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This chapter, while fits in with the story, is based on readers' request, specifically, haneenfathima.

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Omar

I was sitting in the living room with Mamma, just having my tea before I headed for work, when Zunaira walked in. 

Mamma had told her that she could decorate the home any way she wanted, considering that my wife was an interior designer. Currently, Zaira, as I called her, was flicking through a magazine.

"Okay, Mamma, I have some amazing DIY ideas." She said, smiling, sitting beside my mother as she pointed to something in the magazine. "Art is my passion, I can easily make these at home." 

"These look wonderful, beta. Do whatever makes you happy." Mamma smiled at her. She was trying to remain calm, but her sadness was reflected on her face. Her mother, her brother, everyone was currently in London. Today was the day of Hania and Ismael's party, and I knew that Mamma wanted to be there for her beloved niece. However, her work schedule had made things absolutely impossible. Plus, because I'd recently gotten married, she wanted to stay here just to help her new Bahu adjust. 

"Mamma." I spoke up, gently. "Video call Mamu. You might feel better." 

"No, it's okay. I don't want him to feel bad." She shook her head. "He was already feeling guilty, and I don't want to make it worse. Bhabi was also saying that we could postpone the party until we could celebrate together, but I couldn't be so selfish. Her brothers have specially flown out for the birthdays, and I..." 

"Mamma, birthdays ke maukay to aatay jaatay rehte hain. In Sha Allah, next time sahi. Aap dil na chota karain. Aapko bura lagayga, to sab ko aur takleef hogi." Zaira told her, softly placing a hand on my mother's hand.

*"Mamma, there are always occasions for birthdays. In Sha Allah, next time. Don't feel bad. If you feel bad, everyone else will feel worse." 

I smiled at my wife. I knew that she genuinely cared about my Mamma. She got along so well with her. Papa had already said that it was because Mamma had been such an amazing daughter-in-law to his parents, so she was being rewarded in return. 

In fact, when Mamma suggested that Zaira and I found our own private place, Zaira is the one who refused, saying that she wanted to stay with the family as she was used to living in a joint family.

"Chalain. Aaj hum sab drive pe chale hain. Mazaa aaye ga!" Zaira suggested.

*"Let's go. We'll all go for a drive today. It would be fun!" 

"Aap donon jaao. Yeh aap donon ka waqt hai. Waise bhi, Zafar late aayainge thoda, to main unka wait kar rahi hoon. Aap log jao, mazaa karo." Mamma said.

*"You both go. It's your time to enjoy. Anyway, Zafar will be a little late, so I will wait for him. You both go and enjoy." 

After some convincing, we realised that Mamma wasn't going to go, so Zaira and I headed out. I called out to Zaid to ask him to take care of her before heading out with my wife.

As we drove, an old song began to play on the radio, "Aa kahin door chalay jaayain hum..." (Let's go somewhere far away).

As the gentle breeze through the open window blew Zaira's hair around, her scent attracted me so much that I had to clutch tightly to the steering wheel to control my desires. She looked at me. "Would you ever move out of Lahore, or even Pakistan?" 

I glanced briefly at her as I drove, unable to decipher her expressions in the darkness. "No, not really. I love it here." 

"Same." She replied without a pause, smiling. "I wouldn't even leave Lahore. I'm in love with the city. I'm proud to be a Lahori." 

"So, what's with the sudden question?" I asked, curiously.

"At work, they spoke about international opportunities, and everyone was so excited about it, but I wasn't. That's when I realised how happy I am here." She laughed lightly. "Why would I leave when I have everything here?" 

My heart warmed, hearing her words. "You never fail to amaze me, Zaira. Each day you do something to completely win me over." 

"Are you saying that you already love me, Mr Omar?" She raised both eyebrows teasingly.

"If that's true, why are you surprised?" I asked. "Allah places love in our hearts after Nikah." 

She smiled, gazing down at her lap. The wind was blowing her hair gently into her face, and I was tempted to reach out and push it away, but I focused on the road instead. 

"You want to eat or drink anything?" I asked her.

Her eyes widened in excitement. "Oh, Omar! Find a good place to get corn on the cob! I suddenly feel like it." 

I grinned. "Okay, I know just the place." 

Thanks to Papa, we are very well familiar with good and hygienic and reliable places. There was a modest, but clean restaurant not too far from where we were, which sold corn on the cob. I drove there, bought her some corn on the cob, and continued driving.

"You didn't want any?" She gazed at me as she bit into the corn.

I shook my head. "No, thanks." 

She closed her eyes and moaned. "So good." 

I watched her as we stopped at a traffic signal. "That corn must be really delicious."

