© All copyrights belong to StarsAndMoon1447 on Wattpad

*

Okay, guys, I'm going to rush this story a bit now. We might have just two-three (or maximum, but unlikely, four) chapters left of this story. In sixteen days, In Sha Allah, I will be going on a two-week long holiday for a cousin's wedding, and I want to finish this story before that, and since my work schedule is as busy as ever, I'll end it sooner than expected.

It's been a long and beautiful journey writing for you guys, especially the FOL series, and I honestly have no new stories in mind at the moment so I have no idea what's next for me in Wattpad.

It's been amazing guys, and you all have been wonderful, every single one of you. I'm sorry if I'm unable to write out everything you wanted to see in this story, but I will try my best in the limited amount of time.

*****

Noor

As the sun rose over Lahore, the calmness surrounding made it seem unthinkable that the previous night had been full of so much drama.

While on one hand we were all thrilled that Zaid had gotten away with just a warning by his seniors, the events on the other side of the city had shaken us all.

The world had witnessed Muraad Azeem being punched, and now there was a public outraged for the culprit to be charged for his actions. Unfortunately for the Sheikh family, the one who attacked their son-in-law was none other than the brother of one of their daughters-in-law.

Currently, I was at the Sheikh family home as nobody had been able to sleep the night, and tensions were still rising.

The three sons of Arhaan Taya Jaan had returned home after breaking up what could have been a fatal fight between Muraad Bhai and Nomi Bhai. Meanwhile, Muraad Bhai had gone back to his flat, after Ismael Bhai and Ibrahim Bhai had made him see a doctor regarding the injuries received from the punch. But Armaan's silence was not making things easy for the tense situation.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Amara was angry at him. "Why aren't you agreeing that Nomi Whatshisface should be charged?" 

"Muraad Bhai punched him first. Nomi Bhai could easily claim self-defence." Armaan said, weakly.

I noticed Maheen Bhabi standing silently beside her husband, a dupatta draped over her head. Her gaze was lowered, but her jaw was clenched. Her anger was obvious, but it wasn't clear who it was directed at.

"Nauman is leaving the city." Taya Jaan finally spoke up. "Muraad beat him up, and although I don't believe in violence, this matter is done. We should just leave it here. Nauman is no longer going to be around Amara or her family, and for the sake of the relationship we have with him because of Maheen beti, I think that we should end this matter right here."

"Papa!" Amara began to protest. "He hurt my husband!"

"They both physically hurt each other. It's all even. That's enough, Amara." Taya Jaan said. "I want this chapter closed, and I want no further problems in our family regarding this matter." He paused. "But I'm afraid that I'm going to make this tough decision, that if Nauman is in the city again, he is no longer welcome into the Sheikh family home. Whether his behaviour was intentional or unintentional, it doesn't matter. I don't want such a person around the ladies of my family." 

Maheen Bhabi finally looked up, her eyes filled with hurt and unshed tears. "Uncle, my brother is not such a man. I...misunderstood things. My brother is innocent." 

"I am not saying he is guilty.  But this is my decision, for my family's sake." Taya Jaan said, quietly.

"But, if you don't think he's guilty, why isn't he welcome here?" Maheen Bhabi looked confused.

"Mahi, we don't even live here." Armaan sighed. "What's the problem?" 

"Exactly." Tayi Jaan added. "You can invite him to your home, that's your decision. But Arhaan has the right to make the decisions regarding this house." 

Something really bothered me. None of us argued with Arhaan Taya Jaan, because he never made wrong or unreasonable decisions, and yet here Maheen Bhabi, was speaking out against his decision even though she didn't even live here!

"It was my wrong choice of words that caused this." Maheen Bhabi said, tearfully. "And now Nomi is basically going to be alone in another city."

"Nobody asked him to leave the city, Mahi." Armaan told her. "But we, as Amara's family, think that this is a good decision on his part. I know it's hard for you, but it's the right thing for your brother as well." 

"This topic ends here." Taya Jaan repeated, firmly. "We'll move past this, and we shall not bring this up again. But I need to say this as a reminder that I'm letting this go once because it was misunderstanding, but I will not tolerate anyone having bad intentions, or directing impure glances, towards the ladies in my family." 

"We're all tired, so let's just go to our rooms." Nazia Tayi Jaan said. 

****

"If Muraad Bhai presses charges, Nauman would not be able to have a new career again." Zaid said as I had tea with him later in the evening.

"Do you think he'll press charges?" I sipped my tea.

"I don't think so. But I think Amara would want him to." 

