Melancholy hangs over me like an autumn sunset, parched leaves shedding off the dry branches in my chest, leaving no flowers or fruits to lend over. A winter night breeze thrashes against my ribcage, begging for a way out. It is summer ever still because everything I am burns in the sun wrath glory of endless torments. Spring is the hope in my heart that all will be good again even if I must bury myself as a dead leaf so my family may sustain on me.

I am all four seasons at once.

In the hospital cafeteria, sitting around a table, I do not hear Taha Muhammad narrating his epic failure of an adventure that both Nashwa and my Dadi listen to with stars in their eyes.

Who cares how many wheelchairs he jumped over? Who cares how many nurses he flirted with, just to get across? Who cares how he slipped his hand into an attendant's pocket and came out not just with a key but also a tissue paper still wet with snot? Who cares at all when I can feel Nashwa's phone vibrating in her bag by my feet all along? And her ignorance towards it.

It isn't Haala Mami, I know that for sure.

Taha Muhammad is back in his plaid shirt and jeans. Yahya no longer wears a lab coat or Taha's glasses. When my Dadi asked the guard what the commotion was all about, Yahya sprang into action, pulled out his ID card and his business card despite his hand cuffed to Taha's and handled the situation with such grace, Dadi was impressed all over. I look to my left at Nashwa who still listens to Taha with a hand under her chin, elbows on the table. To my right, Dadi also watches him in a daze.

Pity, they only see what is at the surface.

Did Taha not accuse Yahya of being a bad liar? How swiftly he handled the guard, makes me think otherwise. Silent with just a soft smile gracing his lips, he sips on his coffee, one leg resting over the other, top button of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled midway to his elbows. He doesn't cut Taha even when he exaggerates or calls out Yahya for being a prude with the female nurses, he just smiles along. Yahya Afaaq is observant, he's a listener, he only talks when absolutely necessary and when he does, he takes the ball away and doesn't miss his goal. There's more to him than that which he shows. I do not want to dig out skeletons.

But Taha Muhammad is a whole whirlwind wind storm, a Pandora's Box if I dare try figuring him out. I do not trust the glint in his eyes and the way he's been winking too much at me despite exchanging jokes with Nashwa. I do not trust his easy lifestyle of casual clothes and worn out shoes and pulling stunts like these without weighing all the consequences, smiling like a goof ball anyhow upon failing as though that in itself is a victory.

They all laugh as he mentions how loose those polka dot trousers were and he had to hold them at the waist throughout the heist.

It pricks me even more that once the guard went off, Taha gave his phone to Nashwa to snap a picture of him and Yahya in their costumes. Memories, the brothers had laughed. I had laughed too looking at the door behind them where my sister played hopscotch with a pretty and fiercely caring doctor while I just kept breaking apart again and again like glass.

Memories, my foot.

"You didn't say." Dadi watches them with admiration in her eyes. After all, they're the Taha and Yahya looking into her granddaughters' case. "What exactly you were after in this information heist of yours."

Taha scratches the back of his neck. Yahya plays with his sleeves. Nashwa opens my box of brownies and draws in a deep breath, falling back into her chair, eyes hypnotic.

"Doctor Amima," she murmurs.

"Doctor Amanuallah, you mean?" Taha glares at her.

She shakes her head, chomping halfway through the crust and fudge in a single bite. "Doctor Amima Fareed and her marital status although checking her age first would have saved you a lot of heartache."

Taha rolls his eyes. "FYI, our Prophet married Hazrat Khadija when he was twenty five and she was forty. How old could Doctor Amima be?"

"Thirty one." Dadi takes the box from Nashwa looking through for the moistest piece. She passes the box to Yahya who hesitantly takes half a piece before passing it on to Taha. He keeps it to himself, not meeting my eye. I wasn't going to ask for the box anyway. "She won't marry you."

"I will court her."

"She will stomp all over you with her high heels if she's outside the hospital. Otherwise, with her running shoes. She does not like being chased, she prefers to chase."

