There's this thing about rage, it manifests itself at the moment, regardless of the repercussions. Scream, shout, punch, hurl, use your fists, all that jazz. Whatever your venting mechanism is, rage needs to get out. So, if you are a spoiled brat, driving a car that comes from your Papa's many bank accounts, ramming it in a pole should be convenient.

This could be the only justification for the incident that happened at the main boulevard road, resulting in a traffic warden getting pissed and a smart...okay not so smart rich brat getting himself in the police station. This is what toxic rage venting does to you but Aahil Jahangir felt his temper getting down. Rating 8/10. Would definitely recommend it.

Constable Shuja Bashir eyed the new arrival with disdain etched on his face. He was looking forward to his duty hours coming to an end. The rush hours will exhaust anyone out, so hoping for relief is total human behavior but going straight for a twelve feet pole with every intention of doing harm, well not so human thinking.

The guy was sitting in the chair, looking bored already, trademark spoilt brat energy radiated off him. Shuja's scowl deepened. He hated the likes of this one but the expressions on the guy's face were telling he wasn't a fan either.

"What does your father do?"

The way his higher-ups had responded to the situation once the guy's lawyer appeared and his full credentials came in front of the authorities, made Shuja curious because he could see this one was getting released soon. It could only mean lots of money, a famous surname, or both. He wanted to know what this fucker had going for him.

"He is not hiring. Sorry to disappoint."

The silence that permeated the air after that was broken by the guy only. "Full offense but your office sucks ass. If I were you, I'd also look like someone made me listen to Aima Baig on a loop."

"You!" Shuja rose up from his chair. The police station might be bland but his unsolicited opinion was uncalled for.

"I have a name, sir. but you can call me 'released as not guilty' if you like."

The knowing smirk boiled Shuja's blood. The guy's got a nerve. "Are you implying bribery?"

"Did I, now? Stop daydreaming in the middle of the night."

Shuja's patience waned. He asked a simple question and look at the audacity of this imbecile. Shuja leaped forward to hold him by his collar but the attempt was futile. The door to the next room then opened. The guy's lawyer and Inspector Musa walked outside. Shuja immediately straightened up. There was another face among them that Shuja didn't recognize.

"I hope everything is alright here?" Inspector Musa asked, raising an eyebrow. Constable Shuja had gotten his rage in control without needing to harm public property, Aahil Jahangir wasn't that lucky (or wise) but right there, he wanted to hide somewhere. The Police Station that he openly ridiculed just moments back, looked like the most interesting marvel of interior design to him at the moment. Aahil Jahangir was finding it hard to hide anywhere. Uncle Arif was a pansy. Couldn't he come here alone? Seeing the person seated right in front of him, he could see only the wrong man and a very frightful ordeal awaiting him. Inspector Musa completed the paperwork, handed the lawyer Arif Minhas Aahil's belongings, and shaking hands with both the men that had come to get Aahil, announced that they were clear to go.

Once outside, Mr. Arif, Jahangir family's lawyer for as long as Aahil could remember, patted his back with a polite smile. "Again up to no good?"

Modesty had never been his virtue. "I haven't even started yet."

"Aahil!" The warning tone suggested it was enough. He chose to stay quiet after that. For his own safety.

Mr. Arif shook his head. He'd always liked this kid. No matter his trouble-making tendencies but he was fun to be around. Aahil eyed his car which the Police had taken into their custody. It was parked next to the white Mercedes. He looked between the miserable condition of his vehicle and the stern frown on the face of the person standing a few steps away from him.

"Baba, I..."

"Keys!"

Monosyllabic responses. How much trouble was he in? Aahil's inner meter was giving a reading of phase 3. The red zone. Would never recommend it.

"Wait a sec." He was aware of his father's disapproving gaze but there was a thing he had to take care of.

Wahid, the driver, and Faseeh Jahangir saw him opening the passenger side door of his car and taking out a bouquet of flowers. With his face devoid of any emotions, he threw it into a nearby dumpster.

Coming close to his father, he meekly handed him the keys. The driver was ushered and asked to take the car to the workshop. For Aahil, well he was hauled more or less, the same way to sit inside. Mr. Arif had already driven out of the area. As Faseeh Jahangir put the car on the road home. Aahil took a deep breath. He was living his cheap flick moment. Only Simran found a new guy and Raj tore down a pole. Only one similarity. Like her Babu Ji, his was also pissed.

