Rayan Yazdani & Ayla Abbasi

THE clicking sound of the door resounded in the silent home. It was late at night, and surely his wife and son would be asleep by now.

Rayan Yazdani, was the son of a famous industrialist. His father, a huge name in the iron monopoly back home. At twenty-eight, he was the eldest amongst his siblings. With a brother, aged twenty-six and a twenty-four year old sister.

His brother, Ali Yazdani, had taken over his father's business. Meanwhile his younger sister, Alina Yazdani, was a medical student. In her last year.

Rayan had given up his position, his love for law and passion for bringing the victims justice, was greater than a desire for sitting inside an office.

That is how he found himself in England. Working in a highly renowned firm. Doing his passion justice on the daily.

Rayan was a six foot one tall man. With dark brown hair and a brown beard. That covered his jawline. Highlighting its sharpness. His muscular toned body, and heavy british accent, owning to the fact that he had lived most of his life in London with his mother, Sana Yazdani. Only shifting to Pakistan when she passed away.

His father, Asif Yazdani, was a man of an iron firm grip. He had not taken his leaving the country to settle into pardesh lightly to say the least. Thankfully, his stepmother Faria Yazdani had supported his case. This would make her son the owner of a large empire. So she was bound to agree.

Rayan had met his wife, Ayla Abbasi at court one day. She had filed a complaint against a police officer for giving her a wrong ticket. With her chocolate coloured luscious hair, full pouty pink lips and hazel eyes, she had Rayan smitten at first gaze.

As his firm continued to work with her, he began to feel for her more and more. One day, without informing anyone, he went over to her house. Taking his own proposal. He stopped outside a small apartment building. Entering the small yet luxurious space, he asked to be rung into her place.

Ayla had been shocked to see him. But invited him in, nevertheless. Turned out, she was the only daughter of her parents. They had passed away in an accident. And the pension of his parents, coupled with the money she made as an artist, helped her live a good life.

A month later, he and Ayla had tied the knot. In a small event. His family had refrained from attending. His father still not over the fact that his son chose to work in another country. And his stepmother and stepsiblings, blinded by their hatred for him.

They had managed to buy an apartment after their marriage. It had a huge lounge in the centre, with the kitchen to the right. Behind the lounge, were their rooms and his office. The floor to ceiling windows gave view of the River Thames and the London eye. Ayla loved to sit their and paint.

Their balcony was a wrap around one, with a pool. Thankfully, their was large protective glass that was one way. Giving him and his family privacy when they chose to swim in it.

A small light lit up the corridor leading to their room. Rayan smiled to himself, thinking about his son, Rehan.

They had been blessed with the news of Ayla's pregnancy in their third month of marriage. They were shocked. With Ayla being only twenty-four. A few weeks after their first marriage anniversary, Rehan was born. And now, three months old, he was a happy little boy.

He had hazel eyes like his mother and a tuft of brown hair had covered his head. He came into the world, screaming at the top of his lungs. Demanding attention. His nose and lips though, resembled his own very much. It had made him happy. Their jigar ka tukda was a perfect combination of him and his wife.

Since he had an important case to deal with, he had been coming home late. It was a case of domestic abuse. And he was very personal about it. His father had been abusive before he got help. He remembered his mother's cries, when he, while hitting her had revealed his second marriage.

He entered their bedroom silently. Lest he wake up his dil kay totay. As soon as he entered, his eyes were graced with the most prettiest of sights. The large glass doors that lead onto their shared balcony, let dim light fall into their large bedroom. The light illuminating the place with the subtlest of glows.

And there on the king sized bed, sat his wife. With their son next to her chest. As she suckled him, gently caressing his cheeks. Speaking in a soothing voice. Her silky hair fell in gentle waves on her bare shoulders.

Their son's tiny fists curled on top of her chest as he continued to drink milk from his mother. Letting his body be nurtured.

"MashAllah!" An astonished cry left his mouth.
The scene infront of him, reducing him to tears.
"Assalamualikum Yan!" Ayla looked at him.
Finally taking her gaze off of their cherub, Rehan.
"Waalikumassalam Ayla!" He smiled.
Heading into their bathroom to wash his hands. Finally sitting himself opposite his wife. Bending slightly forward to kiss her forehead.

