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modosphere · 6 years ago

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About A Girl: Chapter Four

Lahore Fort Lahore, Pakistan 2044

As Ari stepped out of the car, she took in a deep breath of the warm, fragrant breeze. It smelt just as she remembered it; like jasmine, heat, and the faintest tinge of lingering chai. She’d spent so many evenings with her father on nights just like this one, sitting out in the garden and looking up at the clear, starry sky above them - regardless of which side of the border they sat on - and upon seeing it again, Ari couldn’t help her large, slow intake of breath.

Ari had purposefully stepped out of the car to face only one structure; Alamgiri Gate, the fort’s westernmost gate. The giant heavy-set iron doors, showing only slight scuffles and scratches that seemed more reflective of age than the angry protests gracing the Pakistani news, stood solemnly before her, tall and proud. The high archway, the deep set doors, the towers and turrets lining either side of the entrance… Ari smiled faintly, memories of her childhood overshadowed by what she knew stood waiting behind her.

Memories.

Exhaling carefully and trying to steel herself as much as she could, Ari slowly turned, her nails automatically digging into the flesh of her palms.

On the other side of the road, sat Hazuri Bagh - a square ocean of greenery amongst the clean grey roads. Brightly potted plants lined the gleaming white pavilion in the middle of Hazuri Bagh, which seemed to gleam amidst the gargantuan structure of medieval red stone behind it.

Just breathe, Ari told herself. As her nails dug further, a silly part of Ari’s brain idly wondered whether today was the day that she snapped them into pieces from the strain.

The rest of the brain, however, was already focusing on something else. Something important.

Badshahi Mosque.

It even sounded scary, though Ari wasn’t sure if that was because of her own… Associations, or a genuinely valid statement.

Badshahi Mosque; or, in English, the Imperial Mosque, an architectural icon of both the Mughal era and the modern region. Her grandfather had brought her and Bhaijaan as children, taking them on historical tours and filling their heads with facts, his face warm and proud as they’d stare at him in awe. She smiled to remember it; but it soon faded, as more recent memories took hold instead.

Every time she saw it again since, she expected it to be less imposing and yet every time, she was wrong. Maybe it was the faded red stone, hardened from the centuries; maybe it was the long, imposing walls running on either side of the external entrance, decorated with an array of turrets, outposts, balconies and archways. Behind them, Ari could see the glistening white domes of the inner mosque, even now, built in perfect symmetry with the external entrance - a solid square towering over the long, low walls on either side.

She hadn’t been back for years. Since…

Yes, she wanted to prove she could do more; be more, be her father’s daughter just as much as her mother’s in the cut-throat world of business. But this project had been important to her for other reasons; for those painful memories that she was currently standing there, fighting to ignore. To face her fears on her own terms and in her own way, without show and fanfare, without the unending applause her - sometimes overly, almost suffocatingly - supportive family would provide, if they knew.

It had been one year after the… Incident.

Automatically, Ari’s jaw clenched and she flinched, as she felt her anger surge at her own stupidity. She hated using that phrase. Incident. Like it was some trivial accident, some social faux-pas, not worth mentioning.

Even now, years later but somehow still only seconds away, Ari felt… Angry. Furious. Because what had happened to her wasn’t some silly mistake, better to be ignored. It hadn’t been that; and it hadn’t just been some… Random act of vicious crime, either. It had all been so much more complicated than that.

She’d last been here, in almost that exact spot, looking across Hazuri Bagh, one year after she’d been raped.

No fancy adjectives. No whispers. Ari hated that all, now more than ever. Rape. That was what it had been. Yes, it had been brutal, but what had happened to her didn’t need further… Dressing up, for it to be understood as a living nightmare.

Just that. A year after she had been raped.

That stupid, familiar lump began to rear itself in her throat for even thinking it.

She’d been with her Mamu Adam, joining him last-minute for one of his test match trips. He’d had some business to attend to in Islamabad and Lahore; though by then, Ari had understood that business really meant catching up with the rest of his fellow athletes. In fact, within those first few days, Ari had quickly understood that the only reason her uncle wasn’t travelling with his teammates, was because of her; at that time, Ari was still… Jumpy around most men, let alone strangers - even strangers who regarded her as extended family.

At the memory, Ari scoffed silently to herself. Comfortable around men - whatever that meant. She wasn’t totally convinced she was comfortable about people in general, though yes, men specifically too, even now.

At that time, though, she’d been… Considerably better than she had been so far; she’d also began to accept the gravity of all of the recent, significant events - not just the rape and the consequent fallout, but her trip to India with Raj and the secrets from it too. It had all finally begun to feel more… Comfortable.

Life had begun to move on. Slowly. It wasn’t really and even now, it still hadn’t - but she had began to accept that she was forever changed, no matter how hard she pretended to believe otherwise, and just how acutely aware others were of that, too.

They’d stopped off on the road for some fresh sugar-cane juice, with the very same view Ari was now looking at, when the call to prayer had rang out - and despite her uncle’s happy nattering, something she’d always enjoyed, Ari’s eyes had become fixated on the building before her.

