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Happy Birthday shivika0219! Wishing you a wonderful day! 🎂🥳🎊🎉

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Third Person POV

"I always felt that the age gap was a problem, but..." Khadija took a deep breath, glancing down at her hands. "I guess I looked deeper into things. I started thinking that it could be a potentially large reason that could cause problems in the marriage and then..."

Emaad was listening without judgment. "And then...?"

"And then he would cheat on her." She looked at him again. "I knew the feeling of being cheated on. I know the pain, and when I think that Anabia might face that pain, it's like someone has slashed at my heart with a sharp dagger."

"Do you have a reason to be afraid? I mean, apart from the age gap?" He asked. "Is there something about your son-in-law himself that causes mistrust within you? Again, I'm just asking you, I'm not taking sides."

"Honestly? No. I find no reason not to trust him. And Ma Sha Allah, Anabia seems happy with him." 

"But the fear won't let you be in peace?" 

"It won't."

"Unfortunately, fear is one of the natural consequences of a bad experience." Emaad sat up straight. "I understand that your fear is making you very protective of your daughter. But for a few moments, just set that fear aside, and see how it's impacting Anabia. How is your fear impacting Anabia? Would you be able to honestly answer that question?"

Khadija closed her eyes and saw her daughter's devastated face. The tears in those normally cheerful eyes. The misery surrounding her, almost like a black cloud over her head. Anabia had been in a lot of pain, only because of Khadija's fear. "It broke her."

"When we let ourselves be guided by our fear, we feel like we are choosing the safer option, the easier option. But we must ask ourselves, is it really the better option? Is our fear worth the consequences on those who love us?" 

Khadija sat still, absorbing his words. Is my fear worth breaking Anabia's heart? After everything that Zohaib has done to her, does she really need more pain from my side as well?

*

Anabia

Rehan started his new job as a senior editor and got busier.

I resumed work full-time as well, and because I worked different shifts, we hardly saw each other. Sometimes I left early in the morning, and Rehan was asleep then. Sometimes he returned late at night, when I was already asleep, worn out from shift work.

23:57.

I watched the time with blurry eyes. It was almost midnight, and I was still here. Fortunately for me, so was Saim. The aircraft had gone tech (a.k.a. technical issues) and none of us were going anywhere...including the poor passengers who had boarded almost two hours ago.

"Give me good news." I told my twin as he walked up to me.

"The good news is that the engineer in the morning would be the one dealing with this baby." He gestured towards the aircraft. "And the engineers on this shift, a.k.a. us,  get to go home."

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him. "Show off." 

"Consider this flight cancelled, Anabia. Good luck. They're all yours, those angry, annoyed passengers. Allah Hafiz, sister." Saim casually walked off, smirking.

I hate brothers.

I sighed, wondering how I was going to deal with almost four hundred passengers at midnight. Ya Allah, give me strength.

"Yo." Raj joined me at the gate as I came upstairs. "How are we doing?"

"We're cancelling." I smiled at him, humourlessly,  and watched as his cheerful expressions evaporated. He had clearly been expecting positive news.

"S**t." He muttered, putting his hands on his hips. "Now what?" 

"Now, we call the riot police." I was only half-joking. I had no doubt that we were eventually going to have to call the police anyway. It was not unusual in a situation like this. "But first, we tell the passengers."

"You want to do the honours while I go and hide?" Raj joked.

We both walked on board, expecting the worst. I took the PA announcement receiver from the purser, who looked more than happy to let me make the announcement, and I spoke into it. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to apologise for the inconvenience caused tonight, but unfortunately we do not have any positive news for you this evening. Unfortunately due to technical reasons, the flight will be cancelled for tonight. We will be rebooking you onto a different flight, or replacing the aircraft, whichever is more convenient, and we will be keeping you updated with more information. For tonight, our airline will be providing you with hotels and transport to and from the hotel, as well as complimentary breakfast..."

People had stopped listening. There was absolute chaos. Angry shouts and protests could be heard throughout the cabin, and I looked at Raj. It's going to be a long night...

*

"Where are you, meri jaan?" Rehan asked me sleepily over the phone.

I glanced around at the office. It was almost three am. We had finally sent the passengers off to the hotel, and I was sitting here now doing the reports and paperwork. "I'm still here at work because my brother couldn't fix the aircraft."

"Do you want me to come and pick you up?" 

"No, it's fine. I'll get an Uber." Because I was no longer at Mama's house, I was back to taking the public transport again. "If you don't see me soon, I have probably fallen asleep here."

Raj came into the office then, removing his neon hi-vis jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Bloody idiots. We gave them everything and they still moan..." He glanced at me. "Oh, sorry. You're on the phone."

"Rehan, I'll message you when I'm leaving, okay? Go to sleep. You have an early start tomorrow." I told him.

"Anya..."

"I'll be okay, In Sha Allah." I reassured him. "Love you. Allah Hafiz."

"Allah Hafiz, and I love you too. Take care."

I ended the call and shook my head. "My brain has gone numb with all this information, man."

Raj took a seat at the set beside me and powered on the computer, quickly typing in the password. "I hate working in this industry sometimes. I barely see my kids. It's so bad. Every other f***ing day, there's an aircraft that's acting up."

We both worked besides each other, both complaining about the shifts and the job, yet we both knew that we both loved this job. 

"How do you guys manage with kids?" I asked, curiously.

"Because my wife, Sadhna, is an angel. She's a damn awesome partner, man. So understanding." 

My mind started to wonder. How the hell will Rehan and I manage when we have kids, In Sha Allah?