His eyes full of love for his world. That was infront of him. There was contentment in his soul anytime he saw the two. They gave him a sense of belonging.

Ayla smiled at him, as the soft sounds of their son's suckling was the only sound that they could hear. She passed him a small smile. The hand that was caressing her son's face, stretching out to hold his fingers.

Ayla, his beloved, was a woman whose love language was physical touch. Much like his own. Only the two knew how they spent time away. Rayan grabbed her hand hand. Kissing her fingers gently.

"How are you jaan?" His deep baritone voice, broke the blanket of silence.
"Amazing. Ap kaise hain?" Her soft voice, tickling his eardrums.
It was a funny sight truly, to see her speak urdu. Born to a british born Pakistani, Ayla, had urdu that was weak.

Her perfect british accent, caused her words to roll out, smoothly. And he marveled at her anytime she used urdu words. She had been learning, working on making her language better. And he was proud anytime he saw her speak. Without stuttering.

"So tired meri jaan. Bohat bhuk lagi hai!" He rested his forehead on her shoulder.
Being mindful of their tiny son. Changing positions, he sat next to Ayla, now gazing at their calm son. Who as if sensing his father's presence opened his pretty eyes. Gazing at him. Slapping his mother's chest, sloppily. Rayan smiled at him. Thanking Allah in his heart, for giving him such a blessing.

"Let me feed Rehan. Then I will make you para-thy!" Ayla smiled at herself, for pronouncing the word correctly.
"Nahi. You must be tired my love. I will make one of those frozen parathas". Rayan shook his head.

His wife looked after their son all day. He would be a fool to have her make his dinner too. Especially because it was such an ungodly hour. And she had given birth not even six months ago.

"Rayan! I like to do your things. Please do not stop me. Waisay bhi, I want to eat too," she looked at him bashful.
Knowing full well that a scolding was coming her way for not looking after her.
"Ayla. Mein nai ap ko kitni dafa kaha hai! Stop waiting for me. This is not healthy!" His eyes showing the worry that he was feeling.
"I do not like to eat alone". She lowered her gaze.

Rayan sighed. He could never be mad at her for more than a few seconds. Nodding his head, he wrapped his muscular arm around her shoulder. Kissing the top of her head.

Their son, the shehzada of their tiny world, finally decided he had had his fill. Finally letting go off of his mother's nipple, he yawned. Rayan smiled. Grabbing him from his wife. Resting him on shoulder. Swaying his body softly. Waiting for him to burp.

"Rayan your shirt will get messy!" Ayla tried to grab him.
"Its okay. He is my son too!" He smiled at her.
From his free hand grabbing a wet wipe from the side table. Helping Ayla wipe the remnants of milk.

Just then, Rehan's tiny body vibrated. An indicator that the tiny man had burped and was ready to sleep. Cleaning his chin and mouth with a wipe, he kissed his cheeks. Laying him down in his cot. Covering him with a blanket. Reciting Aayat-ul-Kursi on him.

"Rayan you should change out of your clothes now!" Ayla finally having worn her sleeping suit, told him.
Heading into their spacious kitchen. Taking out the flour to make the flat bread. The salan already warming on the stove.

The flour was kneaded into a thin layer and rubbed with desi ghee. After which it was rolled into a long coil. And flattened again. Cooked in butter. The crispy deliciousness was ready. The smell of spices already wafting through their home.

"Jaan it smells heavenly. Aj kia banaya hai?" He asked.
His arms encircling her waist out of their own accord.
"Stuffed bitter gourd!" She turned and smiled at him.
"Sounds amazing!" He pecked her lips.
Setting the dining table that was on a raised deck in the living room itself, with water and mint-corriander yogurt.

Ayla brought the food. Serving him and then herself, the two eating under the dim light. Their hearts enlightened with love for each other.

After the two were done, Ayla grabbed their dirty dishes placing them in the large sink. As Rayan wiped down the table. She sighed, feeling no energy left in her body.
"Jaan, would you mind doing the dishes? I have no energy!" She looked at him, with her doe like eyes opened wide.
Rayan nodded. It was the least he could do. It was not like a lot had to be done. Just needed to place the dishware into the dishwasher.