𝄞

Old age has this rule set, early to bed and early to rise. Mrs. Irshad Jahangir followed it to the t but here's also another thing with the old age, favorite grandkids, and their trouble-making capabilities. She wasn't sure how others dealt with it but she often found it hard, especially right now.

"Why did you have to let your father go and get him? Don't you know how this goes, Faran?"

Mrs. Saba Faseeh wasn't less worried. Her scowl was matching her mother-in-law's. It was a carved rule that whenever Aahil ended up in trouble, Faran would go fetch him. But this time around, the rule was broken and now the consequences wouldn't be good.

"I was in Baba's office when I received the call. You can have an idea of what must've happened then."

She didn't have to imagine. Faseeh Jahangir disliked only two humans in his life; His youngest born and Aahil Jahangir. Too bad both were the same person.

It had always been this way as far as the inhabitants of Jahangir House could remember. Faseeh and Saba were blessed with two children. Faran was straight out of a book on etiquettes, possessing every quality of a good son and grandson. Two years after Adan came; she was a stark contrast to Faran with her smart mouth and tantrums but even she was like a cakewalk for her parents. They contended with two offspring. Enough. Less drama. More parenting. That remained the course of things and then, ten years after Adan, Saba became pregnant again. A late pregnancy, unexpected for that matter, and then Aahil came into their lives, living up to the surprise of his conception.

He was not an exaggerated embodiment of disobedience. He followed his parents' saying as much as he could but in his own way. The rebel in him was self-taught, inborn, and growing up, he had started working on his instinct some more much to his father's disappointment. Faseeh Jahangir lived by some set rules which made him what he was today; a shrewd owner of a Dubai-based chain of hotels and he didn't like moving away from the set course. His rules were dear to him and Aahil broke each one of them royally. From evading his responsibilities to uncontrolled shenanigans Aahil Jahangir had always lived life the way he wanted to.

So now that his latest performance was out, the Jahangir clan was not really looking forward to the viewer's opinion aka Faseeh Jahangir. The conversation halted as the screeching of the car outside could be heard even from the lounge. They all straightened up. In a few seconds, an enraged Faseeh followed by a cool cucumber Aahil entered inside.

"Aahil!"

Mrs. Irshad Jahangir immediately reached her grandson's side. Aahil wound his arms around her trying to ensure he was fine.

"It's way past your bedtime, Dado."

"Shut up! Do you have any idea how worried I was? You could've been seriously injured!"

The way she totally ignored what he had done was comical to even Aahil.

"Stop treating him like a war hero, Ammi!" Faseeh's irritated voice had only earned him a scowl from his mother. He shook his head tracing the rims of his spectacles, an old habit indicating how frustrated he was. Faran and Saba didn't dare move an inch from their place.

"Can I know the reason why your highness decided to grace the pole with the push from his magic car?"

Sarcasm dipped admonition. Father needed a thesaurus for new insults.

"Lost control."

"And you expect me to buy this excuse?"

"You're a millionaire, Baba. I'd say go for it."

Saba flinched. More than Aahil, Faseeh disliked his cheeky remarks. This was going to get messy. She had to intervene.

"Faseeh! We can talk tomorrow."

"Talk? Really, Saba? Do you think there's room for that now? This..." He pointed towards Aahil. "Ask him what is his problem. Why can't he stay out of trouble? Not a month goes by and he lands himself into a new brand of mess! What does he even want!"

"I've got a list but starting off with some peace now would be nice."

His tongue had again shown its capability. Faran pulled Aahil from his arm.

"We are off!"

"But I haven't had my dinner yet! I hate flight food, you know that. I'm starved and we don't encourage unhealthy habits in this house, Bhai!"

His stance was clear. He was enjoying this. Freaking asshole. Faran literally pushed him toward the stairs. "Just go."

"If you insist." He had taken a step forward when he turned back around. "Mama, my luggage. Take care of it, please. I can't trust anyone with my camera equipment."

The voices trailed off as Faran and Aahil climbed the stairs. The lounge went in complete silence. Faseeh eyed his mother and wife warily.