She held it up for me, and I couldn't stop myself from taking a bite. I suddenly understood why she was enjoying herself. It was delicious. 

"Nice, right?" She asked, smiling teasingly at me. "No more. You get only one bite." 

I continued driving, and a few moments later, the corn on the cob appeared just in front of my mouth.

"I feel sorry for you, that's the only reason I'm offering this." She said.

"I think you are the one already in love, Mrs Zunaira Omar." I smiled, keeping my gaze on the road.

****

Arhaan

"Twenty years have passed since we got married." Nazia said, sitting in bed beside me. "Ismael has grown up in front of me, and now even I find it hard to believe that I haven't given birth to him. Ma Sha Allah." 

"He still seems so young. I still feel like I should be protecting him, even though he's almost twenty-two, Ma Sha Allah." I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the headboard.

"Because he's such a sweetheart, it's automatic to feel protective of him." She put a hand on her arm. "He's just like you, Arhaan."

I smiled at her. "Are you protective of me?" 

"Why shouldn't I be?" She raised. "You're such a gentle giant that I feel like I have to protect you from the evilness of the world." 

"I may not look like it, Naz, but I can take care of myself." I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to myself.

She snuggled up against me. "I just feel that you're so pure of heart, and so good, that people might someday take advantage of it." 

"I'm good, but I'm not naive, Naz. My age has given me experience and wisdom. Don't worry." I kissed the side of her head. It was sweet how she always worried about me. Even after two decades together, she never stopped worrying about me.

She yawned and sank down under the duvet. "I'm going to sleep. You can keep the lamp on if you want to read." 

"No, I think I'm going to turn in as well." I took my glasses off and placed them onto the table. "I'm not young anymore. I can't stay up as late as I used to." 

"Early fifties is not old." She said, determined. "We're still more active than the younger generation. Take our own Armaan for example. I'm telling you, Haan, if he had a choice, he would stay locked up in his room all day, playing video games or just watching films, not getting off the bed apart to eat or to use the bathroom." 

"Koi baat nahin. Bacha hai. Sudhar jaaye ga." I lay on my side, facing her.

*"It's okay. He's a kid. He'll improve."

"That's such a fatherly thing to say. You're always defending the children." She rolled her eyes. 

"Our fathers used to say the same about us, and look, we turned out okay, didn't we?" I smiled as I thought of all the trouble that Fawad and I used to get up to, including driving cars without licences, or bike over to each others' houses in the middle of the night. In comparison to what today's kids go up to, I guess it doesn't seem as bad, but in our times, it was something that seriously p***ed off our parents.

Nazia smiled, closing her eyes. "I don't think any of your kids can even turn out bad. They'll end up good, responsible adults, In Sha Allah." 

"In Sha Allah." I turned and reached out to turn off the lamp. "Good Night, Naz."

"Good night, Haan." She snuggled up against me in the darkness. 

**** 

The next morning, we were the first ones up, so we decided to make breakfast together. 

Nazia made the parathas and I made the cheese omelette. The smell of the food and coffee filled the beautiful kitchen, and my wife and I laughed and talked as we worked together. 

"Assalam Alaikum." Jazzy walked in, just as we were finishing up. "Why are you both making breakfast?" 

"Walaikum Assalam. Look at that, Arhaan. Your sister considers us guests." Naz pretended to frown in disapproval. I turned my back, pretending to do some work, hiding a smile.

"No, it's not like that, Bhabi. This is your home." Jasmina said, immediately. "But I'm younger than you, and I don't like that you're working while I slept in."

"You're allowed to sleep in once in a while, Jasmina." Naz told her. "In Pakistan, we at least get help to do our work for us, if we don't feel like working, but here you refuse to hire help." 

"You and Zoya Bhabi work, so you need the help. I chose this for myself, Bhabi, and I'm happy." My once immature sister spoke with so much wisdom now that I couldn't believe that I was talking to her.

While Ammi had trained her in everything (she'd even taught me how to cook, along with Jazzy), my sister had mainly been kept away from the kitchen. My mother had seriously pampered her to the point that Jazzy had even been brought up tea to her room by maids. Yet while teaching her kids with various skills around the house, our mother had also taught us to remain humble and kind. Maybe that's why Jasmina had willingly taken on the housework, even though Fawad often requested her to hire help. And now, the spoilt princess Jasmina who got whatever she asked for, had turned into a housewife that had managed the house so well that it was beyond impressive. Ma Sha Allah. Nazia, Zoya, Fariha, and even Fatima Aunty constantly praised the way my sister managed her home and family.

"Jasmina, do us a favour and bring Fawad down." I told her. "Let us deal with the breakfast, okay? Tell that lazy husband of yours to also get up and do something." 