My eyes aren't the only ones staring at Dadi wide-eyed. She licks the chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

Taha grins. "That just makes her all the more thrilling."

Is he for real?

"Not everything is an adventure, mister." Dadi covers her mouth to hold back a burp as she draws away her diet Sprite can. "She'll tell you that herself and when she does so, it will be from her experience. If you had met her ten years ago, you would have seen her sauntering through this hospital in the same shoes as she does today but in off shoulders tops and tight jeans and low necklines and if you dared look too long she would have slapped you tight across the cheek even if you were there to get a broken jaw mended. But time changes us all and Amima has changed in some way if not most. I shall not expose her sins for it is a sin to do so."

Nashwa meets my eye. Is there more to expose?

"How do you know her so well, Ma'am?" Yahya sips on his coffee.

"Amima is a family friend." Dadi let's go of her can, drawing air now that it is empty. She turns to me and Nashwa. "You remember Zayaan? She's his paternal aunt."

"Hana's Zayaan?!"

Trust Nashwa to have no filter.

A slow smile slips over Yahya's mouth as his eyes glide to Taha who wiggles his eyebrows at me, eyes a little too bright. I sip on my own diet Coke can, looking at him squarely in the eye. All those times he called me out, reminding me Yahya's engaged, well this is a comeback for that!

Dadi hums. "Hana's Zayaan. He finishes his medical degree soon, he'll start his house job then. Perhaps when Fareed calls again for the hundredth time to unite Amima and Ahmad as one, I will ask his grandson's hand for Hana."

Nashwa chokes on her chai with no sugar and Taha on his Pepsi can. Dadi takes this opportunity to pull away the box of brownies from Taha. She takes another piece and offers the box to me but I shake my head ever so slowly. Through it all, Yahya is smiling gently.

Nashwa is still choking, entire face red, clutching the golden chain at her throat. I mirror her perplexity.

"Ahmad worked on her divorce case nine years back, still glum on his grief and fresh at his career," Dadi continues. "Messy it was, too many bought judges, blood spills, innocent coffins and extra marital relationships. Ahmad didn't flinch, he was deranged, didn't accept defeat in those days. Amima also lost her mother to a stroke during a panic attack."

Taha and Yahya exchange a glance.

All my blood is cold. Hanaan's panic attacks. Doctor Amima's overprotectiveness. God forbid, if Hanaan had lost the battle in those attacks herself, if she had seen my edit on her redemption list— a shiver creeps down my spine.

Dadi sighs. "Ever since, Fareed thinks there is no better rematch for Amima than Ahmad and I've seen the delirium in her own eyes, it has not diminished to this day. They would make a lush couple but Ahmad does not give in."

Nashwa is stiff beside me. Her phone still vibrates by my feet in her bag but the fingers wrapped like tendrils around her golden chain worry me more. "Why doesn't he... ?"

Dadi shrugs. "Always the same excuse. I have tough cases going on, marriage will only complicate life more and I cannot endanger a woman's life in my plight. And a bit about not doing well by his first wife so how could he take on another's responsibility though he forgets Amima is nothing like Zarminah but then again, Zarminah has no replacement either."

She smiles at Nashwa but Nashwa is rigid, spine stick straight. Slowly, her blazing eyes meet mine and I can hear all the questions colliding in her skull. Not doing well by his first wife. What exactly does that mean?

She looks away when Taha offers her the box of brownies. Quietly, she reaches for one and bites on it, eyes lost in a trance. Why is he being considerate with her? Why is Nashwa not eyeing him weirdly? Why is she not interrogating his concern?

Taha Muhammad meets my eyes and raises a brow. "Won't you have one?"

"No thanks."

"You on a diet?"

I do not feel obliged to answer.

He extends the box again. "These are tough times, Hana. Too much sweetness can cause diabetes and other fatalities I cannot recall—" he winks and I fist my hands under the table, if I could just reach and kick him down under "— but when the heart is mourning, some comfort is always welcome."

I take the box, put the lid on it. "My heart is not yours to comfort."

