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Twenty- three years ago, a young girl of nineteen, had left this grand haweli behind in desperation, never to look back, taking with her all the happiness and joy.

Chaali gaayi thi woh jo iss mehel ki laal shehzaadi huya karti thi, aapni naarazgi ka chadar ude, raat ke andhere mei, bohot dur. Aur jaab lauti, tou louti baas ek safeid khabar baan ke.

Fifteen years ago, on a rainy night, among the deafening thunder and blinding lightning, a little girl was brought into the Malik haveli. The age old structure stood, imposing and terrifying, and waited for the girl, merely seven years of age, to enter its premise.

Standing in front of unknown faces, the little girl was scared. She wanted to cry. She had lost her mother, her wounds still fresh and heart still crushed by the cruel world.

The child held onto the social worker's pants for her dear life, terrified that the moment she lets go, they will leave her behind.

Her little mind was a jumbled mess of questions until a stern looking old man came to kneel down in front of her. Out of thin air, he took out a delicious looking candy and held it up to her, shocking her out of her wits!

But she didn't take it, of course!

The little girl was clever, she remembered all the teachings from her mother.

Never take anything from a stranger,  Dilnaaz.

She shook her head, politely, not to offend the man. The man, however,  probably still took offence as he frowned at her.

"Do you not like chocolate, my child?" His voice was deep. Naaz wanted to laugh, he reminded her off a cartoon character.

"I am not allowed to take anything from a stranger!" Naaz informed him diligently, hoping he would understand that it was nothing personal.

The man somehow looked even more distraught at her answer. Maybe he didn't like children like her. Mannerless. Atleast that was what the warden said.

"But I am no stranger, my dear. I'm your Grandfather."

A Grandfather?

Naaz didn't know she had one!

She tilted her head, trying to understand his words. It still didn't make any sense for him to be her grandfather.

"I am your mother's father." He clarified for her, looking at her hopefully.

"But-" Naaz tried to make sense of her thoughts, " My Ammi is an orphan."

That's what her mother would always tell her. Naaz had full faith in her.

The old man's face crumbled, he looked close to tears as he took several deep breaths and cleared his throat. "She was mistaken. She could never be an orphan as long as her Baba was here."

He looked like he was having hard time talking. So reluctantly she took the chocolate he had in his hands, thinking maybe that would make him feel better.

Naaz hated crying and she hated it even more when others cried in front of her.

The man smiled an assuring smile as he watched her assess the wrapper. "Your Ammi was not an orphan and neither are you, my child."

Naaz didn't believe him, of course, because she was clever. But she didn't voice her opinion either.

The strange man looked sad and she didn't want to hurt him.

As the man got up and started "Adult talking" with the social worker lady, her curious eyes wandered around the huge room. The room was decorated in a soft silver colour that didn't hurt her head.

She actually quite liked the inside of the scary haweli. Her young eyes tried to take in more and more of the luxurious manor before going back to the orphanage.

Naaz had seen this kind of houses in TV, she had imagined herself living in one of these, married to a handsome Prince. An involuntary giggle escaped her mouth as she took in everything.

Her eyes, however, landed on something.

A shilluette.

A small figure hidden underneath the marble staircase, peeking it's head out.

It was a boy!

A scrawny young man with huge glasses that covered almost half of his face. His messy hair fell on his forehead as his eyes looked towards the old man with fascination.

Naaz knew how boys were!

They were mean, rude and loud!

Back at orphanage, she was always getting into fights with them. She still couldn't understand why she had to behave herself when the boys could run around all they want. It didn't seem very fair to her.

The sneaky boy, probably exactly like those at the orphanage, hadn't noticed Naaz's eyes on him, busy stalking the man's every move.

Slowly and steadily, Naaz crept closer to where he was hiding, careful steps making no sound.

Naaz wanted to giggle out loud but she held back, he still hadn't noticed. She walked until she was standing right behind him.

"Booh!"

With the most girlish squeak, the boy jumped in surprised and tripped forward, landing straight on his face, making her laugh like a maniac.

"What is wrong with you, you freak?!" He shouted as he got up, clutching onto his bleeding nose in pain.

Oh, she hadn't realised he was hurt!

Just as she was about to apologize, his words registered into her mind.

A freak?

"I am not a freak!" She made sure to convey the meaning properly by twirling in her frock. " I am a girl!"

"But wait-" She scratched her head in confusion, "-umm, what's a freak?"

"A freak is what you are!" The boy pointed a bloody finger at her.

"Me?" Naaz wasn't sure if it was good thing or a bad thing to be a freak, so proded him for more information.

"Yes, you!" He huffed. "Look at your clothes!"

"What's wrong with them?"

"They have mud stains on them."

"Oh, that's because I fell down during recess, stupid!"

Ya Allah, why were boys so stupid?

"I'm not stupid!" His face flush as red as the blood on his nose. "You have holes on your shoes!"

"That's okay! I covered then with tape. No one can tell." She grinned, proud of her revolutionary idea.