“We can go inside, if you like.” Her uncle had said casually. He had always been more of a friend than an uncle; another big brother, wiser and consequently a different type of gentle to her own - an old man with eternal boyish charm, as her mother often said. “Or you can go on your own and I can wait here. Whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think people like me belong in places like that.” Ari had tried to joke - but the gnawing insecurity and belief in her words had shone through, her voice too flat and… Awkward, really, to be funny.

She’d felt, more than seen, her uncle frown. Almost four days into their journey and they still hadn’t spoken about what had happened to her in any real detail. Her uncle had been supportive, of course, in the immediate aftermath; but since then, they hadn’t spoken about it alone.

Ari had understood then, and even more so now, why. He had been respecting her boundaries, so carefully, too, the same kind and thoughtful person he’d always been. It felt to Ari that the more time passed, the more grateful and thankful she became to her Mamu for it. He’d been there for her in the same way he always had been and that constancy had meant more to her and still did, more than she could articulate.

But, back then, it had still been… Frustrating, too. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault. It was just that, no matter what the behaviour was, any behaviour that was accommodating was a reminder to Ari of how much had changed… And when she was already so acutely aware of it, everything else felt a little bit false and very stupid.

“Zarina, you’re more than what happened to you, even though I understand that you’re the only one who knows just how difficult and… Unlikely that may feel like right now.” He had told her firmly, allowing her to pointedly ignore his gaze. “And perhaps more importantly, what happened to you was… Absolutely not your fault and nor does it have any reflection on your character, aside from your behaviour afterwards just proving just how strong and brilliant you are - which are your actions, not anybody else’s.” Ari had nodded absentmindedly, almost sarcastically, still refusing to look his way. “What happened was… Vile and those-”

“Can I go inside?” She’d interrupted, not sure how she’d feel if she heard the rest of that sentence. She’d just known - or felt that she knew - it probably wasn’t going to be particularly strong or graceful, for that matter. “Sorry.” She’d said, glancing over at him, immediately guilty for how he’d fallen silent. Mamu Adam had just smiled warmly, shaking his head. That’s okay. “Is it okay? If I go inside?”

“Of course.” He’d replied - and some of the tension in Ari’s shoulders had eased as he’d smiled, as if his last few sentences had never been said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Swallowing that stupid lump and acutely aware of the time that had passed since then, Ari remembered how she’d hesitated. How she’d hated that she had, but in that moment, had struggled, not knowing that it would soon become a pattern of hers - constantly teetering on the boundary between responsibility and a desperate show of an independence that she felt had now long since been stolen from her.

“… No.” She’d finally settled on saying, despite the nausea she’d immediately felt. Ari shook her head slightly as, even now, it resurfaced, as if it had never left - the fear, the disgust, the resentment, the shame. “I think I want to do this on my own. Can you wait here? Is that okay? I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be.” Her uncle had said, gentle but firm, before leaning against the car door. “You go and take your time. I’ll be right here and if you change your mind or need anything-” He’d pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “- you call me and I’ll be there in seconds. Deal?”

That was one of the first times the frustration had just… Webbed away, replaced with a surge of pure, engulfing warmth.

Ari rolled her eyes slightly as that, that part of the memory, was what made her eyes begin to prickle.

She’d slowly walked up to the doors of the mosque then, the heat burning through her clothes within a few seconds.

She’d read once, or perhaps heard her mother quote it - that people remembered feelings, not actual memories, not in the traditional sense. In this instance, it felt accurate; Ari could remember the path of damp, hot cloth her feet had burned on slightly, protecting her from the boiling stone beneath. The cloth was periodically drenched in cold water, but the heat meant it was never cold for more than a few seconds. She’d remembered her grandfather explaining it to her once.

She’d walked on her heels at first, to try and avoid the burning - but after a few awkward waddles, something had occurred to her.

What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d walked normally after that, the soft, sensitive skin of the soles of her feet pressed firmly against the cloth. It had felt good - even if she’d found her soles to be slightly red when she’d later retrieved her shoes.

The heat on her feet; the heat burning through her scarf and onto the back of her neck; the sweat, prickling down her scalp. If she closed her eyes, she was physically there. Back in time.

Dangerous, really.

She didn’t remember entering the mosque, either. She just remembered… Colours; the reds and beiges and golds, a haze of faded, regal colour on the floor and walls. She’d become trancelike. She’d felt… The same, somehow; something that had once been so majestic, so perfect and untouched, now faded and old and… Used, but still standing.

Tired and weary of everything and everyone, after seeing so much, but somehow still standing. And probably not for the lofty, optimistic reasons everyone assumed.

She remembered -

Oh, what does it matter? Ari thought to herself crossly, firmly yanking herself back to the present; the cool evening breeze, the whistle of the trees. One by one, she uncurled her tight, cramping fingers. That’s not the important part.

No, the important part had been her receding further into the mosque: away from the tourists, those praying, those whispering amongst themselves and revelling at the architecture; further and further away, through the open plans and into the distant, tucked away corners where the engraved and decorated walls were too damaged for people to focus on.

The important part was how she’d sat in a corner, in one of those few nooks and -

The tears that sprang in Ari’s eyes, thick, heavy and ready to fall, were sudden - but not surprising. As she blinked, Ari opened her eyes just in time to see a solitary floor hit the sand by her feet.