"He's not lazy." The words automatically slipped out of Jazzy's mouth, before she pursed her lips.

"Ignore him, Jasmina. You know that he can't resist teasing both you and Fawad Bhai." Naz smiled at my sister. "You go wake up Bhai, Iman and Noor. And I'll wake up the boy gang. We'll let Ahad Bhai and Zoya sleep." 

Jasmina headed out, and Nazia turned to me.

"What?" I asked as she glared at me.

"Can we manage to get through this visit without offending your sister?" She asked.

"Naz, meri jaan, I have known Fawad for five decades. Neither would I ever genuinely insulting him, and neither would either of them ever be offended by something I say." 

"Aap bhi na, Haan. Kabhi aap unko 'gadha' keh rahe hain, kabhi sust." Naz shook her head.

*"You're too much, Haan. Sometimes you call him a donkey, sometimes lazy." 

"Bhaiyon jaisa hai woh mere liye. Uske liye main kabhi dil se bura soch hi nahin sakta, chahe woh hamari Jazzy ka shohar na bhi hota." I said, genuinely.

*"He's like my brother. I can never genuinely think bad for him, even if he wasn't our Jazzy's husband."

She smiled. "Ma Sha Allah. May Allah always keep your friendship intact. Ameen."

"Ameen." I stepped closer to her, leaning my hands against the counter and trapping her between my arms.

"Arhaan, kya kar rahe hain? Koi aajaye ga." She looked startled.

*"Arhaan, what are you doing? Someone will come." 

"I want to thank you, Naz. Tumne mere behan bhaiyon ko, mere bachon ko, mere rishton ko, sab ko apnaya hai. Mohabbat to hai hi, laikin us se zayada mere dil main tumhare liye izzat hai." I smiled warmly at her.

*"You accepted my siblings, my kids and my relatives, everyone. I am in love with you, but more than that I have great respect for you."

"Is main shukriya ki kaunsi baat hai? Aap ki family hai, to mera bhi to banta hai keh un sab se achay se banake rakhon." She put her hands over mine as they gripped the counter.

*"Why are you thanking me? They are your family, then it makes sense for me to maintain good ties with everyone."

"Fardh nahin hai tumhara, laikin tum phir bhi karti ho." I whispered.

*"It's not your duty, but you still do it."

"You love them and care about them. Our duty as spouses include keeping each other happy, and if I maintaining good ties with them all keeps you happy, I'm more than happy to do that. In fact, in these two decades, they've all become my own family." 

I hugged her, without caring about who could be watching. I needed to hug her. She had, as always, won my heart all over again. And she wrapped her arms around my back, hugging me back. 

Nobody knew better than me how much mental peace and happiness a good spouse can provide, while a bad spouse can damage you internally in more ways than you realise. In the form of Nazia, Allah had well and truly blessed me. For two decades, I hadn't felt those tension headaches again, nor had I overstressed. Yes, we had tough times and worries, but we fought through it all together. She had stood by my side, unconditionally, and vice versa. 

Alhumdulillah.

****

Iman

"Iman?" 

I turned and saw Ibrahim walking down the hallway towards me, as I'd come out of my room. I immediately turned to head back into my room.

"Hey! Why are you avoiding me, partner?" He asked, speeding up to stop me from closing the door.

"Why would I avoid you?" I acted nonchalant, standing in the doorway and not letting him into my room.

"I don't know, but you have been really weird these days." He looked thoughtful, as if trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"Nope, I'm the same old Iman Fawad." I shrugged. 

He stared at me, in a scrutinising manner.

"I need to go downstairs to help Mama with lunch." I began to brush past him.

"We haven't even pranked anyone yet. We haven't even been told off by our fathers once since we got here. Isn't that our thing?" 

Our thing? Why is he making us sound like a couple? We're not a couple! 

And suddenly, I began to feel weird around him. He wasn't just Ibrahim, my childhood best friend, my partner-in-crime anymore. He was a non-mehram to me, and we were both technically speaking, of marriageable age. I started to see him as the guy that I had developed a crush on, and I suddenly realised why my parents made such a big deal about mehram/non-mehram relationships. "I need to go, Ibrahim. I have decided to focus on my education and my future career, and for that, I need to give up my childishness and to become more responsible. I suggest that you do the same." I walked past him and headed down the hallway. 

There was plenty of time till marriage and love. But I had chosen a very difficult career, and for that I needed to work just as hard. My focus should remain on that, and I couldn't let anything else distract or blind me.

