Present Day.

Usman stood in the ground at the backside of their mansion whilst his elder brother washed the back yard with their father. He snickered underneath his breath, his pudgy hands holding on to the plum colored viper his father had handed over to him. Of course, the man was delusional if he thought, the Usman Aryan would wipe down the marble floors that were covered in mud as a result of his father and elder brother's activities. He had, quite like an angel on earth stood to the side and warned them. That is if warning meant alarming his mother — who much like his grandfather loved the palatial gardens.

Baking dry heat crackled the splinters of broken woods that Umar had driven his bicycle straight into the bark of one of the many papaya trees whilst trying to prove he had mastered the art of one wheeling. Now with a slackened limb he worked over the lawn with his father to clear the grounds out. The sounds of his bone crackling was almost a bit too satisfying to the ears of the young Usman. Served them right, of course, he thought. Not buying him one because he flunked social studies — which he explained was his father's fault anyways.

"Why don't you help us out?" Aryan wheezed, the blaring gold sunlight burning his skin.

"It's too hot." He rolled his eyes, sipping on the cold glass of lemonade.

Usman fixed the red heart shaped sunglasses perched on top of his stout nose, the jean shorts clung to his legs and the white tank top kept him cool even in the disbarring heat.

"Baap kam kar raha hai koi sharam hai?" Aryan pinched his nose, cursing the day he had his second born.
[Father is working don't you feel ashamed?]

"Everyone pays for their deeds." He clicked his tongue, picking at the skin of his nails.

Chugging down the remnants, tiny seeds — ice cubes and all, Usman sauntered out of the summer sun and walked inside the air conditioned lounge. His crocs, now out of speed mode and cleared of all the mud that had held the heels hostage were thrown off in one corner and the mason jar tumbled on to one of the many glass coffee tables in the room. Lapping at the corner of his mouth, wiping it off with the back of his hand he breathed in harshly, crossing his legs and taking hold of the history textbook. The sounds of his tayi's laughter and his mother's chuckles brought his attention back to the world ripping away from him the euphoric period he was in.

Myra turned the corner with Lyana in tow, her hands the wooden tray laden with her son's favorite foods. He had been studying for most of the day despite the beginning of his vacations. Diligently, still hunched over his text books — she smiled on seeing him scratching the back of his head, the coarse strands spilling out of his fingers as his right hand worked hard with a pencil. Tearing away from her sister-in-law she walked into the lounge, the emerald green sofa's with gold legs looking real inviting as the tiredness of her day caught up with her.

Crossing her legs she patted his sweaty forehead, her heart ached a she imagined her son studying so hard that it ended up giving her a sweaty forehead and back. Kissing the top of his head, Myra forwarded a warm nugget, cooing at him to stop. Usman turned to her with his face marred with tiredness. His eyes deep and glossed over with the fatigue, the muscles of his palms cramped and he whined at being disturbed. Though of course, under his breath he chuckled at watching his mother worry for him. Usman's hands and legs were itching to leap out of his mother's embrace and to take her to the yard, to show her what her husband had done.

"You look so tired Usman. You don't have to work so hard." She kissed his hair.

"But mama abu said that I can't fail again."

"You still have a month before you reappear, I'm sure my son is smart enough to pass it on his second try." She gushed, pinching his cheeks.

"Don't mama! I'm a grown up now."

Chuckling at his outrage Myra walked towards the glass door that she had herself locked before leaving Usman to study and go over the notes she had made for him. Frowning, she dragged her fingers over the handle that still bore fingerprints. Running her gaze to the discarded shoes with the barely there hints of mud, she narrowed her eyes. She slid out of the room, opening the door just enough. Outside the sweltering heat instantly ran to kiss her cool skin. Groans escaped her mouth as she sheltered her eyes with the back of her hand. There it was, she sighed once realization struck. The thick pile of mud and Usman's glasses that were left on top of the shelves inside the lounge.

