...

Salman parked in front of his office. He was about to get down from his car when he received a text from Fardin.

"Yo. Wanna hang out?"

His brows shot up in surprise. It has been over a month since the two had seen or even spoken to each other.

He contemplated whether to reply.

The last time Salman saw Fardin, it was a few weeks after Farrah's wedding. Things were still a mess back in his home. His mother was caught in the ugly fight between the three families. Salman hadn't left his room in days.

Fardin stormed into their apartment with a couple of his boys. Salman was brutally awoken from his sleep as they flipped on the lights of his room and ripped the blanket off him.

"What the..."

His vision had barely cleared when Fardin was dragging him out of bed.

"C'mon, boy," he said. "We won't accept this. We're taking you out."

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice coming out hoarse. "What are you doing here?" He darted his eyes around the faces with confusion.

"You need some fun," Fardin announced. "Let's remember who Salman Bashir was before he met Fatty." He finished with a grin. The others whooped and cheered.

Salman wiped the rest of the sleep out of his eyes. "I don't know, man." He let out a sigh. "I don't think I'm up for it."

"Hey, listen to me." Fardin grabbed both his cheeks and forced eye contact. "Big boys don't cry, okay?" he said. "Come with us, we'll make you forget all about her."

He was practically kidnapped from his house by his friends. Salman was still wearing a simple hoodie and sweatpants. They drove for hours until they reached their destination.

They were in front of a house Salman didn't recognize. He could hear the music thumping from even the curb outside.

He was practically forced through the massive wooden doors. The music got so much louder Salman could barely hear his own heartbeat. He could see people dancing in the center of the open space. It was a small, intimate gathering. He saw familiar faces - people he knew from school or social events - passing by.

They rounded chairs in a corner and sat down. Salman's eyes roamed around the dimly lit room, feeling extremely out of place. He's never been to parties even when he was in London and a lot more out of touch with his religion. How could he, when his partner-in-crime has always been Kaveh, whose idea of a 'wild time' was to take a shot of espresso with his morning tea.

"Whose place is this?" he asked, leaning towards Fardin to be heard over the music.

"Rayyan's."

He didn't say anything else, but he didn't need to. Fardin could tell he didn't want to be here. "Relax," he told Salman. "You'll get used to it soon."

The rest of the boys started passing these bottles with dark liquid swirling inside. He' never had alcohol either, but he already knew exactly what was inside the bottle. They offered him one. Before he could respond, Fardin grabbed the bottle by the neck. "Uh-uh. None for him," he said, taking it for himself. "That not why I brought you here."

He wrapped an arm around Salman's chair and beckoned to a girl on the dance floor. The first thing he noticed was that she was in skinny jeans and a silk top with a plunging neckline. She was laughing with her friends and swaying her body rhythmically with the music. Her long, dark hair flowing with her, her dusky skin seemingly richer in the dim light. "I brought you here for her."

"Who's she?" He furrowed his brows.

"My sister," one of the boys quipped as he winked at Salman. The rest burst with laughter.

Fardin chuckled. "And your friend for the party," he said. "Go, start a conversation with her."

"I don't even know her." He raised his shoulders and dropped them.

"When has that stopped you before?" someone else said. More laughter followed.

"Exactly," Fardin drawled. "This is not who you are. Go and introduce her to who Salman Bashir exactly is."

"Fardin, no." He shook his head. "I don't want to. I want to go home."

"Why, don't you want to forget Farrah?" he asked, looking Salman straight in the eye. "Don't you want to wipe out her sorry existence from your memory?"

Salman swallowed. Fardin had painfully clutched and trapped his heart in the palm of his hand with the mention of her name. Farrah.

"Of course," he breathed. He would have sold his soul if it meant he would be able to forget her and the nightmare she had brought on him.

"This is the only way, man," Fardin answered. "By making new memories with someone clearly hotter."

Salman looked at her again. He relented. She was clearly prettier than Farrah could ever imagine to be. Her lips were fuller, her waist smaller, her hair shinier.

But how could he go to her? She wasn't Farrah. Her face was different, her lips were different, her hair was different. Even the way she moved was different. He didn't want her.

"C'mon," Fardin clapped his back impatiently. "I'll introduce you to her."

Before either of them could move, Kaveh spilled through the door. His eyes roamed the scene and soon landed on them. He was clearly angry. He started making his way through the crowd.

"Why is he here?" Fardin asked with annoyance, his mood quickly deterring.

Salman did not respond, but he quietly let out a sigh of relief. He had secretly texted Kaveh to get him out of here while they were stepping out of the car.

Kaveh strode to them, his grey eyes furious. "What do you guys think you're doing? Have you lost your mind, Fardin?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"We're just trying to show him a good time," Fardin drawled with a casual shrug.

"He doesn't need good time," Kaveh said. "What he needs is alone time to clear his head."

"Who are you, his father?" Fardin scoffed.

Kaveh shot him a hardened look. Then turning to Salman he said, "c'mon, mate. Let's get out of here."

Fardin stood up, his face turning hostile. "What's your problem, man? Why are you always ruining everything?" he spat out.

There was a storm brewing in his eyes. "Fardin, step aside." His voice was calm, but his tone as sharp as steel. "Let's go," he said to Salman again.

"Instead of you deciding he needs to leave, why don't you leave the choice to him?" Fardin challenged.

They stared at each other, eye to eye, the tension between them attracting more attention from the crowd. Then they both looked at Salman with expecting eyes.

Salman darted his gaze back and forth between his two childhood friends. The pressure on him was high, the expression on his face as conflicted as his heart.

Some idiot in the background started chanting, "fight, fight, fight..."

Salman got up finally and stood besides Kaveh. "I want to go home," he repeated with a sigh. "Sorry," he murmured to Fardin without meeting his eyes.

