S H E got out of her lousy bed with a little jump in her step. Like most girls her age, Hoor had always looked forward to her marriage. Today on a beautiful Sunday, a man was coming over with his family to see her. She could not help but be excited. It was a natural reaction that she could not stop.

Having shampooed her hair the night before with her trusted Lifebuoy shampoo, Hoor took it out of the low bun that it was. In she gently brushed out all of the kinks in it. To her, her hair was her most prized position. She maintained it with great care using Zubaida apa's totkay [hack]. It was thick, luscious and silky. The envy of many.

Finally having brushed it all out, Hoor took the front strands of her hair and pinned them back. Leaving the rest of it open to fall like a dark waterfall on her back. She took out the reshmi [chiffon] black frock that she had decided to wear. It came had a churidar [ruffled pants] pajama and the whole circumference of it had tiny little balls attached to it. The chiffon dupatta was placed in her neck and opened in such a manner that it gave her chest sheer coverage.

Hoor then reached for her make shift makeup bag. It was actually a sac she had gotten from itwaar bazaar [sunday market] for very cheap. Taking out her blush pink lipstick and blush on kit that had all been bought from landa [thrift], Hoor was ready.

At noon, when the sun had begun to rise to the centre of the large crystal clear sky and the winds had started to settle a bit, the doorbell rang. The noisy bird sounds rang through the tiny home.

"Ali darwaza kholo woh log aagai hain,"
[Ali open the door. They have reached]
Jahan-ara shouted from her bedroom where she was putting finishing touches to her looks. Her eyebrows were threaded away to remove any hair that had grown out of line. Her thin lips painted a deep burgundy shade. She had applied a low grade foundation she had gotten for three hundred rupees. The shade was ten shades to light for her skin and the dark red blush made her look like a clowns sister. Her body was squeezed into an ivory white shalwar- kameez suit that she had worn for way to long but refused to give up on.

Stepping out her room, shutting the door tightly, Jahan-ara entered Ali's bedroom where they had arranged for the guests to sit.

"Assalamualikum baaji kiya haal hai?"
[Peace be onto you, how are you sister?]
Jahan-ara asked in an overly friendly tone whilst hugging a woman who was dressed similar to her. Except that instead of ivory she wore a pink shade that you would only get when one mixes in an unnecessary amount of rooh afza [drink] inside their milk.

"Waalikumassalam Jahan bibi. Tum tou ghaib hi rehti ho aaj kal,"
[Peace be upon you too. Jahan sister where are you hiding these days?]
the woman who was the potential groom mother was a close friend of Jahan-ara's. Shagufta also happened to live in the same neighbourhood and had rushed over with her own sons rishta [relation] the moment she caught news of the fact that Jahan-ara was looking for a groom.

"Han baas shugar nai hi kha rakaha hai. Paun hain keh dard khatam hi nahi hota".
[Yeah its the diabetes that has eaten me. My feet keep aching!]
Jahan-ara replied.
"Khair insab baatun ko chodu. Tumharay teen betay hain na,"
[Anyhow, you have three sons right?]
she confirmed.
"Ji ji teen he hain. Mein rishta apnay manjhlay, Asghar ka lai hun".
[Yes yes! They are three. I'm here for my middle son Asghar's marriage proposal]
Shagufta gave a reply.

"Sahi. Waisay meri Hoor meri apni na sahi par pala isko apni sagi aulad ki tarah hi hai. Kuch apnay betay keh baray mein batao keh karta kiya hai woh,"
[Okay. Although, my Hoor is my step daughter, I've raised her like my own. Tell me something about your son!]
the protective mother asked.

"Arey Asghar bhatay par jata hai,"
[Oh Asghar works at the brick kiln]
Shagufta replied with a smug look on her face.
"Din ka kitna kama leta hai?"
[How much does he make in a day?]
Jahan-ara further probed.
"100 sai 300 keh darmian. Likin jo kamata hai apnay par hi lagata hai. Shaadi keh baad bhi apnay aur Hoor par lagai ga. Hum eik rupaya tak nahi rakhein gai,"
[100 to 300. But whatever he earns, he spends on himself. After marriage he will spend on himself and Hoor. We won't keep anything]
her friend replied, then continued," ab Hoor ko bhi tou bulain na".
[Now please call Hoor]
"Haan haan,"
[Yes! Yes!]
then turning towards the door, "Hoor beta chai le kar anadar aajao".
[Hoor child, bring the tea inside]

The two women in order to pass time indulged into conversation. Some five minutes later, the woman in question walked in.
"MashAllah. MashAllah".