"I want him to straighten his act or else ..."

"Else?"

"I'll disown him!"

Mrs. Irshad narrowed her eyes. She had always been opposed to the way Faseeh treated Aahil. A bit of love and care goes a long way but unfortunately in Aahil's case, Faseeh never went even close to the short way either.

"I've had many occasions in my life where I wanted to use the exact same line. You should be grateful I didn't!"

Faseeh wasn't unaware of his mother's biases toward her youngest grandkid. This was the problem with the women of the house. Always pampering Aahil not even realizing how this was getting in the way of his upbringing if there was room for that seeing he was in his late twenties.

"Ammi! Do you have any idea how ashamed I felt getting him out of that damned place? He needs to behave. He just can't go on doing what he wants to do."

"I know, Faseeh but he's not easily provoked. You should know how he always keeps his composure. Something must've happened to get this reaction out of him."

"Whatever his reason may be, nothing can justify his rash behavior!"

Up the stairs, sitting on the couch in Faran's room, Aahil chuckled. It was bordering on scoff. Faran looked up at his younger brother."Let me guess, a bad breakup?"

Aahil chuckled again. This time it had a slight hint of anger to it."Does crashing her engagement party cut it?"

Faran sighed. Aahil and Vaneeza were not hidden news from the family. They were seeing each other for four years, though Vaneeza could never make a good impression on Mama and Dado. Even Adan was not a fan of her. They all knew it was going to happen one day, them parting ways but it seemed like Aahil never predicted it. This explained his evening outrage.

"I know you won't talk about it but just to make it clear, I'm always here if you feel like venting, by talking."

It was futile, trying to make Aahil talk about his emotions. Faran knew what most people didn't. Beneath the veneer of sass and stupidity, there was a depth to him. But he wasn't in favor of showing it. He never was.

"I pissed Baba off big time, hun?"

"Nothing he's not used to. Dinner?"

"Sure. Where are Bhabhi and the kids?" He finally realized. The house was too calm when he got there. Naturally, that would mean Nawar and the kids weren't home but he was too caught up in his Baba's admonition to realize.

"At Nawar's parents' place. Her brother leaves for the states tomorrow so, she's gone to meet him."

A fond smile broke out on Faran's face, his trademark reaction to everything Nawar. Aahil fake gagged totally forgetting he took offense on a pole just being a pole because he had a breakup.

"Who can say you both are married since BC."

He muttered earning a shrug from Faran. Never the one to downplay how enamored he was by his wife. Something Aahil always admired about his brother. The voices coming from downstairs had stopped. Mama must've calmed both Baba and Dado. Aahil took his shoes off and leaned on the couch as he waited for his dinner. The cheap flick finally ended. 2/10. Pathetic.

𝄞

The morning dawned on Wadia House so did its chaos which had become a routine over the years. Situated in the Parsi Colony—one of the oldest residential areas in Karachi, the house was the property of the Wadia Family, a Zoroastrian clan dating back to before the partition of the sub-continent. Generations of the Wadia family had lived in this house but these days, it had a lone owner, Dinbanu Wadia, Banu Auntie; a willowy woman in her late fifties. She loved her house a little more than her collection of nail paint and eating carrot cake.

As per the city administration, people from other religious groups couldn't buy the properties in Parsi Colony. Cultural heritage, that's what they called it but in essence, it was anything but. The dilapidated houses lacked owners, so many of those had migrated to other countries. Those who remained liked to keep it to themselves. In all this, Dinbanu had given a place to live in her bungalow to four girls who had no blood relation to her. It wasn't a hostel situation, far from it. Sila, Amal, Rameen, and Haleh lived in Wadia House with Dinbanu as if it were their home and it was. They had made it so over the passage of time and Dinbanu loved the girls, though her strict middle school teacher aura didn't let it show but the girls never needed gestures to believe it.

All of them had family terms with Dinbanu but in this age and time, even those aren't enough for someone to let you stay at their place for free. They did pitch in as much as they could but Dinbanu didn't really care for the money. Her estranged husband sent enough of that from the UK.

