"Saad isn't home."

"He might have left for work early," Shabna shrugged, taking clothes out of the laundry basket and putting them inside the washing machine.

"He didn't eat breakfast-"

"Khadija, sometimes he has to fulfill deadlines," Maahi stroked her hair, " He works extra hard, you know that."

"Dad-" Khadija turned to face her father.

"I don't like these lines of stress on your forehead, jaani," Maahi went on, holding her hand in reassurance, "He was fine last night."

When Khadija didn't open her mouth to reply, Maahi added, "He will come back in the evening, in shaa Allah."

To this, she nodded and ran up the stairs. Closing her room door shut, she sat on her side of the bed.

"Why the long face?" Her twin, Muhammad asked as he made his bed.

"Saad went to work early today."

"So what?" He shrugged the bed sheet in the air casually and spread it over the bed.

"It's unusual to not have him for breakfast."

Muhammad didn't answer, his silence and demeanor prodded Khadija to look at him in doubt. "Kuch hua kya, tum dono ke beech."

"Khadija, no wonder you call yourself a gossip queen," Muhammad started as he pushed the bed sheet under the bed, "Why is your nose always poking in some business. Even if there isn't anything wrong, you want something to be wrong

"If he was not at home, where would he have been? Work, of course."

"I don't know why everyone is indifferent, he never leaves without informing."

"Maybe he was in a hurry," her twin suggested, throwing the pillows near the headboard and taking a seat facing her.

"Why are you reasoning for him?"

"What is your problem?"

"My problem? You never have shown a liking towards him, Muhammad, " Khadija got up and started pacing, "My problem is I care for him, okay? After talking with you, I am sure. My gut is never wrong. You too fought?" She stopped nearby him, folding her hands on her chest.

"You aren't the only one in this house who studies law," Muhammad glared at her squared jaw, "If you know how to prosecute, I sure know how to defend myself."

Khadija cracked up mirthlessly, "Hence proved guilty."

Muhammad stared at her, annoyance seeping through his veins.

"What did you do this time? Huh?"

Even though she knew that her twin despised Saad, she never wanted him to go out of his way to show it. To show his resentment to Saad who she considered, loved as her brother. And that's how she was clutching the odds, to be proved wrong. Hoping against hope.

"I showed his place in the house."

Disbelief clouded her face hearing her twin's reply, "What?"

"Don't act as if he is our family, he is not," when Muhammad spoke the word family, it felt so mocking. Hit straight to the heart.

Oh! Saad.

"He is our family, Muhammad. What are you talking about?"

"He was adopted, Khadija."

"So what? I don't understand what's wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me, you people are so blind. You trust him and I don't. What if he steals something-"

"Saad would never-"

"See, you are so trusting-" Muhammad stood up to her height, " We are the only children of our parents. He is not one of us."

Khadija pressed her fingers on her throbbing forehead. "I can't argue with you," she shook her head, pushing him to get to the door.

"I know I will win," Muhammad smirked at her back.

Khadija stopped in her tracks and turned to face him one last time," You know what?" she asked, her lips spreading into a grim line.

"He may not be one of us; rather he is the bond that is holding this family together." She said, menacingly taking steps towards him.

"Without him," She exclaimed as mockingly as he had said a while before. "There is no family."

"Why do I smell cupcakes?"

Jesima laughed, looking sideways at Anjum, "I told you. Once she wakes up, she will smell the cupcakes like a cat."

"Mama!" Asma cried almost offended for a second but the next instance, she wheeled herself even more enthusiastically into the kitchen, "Where are they?"

"Here," Anjum grinned, offering her niece a box.

"You are the best, Phu," Asma thanked, opening the box.

"I am not the one who brought these, dear. Don't thank me."

Asma looked at the box full of cupcakes and then at her aunt, "Who brought these?"

"Asad," Jesima answered, leaning over Anjum to look at her daughter.

"Asad?" Asma stretched, her gaze flickering to the box, her tongue immediately filling with moisture. "He brought these for me?"

"Yes. He was going this way and thought he would drop by."

"I will thank him later then," Asma childishly grinned, using her other hand to turn the wheels to leave the kitchen as she heard Anjum ask, "Where was he going again?"

Asma didn't decipher her mother's answer as she tugged her wheelchair down but her eyebrows scrunched together when Anjum replied, "We don't fall in his way then."

Her head turned around in confusion to see her mother shrugging off and resuming what she was doing before.

Why would he do that?

She thought to herself but soon enough those thoughts dissipated in the air as she started to relish the cupcakes. She wasn't a fan of desserts but after coming here, she was starting to. Thanks to Asad for making her fall for these sweet temptations.