Do it, she told herself angrily. Remember. What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d sat in a corner, curling herself into a small ball, clasping her hands in front of her and pretending to pray in case anybody walked by… Before hearing the words Allahu Akbar - God is great - loud and… Normal, as the call to prayer.

And then she’d broken.

Up until that moment, Ari’s comforts had been worldly; her home, her parents, her siblings and family, her friends - tangible, worldly things. But in that moment, Ari had become overwhelmed at something else; a realisation, an epiphany, almost - that at least one of the confusing, unidentifiable feelings she still felt about it all, was betrayal by the intangible. By beliefs she had taken for granted her whole life.

She’d felt humiliated and torn and abused by a deity who she’d never really thought about that much before - and that made her feel stupid, because - even more stupidly - she had felt another layer of guilt and failure that didn’t make logical sense.

Ari let her eyes wander - from the floor, to the mosque, to the sky and back again, pressing her lips tightly together as the tears continued to flow. Freely, now; and faster, too, as she remembered. How helpless she’d felt. How distraught as, with the prayer continuing musically around her, she’d felt like a gaping hole had been ripped through her entire body, leaving only the paper-thin edges that felt like they’d fly away in the breeze. How it had felt like she was drowning in the air, how she’d felt… Excruciating pain, all over her, how she’d sobbed so hard that she’d been shaking and pressing her scarf over her open mouth, to hide the wails she was too out of breath to fully create.

Everything, all of it; it had truly hit her then. Not just the… Awe at how one event would mark her, haunt her, forever… No. Not just that.

Everything.

She’d realised she was mourning for a part of herself she’d never noticed enough to appreciate; her innocence, her naivety. She’d thought, before then, that she understood the world. That she was cynical, even. That she… knew. That she at least knew things. Just things, things that she couldn’t describe individually, but that she understood well enough.

As her eyes had squeezed shut and hard, silent cries had wracked through her body and open mouth, she had realised she had known nothing. She had appreciated nothing. She had lost something precious - something mental, something that had been kind and forgiving and protected. Something that had been stolen.

Faith. Faith; in everyone and everything and that, no matter how hard or brutally she tried, she would never be able to get it back. And when faith was absent, so was the ability to hope for better.

Her rage and humiliation from her trip with Raj, the reasons for them, the memories she still sometimes had to pretend to not have in order to place one foot in front of the other. The mourning she felt for herself, for her family, for their lives beforehand. Her guilt and shame and disgust at being the root of it, of having the audacity to live through it and the horrifying realisation of what it meant to think that at all.

Ari bowed her head as her face finally crumpled, closing her eyes and feeling her shoulders tense in a bid not to shake. Behind her, she could hear her bodyguard talking to the young chauffeur - someone barely Kabir’s age, who still daren’t look her in the eye out of respect. She didn’t want them to see her like this. The guard, a man she called Chachu - the term given to an uncle on her father’s side - Abdul, out of respect, was someone her family had known and trusted for years… And, for that very reason, someone Ari couldn’t show weakness in front of. Someone she had to prove to herself she could control herself in front of.

Finally looking up at the mosque again, Ari adjusted her scarf, obscuring her face as more tears fell and dabbing at them softly, so as to not leave tracks on her cheeks.

Now, all Ari felt was… A deep, heavy sadness. A well of sadness where her hopes and faith and optimism had once been, even as a self-certified ‘cynic’; a deep, mournful sorrow, a mourning for the woman, girl she may have been without her traumas. Because it wasn’t just the rape; it was everything after it, everyone associated with it - whether to help her, or not -… Her entire life afterwards.

Taking a deep, slightly shaky breath, Ari subtly shook her head at herself. God, she hated it - how all of those feelings could just… Appear, even when she thought she was fine. How it marked the beginning of a hateful emotional spiral where it flooded her, even if she now knew - somewhat - how to handle it. How to brave the storm.

She was tired of braving them. Of having to.

It sounded petty in comparison, but Pixie’s wedding and the wealth of politics she’d been asked to manage was just that - another storm. Ari just felt too… Tired. She forgot, sometimes, that she was so, so tired…

That was why she had to keep going; to find another project, to push herself when she felt she was too far pushed. It helped her. It was productive now, it was her fuel. She kept busy, used that energy to exhaust herself into sleeping through any nightmares she may still have - nightmares she hadn’t had for a fair amount of time now, for that exact reason.

She made something new, marked another achievement, hit another milestone - something she could be proud of, to justify the poison constantly threatening to eat at her, always simmering beneath the surface.

And it had been working so well, that now she had to do it in places like here. Places that reminded her, not always in a bad way, but… That jarred her, places she’d run from before.

She didn’t want to brave storms anymore. Sometimes that meant standing in the eye of one, rather than constantly struggling to break away on the periphery.

That was the current theory, at least.

And it was just at that moment, as Ari stared up at the old mosque before her and pondered philosophy and the meaning of life… That she was rudely interrupted.

“It’s another Rishi Rich remix.”

Ari paused. What?

“From the club, yeah.”

… No, that was definitely from outside of her head.

Frowning slightly, Ari stared up at the mosque in confusion - which, for obvious reasons, offered no answers - before looking over to the car, finding Chachu Abdul and the driver looking equally lost.