The lawn had been mowed just this morning, Jeffery, Uncle Jeff, was Sajid Wadia's trusted man whom Sajid had sent to work for Sajid's wife, Dinbanu. Jeffery took care of all house errands along with being Dinbanu's designated driver and gardener. He loved his job but he loved old Hindi and Pakistani film music more than that. He had his picks for every day. Today's mood was Lata Mangeshkar.

Aja sanam madhur chandni mein hum tum

Miley to veranay mein bhi a jayegi bahar

(Come, my beloved, under the gentle moonlight

if we meet, even the wilderness will see a spring blooming)

Jhoomne lagay ga asmaan

Jhoomney lagay ga asmaan

(The sky will dance for us

The sky will dance for us)

Jeffery sang along to the lyrics as he washed Dinbanu's vintage chevy Impala. The car was as old as the woman but she refused to part ways with it, something she didn't even try to do when it came to her cheating husband years back. As Sila put it in the Weeknd's terms, We don't pray for love, we just pray for cars.

The music from Jeffery's old record traveled along the fresh air inside the house. Saleema, the house help hummed the lyrics as she prepared the breakfast. Dinbanu seemed unaffected as she read the newspaper with rapt attention but her shaking foot along the notes, was enough to tell she was enjoying herself.

Rameen rummaged through her side of the wardrobe as she sang mindlessly along to Lata Mangeshkar and Manna Dey. Sila was brushing her hair, also humming to it. In the room adjacent to theirs, Amal and Haleh were also doing the same.

Needless to say, Jeffery was a pro at setting the mood early in the morning.

"Sila, have you seen my brown scarf?" Rameen asked, finally giving up on her own search for it. Sila, who still looked sleepy, thanks to her hatred of early mornings, settled her shirt over her beige pants, looked at herself critically in the floor-length mirror, and turned to her. "I think Haleh washed it mistakenly when she did her laundry last week. You should—oh, here she is with your scarf."

At that, Rameen whipped her head in the opposite direction. Haleh handed her the scarf and stood at Rameen's vanity, looking for her favorite lip color. In no time, Amal also appeared at the door, cursing under her breath because her phone was already blaring. Her supervisor must've decided to send in her as his substitute for an 8:30 AM lecture and informing her at 8:10 AM was his way to go. But that didn't stop Amal from standing next to Haleh and going with her makeup routine. Rameen's collection was their shared treasure. If she weren't already working as an assistant relationship manager at a bank, they'd push her to try her luck as a makeup blogger. Rameen knew that stuff like the back of her hand.

"Do you guys know that Raj Kapoor and Nargis had a long relationship even though he was married to someone else?"

Haleh broke the busy silence. All three of them stared at her halting whatever they were doing.

"What? They are in this song." Finding their inquisitive stares, Haleh elaborated pointing outside, certainly at Uncle Jeff's recorder. The stupor lasted less than a second and all of them got back to what they were doing. Haleh's stash of unnecessary knowledge and facts had long stopped surprising them.

"Girls, what do you think about paying a visit to this new place at Shaheed e Millat?" Amal asked, checking her bag as she cut her supervisor's call for the fifth time. She had gotten his message and she was rushing to the campus. She had no desire to hear him bellowing as well.

Amal was a Ph.D. scholar in History with her research focused on Urban demography. That also made her a poorly paid TA to her supervisor which warranted her annoyance but Amal also happened to be the most social person they knew who was always ready to explore new places. In a city like Karachi with a never-ending social scene, that was never a problem for extroverts like Amal.

"Sure." They affirmed in a chorus. The weekend was upon them but Rameen had a family wedding coming up so she'd be most probably busy there. Sila had to visit her uncle's place as she was already invited to lunch. Haleh and Amal were the only two who didn't have immediate family living in Karachi. Amal's parents and siblings lived in the USA and Haleh, well she herself didn't know her peeps. She had just Baba Jaan, a distant relative who also happened to be her guardian. He lived in the capital so his visits were also few and far in between.

"Good idea. Sila will loosen up and share with us why she was upset last night." Haleh exclaimed and both Rameen and Amal wanted to bang their heads somewhere. Apart from having random bits of information, and a penchant for painting even though she was an international relation graduate working for a column section of a newspaper, Haleh also had the subtlety of a pressure cooker.

A laugh left Sila's lips. "That's not a bad idea. I mean nothing makes you blurt out your secrets than a fine serving of delicious Mandi."