Shagufta could not hold her feelings in. The girl truly matched her name.
"Jao aunty keh pass betho,"
[Go and sit with aunty]
Hoor was ordered by her mother after she had served everyone hot piping tea.
"Ji".
[Okay]
Hoor gave a meek reply.

As soon as she sat down next to the guest, she felt extremely nervous. Her heart was overwhelmed with an unknown emotion. It was perhaps knowing that soon she would married off to a man. Or the fact that this woman might become her mother. Her heart faced a series of storms. Storm of emotions she was unable to control.

"Acha tou beti aap kiya kiya bana leti ho?"
[So child what can you cook?]
Shagufta questioned this time around.
"Ji waisay tou -"
[Umm- usually I-]
Hoor was interrupted by her mother.
"Sab kuch hi bana leti hai. Bas issay tareeka batao aur lazeez khana tiyaar".
[She can make everything. As long as you tell her the recipe. The food will be scrumptious.]
Eventhough Jahan-ara's words made it seem as if she was selling her daughter, Hoor's heart swelled in pride. This was the first time her mother had ever praised her cooking.

After staying till lunch, and enjoying the scrumptious biryani, Shagufta left claiming that she would call and tell her reply. Hoor and Ali - who was barely present in the home during Shagufta's visit - thought it was going to be a yes. In true fact Hoor had already started to plan her wedding and life after it in her head. She could picture the vibrant dresses and the overly bright lights covering the street. The tenderness of her husband's love. All of it was starting to cause her heart beat to raise itself.

K A M A L H O M E, D H A, L H R
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It was the time for evening tea when Mustafa returned home. He was dead tired and wished for nothing more than to jump in bed and not wakeup for a long time. The meetings of the day had been draining, both mentally and physically.

His hand rested in his lap as he stared at his aunt and uncle treat their children with love. What had he done to loose his? In-fact what had he done to loose his everything?

"Hello chacha, chachi, Shahrukh and Rumaisa," he greeted them while a knife stabbed his heart.
"Arey Mustafa aao betho na,"
[Oh Mustafa. Come have a seat]
his chachi gestured him to come over. He knew in his heart that she probably needed to ask of a favour. But still that young child in his heart hoped that that was not the case and instead she felt love for him.

"Ji chachi koi pareshani?"
[Yes aunt. Is there anything bothering?]
He asked as he wheeled himself to her. Grabbing her thin hands in his rough, calloused palms he kissed the tops of them.
"Han beta bohat bari,"
[Yes son. Very big problem]
she continued shamelessly.
"Aap mujhe batain kia mein madad kar sakta hun?"
[Please let me know if I can help you]
He pondered over the subject.

"Arey Mustafa tou laazmi kar sakta hai. Par pehlay kuch kha lay aur kapray badal lai phir masla solve karien,"
[Oh Mustafa you can surely help. But first freshen up and have food. Then we can resolve this matter]
Rizwan the ever mother hen advised and dragged Mustafa away. Not before ordering their maid to make some tea and evening snacks for the two of them.

Inside his bedroom, Rizwan helped Mustafa take a quick shower and then change his clothes. All through which Mustafa could not help but feel like the most unlucky man on the planet. What use was he if he could not even walk himself or do the most basic of things himself. Each day he felt a part of himself get lost to the darkness of the world. Each night he would loose his faith. Every breath was becoming difficult for him.

He was told time and time again to not let his disability become a weakness and yet all those around him with the exception of his childhood friend judged him based on that one incapability. One time he had told his uncle he fancied Rumaisa. He was given a sharp reply.
"Mustafa you and Rumaisa are not good for each other. You need someone to look after you each and every second. Rumaisa needs to be pampered. So I do not think you suit her". This was what he had been told.

Mustafa felt like he was a burden. Rizwan could not make any other priority as he was so busy taking care of him. So much so that no matter how much his father told him to settle down he refused for the sake of him.

What Mustafa forgot was that he had a beautiful home. Allah had given him a great friend in the form of Rizwan. Sure he took his power to walk but in return he got a body free of any diseases. He had a well established career. And His Treasury was still full of blessings for him.

"But the best of planners is Allah"

J A M A L H O U S E
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As the night fell and hands raised in prayer of Isha began, Hoor ran to the roof top and did her ablution. She took her sweet time to pray to her best friend. The best confidant of all. It was to Him only she could bare her heart without feeling as if she would be judged for it. That night as she fell asleep, Hoor only asked for one thing.
"Allah mian ji meri shaadi jald az jald eik rajkumar sai ho jaye. Ameen".
[Oh Allah! Please let my marriage happen fast and that too with a prince. Amen]

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