That was when a heavy bass began to play - and when realisation dawned, as Ari turned slowly to the Fort behind her, incredulous. Surely not…

The music abruptly stopped - and, now sure it was coming from the Fort, Ari turned to the staff with fury.

She’d told them check the inside, to see if anyone was in there. Had it needed saying that they should knock?

Ari was just about to let a torrent of fury using only her eyes - something she’d inherited from her father, she was often told -, when as if on cue, Ari heard an engine coming from somewhere behind her.

Now what?

She turned just in time to see it - a dirty but new model Jeep, swinging around the corner from behind the Fort and parking abruptly in front of its doors.

Ari didn’t care that she was staring, or that she obvious. In fairness, she didn’t have to. She was Zarina Zafar. She could stare at whatever she wanted - who was going to tell her not to?

Even so, she couldn’t help how she… Recoiled slightly, her eyes wide from shock as - to her utter disbelief - a heavy dance beat began to play, over a tune that - whilst sounding completely ancient - sounded… Very familiar.

“Girl you got exactly what I need-” Ari’s mouth automatically began to mouth the rest of the sentence, her eyes wide in bewilderment as it did. “I ain’t gonna lie with you it’s where I wanna be-”

Ari knew this song. All of her siblings did. It was one of her mother’s favourite songs, painfully old, except… Remixed. Ari had watcher her mother and Kabir dancing to it in the kitchen the morning before her flight to Pakistan. Whenever Bhaijaan was around and it was playing, he and Kabir would pretend to be rappers from the 90s.

Now completely baffled, Ari shook her head slightly - and clamped here mouth firmly shut -, turning her concentration back to the car, just in time to see the doors opening.

The fingers, which had naturally uncurled, bunched back into fists again… And this time, not because of horrible memories.

No, this time Ari was just annoyed at having been so stupid.

They all headed for the doors without a second glance - all but one. One, wearing navy overalls tied at the waist and a slim-fitting white T-shirt covered in grease.

Oh, she really was thick.

Upon seeing her, a yellow stick of mango kulfi in his mouth, he paused - before raising his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised.

They stared at one another for a few moments. And then…

“Miss Zafar.” He called out loudly across the road.

As much as Ari wanted to storm across the road and scream obscenities, she… Didn’t. Instead, she tried to centre herself, remembering the mosque behind her.

“All of this drama for a sense of mystery? Is this how you do business?” She asked haughtily, deliberately in perfect Urdu - after all, they’d already spoken in English once before.

“You’re the queen of Hindustan, Miss Zafar.” He replied just as fluently - and Ari couldn’t help how her back straightened slightly and her eyebrows raised, at the perfect accent. It could almost rival her fathers - and he was from Lucknow, a city renowned for its elocution in India. Also - he’d said Hindustan. Nobody said that anymore.

He knew about her parents.

Which, yes, wasn’t shocking; everyone did. But to Ari, it confirmed her suspicions; that when they’d first met, the last time they’d seen each other, he’d known exactly who he was talking to.

And another thing… He’d said malika. That was an Urdu word, an Arabic derivative. It didn’t prove anything but… It was most likely he was a Muslim.

A million different alarm bells were going off in Ari’s head.

He shrugged. “I thought I’d stay one step ahead while I had the opportunity. Come in when you’re ready.”

“The last time I checked, queens don’t need permission.” Ari retorted, her voice dripping with disdain.

“As you wish.” He nodded, unfazed by Ari’s arrogance. Why isn’t he fazed? Most men would be trembling in front of her - or her insulted by her, at the very least. That was what always caused her so much trouble. She had tried to curb it since everything that had happened - but when taken by surprise, it became her default. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.” And with that - a lazy salute that Ari had to physically bite the inside of her cheeks to not roll her eyes at - he walked to the fort gates, left open for him by one of the other passengers.

It closed with a loud clunk, the music immediately muffled.

Somebody - she didn’t bother to check who - opened their mouths to speak, but Ari raised up her hand and began to count to ten. Maybe twenty today.

Maybe twenty five.

She’d known something was off. It had bothered her for weeks; the scruffy guy who had been waiting for her in the lobby, who’d stood tall and with his arms behind his back when she’d entered.

Reaching twenty five, Ari stormed back to the car, the door already open for her before she’d reached it.

“We’re going back to Islamabad and by the time we come back, I want to know everything about that man.” Ari told Chachu and the chauffeur sternly. The boy quickly nodded, closing the door after her.

Of course, she already knew something. She’d seen it crumpled in the arms of the overalls he’d had tied at his waist.

A badge. A regimental badge. He was goddamn army - and not Pakistani. Ari had lived in London long enough to recognise a British regiment badge when she saw one.

No wonder there was someone else pretending to be the face of the deal. Someone who was clearly a Pakistani male, but serving in the British army, had just bought one of the most important cultural and historical sites in the country.

The riots they’d been seeing now were nothing in comparison to what they would be if people found out.

And then there was the other thing. Before they were even driving away, the mosque falling into the distance behind them, Ari’s message to her father was already sent.

Really?? Was all it read.

Because on top of everything else? There was no way in Hell her father hadn’t known exactly who she was going to have to be working with.

