Twilight had always been one of my favourite parts of the day; I would climb to my terrace and stare at the horizon, as the red ball of fire disappeared behind the mountains. The houses would light up, one by one, after the sun set and all the children would run inside. The mothers, as my mother, would start prepping for dinner, and the men would start their tiring journey back home.

I could see the last red tendrils of the sun rays seep through the blue sky. It looked so beautiful that I could stand there staring at it. But I knew I couldn't, I was already late; for all I know, my parents had arrived and were waiting anxiously for me.

I thought of baby Imad, and a small smile appeared on my lips. I missed him so dearly; I didn't want anything else but to hug his soft body, or see his cute little dimples when he smiled.

I scampered my way back at the realisation, I could already imagine my mother's tired but furious face, my brother's smug expression, knowing well that I must have been daydreaming all my way back. He was not wrong, but I didn't like proving him right.

"Ayah, I was about to send Asad looking for you. He said you went for almost an hour and a half," I heard my mother exclaim as I entered our little house. My brother had cleaned it well, and I felt guilt rise on my chest for not really helping him. But to be our for an hour and a half? I couldn't believe that I had been away for so long.

However, all these thoughts flew away from my mind at the sight of my old father sitting on the chair, looking frail as ever. I placed the bucket on the ground and rushed to embrace him, I had been so worried.

"She is the only child of mine who actually cares for her old man." My father laughed as I rested my head on his chest and curled up on his lap. It was uncomfortable, but I had missed him so much. He smelled of wet mud and jasmine, a weird combination, but it was comforting, and I knew that I could remain curled up like this forever.

"I should find a woman, and start my family. Apparently, no one thinks great about me in here, except for....baby Imad!" Asad mumbled from behind, and I laughed.

"You should," my mother said hitting his head lightly. "Maybe then you will realise that this is not something to be joked about." She looked up at me and narrowed her eyes –

"Ayah, get away from your father. He may say he is as young as Asad, but he is weak as a twig."

I pouted like a spoilt girl but climbed my way out of his lap to sit cross legged near his leg.

"I challenge you in a wrestling match, right here, right now!" my father joked with Asad who shook his head and smiled while my mother rolled her eyes and mumbled –

"It looks like age is making him lose his head."

I had to stifle my laughter as my father looked at my mother in mock hurt expression; even Asad seemed to struggling to keep his face straight. Deciding that we had joked enough and the fact that I really wanted to know what the doctor had said, I asked my mother while she fed baby Imad milk from his bottle.

She sighed as she wiped Imad's mouth and continued feeding.

"First of all, I need to let you know that your father is very stubborn," she said giving a side glance to my father who ignored her. "The doctor has clearly instructed to give your father bed rest for at least two more weeks. Only then, will he be able to gain back his strength and go to work. However your headstrong old man insists that he is fine, and that he will go back to work in five days. Just five days of rest? Children, please convince him! He forgets his age."

"You are only old and weak if you think you are that. It is work that will help me gain back strength," my father replied.

"I do not why you love this job so much, it is all about polishing silverwares or managing someone else's house!" my mother snapped, evidently stressed.

Asad and I froze as we looked between both our parents, even my mother realised that she had crossed an imaginary line. My father's warm expression vanished as he stared at my mother. My mother glanced at him guiltily and then heaved a sigh, rubbing her temple.

"I don't know what has happened to me, Beizeen. This week has been hard for our family, I did not mean to insult you, I apologise!"

My father did not reply. We knew that he wasn't one to get angry so fast, but he was not the type of man who could handle insults.

"One mustn't be ungrateful, Ayesha," he finally spoke after a while of tense silence, his gaze piercing into my mother's while we stared at our hand, unable to look up.

"It is that job that brings food in the plates of these children, and I plan to do that till my last dying breath. I understand that you are worried about my health, and my heart warms on the thought that such a beautiful woman would still care of this nuisance of a man, but I know my limits. I, also know, that I am still capable. I have got a second chance on life, and I do not plan to waste it sitting confined, unable to do a thing that pleases me."

My mother's face turned red at his subtle compliment or maybe because of the guilt, I didn't know, but I couldn't help but smile a little at their relationship, and I prayed to God that they always will remain the same way.

"I apologise again, dear husband."

My father nodded and finally Asad and I took a breath of relief. It wasn't often that my parents fought besides their usual banter, but when it did happen, it made us very uncomfortable to see them that way. We knew they struggled away from each other, for they had found a good friend and companion in each other, but their ego came in between. However, it did end fast with one of them apologising.

"Now, now. Where are your manners children? Go get your father some tea; he is fatigued due to the journey from Master Maha's house. Ayah, take Imad, my arms are sore carrying him."

Asad and I frowned at each other as we started doing what was asked of us. Asad grabbed the bucket of water and made his way to the kitchen while I grabbed baby Imad who had been a silent spectator to all our drama all this while.

Aren't you a sly one? I thought to Imad as I tickled the baby's stomach with my nose resulting in him laughing.

"Don't make him laugh, Ayah!" my mother called out crossly as I walked to my room. "He will vomit whatever I have fed him."

I rolled my eyes, but I stopped anyway. I wasn't in a mood to clean up his clothes if he did vomit.

Mother is no fun, I told Imad who kicked his leg in response, and I pinched his cheek lightly.

I placed the little bundle of fun on my bed and climbed to sit cross legged beside him. He looked like my mother, he had narrow slanting eyes like hers, but my mother said he would grow up to look more like my father. I didn't know. I knew that there were chances that he would grow up to be as handsome as Asad, rather than plain looking as me.

I still remember the day he was born. My mother had started her labour in the middle of the night, and poor Asad had to run to find her a midwife while our father had to keep her calm. I was torn between helping her and feeling scared; the only thing I was able to do was comb her hair with my hands as she took heavy breaths.

When Asad had finally appeared with a midwife, we both were kicked out of the room. We sat in the entrance like dolls, unable to blink, unable to speak as we heard our mother shriek in agony. It was just half a year back so the memory was as clear as day.

I still remember the first time my mother had told that she had conceived to our father. He had been surprised as this was clearly something that they weren't expecting. However, Asad and I were delighted at the news of a little baby – boy or girl – and like silly kids had started imagining the day Imad would come to us. When he finally did, we simply did not know how to react. We stood and stared at the fragile little red thing wrapped in white clothes, and we couldn't help but wonder if he really was our brother? Up until this moment, it had been us imagining and dreaming about him. At that time, he was so real.

I remember touching him for the first time, his skin so soft, when I carried him, his bones felt like they would break with one squeeze. He was like those beautiful dazzling ornaments we saw in shops when we went to Master Maha's house – precious yet fragile – as if, one small thing would break him up and take him away from us.

I couldn't help but have deep protective feelings come for my baby brother, as if I, a mere girl of sixteen, could protect him from every calamity that life would bring upon him. One glance at my dear brother, and I couldn't help but vow that I would.

Story seems to be moving in a slow pace after the whole important conversation with the Moon? If that is how you guys feel, I should tell you that it was deliberate. A lot is going to happen in Ayah's life but I am trying to be fair to that poor little girl. She has much to lose ;) If you're wondering where Omar is at...welllll he will come! :D What do you guys think about Ayah? Do let me know in the comments below, I love hearing from you guys! :DDD

Have a nice day!