I shook my head. "Amara is wise. Yes, she is angry right now, but she knows not to take actions when angry."

Over the months, we had built a small seating area on the rooftop, for us to have tea together. There were wooden slabs placed on piles of bricks, and an old broken table that Zaid had fixed using some hammering and tape. On one side, by the wall, I had planted some flowers in clay pots, and they added a hint of colour and beauty to the otherwise less-than-average seating area. But no matter what, it was ours. It was evidence that romance did not require money.

"May Allah help them resolve all issues. Ameen." Zaid stretched his legs out and we stared up at the sky in silence for a while.

"Ameen." My gaze followed a lone bird, probably making its way home as it sensed the approaching sunset. What a beautiful feeling it is to return home at the end of the day. As much as I loved and cherished the Sheikh family home, I loved the idea of coming back here to our home even more. I was Noor Zaid Zafar now, and I belong here in the Zafar family home now, and I was beyond happy. Alhumdulillah.

And just like that bird would eventually find its way back home, all of us would find our way back to each other because of the emotional bond we all shared. Even Armaan, who had remained distance from the Sheikh family for a while, will realise the true power of blood. In Sha Allah.

The word 'Sheikh' is used to refer to leaders. We were leaders, we took charge of all sorts of situations and we fought back against difficulties. We would stay strong, with the help of Allah, and we will get through all sorts of situations together, no matter what.

As for my in-laws, Fariha Mamma had been through hell and back, and now it was her chance to relax and enjoy the peace and serenity of life. She and Zafar Papa had always been the strength of this family, and In Sha Allah, will continue to remain so. Despite the bitterness of the part, the beauty of their present will brighten up their future, leaving behind more happy memories than sad ones. I hoped that one day Mamma could smile without the faint hint of sadness in her eyes. I had faith that this day would come. Each day, the sounds of her laughter were starting to ring out in the home more and more, making each of us smile. And seeing her happy, the rest of us automatically felt at peace.

Thanks to her journey from Fariha Ali, to Dr Fariha Umair, back to Dr Fariha Ali, and then Dr Fariha Zafar, she had seen many, many ups and downs, but that has made her who she was today: a strong, independent woman who still had the abilities to smile through her pain. She was a figure of strength for the ladies in our family, Ma Sha Allah: from me, to Zunaira Bhabi to Amara, and Hania Appi and Iman. We all thought she was a role model for strength.

"Billu's wedding will bring the much needed smiles to everyone's faces, In Sha Allah." I whispered.

Zaid chuckled under his breath. "Certainly on his face."

I giggled.

"But, in all seriousness, I wish him all the best." Zaid took my hand in his. "He's a caring, loving son, brother, cousin and friend. He deserves his own portion of happiness."

"I can't wait." I said.

I sat back and imagined the celebrations of the marriage of Bilal Ahad Sheikh, and I prayed to Allah that our family was united on that occasion, with not a trace of resentment or drama. The wedding of the person who made everyone laugh and feel good about themselves, should be a beautiful, exciting and cheerful occasion. 

Our adorable little Billu.

****

Muraad

I lost a good friend, someone who considered loyal to me. And yes, deep down I regretted it, considering how he had been the only one who had stood by me when none of my family had.

But I didn't regret what I did for the sake of my wife. I would not tolerate anyone harbouring ill intentions towards my Amore.

I dragged myself out of bed, groaning silently, rubbing my jaw which still ached. Ammi had been over last night and had gotten me to place an ice pack over it, which had helped. Now she had left for some chores, and I was alone in our flat, and someone had decided to pay me a visit.

I opened the front door, feeling irritated, but was surprised to see a pram parked in front of my door. 

Specifically, Minahil's pram. 

"Miha..." I lifted up my beautiful little daughter. She was dressed in a yellow onesie with the words 'Mummy's Little Sunshine' written over the chest, and was asleep. "What are you doing here, jaani?" 

"Miha came to check on her Papa." 

I looked to my right and saw Amara standing a few feet away, dressed in black tights and a loose light blue kurta. Her hair was swept up in a bun with a loose strand hanging over one side of her face. On her right shoulder was Miha's baby bag, while she held her phone in the other hand. "Assalam Alaikum, Amore." 

"Walaikum Assalam." She walked up to me and kissed my bicep as I held Miha. "How are you feeling? Miha was worried about you." 

"Oh really? Miha was worried?" I kissed the side of her head.

"Well, obviously, she's your daughter and she was concerned." 