That made Amal and Rameen relax. Amal still glared at Haleh who was already out of the room for breakfast. Amal followed behind. She would most likely pick up an apple on her way because there was no time for breakfast.

Rameen pinned up her scarf and gave a knowing to Sila from the mirror. "Danish messed up, didn't he?"

Sila shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know if it could be termed as messing up. Romantic gestures had never been Danish's forte, anyway. All the more reasons for her to discuss it with her girls because nothing clears your mind better than a girl gang dissection of a situation.

"That idiot." Rameen grumbled as she picked up her purse. Sila was her designated driver as their workplaces fell on the same route. Sila hid her smile. Rameen could say that. She had known Danish longer than Sila did. Rameen and Danish's families lived in the same locality, their mothers were friends and Sila got introduced to Danish through Rameen only.

"Let's go. I will need to know what he did to make my best friend sad. And mind you, I can be petty when I want to be."

"I fully trust you on that." Sila laughed and Rameen couldn't help her own smile. They had a long and busy day ahead but it gets easy to navigate your way when you start the day with a smile sharing with your best friend.

𝄞

Evening

"And for one last time, Pack up!"

The declaration didn't have its usual cacophony which would ensue as soon as the words left his mouth. Everyone moved with a nostalgic lethargy to them, in slow motion. The last day of filming sure changes the dynamics that come with the summons of a day ending.

He was still perched on his seat, his designation written behind it in bold letters. He saw the cast and crew mingling together, hugging and saying their goodbyes one last time. He had already done that to most of them, still, some waved in his way before leaving the set.

There comes sadness when you finally conclude your dream project. But there's also a sense of contained excitement to the whole process, the post-production mess is already awaiting you, and then it would be up for the masses to see and cherish, make a home in it just like you did for the whole time you worked on it day in and out.

"Osama, get up and leave already you hopeless workaholic!" Najeeb, his assistant shouted from the other end of the studio where he was monitoring the last-minute wrapping up of the sets. Osama chuckled as he heaved himself out of his seat. The word DIRECTOR wrinkled on the fabric of the chair as soon as he got up. He settled his glasses on his nose and ran a hand through his messy hair. Unfolding the sleeves of his henley, he picked up his car keys. Najeeb had already gone out to the parking area and Osama followed him.

"You need some sleep." He commented. Osama knew that. He had a habit of losing himself in his work. Najeeb was right to call him a workaholic but when you're making a project of your dreams, nothing but your hundred percent counts.

"I'm heading home for that only. Thanks for everything, Najeeb."

"Don't sound sentimental. Knowing your track record, you'll be up and ready with another project in no time and I will be left wondering when I will get the time to relax."

"You're getting it now. Use it to the fullest." He heard Najeeb grumble something about work ethics but he had already sat inside his car. Before starting the ignition, he opened his phone. His parents had sent their best wishes as he was concluding another milestone in his career today. He smiled. Their thoughtfulness always filled him with gratitude. Their own career lines were the stark opposite of what he had chosen to study and then make a living for. They were doctors and he was a director. Both starts with 'd' but the difference can't be any more glaring. They had been ecstatic to know his inclination, though. Taking a keen interest in his ideas, sent him to the best filming school in Harvard, and then supported him as he started his career in Pakistan as an independent film director. The beginning was bumpy but slowly, he had found his rhythm, and now he was soaring high with each project he worked on.

"Good Evening, Sir." Jodi, his trusted house help greeted him as soon as she opened the door. He gave her a tired smile.

"Would you like something to eat? Coffee?"

"Right now, I just need rest. Lots of it. I'm going to crash and your only duty for tonight is to not let anyone or anything disturb me."

"I can do that."

"That's what I expected." He was already climbing the stairs when he turned around. "Remember, Jodi. No one means no one."

"Noted, Sir."

It was probably an hour or two later, not more than that, he was sure of it even in his drowsy haze when loud banging on his bedroom door had him up with a start. He could also hear Jodi's protest, she didn't sound pleased, and offending that woman wasn't easy. She was the most even-tempered person he knew.

Only one asshole had the tendency to make even Jodi lose her calm. He cursed under his breath and left his bed. Not caring for his hair sticking in all directions and his glasses not being on his face which made him squint, he opened the door.