"Hana," Dadi chides.

Was that inappropriate? All the many things he has said before, if only she found out.

"Did you talk to your sister?" His dark grey eyes gaze deeply into mine. Why must he make conversation with me?

My eyes flit to Dadi's. I resort to a nod.

"Good." He smiles tenderly. "I was worried after you ran away yesterday; I could not imagine your pain but I tried to feel it."

Dadi is watching me closely. She doesn't know I was here yesterday. That I didn't come by to see Hanaan in her room, that I ran away when I did see her.

He wants to play a game? So be it.

"I didn't run away, I rushed. To thank Allah in two nafl of shukranay."

"Nice." His mouth curls into a sneer, his arm is slung across an empty chair by his side, he peers at me from under his lashes. "So you weren't traumatised by the whole hospital laughing at her, in entertainment only, as so many people laughed at you when you came out of the pool dripping wet? No? Thank goodness!"

The can in my hand crushes as I withhold from looking my Dadi in the eye. She knows everything already but must he shine a spotlight on all my torments to torment her? How dare he?

Dadi takes my hand in hers, surprising me as she does so. My heart stumbles in my chest all over as she kisses it, all her personal space violated. "Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear, you know that, Hana."

What of Taha Muhammad then? Can I really bear the burden he is?

Affection pools into her eyes and I let my heart drown in it. "You are two fortunate sisters: Hana and Hanaan."

Her voice is low, only for me to hear but the other three have leaned in closer.

"One He deprived of the graceful use of her hands, He shall only remedy it with an easy pass to Jannah. You He tests through hardships and afflictions, the tests of patience and perseverance, Hana. Remember what I told you when I gave you your graduation gift, it will help you hold onto your pass too."

Holding on is the toughest part, Dadi. The rope scalds my hands, slips from my grasp and dangles me over the harshest fire that looks like a cool spring of water to the eye. It is not easy. It is never easy.

Yahya's phone rings once before going silent. I pull away from Dadi and sneak a glance at Taha Muhammad who has somehow, gotten back to my box of brownies. Why did I not poison them?

Yahya stands to his feet. "Amma and Tehniyat must be free, I should drop them back home. Taha, are you coming?"

He shakes his head, mouth full. "I have a lunch date, actually."

I scrunch my nose at that. What unfortunate girl would settle for a lunch date with him?

Dadi holds a hand to her heart. "Is everything okay?"

Yahya nods. "My sister is pregnant. They came for a routine check-up."

Taha chokes and finding his Pepsi can empty, reaches for my can of Coke. I pull it back hoping he chokes to death.

Yahya smacks him hard on the head. "Grow up, Taha."

"Have some modesty yourself."

"You're the one who got them married and now you're freaked out she's carrying his baby."

"You can never keep it PG-13, can you?

"Yes." Yahya rolls his eyes. "Because we all know you never crossed that age."

Taha places a hand to his chest "What can I say? I'm forever young at heart." He throws a smirk my way. I grit my teeth.

Dadi smiles at them. "Well, I pray good health for your sister and the child. May Allah bring with it countless blessings and joys."

We all mutter ameen at that. When Yahya is gone, Dadi gets up too. "I should return to Hanaan. If Amima is done, she might be lonely." She reaches into her purse and checks her phone. "Ali Gul is here, Nashwa, if you want to head home." Nashwa nods, still so silent and we watch Dadi walk away.

Before Nashwa can reach for her bag, I do so.

"Hey—!"

I fish out her phone, vibrating still. Unknown number. She reaches over and takes it from my hand.

"Don't answer, Nashwa."

"I really had no idea it was ringing—"

"—I mean it, do not answer. Zimal gave your number and details away, you do not want to get tangled in this mess with Waheed. Do not answer that bloody call even to tell him off or curse at him, please don't."

"Zimal?" Nashwa's eyes are wide. "Oh that dumb bitch is losing all her hair so very soon—"

"—promise me you won't respond to him—"

"—and then I'm pulling out her nails one by one—"

"—Nashwa!—"

"—and then I'll make her drink crow blood and stuff the feathers down her throat—"

I pinch her hard on her arm. "Promise me you won't try being a female warrior this time, risking your own safety doing that."