"Where are you going?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Yahya asked instead, darting up from tying his sneakers.

"No. You can't possibly go to work," Asma chided with her mouth full of chocolate cream. "When you just came two days back from your Umrah."

"Asma, I have taken enough leave already."

Asma's delighted face fell, "But I wanted to spend more time with you."

Yahya lovingly smiled at her, "I am not going forever. As promised, I will take you to Walmart, Rafa's place, once she returns and will buy you an ice cream sandwich on the way."

"This is the reason why I love you," Asma teared up.

"It's less than me, isn't it?" Anjum asked, walking inside the room holding Yahya's lunch. "You love me more, don't you?"

"You are both equal to me," Asma replied, "But still you could take a day off."

"I cannot," Yahya replied, taking his lunch from Anjum's hand and kissing her on the forehead. He walked up to Asma, lowered himself to the ground, and stole a blueberry cupcake from the box, "Don't ever grow up."

"I am 20, in a wheelchair, I can't possibly grow up."

Yahya's smile dimmed for a second, "I will not humor that."

"Take her to your office, I am sure she will enjoy it there."

"We have other plans," Anjum answered back.

"What plans?"

"We are going to the salon-"

"Now I am afraid about my bank balance-"

"Aren't you getting late?" Both aunt and niece asked in unison.

"Traitor!" Yahya whispered to Asma before going out. Making her laugh at his retreating self.

It turned out to be fun, the three of them went out to the salon and spa, Asma had a very good spa experience, and she got very pretty nail art done as she was in her period. While Anjum and Jesima gossipped in between their facials, pedi, and manicure sessions. Getting to know about all the stuff they missed without each other.

"Are you both sure?" Anjm asked as she parked her car outside the Aashiq Mansion.

"Yes, it's time we get back home," Jesima smiled warmly as she helped her daughter get in the wheelchair. Asma nodded, "We are good, Phu. You can go now," she tried to reassure Anjum.

After a second of thinking, Anjum ignited her engine and drove away. The mother-and-daughter duo sighed, turning their attention to the house. Asma's persistence made Jesima do a few changes to the house, the renovation process took a few weeks and now that it is over, they decided it was finally time. It was altered for Asma to fit in with her disability.

Jesima opened the main door, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Inside the long sparkling marble threshold, they entered the large living room, the L-shaped purple sofa and the long curtains tugged all the memories to repour yet she tried to overcome her emotions, "This feels good," Jesima said taking a seat on the sofa.

She still could picture Aashiq sitting on the other end of the sofa, peeking glances at her. In one way, it killed her but on the safe side, it felt adequate. Jesima looked at her daughter who sat unsure of what to do on her seat. "You want to look around?"

For Asma, the house felt like home just by entering it. Taking a breath, she nodded her head. She wanted to give a mole amount of time for her mother to warm up and settle.

Jesima was quick on her toes as she ran to Asma's back, pushing her wheelchair, they started towards the kitchen. The house was humongous, the high ceiling chandeliers, the bright walls, and the paintings standing out.

"Your father did those," Jesima pridefully confessed.

Asma nodded with a grin taking everything in. "They are the epitome of true beauty."

"Even though we were married, at first we lived in separate rooms. This one is where he lived," Jesima explained as she opened the room's door, "This used to be my haven. When you were born, we both stayed here."

Asma strolled herself in, the room looked just as her mother used to describe it to be as if she knew every nook and corner, she started towards the bed to glance at the half-moon painting. She took her time admiring her father's hard work, she then went to the side table, "In here must be his journals."

"Yeah," Jesima replied slowly, taking a seat in the bed and letting her daughter explore, her fingers caressing the bedspread and feeling its texture.

She had thought this was going to be hard but with Asma, it wasn't. She thought she would break all over again but in reality, she re-lived.

Every moment felt like bliss.

"His words have my heart, Mama," Asma overlooked from her shoulder, "they make me fall more. You are so lucky."

"Indeed."

Asma hugged the journal to her heart, "I think I can live here for an eternity." Her emerald green eyes shine like never before.

"You can."

"What do you mean?"

"Palestine was my destination, Asma. Not yours," Jesima said, walking over to her. She kneeled, her hands cupping Asma's face. "You belong here."

"But-"

"-This is all yours."

Some words were only half said yet they define to be limitless. That's how Jesima's words were to Asma, for an onlooker, they may seem small but to Asma, they defined her world.

Jesima spoke again, her glazed orbs met her daughter's, "Truly yours."

I can work more on this chapter, I know.