He started weaving his way through the crowd without a second thought. Kaveh shot the boys one last look and then followed after him.

Salman broke out of his thoughts. He placed a hand over his steering wheel and looked at Fardin's messages again, clearly conflicted.

He had known Fardin since they were teenagers. Their history was almost as old as his and Kaveh's, and this was the first time they had gone without seeing each other for so long.

Salman's gazed flitted to the clock on his car. He knew if he didn't get out soon he'd be running late. He decided to deal with the messages later. Shoving his phone inside his pants pocket, he got out of the car.

The moment he stepped out of the elevator and inside the office, a girl from Admin vigorously flagged him down. "Salman!" she cried. "Thank God, you're here. Afiya's been looking for you like a madwomen."

He looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Any idea why?"

"Can't say with certainty, but as far as I know your team has been called in for a meeting."

"Shoot," he muttered under his breath as he rushed to his desk to put down his things. Umar, Sales Manager and their team leader, was a pretty chill guy. But the very thing Salman had been trying to avoid since morning was being late.

He knocked and entered their meeting room to find almost the entirety of his team seated around the long rectangular table.

Umar looked up from the file he was reading and smiled at his sight. "Good Morning," he greeted.

"Same to you." he replied, taking the nearest empty chair.

"Sorry for calling you guys on such a short notice, I wanted to discuss and confirm our itinerary and responsibilities for the trip to Dhaka before my meeting with the HR team," Umar said.

Salman was reminded that they were scheduled to go to on a trip to attend an annual food and beverage trade exhibition sometime this year. "When is it again?" he asked, meeting Umar's eyes.

"Dude, our flight is this Wednesday," one of the Hunter's spoke up. "Don't tell me you forgot."

Surprise flashed across his face. Wednesday. That was in just a couple days. It had completely slipped from his mind. But he quickly regained his composure. "Just checking to see when to start packing."

"Right," Umar took charge of the conversation again. "Since most us are already here, let's get started shall we?"

Dahlia Ahmad stood besides their kitchen counter, a smile on her face. Her arms were leaning against the marble slab, her father's phone cradled in her palms.

Lily Ahmad's face appeared on the screen. Dahlia waved at her.

"Lils," she said. "What's up?"

"You know, same old. Just came back to my room," she sighed. "Had a long day. What's up with you, loser?" her sister said through the speaker, as her lips quirked up in a grin.

"Guess who's our chef for the night?" Dahlia sang.

"Who?"

She pressed the reverse button on the screen so the direction of the came would change.

"Me!" Their father cried in enthusiasm from the other side of the counter, as soon as the camera landed on him.

Lily widened her eyes. Their dear father, Murshid Ahmad, was standing in front of the stove, with a spatula in one hand and an apron tied to the back of his neck that had the words Best flippin' Dad Ever written on the chest.

Lily gasped. "Oh my God, Dad! Since when do you cook?"

"He's discovered a new found passion," Dahlia spoke, peaking in so the top of her forehead would be visible in the camera frame. "He has been cooking every single day and trying out all different kinds of cuisines too!"

"Look, we're eating Indonesian for dinner," he pointed at the pot where the rice for his Nasi Goreng was cooking.

"I leave home for the first time in twenty-six years and that's when you decide to channel your inner Gordon Ramsay?" Lily pouted.

"Just you come home this time, in shaa Allah," Murshid pointed his spatula at the phone. "I'll feed you the best biriyani you've ever had!"

"It is actually fantastic," Dahlia piped in.

"I can't wait!" Lily groaned.

"So, how's work going?" Murshid asked, darting his eyes back to the pots on the stove, his tone turning serious in a typical dad-like concern.

"Great," Lily replied. "We successfully held two classes regarding Prenatal care in two different areas of the village in the past three days. After covering this village and the neighboring one, we would be returning to the city again."

"How's the new quarter you moved into?" he asked. "Are the rooms in good condition? Is security being taken care of?"

"It is like all the others I've stayed in so far, Dad," Lily said. "The rooms are well-kept and security is of top priority in the women's building. As always."

As her father and sister kept chatting, Dahlia heard her own phone ring. Handing her father her his one, she reached out for her cell phone.

Dahlia beamed when she saw Farrah's name flashing across her screen. "Fari," she cried into the speaker.

"Hello to you too," Farrah chuckled from the other end.

"Why the heck are you calling me from your honeymoon?" she shrieked. "As flattered as I am, you're not allowed to think of anyone else but your husband for the time being."

"At the rate you and Layla have been bombarding our pictures with likes and comments on Instagram, it's not like I can forget you two even if I tried to," she retorted.

Dahlia chortled. "I couldn't help myself. You guys look adorable together."

"Thanks, Dels," Farrah said. "How's everything there?"

"You know, same old. Nothing has really happened since you left," she replied. "How's Sri Lanka?"

"Breathtaking," Farrah gushed. "Remind me to send you the all pictures I didn't upload on social media."

"It's fine, I have no desire to see all the photos you've been taking on your honeymoon. Don't want to scar myself for life," she jested.

"Della," Farrah chided, but Dahlia could hear the humor in her voice. "I meant the pictures of the landscapes," she explained. "For ideas when you visit here on your own honeymoon with Kaveh."

"Farrah!" Dahlia cried, scandalized. "Astaghfirullah."

Her friend started laughing at her embarrassment. "Just kidding."

A disembodied voice floated through the phone and there was a pause on Farrah's side. "Hey, Dels? I gotta go," she spoke again. "Speak to you later?"

"Of course," Dahlia said, that smile still etched to her lips. "Take care."

"You too," Farrah said. "Hope to see you soon, in shaa Allah."