She blinks at me. "Don't you have other worries besides me?" She turns to Taha, slinging the long strap of her bag onto her shoulder. "Which reminds me, you're only a hero by fate. If Hana and I had enough time, we would have sought out a female hacker, much more cooler and emo than you. Someone who would not have demanded a single penny for her work because girls support girls."

She looks at me at the last part.

I cross my arms over my chest. "You're still paying me back my money."

"Girls support girls, Hana. What part did you not understand?" She says each word slowly and separately. Her phone begins ringing again. "I better get going, it is Haala Hitler now." She answers the call, walking away to leave me and Taha alone.

He's already smiling at me. Urgh!

I should get up too. I should walk away, roam the hospital if I cannot go back to Hanaan and cannot go home because Mama will be there, I should not sit here in front of him because I do despise him, so very much. But he has my box of brownies—

"These are good," he speaks, mouth full. "A little too much sugar and cocoa, a little too gooey, no texture."

"It's fudge. Not sponge."

His Cheshire cat smile returns. "Welcome back, Hana Jaan."

I look away. This is what he wants. To rile me up.

"Did you feel no shame lying to your Dadi?"

"Excuse me?"

He treats himself to another chocolate fudge brownie. "About being grateful your sister's awake, because I could have sworn you looked wild with rage and vengeance yesterday. Then the beautiful Doctor Amima pulls out that list and let me assume, you wanted to get back at your sister by sharing that video of hers with friends and family." His smile widens, eyes twinkle. "You missed the part where she started singing baby shark and Koko Korina."

I remain slumped in my chair, I will not let him rile me up.

"You know." He sighs. "I was trying to do you a favour. By mentioning the pool incident to your Dadi so she knows your pain. I'm the only person who has gone through Hanaan's conversation with Waheed to know how bad she has messed you up without knowing her first. Boss Lady doesn't feel your pain because she has a special bond with Hanaan. All the others in your family do so too. But all my sympathies—" he holds a hand to his heart "—are yours only."

Blood curdles in my veins, turns to tar in my heart, so thick it hurts to push it out. Sympathy? Or is that pity in his eyes? I don't need either.

"Since when did you begin involving emotions and care into your professional work, Mister Taha Muhammad?"

"You're Yahya's client, not mine, Hana Jaan." He scratches the back of his neck. "I didn't delete that video, by the way. It's still in your phone, I didn't go through it either but I did want you to rethink it. You're vengeful at your sister, rightfully so too, but you'll regret it when Hanaan is embarrassed and I didn't want you hating yourself—"

"—I don't remember hiring you as my caretaker either."

"You should never have to hire someone to take care of you, Hana Jaan." His lonely night eyes smile at me. "And if the world brings you to a point that you must, you should abandon all else and seek for a person willing to hold you for nothing in return."

I laugh at that. "Won't you open your arms wide for me now?"

"I think I might have messed up my first impression."

"Second, third and fourth too, Taha Muhammad." My tongue is sour. "Every time we have conversed, you have only assaulted me with your words. At first I thought you enjoyed picking at me for being so sober because you get along well with Nashwa but you are simply disrespectful."

"Now what have I done?"

I shake my head at him. "I don't know why guys like you just don't understand that no means no." He arches a brow. "When I tell you to mind your limits, you smile stupidly at that as though I'm inviting you to flirt harder. When Dadi tells you Doctor Amima does not like being chased you take it as her trying hard to get—"

"—do I smell fire?"

I don't waste a second long, gather my chadar and bag, my box in his hands be damned.

He jumps to his feet, recovering from his laughter. "I am sorry, I really am."

I shake my head. "Why do I stay? You're not my brother or my father or an uncle or a mahram. You're just some guy and the worst one at that, the most disrespectful, even Waheed was better at flirting and striking a friendship with my sister and look where that led to." I look him and up and down. "You're already so prickly, Taha Muhammad, it terrifies me what you might do to me the moment I put away my guard against you."