"Glad to know you're alive. Now, move." Aahil grumbled clearly not pleased with the way he had received the welcome.

"Sir, I clearly told him—"

Osama shook his head as he glared at the guy in front of him. Are there people on this planet who don't want to commit murder when they see their best friend? If not, then he sure was ready to be the first one.

"I know, Jodi. You can go now."

She glared in Aahil's way as she made her way downstairs where she was preparing the dinner. Aahil straight went to the bed and drop himself on it, his head against the headrest.

"As far as I remember, you have your own place with a far better view than mine."

"If you want me out, do better with the jibs and insults. Also, ask Jodi to prepare the dinner for two. I have a feeling I'm not her favorite person right now."

"You never are."

Osama informed him. Aahil yawned fiddling with the photo frame on Osama's bedside. It was from his convocation with Uncle and Auntie right by his side.

"What's the matter with you? Why did you have to barge in here and interrupt my sleep? I was having a nice dream."

"Let me ask just to be clear, was a certain honey-colored hair woman part of it?"

Osama's smile turned into a grimace. Aahil grinned.

"That's what I thought. You know, both of us are the product of generational wealth. No, don't deny it. You got the fancy education because your parents are filthy rich, Sam. I do as I please because mine are no less. Both of us are set to inherit a shit tone of money but since mine seems to be in jeopardy, I think you'll have to share yours with me."

He was tensed. Aahil Jahangir would only talk like this when he wanted to get his mind off something. Osama knew that. Best friends since diapers, that expertise was self-taught.

"Says the guy who never shared a scoop of his ice cream with anyone back in school."

"You don't like ice cream."

"It's the thought that matters. Now, are you going to spill what is wrong with you or—"

Jodi's voice once again came from outside the door and she was, once again, not alone. Aahil and Osama shared a look. Aahil's face showed his disdain.

"Ask her to send him back. Tell her to make an excuse. You died or something."

"For a person who wants a share in my inheritance, you aren't making a good case for yourself."

By then the door had again been knocked at. Osama smirked seeing how pissed Aahil was already looking and the dude hadn't even been invited inside yet. He walked ahead and opened it, revealing a smug Mahad standing there.

"Why am I not surprised." He drawled, inviting himself in. Osama shrugged while Aahil glared at the intruder.

"Get lost, Lashari."

"The last time I checked, it wasn't your room."

"Osama is going to share his inheritance with me so it might as well be."

Osama rubbed his forehead. He didn't know wishing for a quiet evening where he'd catch up on his sleep was too much to ask for.

"So, Osama must've come to know why your father is on the verge of disowning you?"

"As a matter of fact, I haven't. What has he done, again?"

Aahil pursed his lips. Mahad's eyes shone with mischief. Nothing got him going more than living on Aahil's misery. "He got dumped by Vaneeza, gate-crashed her engagement party, and then rammed his car in a pole on main boulevard last night."

Osama raised an eyebrow. Quite a night his best friend had.

"And now, Uncle Faseeh is looking for a lawyer who can conveniently erase the third row in the heirs' list on his will."

Aahil could only glare at him. Because he was sure his father could do that. Uncle Arif might be their family lawyer but the guy liked Aahil too much to help Faseeh with something like this.

"That's a lot to process. Vaneeza got engaged?"

"Yes, I was the one who informed him. Zoya called me."Mahad nodded solemnly. It was fake, of course. Aahil didn't know a person who thrived in chaos like this goddamn fucker.

"I wasn't under the impression that you and Zoya were on talking terms."

Mahad looked offended. "Excuse me. I'm on talking terms with every cute girl."

"Zoya isn't cute."

"I know. She's hot."

Aahil nodded at that. Osama looked heavenward. Where the hell this conversation was going? And when would he get to sleep?

"You know, she had the hots for you for a while. In the beginning. Vaneeza was going to dump your ass anyway, everyone but you knew that. Might as well have tried your luck with her best friend when you had the chance. At least, you wouldn't be sulking in Osama's bed right now when we know you both are straight as arrows."

"And should I have tried my luck with Zoya when I was in a relationship with Vaneeza?" Aahil asked in a sharp voice. Mahad held up his hands in surrender. "Now, I don't endorse cheating."

