever she'd see you going to university without breakfast and avoiding her all day. I found her crying in the kitchen one day. Not the kind of sentiments you'd expect from someone who gives you just left over love hun?"

Ibsam couldn't say anything. He should've known coming to Izaan meant being bombarded with facts.

"It's not about the position you hold in your siblings, Ibsam. It's about your nature. Every kid demands love in a different way. We all speak the same language our parents teach us, but the language of love for all of us is different. Look at Ibtihaj, that kid gives cuddles to Amma and Baba, plays with Abba's fingers while listening to him and hugs me whenever he is happy or sad. He does the same to you as well. Physical affection is his love language. Yours is being left in your own space, since childhood. You demand attention by being loud but once you've gotten it you won't know what to do with it. So, your love language is leaving you be and just look from the sidelines. In my case, it's care. When the three of us demand love in such varied ways, how can you expect our parents to love us the same way?"

He had explained it so easily that Ibsam felt he couldn't speak.

"I..I never thought it this way, Bhai."

He croaked. Izaan nodded.

"I expect you didn't. Deep stuff and you don't go hand in hand."

"I'm so sorry, Bhai. I really am."

Izaan patted his head in a pure elder sibling manner. It was alright. He always knew Ibsam might be unmindful of his words and their impact but he had his heart at the right place. To a great extent.

"Just don't make it a competition again. It hurts Amma and it pains me too. You know we all love you. Stop questioning it again and again. That's not what families do."

Ibsam had so much to say. Amends to make but Izaan's words had finality to it. He didn't want an argument and Ibsam understood that. He stood up and Izaan went back to his article. Ibsam watched him as he closed the door. Izaan was the same but Ibsam could feel there was a wall Ibsam had herself pulled between them. And he didn't know what to do with it now.

____

Safwa looked at her watch and then turned back to the rack she was checking out earlier.

Almost fifteen minutes late. It was becoming a norm and she was feeling she had to take out her angry girlfriend's guns to make it clear that she hated waiting.

But all her resolve went down the drain when she spotted him outside of the store, eyes searching for her.

Safwa Kirmani hated waiting.

But if the reward of it was one Izaan Shoaib looking for her then she found it quite alright.

She waved at him and, relaxing visibly, Izaan sauntered towards her.

"Why are we meeting here?"

After exchanging greetings this was the first thing he had asked. Safwa shrugged her shoulders.

"Helping a friend out."

Izaan raised an eyebrow. His usually messy hair were extra unkempt today. The extra windy weather and his hair were not exactly best buddies. But Safwa couldn't say it looked bad. Far from it. He was exuding extra boyish charm if that was possible.

"You see she just got her first paycheck and she wants to buy a gift for her boyfriend. Her pick is a decent shirt because god he needs to see colours other than monochromes. "

Izaan couldn't stop a grin forming on his lips.

"Sounds like a boring guy."

"That's what I told her na! But she said clothes don't define someone's nature. He's the most interesting and intelligent person she's ever met and he has a good smile and very fluffy hair. Also, he's a future surgeon and that shit blows the whole table. So, yeah."

She was talking while putting different shirts on him and making a face when nothing was looking good enough to gift him.

"I think your friend is totally into the guy. She's fallen bad."

Safwa was checking another shirt on him when she looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"You think so?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for my friend then. Fell for such a stud. "

Izaan couldn't stop the laughter escaping his lips. Safwa giggled, took his hand and dragged him to another corner.

"When you told me about getting your first salary over the call, why didn't you mention this plan?"

"Surprise. It's pretty common for normal people, Izaan. Try it sometimes."

"I'll keep it in mind next time."

The next half an hour was spent in Safwa rummaging through the whole store and finding a perfect pick for him. All the while, Izaan saw a new side to her, the fashionista Safwa Kirmani. He knew she was one but he was getting the hang of her shopping process for the first time and he was sure in future he was never going along with this kind of plan.

"Can you try this for me?"

She asked, finally putting down a shirt. Izaan heaved a sigh of relief and took it from her hands lest she should change her mind.

"Just buy it."

"What? No! I have to see if it looks nice enough or not."

"You just put it on me."

"That's different from you actually wearing it. Just go to the dressing room! Come on, Izaan!"

She asked with pleading eyes and he wanted to roll his. She knew he couldn't say no to her. Majority of the time.

As he was walking towards the changing room, his fingers brushed the prize tag and he casually glanced at it.

He stopped in his tracks. Safwa, who was watching him, frowned and came close.

"What is it?"

She asked, frowning. Izaan shook his head.

"We aren't buying this."

"Why not? It's the first shirt I've liked after literally pulling the whole place apart."

Izaan didn't know how to say the reason to her but he had to try.

"It's too expensive."

He unconsciously grazed the price tag.

"So? It's a gift."

"I don't want it. In fact I don't like the shirt. You can buy something a bit reasonable for me. In a reasonable price range, you know?"

"No, I don't know. I'm buying this only. It's just a shirt, Izaan! It doesn't make any difference."

"It is when you are almost spending your whole salary on me."

"I have money left! I just want to buy this for you. Can't you cooperate with that?"

I can't give anything as valuable to you anytime soon, he wanted to say but he knew that would make Safwa angry. For her it wasn't about the price, it had never been. For him buying something always was about the price, a gift or not. It wasn't about their mentality. It was about the difference of social settings they came from.

Eventually, Izaan relented. He got into the changing room and wore the shirt as Safwa wanted him to. The way she was so happy about it, that she didn't let him change back to his previous shirt. They spent the evening together, talking and just being them. Izaan listened, adding his bits then and there and Safwa rambling on and on.

If the whole situation with Ibsam and his words did pop into Izaan's mind, he pushed it back. If the way Bisma reacted to the news of her and Izaan dating flashed across Safwa's mind, she didn't dare let it come at the tip of her tongue.

Both decided that it was okay to pretend everything was fine because when they were together, it was just that. Fine. Not perfect, not pathetic. Just fine.

Izaan dropped Safwa home. He was still wearing the same shirt she'd gifted him. The bag with his old one was in Safwa's room with her other shopping bags. She hadn't seen it yet. She was too lost in reminiscing the day she'd spent with Izaan.

In new shirts and old ones, in overflowing talks and hidden truths, they had another day where they were not anyone else. Just Izaan and Safwa, two people who just fit together, no matter if anything else of theirs fitted or not. 

__________

A/N: Hesham was asleep the whole chapter and I didn't have the heart to wake him up xD

Also, who's rushing to reread the last paragraph of the prologue after this one? I'm because feels >>>

An early update. I'm getting better.

Love

Aims <3