Home of Danyal & Samara Zafar The Richmond Building, Chelsea, New York

“Pixie, this isn’t some Bollywood movie that’s going to have aerial views!” Samara huffed, trying to bite back her frustration as Pixie simply waved her hand. “Has this choreographer even factored in your stage? Half of the moves are going to be wasted and everyone else is just going to see twirling!”

“Well, you’re fixing it, aren’t you?” Pixie sighed, rolling her eyes. Mara shut her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. She wanted to lob her phone across the floor. “I told you, the choreographer was there as a back up because someone decided not to show up on time, if you have more work that’s a you problem-”

“It’s your wedding.”

“Exactly, so don’t screw it up.” Pixie said sweetly.

Dany - who had been sitting a healthy distance from Mara on the sofa, pretending to read something on his iPad - slowly began to scrunch up the Lindt wrapper next to him, next to the phone.

Mara shook her head. Really? Screwed up reception?

“Tell Danyal that didn’t work when we were five and it doesn’t work now.” Pixie continued. As Dany winced, Mara couldn’t help her look of long suffering. How was he so actually, completely useless? “Now can you sort out this whole performance thing? I will not be embarrassed by you at my own wedding!”

Just as Mara opened her mouth to speak, however, Pixie’s face disappeared - and Mara was met with her own on her screen, of her scrunched up bun, glasses and dark circles.

This time, it was Mara who winced.

Sighing, she dropped the phone beside her and covered her face in her hands.

“You’re meant to be resting.” Dany said quietly, not looking up.

Mara glared at him.

“You’re meant to be my estranged ex-fiancee too and clearly-” Mara motioned with her arms to the apartment. “- that’s working out fantastically!”

Mara’s eyes narrowed as she saw Danyal fight his smirk. What a prick.

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it.” Dany sighed.

“Who else is going to? Me, the one on bedrest? What do you want, a round of applause?” Mara snipped, groaning internally to herself as she watched Dany - or, more specifically, his backside - saunter towards the door.

As much as she didn’t want to know it, he wasn’t wearing underpants underneath those loose-fitting sweats. He wasn’t. They dropped off the curve of his butt too well for him to be wearing any. It also didn’t help that they were silky and smooth looking, much how they made the curve of his butt look.

Mara gave herself a quick slap on the cheek. Get it together. Life wasn’t that dire that she was going to stoop to fantasising about her own husband.

Reaching for a carrot stick - Mara didn’t believe for a second Danyal had cut her fresh fruit and vegetable sticks himself -, Mara picked up her laptop again, looking at the dance routines the choreographer had begun to lay out. Who was this person? How did it even make sense? Did these people not know Pixie at all?

“No, I am not letting you do this again, I want to speak to her!”

Mara paused.

Had someone else noticed he wasn’t wearing underpants?

Before Mara even had time to dip her carrot into some hummus, there was a very small… Young girl? Woman? Honestly, Mara couldn’t tell - standing in front of her, wide eyed and looking a bit like a lost deer.

And with Mara being the truck that was about to kill her.

After a few seconds of blinking at one another - Mara really couldn’t tell if she was a teenager or not -, the girl finally let out a shaky breath.

“You’re here.” She said, swallowing loudly. Mara waved, once - and looked at Danyal as he appeared behind her, also looking like Mara was about to squish him. In all honesty, that was actually pretty likely. So much for all of that crap about being married… No, no no, Mara was going to keep her mouth shut until she knew what was happening.

Judging by the fact the girl in front of her was wearing more florals than Mara had ever worn in her entire life, including as a toddler, it was going to be an interesting story.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. The only florals she was wearing was some purple flowers stitched into a cream leather jacket. It was cute, actually. So were her black heeled boots. It was the ripped black jeans that were giving Mara mixed vibes.

“… Yeah.” Mara nodded, realising the girl didn’t have anything else to say. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, you can’t.” Dany said quickly - and Mara slowly took a bite of her carrot stick as the girl rounded on Dany like an angry squirrel. If they’d had sex - Mara tried not to bite too hard at thinking that -, how had she not broken? “Noori, come on, you’re leaving-”

“Noori?” Mara repeated gleefully, just as the girl - sorry, Noori - opened her mouth to let out a torrent of what Mara was sure was just super friendly chatter. “That’s a lovely name!”

Mara watched Danyal cringe, just as Noori’s face lit up with happiness.

“Do you really think so?” She beamed. Mara nodded politely, as Noori grinned and sat down beside her. Mara motioned for her to have a carrot stick - which she took happily. “Oh, thank you! You know, I was always super jealous of your name, I always thought it was way more glamorous than mine but when I met this idiot-” Mara bit back her laughter at how Noori’s entire face seemed to change, to glower at Danyal. “- I figured, well, your life has ended up pretty glamorous - I mean, on the outside, not so much the pretend marriage part-”

It was like Mara had been slapped.

From where stood, Danyal tried not to grimace. This… Was what he’d been afraid of.

“Sorry, who did you say were, why are you here?” Mara interrupted, no longer paying attention to Noori’s incessant chatter. How many people? How many people had this idiot gone around telling the truth to, just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut whenever he got his dick wet?

Also, had Noori seen Danyal in the same sweatpants he was wearing now? Because Mara would bet the only kidney she had left that he had been. She could guarantee that was how it had started!