"You only endorse chaos." Osama shook his head.

"And what do you mean by Vaneeza was going to break up with me anyway and everyone but I knew that?"

Mahad and Osama shared a look. Aahil stared between them impatiently. At last, as expected, it was Mahad who spoke. "Everyone knew this would happen. Some of us called it the moment you and Vaneeza got together. You would've as well had you used the head on your neck not the one on your dick."

Aahil let his snide remark pass. He had more pressing matters to handle. "You're shitting me."

"It's true, Aahil," Osama spoke up this time. "We all kind of saw this coming."

"And two people were on the top list of the naysayers of whatever your ship name with Vaneeza is. One is your sister."

Aahil made a face. "Adan is a monster. The minus 1 rating she has on the list of the people I care for is only because she's Hanah's mother. Who's the other?"

Mahad grinned devilishly as he opened his phone. "Let's hear it from the horse's mouth."

𝄞

"Third dress coming right up!" The dress was thrust in her hand by an overzealous assistant. She hurriedly mumbled thanks and handed it to Tara, their model for tonight's shoot. She had already started stripping out of her previous dress. There was a resigned frenzy to her moves. Totally understandable. It was almost 9 PM. Probably her last shoot for the day and she was going to don the last dress for this shoot and get done with today in just a few minutes.

"Thanks, Alina." Tara mumbled to her once she had added the necessary modifications to her dress and accessories, and instructed the MUA to touch up her make-up with needed modifications. Her front pocket had all the necessary instruments she'd need for a dress adjustment. Tara was immediately ushered to the main area in front of the camera and suddenly it was just her poses and the camera flash going on again and again.

Alina sighed tiredly. Her work here was almost done. The team would take care of the mess which left her with five minutes to catch her breath before she got inside the rental car and left for her hotel. She had a flight to Karachi to board in an hour. Lahore was nice but it wasn't home.

Being a stylist was mostly a pain in the ass but totally worth it if it's your true calling and Alina Asfandyar had time and again proved that it was her thing.

She had come back inside the dressing room and had just sat down on the chair when her phone rang with an incoming video call. She scowled and accepted it. Soon, Mahad's face appeared on her screen.

"Hey, Lina! Are you still stuck at work?"

She rubbed her temple and extended her hand behind to loosen her bun. Her scalp was burning because of the pressure on her roots. Honey-colored locks got freed and she could take a breath of relief. She had attended a fashion show earlier and the tight bun was going well with her dress. Too bad she forgot to let her hair loose in her haste to reach the studio for this shoot. "I get off in a few minutes. Why did you call me? And—Are you in Osama's room?"

Mahad laughed and turned the camera around. Osama was sitting at the edge of his bed and Aahil was close to him. The latter snatched the phone from Mahad, the former gave her a polite nod.

"Lina, looking sexy." Aahil gave her a lopsided smirk. She smiled exasperatedly. "You can't even see me down below and my face for sure isn't giving that vibe right now."

"Doesn't make you any less sexy. See, Osama agrees."

He panned the camera again to Osama who didn't grace this with a response. Not that he would've anyway.

"He's a bit down as we interrupted his sleep. He wrapped up his web series's shooting today."

"The one with Shireen Khan? Isn't she Alina's favorite actress?" Mahad's voice reached Alina's ears. She waited for Osama's reply but he chose to stay silent. Okay then.

"Why are you three hanging out together? The last time I checked, you and Mahad had the tendency to kill each other and Osama is a disaster when violence is involved."

"We have gathered in solitary with Aahil. He got dumped." Mahad informed her. Alina looked on confusedly and then her eyes widened. "No way! Did she really?"

"It gets better. She's now engaged to Ali Jatoi as we speak."

Alina's face fell. Then she rolled her eyes. "Good for her. Ali is loaded and as far as I know, he is smitten by her for years."

"Aahil is too."

"Aahil and she were never going to last."

At that Aahil's face hardened. "Why not?"

Alina sighed. "Because both of you weren't truly in this relationship, Aahil. She wanted to mold you into something she would be able to boast to her family and the whole world and you never let her in. Don't tell me it's not true. You never gave yourself fully. It was going to end this way sooner or later. Glad it happened before you both decided to go official or get married. Adan and I always said this."