"You should be resting Amore." With one hand, I pushed the pram inside the flat, while carefully holding my baby daughter against my shoulder. Her adorable scent soothed the internal battle that had been going on inside me ever since I'd read Armaan's message. I had been constantly asking myself whether I could have done more to keep Amara safe.

"Rest? With all the constant drama?" My wife sighed, wearily. As I turned to look closely at her, I saw that she looked utterly exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes which she hadn't concealed with make-up, like she usually did. And her eyes themselves were red-rimmed, as if sleep deprived.

"Amara, seriously, get some sleep." I told her. "I'm here to take care of Miha. You go and sleep." 

"I just got here. I'll sleep in a bit." Yawning, Amara flopped down on the sofa, resting her head on its back and closing her eyes. "I'm just going to close my eyes for five minutes." 

"How about you go and close your eyes for five minutes in our bedroom?" I suggested. "Miha is out here with me, so you can turn the AC on at full blast, just the way you like it, and snuggle into the warm duvet that you specially selected for us after your rukhsati, and rest your head on my pillow, as you always do." 

She looked tempted, and without under word, she headed into our bedroom.

"I know how to use her love of sleep against her." I chuckled, looking at my daughter.

Miha's eyes were closed, her tiny hands curled in fists. Even in her sleep, she made a pouty face as if she was about to cry, but she calmed down. 

Minahil Muraad Azeem.

Sometimes I still often found myself in a state of disbelief as I held my daughter. I couldn't believe that she was my baby, mine and Amara's. I couldn't believe that I was a father to such a beautiful blessing of the Almighty.

I don't know what good deeds I have done to deserve a daughter, but thank you endlessly, Allah. I thanked Him after each prayer, anyway, but it always felt like it wasn't enough. Some blessings are so big that we cannot thank Allah enough even if we tried our entire lives.

Minahil Muraad Azeem, apart from Amara Muraad Azeem, was the biggest blessing of my life. I thanked Allah more for my wife and daughter than I did for my own existence: that's how important the two were to me.

I'd never thought I'd loved anything more than cricket, but how wrong was I! Now I would not only sacrifice cricket, but my life, for the sake of Amara and Minahil. Even my passion was insignificant compared to my loves.

I sat on the sofa, pushing the button to recline it, stretching my legs out onto the expanding foot rest. Cradling my daughter against my chest, I sighed in pure happiness. I had everything, Alhumdulillah. A mother who gave me endless duas, a soulmate wife, a gorgeous daughter and a career of my dreams. It wasn't long before I retired from the national team, and opened my own cricket school to help potential future cricketers achieve their dreams, specifically for the lower class backgrounds who may find their dreams to be impossible, like I once did.

I was brought back to reality when I realised that Minahil now needed a nappy change. "Oh, Mihu..." I kissed her soft cheek, and grabbed her folded changing mat from the section under the pram. Placing it on the soft rug on the floor, I gently set Miha down on it. Changing nappies still made me cringe a little, but as a parent it was my responsibility. It wasn't just Amara's duty. I was Miha's father, and until a certain age, I had to do this. 

It wasn't easy. I had to stop breathing from my nose as I worked, but Miha was making happy gurgling noises as I changed her, which made me laugh. "You like nappy changing, baby girl?"

Miha flailed her arms around, staring up at me. Everyone said that she looked like me, but when I looked into her gorgeous tiny eyes, I felt like they were a perfect reflection of Amore. Like her mother, she had me wrapped around her little finger. 

Leaving her safely in her current comfortable position, I quickly went to wash up my hands and to dispose of the dirty nappy. When I returned, Miha was dozing off again, my little sweetheart. I gently lifted her up and held her against my shoulder, kissing her tiny head. "Now you're nice and clean, go back to sleep, my love." 

Minahil was still so fragile and looked so weak that I held her as if she was a delicate tiny doll. I felt so, so protective of her that I didn't want to let her out of my sight for a moment.

For a brief second, I felt beyond grateful that Allah had blessed me with a daughter and not a son. I didn't wish to sound ungrateful, but everyone considered sons a blessing in the desi society, and in fact, it was a matter of pride and honour for a lot of people to be blessed with a son. What they forgot was that in Islam, daughters were considered an actual blessing, and I was glad that Allah had chosen me to be a father to one. In the form of Minahil, I felt Allah was showing me that He was happy with something that I'd done, and how can I not feel delighted about that?

"Just wait a few years, sweetheart. I'll teach you cricket and we'll play against your Mama." I kissed her forehead, and her fist slammed lightly against my aching cheek. But this time I felt no pain, I felt pure love. 