"Jao jaan. Go and rest!" He passed her a smile.
Getting down to business as Ayla went into their bedroom. She was lucky to have been blessed with such an amazing husband. Who looked after her and their son so well.

By the time Rayan came to bed, the curtains had been drawn shut. And Ayla seemed to have fallen in a deep slumber. Taking off his shirt, leaving himself only in his shorts, Rayan got under the sheets. Pulling Ayla close to himself. Next to his beating heart, where she belonged.

The next time Rayan woke up, it was morning. The winter sun in London, was just rising on the horizon. The drapes had been pulled back lightly. Probably by Ayla. It was her routine to pull them back while she was feeding Rehan first thing in the morning.

It was eight am. Thankfully, on a Saturday. Meaning he did not need to rush into his office and could instead spend the next to days with his family. With no work worries. Stepping out of bed, with Ayla still asleep. He took a fast shower, getting dressed in nothing but his grey joggers.

As if waiting for his father to step out, Rehan began to wail. Fortunately it was not a high pitched cry. Ayla deserved the rest. And he would feel guilty if their son woke her up. Grabbing their tiny boy, he exited their bedroom.

"Baba ki jaan, kia baat hai?" He kissed his son's cheeks.
Feeling calm smelling his scent. It made him feel nothing but grounded. Holding Rehan.
"Chalo aao, meray shehzaday. I'll give you a bath today!" He carried Rehan into the adjacent bedroom.
Where all of Rehan's stuff was. Inside the bathroom of this room, they had a professional install a tiny bathtub for their young prince. Where he loved to take baths.

Adjusting the temperature to not too hot or cold, but just perfect, Rayan undressed Rehan. Dipping his body into the still water. Using a body wash meant for infants on his skin. That too highly diluted. He was not risking his sons skin or health.

Wrapping Rehan's tiny frame in one of the white fluffy towels, laying him on the dressing area. It was made with the softest of mattresses. His son deserved absolute comfort and he would go to the ends of the world to provide him with it.

Rayan sang poems to his son, distracting him with little soft toys as he powdered down his body. Their son was not a fussy kid. So he made diaper duty pretty easy. Rayan dressed his son in a white faux fur onesie. Not before covering his tiny feet in thick socks Kissing each little finger as he went. Once dressed, Rehan looked like a tiny cloud. And Rayan had to stop himself from biting his cheeks. He then picked out thick, fur boots and a little hat to place on his head.

Walking back into their room, he lay down his very active son, next to his mother. Who as if sensing their presence shifted. A hand now resting over Rehan, protectively. Rayan smiled, at his son, making faces as he wore a grey crew neck.

"Come, let's make breakfast!" He held his son in his arms again. Heading into their kitchen. Laying Rehan down in his play pen. Where his favourite toys were. One was a toy that was made of cotton. And on shaking made rattling noises. And God did their son love to shake it. Showing his parents his gummy smile.

Rayan let out a loud laugh seeing his sons actions.
"Shukriya!" He thanked his son, who had thrown his toy at him.
Leaving the baby monitor on - eventhough he was still in sigh - not willing to take any risks. Rayan entered their kitchen.

Talking to himself, wondering out loud what he should make.
"Hmm Rehan should we make your mama eggs?" He wondered out loud.
Shaking his head, "you are right meri jaan. We should make her waffles and serve them with fruits!"

Taking out the required ingredients, he whisked up the waffles. The sweet goodness, a prefect golden colour. The test piece, had let Rayan taste the perfection. Crispy exterior and fluffy inside. Drizzling honey and cutting up strawberries, that were bought each week from a farmers market.

The strawberries, were expensive. But they were always sweet like sugar. And his wife did not like tart strawberries. He would be a failure if his wife did not get what she preferred.

Placing the dishes and the chocolate milk that he had prepared. As well as water, he carried the wooden tray to the island. Grabbing Rehan from his pen, and carrying the tray in his other hand, he walked into their bedroom. Ready to wake up his wife, Ayla.