"I said I am sorry."

"You should be! You tell me all your sympathies are for me, you go all the way to hurt my Dadi because you claim to feel my pain. But tell me, is it really so hard for you to just keep a distance from me knowing a guy traumatised me in the first place and you're doing nothing but ripping the band-aids off my unhealed wounds?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why can't you just be like your brother?"

"Yahya's engaged."

"Would he act just as revolting as you if he weren't?"

He stops short at that and only now do I feel the coldness in his eyes. Taha Muhammad is not standing gangly or inelegantly anymore, he towers over me with his height and stiffness. "You're right," he says. "Yahya's engagement is of no relevance here—"

"—or perhaps it offends you how I like him better than you."

"You'd be a fool to judge us from what we show ourselves to be."

I raise my finger at him. "How a person makes you feel says a lot about them and the only thing I have felt in Yahya's presence is safe while you unravel me."

"Perhaps you can stop being so fragile."

"Oh yeah? Perhaps all you people should stop using that as an excuse to cover up for your harshness when you realise you have hurt me!"

A searing pain shoots through my head.

"Hana ..."

I fall into my previously occupied seat and hold my head in my hands. God! Why is my head so heavy?

I take a few more moments to hold it, hoping he would go away, hoping this would all be a dream, hoping Waheed was the only problem and not Taha Muhammad too. I do not have in me the strength to save Nashwa from Waheed and now Taha too ... my head!

When I hear a thud, I open my eyes. Taha Muhammad places a sealed water bottle in front of me and takes a chair across from me. He is no longer mischievously grinning at me, his entire façade has changed. His face is passive and I do not even bother trying to read him or match his gaze as he watches me, twilight replaced by hawk eyes. When I struggle with the lid, he snatches the bottle and unlids it for me. I drink until I am halfway done. When I pull away the bottle, he is still looking at me. I am still breathing so very hard.

"What did you take?"

"Huh?"

"You can't be high on drugs; it must be some pills lying about at your home." When I don't answer, he arches his brow. "Will you say something or shall I inform your Mamu?"

"He already knows."

"Does he now?"

I shrug. Why does he care?

"I apologize for my behaviour, it is not intentional. Some technical issues might be involved—" he taps his head. "I'm trying to scan for viruses, you'll have to be patient until then."

I laugh again. "You sure you weren't neglected by your mother because she did a really good job on Yahya."

He inhales sharply, clenching his jaw before breathing out again. "I know I owe you a favour but I'd like one from you anyway."

Laughter bubbles out again. "Let me guess. Had you won that deal, what would you have wanted from me? Taking into consideration all the conversations we've had till now, I'd say you'd want a kiss on the cheek from me. Or perhaps a dinner date. You did read the entire conversation so you must have seen all my pictures she sent to him and the ones he sent back to her. Did they rouse a desire in you, make you feel like a man?"

"Enough."

"You're a Momma's boy, Taha Muhammad. You help her out with rotis, you have lunch with her in the afternoons because you don't want her to be lonely. You care a lot for your sister, you went all the way to Islamabad just to bring her over because she's expecting and you didn't want her to travel alone but what kind of respect do you have for them if you only respect them because they are somehow affiliated to you?"

He blinks at me, jaw clenched.

"That's not respect." I shake my head at him. "That is just an extension of your ego, the moment something like this happens to them, a man tries tarnishing their chastity, tries bruising your pride through them, you will desert them immediately, throw them to the streets, and you will feel pride in doing so, masculine even. But then one day, you'll realise what you have done and it'll be too late. You'll wallow in regret, you'll try making it right but you'll find out they have moved on, flourished without you and that again will kill you and you will take your life. You'll commit suicide and they'll only find your body once it has begun to rot."

"Are you done?"

Heat rises to my cheeks at his coolness. Why won't he lash out at me?

"Are you done?" he repeats and rage simmers in me.