Amore had started healing my wounds from years of loneliness, and my Mihu was acting as a soothing balm to my soul. My whole life, my whole family felt complete, and I felt that I had achieved everything that I could possibly achieve in this world. Now I could only hope that my Allah was satisfied with how I have lived my life so far, and he accepts my worship, my prayers, my fasts, and all obligations that I had managed to fulfil towards Him and my religion.

****

Fawad

Holding Mina's hand in mine, I glanced at Iman and Hania, who sat with their husbands in our living room, all four looking curious. Hania's kids were asleep upstairs, and we had chosen this time on purpose in order to talk in peace. "Mina and I have made a decision. I'm going to transfer back to Lahore and work there until retirement, and we will move there earlier than we intended." 

Hania's eyes widened, and Iman just looked puzzled.

"That was a sudden decision, Papa." Hamza spoke up.

I looked at Jasmina and we exchanged a long look. Yes, it had been a sudden decision, but we had taken time to announce this decision. We'd observed what we had needed to observe, and this decision had seemed like the best option. Turning back to the kids, I replied, "We both wanted to go back to Lahore anyway. Our siblings, our friends, they're all there, and we just want to be closer to them for the remainder years of our lives."

Hania's lower lip trembled and a tear rolled down her cheek. She turned her head away, but it was obvious how much this was impacting her. Even years after her marriage, she had never been too far away from us. Her mother was her permanent emotional support, and Hania and Hamza both looked up to us as parental figures, especially after Daniyal Bhai's death.

My gaze moved to Iman, who was looking into her lap. My wife and I had mainly made this early decision for her sake, even though Mani wasn't aware of this.

It had started when Jasmina had noticed Iman studying the prices of bread, choosing the lowest price instead, when out grocery shopping together. The next thing we knew, Iman and Taif had sold off their joint car, saying that it was more convenient for them to take the direct bus to the hospital instead. And as the head of Cardiology, I was aware that both seemed to be requesting overtime on a regular basis. People see doctors and immediately assume wealth, but when you start of as a doctor, unless you come from a wealthy background, you are pretty much debt-ridden and struggling. Late, sleepless nights are not the only struggles, but your financial status takes a huge blow as well. And Iman and Taif were doing everything completely on their own basis, refusing to take help from me or Mr & Mrs Bukhari. As proud as I was of them, I could tell that they were genuinely struggling, and as Iman's parents, it broke our hearts. So while we knew that Dr Iman Fawad would never accept our help directly, the girl was not going to refuse her Islamic right of inheritance. And if Mina and I sold off this house, and halved the price of the sale between our daughters, that should provide some temporary help for Iman and Taif. 

"We've already spoken to an estate agent about selling this house." Mina added. 

With the renovations that we had added to this place, this home was worth approximately two million pounds, if not more. That should help Iman and Taif in their struggles. After all, my earnings, my everything was for my daughters. If all this money and wealth didn't help my daughters in need, what was the point of it all? 

"Iman, Hania, Hamza, Taif," My wife continued. "We'll always be there for you, whether we're here or in Lahore. But this is what Fawad and I want, and I really hope you all accept it and respect our decision." 

"We are no one to question decisions made by our parental figures, Mama." Hamza placed a hand over his heart, bowing his head in respect. "But this goes both ways. If you both ever need us, we're always going to be here for you, I give you my word." 

"Me too." Taif added. "Hamza Bhai and I are lucky to be blessed with such amazing parents-in-law, and if there's ever anything we can do for you, don't ever hesitate to ask us."

"Just keep my patakhiyan happy. That's all that we want." I gave the boys a smile. 

"And if they ever trouble you, you can let us know." Mina added. "I know I can still intimidate them, in a typical desi mother way." 

Everyone laughed, but I saw Iman turn her head away, pursing her lips. Excusing herself, she headed out. Taif excused himself and followed shortly after.

****

Iman

I headed to my old bedroom and shut the door behind me, bursting into tears. A light knock on the door and the sound of the door opening made me turn and I saw Taif enter. "Taif!" I rushed up to him, wrapping my arms around him and started sobbing against his shoulder. "They're doing this for us." 

We'd reached a point in our lives where the landlord was threatening to evict us because we had been unable to pay our full rent. Living in London was not cheap... not even close. Taif's elderly parents hadn't purchased their own place, but had rather always rented out places to live, so if we were evicted, we had nowhere to turn to.