“He didn’t tell you anything?”

Mara was getting bored now.

“If he had, I wouldn’t be asking. Though I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve fucked.”

Mara raised her eyebrows as Noori made a very loud gasping noise, just as Dany yelled “no” from in front of her.

“Really? Shock, that’s what you’re both going with?” Mara continued, her fists curled much too tight around her carrot stick. “Because if you’re going for cute-”

“Samara-”

“Shut up, this is all of your fault! You don’t say anything when you’re meant to…!” Noori snapped, before grabbing Mara’s knee. It took all of Mara’s restraint not to punch her in the face for it. “I - I would never, never ever, I only found him to find you-”

“I feel like this shouldn’t need saying, seeing as if I’ve said it before, but I haven’t cheated on you.” Danyal interrupted - and although his and Mara’s eyes only met for a second, there was a sincerity and indignation at such an accusation that made Mara immediately feel shamefaced. And then stupid for feeling that way.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t lied before.

“Will you shut up, this is not your moment!” Noori yelled. Watching her from a side profile, it hurt Mara to admit that she was… Pretty. Dark brown eyes, long dark hair. She certainly had nailed the no-makeup makeup look, which Mara still wasn’t totally confident on.

She also… Wasn’t totally dissimilar to Mara. Fair-skinned, dark haired, tall. She had bigger boobs than Mara did. Was that it? Was Mara not curvy enough?

You weren’t here, there’s that too, the irritating, Danyal Zafar cheerleader in her head reminded her.

Noori turned back around to face her.

“I’ve been trying to catch you here for… Months now, it took me forever to just get past the dumbass doorman.” Mara frowned as she realised what sounded… Strange; her accent. A mix of English countryside with an American lilt. It reminded Mara from the girls at boarding school.

Was that how they knew each other?

“Did we go to school together? You’re obviously younger than me-” Obviously. “- but the accent… Benenden’s?”

“Yes! I did, I just transferred to a sister school for a while, which is ironic, you know, because-” Noori laughed slightly as she let out a shaky breath, her grip on Mara’s knee tightening. “- well, because I’m your little sister.”

What?

That was what Mara had meant to say. Instead… Something slightly different came out.

“Fuck off.”

Noori’s face fell. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that, she’s just processing.” Danyal said quickly, taking advantage of Noori’s shock to gently pull her away from Mara by the shoulders. Mara stared at him, torn between being thankful at the gesture and wanting to tear his throat out for whatever connection he had to… Whatever the fuck was happening right now. “Look, I told you, we’re… Dealing with some family stuff right now, it’s not a great time-”

“No, but - but I’m not lying, it’s the truth! I swear!” Noori batted Danyal away, only to stand in front of Mara again. Was this some kind of scam? Because of the Zafar surname? Mara had… Kind of experienced things similar since the whole wedding mess, but it was more industry favours, not anything like this. This was soap opera bullshit. “My Dad is Suhail Abbasi. He works with Madeeha Kayani - or Maddie Kay, or whatever the fuck it is she calls herself these days - , he’s my Dad, so at the very least we’re half sisters and I’m not totally sold that heartless bitch isn’t my mother, too, which is a whole fucking thing anyway - which I guess you can relate to-”

Mara suddenly felt very, very dizzy - and as she dropped her carrot stick to grip hold of the sofa beneath her, she couldn’t help but look at Danyal with wide eyes.

Maddie Kay. Noori had known her mother’s new name was Maddie Kay; and Suhail Abbasi was her father’s - or, sperm donor’s - name. She’d seen it enough times on the millions of medical forms she’d signed during the transplant.

“Did he send you here? Does he want something again?” Mara meant to sound tough, but she wasn’t sold that it barely came out above a whisper. She felt sick. She could feel bile rising up in her throat and her head was starting to pound. You’re due your painkillers, that’s all it is. “Because if he has, I have - I have nothing left to give him, as if part of my body isn’t enough-”

“No! God no, he doesn’t even talk to me anymore, ever since he found out I wanted to know about you!” Noori said quickly. “I promise! I found out about you - I found about you just after your wedding, after you went to his office in London-”

Mara looked to Dany again.

Judging by the worry radiating off’ve him… This was legit. And as much as Mara hated herself for it, she knew he would’ve checked before ever even risking a random stranger barging into their home - or, the apartment she was staying it at least. This wasn’t her home…

“And this isn’t about money! I just - once I realised you were real, I - I don’t have any family and I just wanted… I just, I’m not here for a handout! And I know people must say that to you all of the time, but I told my idiot brother in law this already-”

“Noori.” Dany hissed.

“She’s already freaked out, what difference does it make now?!” So they knew each other. Well. Relatively. What if this isn’t all bullshit and they’ve still fucked? Noori fumbled around in her tassled handbag, before pulling out a sleek white box. “Look, I even bought one of those DNA tests, he made me do one before but in case you didn’t read the results-”

“You sent off my DNA without my consent?” Mara laughed, though not because she found anything funny. In fact, she was more relieved to have something to be angry about as a distraction than anything else.

“Well, actually, I did, I stole some of your hair from the bag of stuff you left behind on the morning you left him that you’re not meant to know about - oh whatever -” This was in response to Danyal turning an interesting shade of red - not too far removed from the colour Mara had turned, actually -, upon his secret being outed.

Mara decided not to think about Danyal keeping any of the things she left behind. After all, what was there to think about? It was just… Stuff. She needed her stuff for whenever she was pretending.

What Mara had turned red at, was the fact that Danyal had spoken to someone about the morning she’d left. Nobody knew about that - not really. But Danyal had been sitting here, talking to her… Long lost sister, about it all? If this was even true?

Wait. Age. If this was true (and judging by the sheer stress on Danyal’s face, matched with the immediate belief in it that stemmed from her internal Danyal Cheerleader… This bullshit really was true because, really, how could something so messy not be a part of Mara’s life?)… Was Mara a big sister? A little sister?

Was this ripped out of a Disney movie?

“How old are you?” Mara murmured, interrupting again and not particularly caring. Her head really was sore…

“I’m twenty, I’m three years younger than you. If both of our parents are the same, then the bitch fell pregnant when Dad came to see you as a toddler.”

Mara closed her eyes. What was even happening?

“Dad came to see me when I was younger?” She repeated. Noori nodded. “And what about you, if, if-” Mara looked at Dany again, who simply nodded once. Shit. “- this is true, then how did you end up with Dad?”

“I grew up hearing my Mum didn’t want me and left me at the doorstep, real Bollywood type stuff, but if it is Maddie, then the bitch didn’t want me.” Noori paused. “Sorry. I know she raised you - or says she did - I’m not meaning to offend you-”

“Anything less than bitch would be offensive, you’re fine.” Mara muttered, rubbing her temples. She had a sister. Or a half-sister. She supposed the DNA test results would give her more insight but - fuck, how was this even happening?

She was meant to be resting up. Relaxing, Dr Kaiser had said. Before falling headfirst into the cyclone that was Pixie’s wedding in Islamabad. Did it ever end?

Maybe this was her punishment, for returning to New York. For being stupid enough…

She and Danyal hadn’t spoken about what they’d said at the hospital. Now, in an odd sort of way, Mara was grateful to meet this brand new, long-lost younger sister, because it meant that they may not have to.

Mara heard a buzz.

“That’s the alarm for your painkillers, I think you should take two.” Dany muttered, immediately going for the box of tablets on the coffee table. As if she’d just noticed them, Noori frowned. “Here.” He crouched down beside her, tablets in one hand and glass in the other.

Under the pretence of pulling the tablets from his hand, Mara let her fingers grip onto Danyal’s slightly - and although she felt dumb at the strange thrill in her chest as his fingers squeezed hers, Mara began to splutter on her water slightly as she noticed Noori smirking at the action.

“I’m good, I’m good.” Mara muttered, waving Danyal away. He hadn’t seen Noori’s expression - and Mara pretended she hadn’t seen as Noori waggled her eyebrows at her. They weren’t on that level yet. Were they?

“What do you even need painkillers for? You’re not sick or anything are you - wait, you’re not dying are you?” Noori gasped loudly, as Mara winced. She really did… Fill up a room. “I have not just found you to find out - if she’s dying, Danyal Zafar-”

“I’m not dying, I’m just recovering from-” For a second, Mara hesitated. But then… What was the point? “… From transplant surgery. I gave Dad a kidney.” Mara tiredly looked to Danyal. “See, you’re not special. She didn’t know that either.”

“Transplant surgery? Why would you give that walking anus a kidney? Watching him drink like a fish as a kid only had its perks in knowing one day he’d die sooner!”

“Okay, Noori, that’s enough, Mara needs rest.” Danyal said firmly - and Mara couldn’t help the sigh of relief inside of her own head. “She needs some time to process and she’s still trying to recover-”

“And where am I meant to go? I told you at the door, I can’t stay at my friend’s any longer and I am not taking your money, or Dad’s-”

“What are you talking about?” Mara asked tiredly.

“Dad! It all makes sense now, why he’s being such a controlling little shit, he knows he doesn’t need me to not torture him slowly while he dies of liver cirrhosis anymore!” Noori snapped, before turning back to Danyal. “I’ve just met her, after all of this time and with no help from you, I am not giving that up-”

“Noori, I’m not asking you to-”

“Noori, shut up for a second!” Mara snapped - and although she instantly regretted it, the immediate silence took that away. “What’re you talking about? That you have nowhere to stay?”

“I was burning through the savings account Dad made for me, but he cut me off when he realised I wasn’t joking around. I’m almost out of money and he’s going to lock off my account unless I go back to London.” … That was not promising. “And no, see, I see the look on your face and no! I don’t want your money! Danyal already offered it when we got the DNA tests results back-”

Mara turned to her moron, stupid, softie husband. “You did?”

As if Noorie wasn’t even there, Dany sighed, his shoulders sagging in a sign of resignation that only Mara fully understood.

“She’s your sister.”

His butt really did look good today.

“- and I don’t want your charity, I just want to get to know you! And I know it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go back to London and have that asshole doing everything he can to make sure I never speak to you again and I do not want anybody’s charity, I just wanted to meet you and see you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted-”

But Mara was looking at Dany again.

He tilted his head slightly, his un-styled hair wafting slightly as he did. She’s your sister, Samara.

Mara slightly raised an eyebrow. Something you clearly knew about. She briefly glanced around the living room, before meeting his eyes again. This place? I don’t even feel at home here.

Dany rolled his eyes slightly. That’s your own fault.

“Noori, you can stay here.” Mara muttered. Immediately, Noori’s chatter stopped. Suddenly very interested in fixing her blanket, Mara glanced quickly at Danyal. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay with him! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s your home too, trust me, I know how he feels about it.” Noori laughed, placing a hand on Danyal’s shoulder - before her smile immediately disappeared, at seeing the automatic daggers that seemed to shoot out of her sister’s eyes. “I just mean - are you sure? Because I would… Love to stay and get to know you, but I don’t want to end up walking in as you too finally succumb to the sexual tension and get it on-”

“Noori!” Danyal groaned - and judging by the way his name flowed from his tongue in familiarity, he’d said it multiple times before.

“Yes, sorry! He’s so boring sometimes, I really hope it’s just the lovestruck thing - ow!” Noori stopped and Mara tried very very hard to pretend she hadn’t just seen Danyal elbow her.

They so haven’t fucked, Dany’s Cheerleader told her happily. He’s treating her like his own sister.

That was both a great and a terrible thing.

“I’m sure.” Mara told her - and, with slight surprise, realising she meant it. Annoyingly… Danyal (once again) knew her well. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped and even if by tomorrow we realise, for whatever reason, that we hate each other or none of this is true… Until then, you should know that whatever family you do have is around.”

It was strange, but - Mara felt… Warmth in her chest as she said, even at seeing the slow smile that began to spread across Noori’s face.

“Really? And we can get to know each other?”

“As long as you turn the volume down.” Mara nodded, watching in realtime as Noori trapped the squeal in her throat. Instead of speaking, she nodded emphatically. “Pack all of your stuff and bring it here-”

“I’ll call one of the drivers to help you.” Dany said, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes, thank you Bhaijaan!”

“Oh, now it’s Bhaijaan?” Dany huffed - and Mara was surprised at how she wanted to smile, knowing from Dany’s expression that only half of him was really grumpy.

“Yes, because now I’m verified family! Though if you want me to do another test, I’ll even leave my bag here and I can do it when we come back, I’m so excited-” Mara watched, eyebrows raised, as Noori dumped her bag empty - including the DNA sample box -, fishing out only a pair of keys and her phone. “I want to hug you, but is it too soon to hug you? I don’t want to hug you too soon and I also might cry if I hug you, but now I’ve said it, I might cry anyway-”

“You can hug me if you want to.” Mara said awkwardly, trying not to notice how Dany was smiling knowingly between them.

“Okay!” Noori said excitedly, before pausing. “But just so you know, I might cry anyway so I’m going to hug you and then leave so you don’t have to see all of it!”

“… Cool, sure.” Mara agreed - but before she’d finished her sentence, Noori was already holding her.

Mara had automatically tensed, worried about her scar and the impact of Noori’s excitement - but although Noori had been fast at the opportunity to hug her, it was surprisingly… Soft.

Soft and… Heartfelt.

For reasons she didn’t understand, Mara found herself blinking back tears as, still standing, Noorie leant down and placed her chin on Mara’s shoulder… And squeezed, gently but tight at the same time, burying her face into Mara’s shoulder. Over her shoulder, Mara watched as Dany’s smile - slightly teasing before - became something gentler, as instinctively, Mara squeezed Noorie tightly back too.

“Okay I need to go, this mascara isn’t waterproof!” Noorie laughed, pulling away - and Mara deliberately avoided eye contact, after catching a glimpse of the happy tears - at least… She thought, hoped, they were happy - that Noorie was avoiding to spill. “I’ll see you later - you will be here when I get back, right?”

Mara felt the tears almost come back again. It had been said so… Lightly. Like it was nothing, like it was a joke.

But Mara knew it wasn’t. If her - their - father was anything like she thought he was, anything like Maddie Kay, it wasn’t a joke at all. It would’ve been Noorie’s entire life, just like Mara’s.

“I’ll be here.” Mara promised solemnly - before remembering herself, remembering that she needed to get a grip, and smiling again. “We both will, go. Make sure you have everything.”

“Okay.” Noorie grinned - and, apart from grabbing Dany’s shoulder and letting out another squeal, disappearing to the front door. “See ya later, sis!” She laughed happily, before Mara heard the front door slam.

For a few seconds, Mara just enjoyed… The silence. You know. Before another long lost family member took the opportunity to knock on her door.

She’d always wanted more family - she thought she’d gotten it, albeit with terms and conditions, from the Zafars. But this…. This…

“I have a sister.” Mara said numbly.

“You have a sister.” Dany echoed.

There was another short pause.

“Wait, I have a sister and you didn’t think to tell me?” Mara’s voice began to shake with anger, as she finally looked up at Danyal again, her hands quivering. “What is your fucking problem with honesty?”

Dany’s eyes narrowed.

“You see, normally I’d ask you the same thing, except I feel like we had that discussion after you showed up without a kidney, which did kind of steer the conversation, Samara.”

Mara let out a frustrated growl. Maybe he was right.

Maybe.

A sister…

#aag #about a girl #modosphere

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