Sounds of moans and groans filled the humid air and the atoms buzzed with a potency. Sunlight and it's collision with the distraught air created a collection of mirages that all eventually, descended into one large show of power. It was like walking from one world to another as the faux painting of water flooding the grounds was proven to be naught. A sunny trail was left behind the crushed grass and thin branches with leaves here and there — bright green and the nubs of budding flowers, torn to soon lay in the ground. Birds chirped, and a few offended flew down to fight the predators as their fallen nests and eggs fell victims.

With a pep in her step she crossed the corner and wheezed at the heat. Sweat piled on the small of her back, and Myra was forced to lift her hair into a bun as she descended lower into the flower garden where the noise seemed to have been coming from. Tiny symphonies, the mourning of the birds and the groans of a human — more specifically the pitch matched that of her eldest borns. Her veil skittered over the edge of the freshly chopped grass, the sweaty back of her husband and son coming into view finally. Like thieves, the two were busy meddling into an are that was far from their forte. Her beloved papaya tree that was now injured brought anger on to her face. Licking her lips, she pursed them.

Myra was a woman on a mission as she stalked over to her husband and ran a nail down his sweaty back. He stiffened under his touch and Myra could swear she heard him murmur a few curses to himself. Caught red handed. Like a deer in headlights, Umar gulped nervously, running as soon as his mother's narrowed eyes caught him behind the pile of broken branches. He squeaked lowly, the almond shaped eyes hidden behind the softness of his cheeks as he waved at her. Aryan too turned slowly, his sweaty front brushing against her pale shirt. He pressed his lips to the top of her head to relieve some of the tension, his hands holding on to her elbow and the other massaging away the frown between her brows. His cheekiness he hoped, would get him out of the mess that was not even his.

"What happened here? I thought you were going to the gym."

"Uh about that—" he hiccuped, scratching the back of his neck.

"About what? Go on, think of an excuse." She spoke, unamused.

"Mama it's Usman's fault!" Umar peeped.

"Woh andar parh raha hai."
[He is studying inside.]

"He oiled the wheels of my cycle. It skidded and hit the tree, my arm hurts but abu's forcing me to clean up a mess that is Usman's fault!" He explained.

"Aryan! Kis tarah keh baap hain? Umar you come with me, I'm taking you to the doctor whilst you," she turned to her husband, "clean this mess up and prepare to sleep in Umar's bedroom!"

📜

Weariness filled her being, and that was in turn reflected by her actions. She brushed her hair out of her face, limping to the bathroom, fixing her appearance before sliding back into bed. There, she was gone and back before being noticed by her body guard. Myra giggled to herself at that, moaning in pain as the muscles of her stomach stretched with each motion. Bringing her voice to a hush, she coughed the rest of her joy away, puckering her lips, staring at the shut off OLED in front of their bed. The thick maroon curtains drawn shut were keeping the blinding sun rays out of sight, her nightstand covered in everything but her regular materials. It was of course, a bitter reminder of the fall she sustained at the steps of the hospital, a car driving in too fast and her running in front of it to save her already injured son.

This was of course — all done by her hyperactive, extremely overprotective family — read husband. She rested her palms over the throbbing area, tissue damage, bed rest. The doctor had uttered those words with a flick of his wrist not caring much unfortunately, it caused havoc inside her heart. All the pending office paperwork, meetings and what not bugged her brain even as she was forced to stay put. Her husband too had withered like an old flower finally giving in, his planned vacation had to be postponed, and it caused him great displeasure. Even-though, it was his own elbow that had hit her, he still blamed Zafar, the driver, for reeking disaster into their life.

Myra pushed back her hair using the pink rhinestone hair band — a gift from her cheeky little niece. The young girl had seen her struggle yesterday, and had returned a few minutes later, running fast on her short legs to give her the hair band. It smelt of her too — the familiar baby powder smell calmed her a great deal. Perching herself against the headboard she gripped Aryan's laptop. Her fingers skittered over the keyboards, her birthdate was his password everywhere. She smiled at the fond memory, early on in their marriage she had teased him, that if he was sincere he should keep all his pin codes as her birthday. Two days later the man had brought fiction to reality.