All my life, I'd spend Papa's hard earned money like it was my God-given right, and I had never appreciated reality until now. I'd lived a privileged life, and Papa had protected us from any real struggles of life. He had worked long, exhausting hours to ensure that we all lived a life full of everything we needed and much ,much more.

But now, I had to think twice even when going grocery shopping, and even though we had both tried hard to keep it from my parents, they had clearly noticed. 

"They wanted to stay near me and Appi as long as possible." I gasped out between sobs. "But they have changed their mind for their choti patakhi's sake." 

Taif silently held me in his arms, letting me cry.

"They didn't directly offer us help for the sake of our self-respect, instead they chose to help us through my Islamic right." It was sometimes unbelievable how much parents were capable of doing for their kids.

"This." He finally spoke, placing his hands over my wet cheeks. "This is why the status of parents is so high in Islam, Iman. They are capable of making sacrifices that kids aren't, if the situations were reversed. Rich or poor, they spend their lives sacrificing their needs, their wishes, just to provide for the kids, just to make them happy."

"Are you upset that they did this?" I was worried.

"They thought of a way to help us without offending us." He smiled. "It shows that they care about our self-respect, while offering us help in a discreet manner. I'm not upset, Iman. What they did is a pure example of genuine parental love." He kissed my forehead. "You're blessed, Ma Sha Allah. Don't cry about it. Say Alhumdulillah. Nothing in this universe can ever replace parental love, so cherish it while you can, babe." 

****

Later, I went downstairs, and found my parents alone, having coffee as they watched TV.

I went and stood in front of them, my eyes filled with tears. 

Papa stood up and wordlessly, I wrapped my arms around his waist, silently sobbing against his broad chest. He held me close, caressing my head like I was newborn baby or something. 

"Thank you." I finally managed to speak.

Mama stood up as well, setting her coffee mug aside, and wrapping her arms around me from behind, sandwiching me between herself and Papa. She kissed the back of me head, holding me protectively. In the warm embrace of my parents, I cried harder.

I looked up at Papa, while wrapping an arm around Mama. "I can manage financial struggles, but I cannot survive without the two of you." 

Mama kissed my cheek, looking tearful herself.

"Taif is an incredible husband, Ma Sha Allah." I continued. "He always takes care of me, no matter what. He and I will always take care of each other, so please don't worry about us. Just keep your duas with us, and that's all we need. You are the one who taught us that an honest earning, no matter how meagre it is, has a lot of barkat, and that Allah always looks after people who work hard and honestly. The thing here is that this time Allah looked out for us through you both. And for me and Appi, this has always been the case. No matter what we did, no matter how much we struggle, Allah took care of us through you two, because Appi and I never chose dishonest methods to find success, or to ease our difficulties. Yes, in pure stupidity, I once took money from you both without asking, but I was miserable and unhappy, and I would never have been successful had I used that money." 

"We didn't do anything special, Mani. We're your parents. It was our duty." Papa patted my head.

"It doesn't matter. The fact is that you never let us struggle, and you still watch out for us in discreet, sensible ways. So, thank you." I took their hands. "If everyone has parents like you, even the most rebellious kids would find their way back to the right path. But don't go. Wait until retirement. Don't go early for me." 

"We're not doing this for you." Papa smiled, weakly. "We're doing this for us." 

I rolled my eyes. "I have literally known you since I was born, doctor. Who are you kidding?" 

"You'll see one day, In Sha Allah." Mama whispered. "That even when parents make sacrifices for their kids, they do it happily because they know that it would benefit their children. Iman, we'll make a hundred sacrifices if that helps you or Hani out in any way. We'd sacrifice our lives for you." 

"Don't be dramatic, Mama. I would never forgive you if you even think about it." I hugged her tightly. 

Over her shoulder, I glanced at the family photo on the wall. I was sixteen, dressed in all black and sulking slightly because my parents had refused me something- I couldn't remember what. I smiled at my own silliness now, knowing very well that no matter what it was that they had refused me, it was probably for my own good. If only I had realised it then, and not wasted all that time being angry at the two people who loved me the most in the entire universe.

Dair aaye, darost aaye. As Dado used to say.

*"Realisation should come better late than never." I've explained this as close as possible.

****

As I said, I don't have much time to finish this now, so I skipped the excess drama.

Now, you will only get moments which are wrapping up the FOL series storylines.

Thoughts on the sacrifice FawMina made for their choti patakhi?

Iman has come from a spoilt princess, to someone who saw genuine struggles in life, when it comes to education, her tough career and now financial issues. But do you all feel that she and Taif will handle this well?

Thoughts and comments?

Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote!