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Hania Fawad

"Hania." I told the check-in agent. "My name is Hania Fawad. H-A-N-I-A." I was getting frustrated very quickly. "There should be a ticket booked for me."

"No, I'm sorry, Miss." The ticket desk agent gave me a sympathetic smile. He was barely a few inches taller than me, with blond hair that flopped over his forehead and into his green eyes, that were covered by Harry Potter style glasses.

"We made a booking!" My voice came out in a whisper. I was not a confrontational type of person. In fact, I was almost close to tears as I began to picture various scenarios where I would be abandoned in Edinburgh for the whole night, while Mama and Papa waited for us at Heathrow.

"I can book you onto the first flight tomorrow?" The guy suggested. His nametag displayed his name as 'Dean'.

I took a deep breath, trying hard to remain calm, but I was having great difficulty.

"The only seats we have available are in Business Class." He continued, typing away at his computer.

"Bro, you were meant to be checking the Business Class availability in the first place!" An irritated voice behind me made me roll my eyes.

I turned to see Iman, my nineteen-years-old sister, walking towards me, looking like she was ready to give someone a piece of her mind. That someone just happened to be Dean now. I felt sorry for the poor guy.

"Why were you bothering with Economy Class?" Iman blew a bubble with her chewing gum as she leaned against the counter. She was wear black skinny jeans, a loose white t-shirt and a designer black leather jacket, along with black Converses. Her hair was up in a messy up-do, so dark that it seemed black, just like mine and Papa's. Large silver earrings brushed the side of her cheeks, and her black painted nails tapped away impatiently at the counter. Appearance wise she strongly resembled our Papa, but she was certainly not like him. He had more patience than this, no doubt.

"Iman, it's not worth it." I whispered to her. "The price is too much."

She ignored me and pulled out a credit card from her purse.

"That's for emergency use only." I pointed out.

"This is an emergency. We have to go home." She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Mama will agree, I'm sure, and Papa won't mind." She looked at Dean. "Two business class tickets to London Heathrow on the next available flight."

I walked away from her and began to scroll through my phone to search for coach tickets.

"Hani Appi, don't bother." She called out to me. "I literally finished my last exam today, and I am not going to spend a whole night in a smelly coach. I just want to get home tonight and sleep in my bed."

We were not short of money, that was certainly not the problem in our lives. We were the daughters of a wealthy cardiothoracic surgeon, and we were given everything that we needed...and to an extent, a lot of things that we wanted. However, that 'to an extent', meant that our parents had tried to teach us about careful spending. I followed their teachings, but Iman? Well, she felt like spending Papa's hard-earned money was her birth right.

"I'm going by coach." I muttered.

"Fine, but you explain that to Mama." She heard me. "I'm not telling her why her beloved Hani chose to spend eight to nine hours at night in a coach full of random people, when she could have come on a much safer mode of transport for her two young daughters."

Iman and I were university students in Edinburgh. I had just finished my third and final year of Law and was going to graduate in October, whereas Iman was starting her first year of Biomedical Sciences, as she hoped to follow Papa's footsteps and become a doctor. It was a difficult task to convince my father to let me move all the way to Scotland to studies, but I guess the fact that my parents both came to London to study, all the way from Lahore, sort of worked out in our favour, because finally he allowed us with extremely strict conditions. Iman and I shared an apartment, that Papa paid the rent for, and it was very close to the university, so it was very safe.

Mama visited us every other weekend, sometimes accompanied by Papa, and I know that it had been extremely difficult for Mama, especially when I had left home. And now, she must be terrified, because I had finished my studies, and Iman was going to be alone here. We were yet to discuss those arrangements yet, but I had a feeling that our parents would ask Iman to transfer to a university in London. She had been accepted in excellent universities there after all. But the thought of moving out had just been too tempting for my little sister.

"Fine." I shook my head and walked back to my sister. "You win. Again."

Iman was a couple of inches taller than me, whereas I had inherited Mama's shorter height. Iman might have almost gone after Papa's side of the family, as he, his sister (Fariha Phupho), and both his parents were tall. While she was practically Papa's carbon copy, I only resembled him vaguely, by the hair colour. When I was born, I did look like him, but now I strongly resembled Mama, with the same big medium-brown eyes.

"Come on." Iman looked at me as the transaction was complete. She grabbed the ticket and began to walk away.

I noticed Dean staring at me, with a smile small on his face. Shuddering, I turned and followed Iman to the check-in counters.

"He was flirting with you." Iman commented as she began to scroll through her phone as we waited for the Business Class counter to become available.

"Astaghfirullah!" I shook my head.

"What? Calm down. I didn't say that he proposed marriage."

"Flirting is worse than proposing marriage." I wrinkled my nose, confused. "I think."

"Appi..."

"What?" I glared at her. "We're Pakistani Muslim girls. We should not be thinking about these things."

"Oh, right. Mama and Papa are going to choose the perfect guy for their perfect little Hani." She rolled her eyes, blowing a bubble again.

"What's wrong with that? I don't trust anyone in the world more than I trust them, after Allah, of course."

"They're probably going to choose a boring nerd for you."

"Iman, what is wrong with you?" I looked at her, bewildered. "Why are you always judging me? And I thought you were going to let them choose too."

"I am, but I won't say yes to the first person they like." She looked up at the counter, again impatiently. "And I'm going to become a doctor before I even consider marriage."

That was something I admired my little sister for. She might be rebellious, but she knew what she wanted out of her life. I, on the other hand, studied Law, but had no intention of joining the field. I was more of the writer type, like Mama, I suppose.

As I studied her carefully, I suddenly realised what was different about her. I had been thinking that she looked different, but I couldn't exactly figure out what. "Is that a nose piercing?"

A tiny silver stud was on her nose, sparkling in the harsh airport lights. "Yeah. I wanted one, so I got one."

I suddenly envied her impulsiveness. I would never be able to pull of something like this without discussing it with Mama. And trust me, Iman and most of our cousins give me a hard time for this personality trait of mine. I was always called 'Baby Hani who needs her Mommy'. The only one who didn't say a word about it was Ismael, my Arhaan Mamu's firstborn child. "It looks great." I told my sister, honestly.

"What? No meltdown over not telling Mama?" She raised an eyebrow at me, before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm telling you, Appi babe, you should get one too. You would look gorgeous."

"I...I will think about it."

"You mean, you'll ask Mama about it, and you'll ask Papa is nose piercing is harmful to you in anyway." Sarcasm was strong in her voice. "Millions of people have nose piercings."

Sometimes her words hurt more than she'd intended. She often seemed to be mocking me.

The truth is that, yes, I am very close to Mama and Papa. I suffer from severe social anxiety to the point that people often scared me, even without reason sometimes. I had difficulty adjusting in Edinburgh at first, on my own, but I pushed myself, because I was an adult. I had to learn to be independent. Before Iman joined me in Edinburgh, Mama used to regularly visit because she felt just as tensed that I was alone, even though at that point I used to live in the more expensive, highly secured student accommodation right on campus. My nature has made my parents more overprotective of me, I guess, and Iman often got irritated by that fact.

Well, to be honest, the fact that I'd had a few life-risking incidents during my childhood didn't really help ease my loving parents' concerns about me.

"Let's go." Iman led the way to the counter, walking as confidently as if she owned the airport or something.

I followed behind, head bowed, counting down the minutes until we got to London.

****

Iman went to get coffee in the business class lounge, while I sat on the sofa, messaging Ismael. He was like my best friend. Just a week older than me, he was of the same nature as me: shy, reserved and an introvert. We often found ourselves discussing books, and I shared excerpts of my writings with him.

<Ismael: Going back to London today?>

<Hania: Finally! I was sick the days before the last exam because I was so nervous, and I had been missing Mama a lot.>

<Ismael: Did Phupho know you were sick?>

<Hania: Are you kidding? If she did, she would have been here with me right now.>

<Ismael: I can relate so hard, Hania. I was hyperventilating before my first exam, and I just wanted to run away as far as possible.>

<Hania: Well, in your defence, if I were studying medical like you, I would probably need to be revived by CPR before each exam.>

<Ismael: LOL! God, I just laughed so hard that the guy studying at the other table in the library is looking at me like I'm drugged up.>

I smiled. It was funny how both Ismael and I didn't have the confidence to talk to each other as openly face to face as we did over chats like this. When we came face-to-face, we were both shy. Mama found it hilarious because Papa and Arhaan Mamu were both lifelong best friends and when they were together, chatting loudly in Punjabi, it was true chaos.

I looked up and frowned when I didn't see Iman at the coffee machine. My heart began to automatically beat faster, and I looked around, but there was no sign of her. Ya Allah, Iman, what are you up to now? Panicking, and with shaking hands, I dialled my sister's number, but she didn't answer. Maybe she went to the bathroom? God, I need to calm down. "Pata nahin kaha reh gayi hai." When I panicked, I spoke Urdu. It was a heavily accented Urdu, and I felt embarrassed speaking it, but I loved the language. It was a part of who I was.

*"God knows where she is."

"Aap Pakistani hain?" A deep voice made me freeze.

*"Are you Pakistani?"

I turned to see a guy of average height standing close to where I'd been sitting, holding a mug of hot drink. I suppose he was cute, but I immediately dropped my gaze, nodding lightly.

"You look worried. You okay?" He asked, sounding concerned.

You don't need to be concerned about me! You are nobody to me! But as usual, I couldn't speak much.

"Rayaan Waseem." He held out his hand.

"My Papa's waiting for me." I muttered before grabbing my stuff and running away from there.

I walked around the lounge searching for my little sister, but there was no sign of her. I even went into the ladies' restroom, but she wasn't there. "Iman?" I called out into the restroom, just to make sure that she wasn't in any of the stalls.

I was on the verge of tears as I headed back out, panic slowly starting to rise inside me. I knew that she couldn't have really gone anywhere. We were airside at an airport, after all, but for some reason, not seeing her around was worrying me.

My phone started ringing, and I took it out immediately. My eyes widened when I looked at the caller ID. Allah! Mama! Taking a deep breath, I answered the call. "Assalam Alaikum, Mama."

"Walaikum Assalam." Her voice sounded cheerful. Of course it did; her daughters were returning home. "How long till you board?"

"Mama, I told you that I would update you." I smiled, despite my panic about Iman.

"I just can't wait. Your Papa is at work, and for me, the time is going really slowly." She replied.

My mother was a housewife by choice. She had dedicated her whole life to her family, and not to sound biased or anything, but she was amazing at it. She wasn't like a stereotypical wealthy housewife of a surgeon. She was down-to-earth, loving and caring, with not a hint of arrogance in her. Ma Sha Allah.

"How's Iman?" She asked, casually.

Iman was a matter of concern for both parents. No, she wasn't into anything haram like drugs or drinking or clubbing, but her sneaky and rebellious attitude was very much an issue for Mama and Papa. Papa had made her swear that she would stay within her limits before he let her come to university to Edinburgh, but she was mainly allowed to come here because I was here. In Iman's defence, she had mostly lived up to the promise she'd made to Papa, but I know that she was often staying out later than she should be.

"Iman's fine." I replied. And she's gone missing.

"Good." She sounded relieved.

I heard the boarding announcement for our flight. "Mama, they are calling our flight. I have to go. See you soon, In Sha Allah. Love you so much!"

"I love you too, meri jaan. I can't wait to hug you both."

After ending the call, I turned around and wanted to groan. That Rayaan guy was there again, walking up to me. Get lost, freak!

"Look, I think you misunderstood me. I didn't mean to freak you out." He said. "I was just being friendly."

"Don't." I managed to speak out. "W-We have n-no such r-relationship that you have to be friendly to...to me."

For some reason, he looked amused. "You seemed like the type who respects her culture."

"So let me respect my culture." I didn't look at him as I spoke, and then turned to walk towards the exit of the lounge, hoping I'd meet Iman there.

"Who the heck was he?" My little sister appeared beside me, looking behind me at Rayaan.

"Some random freak trying to be friendly with me."

"Wow, second guy to flirt with you in a day!" She grinned. "Nice, my stunning beauty!"

"Astaghfirullah!" My cheeks turned red. "Iman, respect who we are!"

"You're so boring." She just shook her head.

I thought about what she had said. I would only get a boring nerd. I didn't care. I just wanted an epic love, a guy who loved me so much and accepted me for the shy and awkward Hania that I was. My father had set very, very high standards, because he was still crazy about Mama and expressed that to her regularly. PDA wasn't even required, because the way he looked at her and smiled at her, it was clear that it was pure love.

Rich or poor, handsome as per society's expectations or not, it didn't matter. I wanted to be loved for who I was, and I wanted a love that consumed me...but of course, this love should come from my husband, a halal relationship formed with the blessings of Allah and my parents.

I'm sure whoever Allah and my parents choose for me will be the absolute right choice. And when that happens, Iman's mocking words won't even matter to me, In Sha Allah.

****

Well, here's the first chapter introducing you to the grown-up daughters of Jasmina and Fawad. 

The two are completely different personality. Hania has grown up completely in the shadow of her parents, especially her mother. Iman has been heavily influenced by her friends and social circles. 

Hania is the main character, and this is basically her story, but Iman plays a very important part in it as well, as she learns the importance of family.

Thoughts and comments?

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