"So, I have been told. But it could've worked out if—"

"Ahan. Don't do that. It's your male ego speaking. Don't put the blame on her because she was the one to break it off. It could've been you as well, baby boy. Because both of you were just stubbornly clinging to each other. Your feelings were never that deep. This is the reason she started a new life with someone this easily and you..." She deliberately left her sentence.

"At least I'm in the mourning."

"Do you want her back?"

It was Osama who had asked this. The camera was still focusing on Aahil who looked unsure. "Do you want to grovel? Reach out to her? Make everything right?"

Some seconds passed and then he shook his head. All three of them released a sigh of relief.

"Here you go. Now, you also know it was never going to last."

𝄞

"Okay, this Mandi was delicious but get to the serious talk now, shall we?" Amal wiped her hands. Rameen and Sila who were taking their last spoonfuls of the rice stopped. Haleh was already done. She couldn't stomach meat that well so was always sure to eat in moderation.

"What did Danish do yesterday? As far as I remember, he had asked you out for dinner and it was valentine's day, for crying out loud. What could possibly go wrong?"

Sila sipped her cola and smiled ruefully. "The dinner was on valentine's day but it wasn't a valentine's dinner. I hope that helps."

Amal's eyes narrowed. Haleh sighed. Rameen looked angry.

"Yes, he didn't even remember it was valentine's day," Sila informed them. They didn't comment on it straight away, knowing her too well. She wasn't done yet.

"To think of it, I'm not that disturbed by it now. Maybe it was an overreaction, letting something minuscule get to you. I don't know. Danish has always been pretty practical and this was the reason I was drawn to him in the first place. His and mine aspirations in life are the same."

"Sila, do you realize there's a difference between being practical and being downright unromantic?" Amal asked sweetly. That was her lethal best. She would always give her nasty with a sickly sweet smile. Sila wasn't dtered by it though.

"He messed up, Sila. It's Valentine's. You have got a beautiful girlfriend. You already have a dinner planned. Danish shouldn't have made you feel low. No matter if it was unintentional."

Rameen put it out there as she always did. Haleh nodded along.

"I think we are overanalyzing it." Sila shook her head when Haleh held her hand. "It's okay, Sila. It's not wrong to want to be loved. Don't be embarrassed by it."

"Exactly," Amal affirmed. "I don't expect grand gestures from that human form of a python code. Romance and he seem polar opposites but he could've at least tried."

"Now, don't be that harsh." Rameen interjected but Amal was having none of it. "Pluheez! Sila finds him worth her time that's Sila's problem. I can't even imagine it. If this is his condition with romantic gestures, you can only imagine what he'll be like in the bed."

"Amal!" They cried in exasperation but Amal wouldn't be Amal if she cared for an audience. "Will he even know what to do? I can tell you he wouldn't have any idea even if a naked woman did a Salsa in front of him. I'm already worried about Sila's orgasms."

"Don't be worried about my business." Sila cried. Amal gave her a disappointed look. "Don't you want mind-boggling, toe-curling, nether areas clenching hanky panky? You can tell by looking at a couple how their sex life might be and let me tell you, Sila when I look at you both, all I can imagine is boiled potato without a hint of even salt."

Rameen got up already gesturing to the waiter for the bill. Sila followed suit. Amal's spiel would only end if they decided to move the hell out. They could only hope no one heard this x-rated impromptu speech by Amal.

Amal also left her seat, albeit begrudgingly. Only Haleh remained seated. When all of them gave her questioning looks. She sighed. Amal smirked. "You are trying to imagine Danish's face while he's at it, don't you?"

Haleh glared at her. "I'm and mind you, it's not a good sight."

𝄞

It was way past midnight. Sila was standing in her room window. Rameen was fast asleep and so were everyone else. But for some reason, sleep evaded Sila.

Amal might have turned the conversation into an unexpected route, but Haleh's words stitch with her.

It's not wrong, to want to be loved.

Sila heard her. But could she believe her?

In another corner of the city, standing on his balcony and looking at the endless sea, Aahil was replaying Alina's words to him.

You never gave yourself fully

He heard her. But was he ready to do anything about it? 

𝄞