He unlids the bottle again and thrusts it at me. I snatch it from his hands and empty it on the floor by my chair. Sober he called me? And yet my heart trembles at his frosty eyes glittering with ice.

His voice is even cooler when he talks. "I let you trash talk not about my mother and sister, but about myself because you're in pain." The Adam's apple in his throat bobs up and down as he watches my hands resting on the table. "And frankly, I have never wanted to help anyone in their pain before, other than my own family of course. You're a new case so I'm messing up again and again and just making things worse."

"I don't need you to—"

"—I will talk now, Hana Jaan. You've said enough."

I fall back into my seat. Maybe he's right. Maybe I did say a little too much. What is wrong with you, Hana? Why are you collapsing?

"And I'll get straight to my point because if I try saying something charming, I only say something stupid. So here goes. I remember how you introduced your sister to me the very first time in your Mamu's office. You said my litter sister Hanaan. You told us not to judge her despite all that she had done. You were not so vengeful then even though you knew everything she had done. What changed?"

For a brief moment, our eyes meet. I look away past his shoulders as he looks at my hands only. What really did change?

"Hanaan made a mistake. She made an account by your name and pictures, she tried living life through your eyes. Those captions on your pictures, they're self-obsessed and coming from me, it means a lot. Yes, she forwarded your pictures to him, pictures she had no right to forward. She continued the series of messages, she should not have. Her heart fell for his, it should not have so easily. Blame her for that. But that only."

Our gazes meet again and my heart skips a beat at his words.

"Did you notice, Hana? Not once did she mention herself? That not once did she bring herself, Hanaan, the little sister anywhere in the conversation or on the profile as you would have done, to complain about her as a girl might to a lover, or just mention her as part of a mishap that may have occurred but it's like she didn't exist at all. Makes me wonder how much she thinks of herself."

My eyes snap to his and I make sure they burn. "All your sympathies—"

"—are for you indeed," he speaks earnestly. "Which is why you must hear me out. Hana Jaan, I don't think your sister loves herself at all. Which is why she wanted an escape. It's not just that she doesn't love herself, she loves you too much. Nashwa told me how you two weren't on the best of terms these two years which only adds up. She was lonely, didn't know what to do with herself, could be why she fell into Waheed's trap so easily."

Taha Muhammad is not supposed to make sense. Besides, I already know this.

"And in this brief time that I have known you," he continues. "I know you're not a Cinderella step-sister type, you're Hana, you have a warm heart and a beautiful brain." His neck reddens, he steals a glance into my eyes, his own still so cold. "You did your best to help her live but maybe, just maybe, she needs to accept herself first, her condition. My favour comes in here but I won't ask for it anymore."

"Go ahead, why not?"

He smiles, a twinkle back in his eye. "Tehniyat is not much older than you, she was applying for university when Qasim, you know, my cybersecurity friend, finished his studies and was moving to Islamabad for his job. I didn't want to sever my ties with him and I didn't want him to live alone and I don't trust any other man on the planet apart from him and Yahya."

He doesn't have many friends? I'm not surprised.

"So I suggested him as a potential husband for Tehniyat to Abba Jaan and Abba Jaan agreed. Tehniyat wasn't outwardly happy." He laughs nervously. "She was furious at me, is still so but I know she's in love with Qasim now even if she still holds a grudge against me."

He has a love hate relationship with his sister?

"She wanted to pursue journalism but couldn't. Qasim has no family, Tehniyat does all the house work and they struggle for a decent living. I have urged her to write regardless but she doesn't. This once—" he meets my eye. "I thought she might after meeting you and Hanaan. She could question Hanaan about her condition, Tehniyat is good with her words, very cunning too." His eyes are twinkling so bright. "She could help Hanaan figure herself out. I'm not saying you failed, I just mean—"

"—I know."

He exhales. "But back to where I started from ..."

Realisation is a cold breeze against my face. He's the only one around me who has tried to find a possible solution to this whole dilemma including Hanaan's CP and did not just advise me to be kind, to be forgiving, to be easy on Hanaan.