He rested the tray on his bed. Pulling the curtains completely open as the soft sunlight fell on Ayla's body. Providing just the perfect warmth. He laid Rehan next Ayla, on his back. Their son, the active sport, slapped his arms around in air. Landing a few hits on his mother's collar bone length hair.

Suddenly becoming fascinated with the silky strands of hair, Rehan gripped them tightly. Rayan, caught sight of it. And opened their son's fists gently.
"No beta. It hurts mama!" He whispered to his son.

Smiling, he sat behind Ayla. Who had spread herself along the centre. Running his hand along her ribcage, he bent down to kiss her shoulder blade.

"Jaan wake up," he whispered in her ears.
"Look, Rehan made you breakfast!" His husky voice managed to wake her up.
Finally turning and shifting, she opened her eyes. Looking at him happily.
"Morning Yan!" She passed him a smile.
He replied with a smile. Bending down and taking her lips in a gentle kiss.

Rayan never shied away from kissing or showing affection to his wife infront of their son. He wanted Rehan to grow up learning how important loving your spouse was.

Breathless, he let her go. Ayla ran to the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth. Sitting herself in bed again. In the embrace of her husband and holding her son.

"Hello jaan!" She smothered his face.
"You did a nice job showering him!" She commended Rayan's effort.
"Thank you. Now hand him over. You start eating!" He grabbed the little boy.

Ayla, starved, broke into the breakfast. Feeding Rayan bites too, as he was busy entertaining their son. He grabbed a dollop of honey on his cleaned finger. Bringing it to his gum. Allowing Rehan to suckle on it softly. Biting his finger with his toothless gums.

"Rayan give him to me. You eat something too!" Ayla took Rehan in her own embrace.
The young child immediately curling into her embrace. Rayan grabbed the tray and her hand. Leading her out of the room, his food was on the dining table. It irked him to eat in bed, the privilege was only for his wife to enjoy.

Sitting in his chair, he pulled Ayla into his lap. His whole world now encased between his arms. He made little bites, chewing slowly. Enjoying their son's gibberish.

"Let's take a walk along the river today!" Rayan announced while he and Ayla were doing the dishes.
"Are you sure?" Taking a child out, as young as their son, was no easy feat.
"Ji meri jaan!" He hugged her.

"Ayla I love you so much. You and our son, are the most important part of my life!" He rested his forehead against hers.
Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, a tear ran from his cheeks, landing on Ayla's.
"Rayan why are crying?" She wiped his tears away.
"Bas waisay hi". He laughed.
Ayla pouted, wiping his tears for him.

"Mein tiyaar ho kar aun?" She looked at him.
Her eyes dancing with mirth.
"Jao". He shooed her.
Laughing.

Ayla came out, wearing a track suit. Made of white faux fur. Looking a lot like her son. Rayan kissed her. Praying for her happiness.

Laying him down in his stroller, Rayan locked up the place. The tiny family walking down the street to the riverside. Rayan pushed his pram, Ayla talking to him animatedly.

The noises all in the street fell into a silence. The sound of their son's soft snores and his wife's chatter, the only sound that mattered.

Spending some time on the riverside, they decided on heading back. With Rehan up and ready to be fed. He was not adapted to drinking from a bottle. And neither did he or Ayla want him to drink formula just yet.

As they entered their apartment building, with Ayla calming an anxious Rehan, who was now kicking up a storm from hunger, Rayan's name was called out.

The voice, of a man he would never forget. Motioning for Ayla to take Rehan upstairs, he turned around.

"What do you want abu?" He raised his eyebrow.
This was the man who had decided to not support him in choice of career and marriage. He had betrayed his mother.
"Was that my pota?" He inquried.
A hardness in his voice heard certainly not for the first time.

"No. He was my son. Mein ap ka kuch nahi lagta. So please, stop associating yourself with my family!" He stormed off.
Only calming down when inside their home.

"Come here Rayan," Ayla waves him over to the sofa.
She kissed his cheeks. Giving him her shoulder, for comfort. Rayan sighed. Laying his head, on her shoulders. Gazing at their son, who had only one purpose and that was to eat. Ayla kissed his cheeks. A silent call, to let him know, she was there for him.

Forever & Always.