Even now as he dozed off, finally at peace Myracould not help but stare at him. His face was relaxed, a wave of serenity flew around him, her fingers reaching out to toy with his thick beard. The man had worked long to maintain it in the shape that it was. After a week of repenting for a crime that wasn't anyone's, he was finally sleeping with calmness. His lips parted lightly, soft whistle like snores escaped them. She pinched his nose, hoping that would stop him. Of course, she had failed to account for the fact that it was Sheryar and he would sit up. Alarmed, he moved, slamming his head against hers. Myra moaned in pain, moving back to her place, rubbing the centre of her forehead with her nimble fingers.

"Oh Im so so sorry Myra!" He apologized with pain inside his eyes. He was proving to be a painful sore to her these days, causing more harm than good.

"It's okay Aryan. I'm fine," she giggled at his frowning face, straightening out his lips, "stop frowning. It makes you look ten times your age!"

"Well then you're really into older men aren't you?" He winked cheekily, pressing his lips in a slobbery kiss against her cheek.

"Ew Aryan! Don't do that!"

"Why? You still haven't answered my very important question!" He winked.

"Of course!" She added, her hands waving in the air, her voice exasperated, "I'm into older men with fit and toned bodies. Blonde hair, blue eyes and of course a sharp british accent. The dream Ari babe, that's the dream."

"Unfortunately that 'was' your dream. You're stuck with me for life now." He said.

Myra giggled, running a hand through his tousled hair. There was something about him in their bedroom that was missing outside of it. Surrounded by his family, he let the mischievous younger brother side of his come out, ignoring his responsibilities, he transformed into a careless young man, his actions an apt reflection of that of course.

"What are you thinking of Myra?"He stared at her through the corner of his eye.

"Nothing. Just a lot of everything really." She let out a worn out sigh.

"Hey don't stress out about work okay? I've got it covered."

"Ari darling," she clicked her tongue, pressing her palms against his cheeks, "I'm not always worried about work." She whispered against his lips, their eyes flickering to each others, eyes turning cloudy as passion flooded through.

"Really? What else is it that bugs my wife?"

Aryan spoke softly, playing with a loose strand of her hair, twirling it in between his fingers. He pressed his lips to the base of her throat in reassurance, smiling against her skin as she let out a shuddering breath.

"Well you see I've got this husband."

"Uh-huh"

"Yeah! I worry about him a lot. He's got to focus on both of our works. Poor man has a lot on his plate — I already spot the greying hairs."

"Well someone told me he's repenting for his mistakes so I'd say he deserves it — an overloaded plate, grey hairs and all!"

"Aryan! Kitni baar samjhaun ap ko keh ap ki ghalti nahi thi. Chot lagni thi so lag gayi. Ab ap is tarah nahi karein. Mujhe takleef hoti hai."She whined, tearing up by the end.
[How many times should I explain it to you that it isn't your fault. I had to get injured and so I did. Don't act like this. It hurts me.]

"Myra jab mein ap ko is bistar par tarpta dekhta hun tou jo takleed mujhe hotay hai uska andaza bhi nahi hai ap ko! Sirf us aadmi ki waja sai—"
[Myra when I see you suffering on this bed the pain I feel you can't even fathom! All because of that guy!]

"Woh hospital mein hai. In a medically induced coma. He's paying okay? Now stop worrying yourself please! I want my husband to go back to being that grinning fool!"
[He is in the hospital.]

"You're paying for my mistakes. Myra you're paying for the mistakes of all the men in your life. You deserve someone better." He sighed, even though each word pained him. Hinting at the recent upheaval in her company after her father bid most of it away, in a drunken mistake.

"Does it matter? Mein jo bhi deserve karun, chahiye tou mujhe sirf apna Ari darling hai!"

I'm sorry I forgot to post this chapter last night <33333
Enjoy this now whilst I go and work on the next stories inside this series ❤️