I look at him, his short cropped hair, his rough shave, his eyes that hold so many realms and depths, I cannot decipher them at all. A shiver runs down my spine. No, Hana. This was Waheed's tactic too. He wanted to help me keep up with my weight loss, he told Hanaan to keep sending pictures so he'd keep track of my progress.

You'd be a fool to judge us from what we show ourselves to be.

"... I think you blame your sister for all that has happened ever since. You blame her for your pool incident, you blame her for so many people loving her, you blame her for distorting your family's mirror and not seeing your pain in all this for what it truly is."

How does he do it?

He shakes his head. "She doesn't have control over that, Hana Jaan. Waheed paid that servant to push you. You cannot blame her for other people's way of thinking, their way of feeling. Again, all my sympathies are yours only—" I avert my gaze "— but you need to understand that you're only fragile because you give and then expect to be given as much in return. You don't take."

I roll my eyes at that. Taking, like snatching. That just makes me bad in people's sight and my own. Maybe I just shouldn't expect anything in return. He can stop his lecture now.

"You owe me a favour."

He pauses mid-sentence and falls back. "I do."

"You and Nashwa get along well."

"I said I'm sorry for poking fun—"

"—this is not about me. I'm not jealous of you two, that's the least I could care about."

His eyes flash. "Because you have Zayaan?"

I nod. "I do have Zayaan and my Dadi is bent on unifying us as one because she knows him well and he hails from a good family, high in social status, big in its bank balance and well educated in culture and morals. I come from a similar background, so does Nashwa as being my Mamu's daughter." I look him up and down. "The same cannot be said about you."

Disbelief flashes in his eyes. His laugh vanquishes when he realises I'm serious. "Are you judging me entirely on my birth?!"

Fragile, he called me? Besides, he's privileged himself, why so offended then?

"I am telling you to stay away from Nashwa but as my favour I ask you to look out for her nonetheless."

He laughs dryly and so very coldly. "Love but from a distance? Are you sure you're not trying to set me up with her, Hana Jaan?"

"He's sending her flowers, you idiot," I seethe. "And he's calling her non-stop, he knows she's at Karachi University these days and he will come after her, after all he's a man with a wounded pride."

"Waheed Qayser?" Taha Muhammad shakes his head. "Nashwa did tell me the file he wants doesn't exist. He doesn't have a wounded pride, Hana Jaan, he has a yearning heart, not for Nashwa but for you. Those pictures Hanaan sent of you were after all so damn cute." He holds a hand to his heart, Cheshire cat smile spreading wide on his face, pinching my heart.

"Don't you worry," he says through gritted teeth. "To fulfil your favour I'll look out for your Nashwa but for yourself, you can call that Zayaan or a man of an even superior birth than him."

I don't need a man.

He bends over to pick up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "As for my heart, Hana Jaan, I do not need your permission or any birth certificate for validation. I will endow it to whoever I want, be that forsaken Nashwa or even yourself despite your prince charming. It's my heart." He points to his chest, voice strained. "Not yours."

He takes two steps back. "Thanks for the lunch." He points at the box of brownies. "And I took out cash from your bag to buy you that water bottle. Don't be so alarmed. I never said I'll be the one to hold you in my arms without wanting anything in return."

He spins swiftly on his shoes and strides away but not before throwing me the wildest smile, taking all the last remnants of peace in my heart with him, leaving only chaos behind.

My fingers tremble as I rummage through my bag, he didn't see that paper with his number on it, did he? My heartbeat steadies when I find it inside a book, the tiny digits and طه‎ staring back at me. I hope Ahmad Mamu punches that stupid smile off of Taha Muhammad's face when I tell him he's toying with Nashwa.

And God, I hope I'm there to see it.

part three ends with two more chapters. we have one last part then; part four with six chapters. sounds like too little left but you know what all i can do in a single chapter </3 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.

p.s: Taha Muhammad is his own person. i have absolutely NO control over what he says and does. So it's not just Hana going crazy becuz of him.