"I just did!"

"That's because you wear glasses."

"Your hair is so weird, do you not brush it?"

Naaz stilled at his words.

She doesn't. She couldn't. Her mother used to do it for her.

Naaz finally noticed the boy's outfit. His navy Kurta was finely ironed without a crease on sight let alone any tears,  black shoes devoid of holes or tape looked polished and shiny. Everything about him was so new and perfect, just as one would expect from someone who lived here.

Today, she had worn her best dress in an attempt to impress the social worker who always said nice things to her. But as she looked down, she suddenly saw so many things wrong with them.

All of her previous confidence left her as she stood there, comparing herself to him.

Her dress was worn out from too many tears and stitches, her shoes were full of holes covered in black tape. Her hair was coarse and full of knots from the lack of brushing since her mother's death.

She looked out of place in the palace like house. Her eyes teared up on their own as she realised why stuff from TV only looks good in TV.

Naaz's innocent little heart broke, tears streamed down her cheeks as she realised why a poor orphan like her wasn't made for this palace.

Bin maa ke bacchi thi woh naadan, aapne choot pe maarhaam lagana nehi shikhaya tha kisi nei. Issiliye tou berehem dunya se khayi huyi thukro ne jou ghau diye woh waqt ne nasoor bana diye.

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"Naaz is neither poor nor an orphan." Shehryar's usually calm voice held a hint of anger, as he interrupted Malekaah Begum, making her ogle at him with wide eyes.

"What?" She looked baffled at his audacity.

No matter how important or influential he was, Shehryar was still of the younger generation, so his audacious words stopped everyone in their tracks. Eyes from all sides bore into him, some in curiosity, some in bafflement, some in anger.

"I said, my fiancee is neither poor nor an orphan like you have just claimed, ever so disrespectfully."

To say Naaz was astonished at Shehryar's words in her defence would be a gross underestimation. She was sure her mouth was probably hanging open.

She had been praying to Allah to bless her with patience as to not throttle the old hag. Naaz had hoped someone would come to her defence.

Her cousins? Sure.

Her aunts? Of course.

But her latest fiance? Not in her wildest dreams had she expected him to defend her.

"Ayesha, your son-" Malekaah Begum tried to keep her face straight as she tried to talk to Shehryar's mother. "Is this how you have raised your son? To be direspectfull towards his elders?"

"Disrespectful?" Shehryar's eyebrow shoot up again as his face remained passive as ever. "I was simply correcting you."

He leaned back into the sofa and pulled one leg over the other, unbuttoning his black suit Jacket.

"Naaz is a Malik heiress, so hardly poor." He was as nonchalant as ever as if the pin drop silence in the room wasn't bothering him at all. "And she was adopted by Malik Shahab, so not an orphan either."

"I would request you "respectfully" to watch your words when it comes to Dilnaaz." His sarcastic drawl on the "respectful" didn't go unnoticed by the  occupants in the room.

Naaz felt her heartbeat become faster and faster as he kept talking, making her head spin. A strange sense of  urgency had knotted itself around her chest. She tried to rub the place in an attempt to sooth it.

She wondered what was wrong with her. Why was she so restless, why were her eyes tracing his every movement, why was she wishing for him to keep talking.

"But I must ask-" he said again, eyes never leaving Maleekha Begum, "Why is it that, today, you have found yourself questioning an alliance made by Malik Salauddin himself?"

His words had the desired effect. Whispers broke out throughout the room, nervous glances were thrown around among those who were invited.

"Malekaah Khala, are you insinuating that my Dilnaaz was inferior to Sadaaf, Sabahat, Samreen and Adaab?" Her Aunt Maryam looked like she was gritting her teeth to hold back her infamous anger.

"Why would Ayesha choose our Naaz out of pity?" Aunt Zainaab's tone was full of accusations. "There is not a single flaw in that child! Any family would be blessed to have any of our daughters as their daughter-in-law."

As Malekaah Begum sputtered around, trying to contain her anger and the situation that had gone from a taunt to her questioning the most powerful man in the city, Naaz sat there in silence and watched the whole thing unfold in front of her eyes.

Thousands of thoughts ran a hundred miles per hour inside her mind as she tried to understand the course of her life.

Aaj bhi uss din ki tarah Shehryar ke lafzou ne Dilnaaz ke aanko mei anso diye the, baas faraq itna tha ki saath saal ki Dilnaaz tou apni badnassibi paar rou rahi thi aur bais saal ki Dilnaaz apni kushnassibi mei.

She had no idea how Shehryar Mirza had gone from the little boy who had made her feel so small, to a man who had just came forward in her defence.

As she continued to assess him, more like stare at him with wide eyes, his eyes turned to her. He, again, looked surprised when their eyes met.

And as usual, lifted one eyebrow in question at her tears.

As always, she rolled her eyes and wiped them off.

Maybe she could, if she tries hard enough, find something to like about him after all.

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