The fact that Ibrahim had completely ignored me as a potential crush had briefly hurt me, but I had reminded myself that I was not the person who would sit back and cry over it. I was the daughter of a man who had sorted his life out before the start of his proper medical education, changing from a rebellious troublemaker to a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon. I was also the daughter of a woman who had grown from a naive, carefree girl with not a responsibility on her shoulder, to someone who was managing an entire home and her family almost expertly. My parents had both faced growth, both in maturity and responsibility, and I had to do the same.

Love can wait, education can't. 

****

"Iman?" 

" Yes?" I turned as I was loading the dishwasher, helping Mama out with cleaning up as she cooked. Currently, she had stepped out of the kitchen, and I had been alone.

Dado walked into the kitchen. "Have you seen Jasmina?" 

"She just went out for something." I pointed towards the doorway, in the direction where I'd last seen Mama go.

She walked up to me, her walking stick making a soft tapping noise on the kitchen floor. 

"Iman, meri jaan, I know that I have been harsher with you." She said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "But it's for your own good. Believe it or not, when your Papa was in the rebellious stage, I was very harsh with him as well. Ask your Fariha Phupho if you don't believe me." 

"It's okay, Dado. I understand. I'm not exactly an easy person to deal with." I shrugged as if it was no big deal, but the truth was that it was a huge deal. The child in me had always felt that Dado hated me because she was much harsher with me than she was with Appi. But after everything, I had started to see her point of view, even before she had approached me just now.

She grabbed my wrist and took me to the kitchen table, where we both sat down on the chairs. "One thing I can tell you for sure, Iman, that you have a very pure heart. You are not at all a bad person. You were just a little lost. But you are my Fawad's daughter, and you are like him in so, so many ways that it was inevitable that you would find your way to the right path." 

I was trying hard not to cry, and I just stared down into my lap.

"I'm sorry if my words or behaviour ever made you feel bad about yourself. You are a beautiful, intelligent and a confident young lady, and I have no doubt that you will make us all proud one day, In Sha Allah." She squeezed my hand. "Your Dada Jaan always told you that he was proud of you, but today I'm telling you as well. I'm incredibly proud of the person that you have eventually shown that you are. You were always this sweet, caring girl who loved her family from the bottom of her heart. You just hid this side of you very well. But you are also Jasmina's daughter, which means that this selfless and loving side is an inherent part of you." 

I couldn't stop a tear from escaping this time.

"You are a good person, Iman Fawad. Never forget that." She stood up and leaned towards me to kiss my forehead. "May Allah help you achieve your career goals, and may He bless you with good health and happiness. Ameen." 

As Dado walked out, Mama walked in, a small smile on her face.

"Did hat just happen?" I asked her in disbelief.

"Yes, it did, Mani. You're our pride, our whole family's pride." She walked over to me and wrapped her arms around me, resting her chin on the top of my head. "I love you so much, my jaan." 

"Love you too, Mama." 

****

Fawad

The sound of the rain hitting the windows was actually a soothing noise as I studied some files in my office at the hospital. 

There was a new patient due surgery, and I was just looking over the file. I hadn't even looked at the name yet, and had dove right into the file. All I knew was that it was a smoker, male and in his late forties. 

I frowned as I studied the reports. This seemed like it was going to be a complicated surgery. There a high chance that the patient would lose his life. Was he willing to do that?

The intercom buzzed and I reached for it and answered it. "Yes?" 

"Dr Fawad, the patient is here. The one whose file I just gave to you to read over?" The familiar nasal voice of the nurse came through.

"Sure, send him in." I said.

"And, just as a reminder, the medical student Taif Bukhari will be coming for his interview in an hour." She told me.

"Yes, no problem." I said, distractedly. 

There was a knock on the door shortly after I'd hung up the phone.

"Come in." I said, without looking up.

I heard the door open and then the sounds of footsteps. I looked up with my warm and professional smile, ready to greet my new patient.

Shoulders slumped, and with his head bowed, the main with the thinning blonde hair walked forward, limping slightly. He wore faded blue jeans and an olive button-down shirt, which clung to his beer belly. When he looked up, I froze. His blue eyes twinkled with recognition and he gave me a weary smile.

"It has been a while, Dr Fawad Ali." Jeremy Newton spoke. "I've paid a lot of money to ensure that you are the one who ends up attempting to save my life."

What sort of a bloody joke is this?

****

Shocked to see Jeremy, right?

Would Fawad go ahead with Jeremy's surgery, or would he step aside and let someone else do it?

**This is not a major storyline, more like a closure plot.**

Would Jeremy meet Jasmina?

@haneenfathima wanted to see Omar's story, as well as scenes involving Nazia & Arhaan. I'll try to fit in more throughout the remainder of the story. 

Thoughts and comments?

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