*

As I exited, I was surprised to see Saim waiting for me. "I thought you left over three hours ago!"

He shrugged. "I have to do my twinly duties. Like Mama used to freak out when you're late, I guess Rehan Bhai would be worried too. I just told him I'll drop you off." 

I smiled. "Aww, Terror Twin has gone soft." 

He looked sheepish. "I actually got home, but then Laila seemed horrified at the idea that I left you alone here, all helpless...in an airport." 

"No need to be sarcastic. She's so sweet!" We took the escalators down towards where the staff bus stop was located.

He studied my face. "How are you now, Ana?" 

I smiled. "I feel much better. Alhumdulillah."

"Good." 

"Seriously, Saim, you'll be going out of your way to drop me off." 

"Don't worry. It's not for free. You owe me one." 

I shook my head. "So much for twinly duties."

*

Rehan was finishing his Fajr prayer when I finally arrived home.

There had been an accident on the motorway, and Saim and I had got stuck there.

"I want to sleep till next week." I muttered after greeting him. I had told Saim to stay over, instead of driving all the way back, but he said Laila was waiting for him. "I smell like kerosene." I wrinkled my nose, putting my work handbag away.

"Anabia, are you sure you're okay with all this shift work?" He asked worriedly, folding up the prayer mat.

"I love this job, Rehan. I can't seem to pull myself away." I yawned. "Although, I have to admit, I just get extra tired now." I took my blazer off, and untucked my blouse from the waistband of my trousers.

He leaned down and we exchanged a quick kiss. "Yep, definitely kerosene."

I grinned. "I need to shower, and then we'll catch up. What time will you be leaving?"

"Seven."

I unbuttoned my blouse, feeling like I was going to doze off while standing up. Grabbing my change of outfit and a towel, I headed into the bathroom. As I started to strip down, I realised how it had become just a little bit harder for me to do up the one button on my trousers now, the one above the zip. It used to go in so smoothly, but now it took some effort. I'm gaining weight.

I wasn't instantly concerned. I've heard this my whole life that you gained weight after marriage, so this was nothing extraordinary.

Who cares? Just shower and go to sleep. My exhausted body ordered me. I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water soothe me.

"Hey, you." I got into bed besides Rehan, a while later, snuggling up against him. "I miss you." 

"I miss you too, Anya." He kissed my forehead. 

"Have breakfast before you go." I muttered, sleepily.

"I'd rather cuddle with you for a bit." He held me tightly in his arms, smiling down at me.

My eyes drifted shut and I fell asleep with my head against his chest.

*

"I'm going to be a Khalla to twins!" Hareem's excited voice rang in my head.

My eyes flew open and I gasped. "What the hell, Hareem?" 

But I found myself alone in my bedroom at our flat. I reached out for my phone to check the time and saw that it was almost two in the afternoon.

Rehan was long gone and I was now alone.

I had been dreaming about pregnancy. My pregnancy, to be specific. 

I got out of bed, shaking my head. But my feet seemed to gain a mind of their own as they led me towards the full-length mirror. I stood sideways and lifted up my shirt to stare at my waist. It was in my genes that I didn't put on weight, no matter how much junk food I ate- and believe me, my diet was not as balance as it should be. I placed my hand over my stomach, but I couldn't tell anything. Nothing seemed different. My gaze went up to my face, and I squeezed my cheeks between my index finger and my thumb, but it all felt the same.

Please Allah, not yet. I have barely got the chance to be closer to Rehan. Finally things are settling down, and I want to get truly comfortable in my married life before any baby comes along.

*

Hareem

**The POV a lot of you have been waiting for. However, bear in mind that it's been a while since I wrote 'Written In The Stars' so do let me know if there are any bits that contradict WITS.**

"Hareem, where are you going now?" Mamma asked. "Pair tiktay nahin ghar pe?"

*"Why are you always going out?"

"I borrowed a book from Ana. I need to return in, Mamma." I sighed. "Isn't it a good thing to return someone's belonging as soon as possible?"

"Are you trying to be smart with me?" She sighed. "Okay, but get back within an hour. The twins made a special request that they want to go watch a cartoon film with you in the cinema." 

Yes, I was associated with more than one pair of twins in my life: apart from Anabia and Saim, I had my elder brother Faiz Bhai's twins, Farhaan and Aizah. "Okay, Mamma."

I drove over to Anabia's mother's house and parked in the driveway, noticing the other unfamiliar car, along with Laila's car. I got out, holding Anabia's book and headed to the front door. Emaad? I knew that Khadija Aunty was having sessions with him, and she wanted the sessions at her home rather than at a clinic. There was a desiness in all of us that still got embarrassed while dealing with mental health, which was a shame. Our mind was also a part of our body; if we didn't have a problem going to a doctor for physical reasons, why were we so hesitant to take care of our mind?

As I walked up to the front door, it opened and Emaad stepped out. I looked at him, properly seeing him for the first time. Last time I had been too distracted talking to Saim, and then Ana on the phone. Now that I looked at him, the first thought that came to my mind was: whoa, he could be the male lead of a Pakistani Jane Austen novel. He had dark rugged looks, and blue eyes that had the depths of an ocean within them.

I stood there subconsciously staring at him, and he seemed to be lost in the same trance as me. Then I blinked, shaking my head. What the actual hell, Hareem? 

"Hareem, right?" He spoke up in an American accent.

"The one and only." I shrugged. "You are the brother of that wannabe bad boy right, Shahzaib?" 

He chuckled. "Yep. That sounds like him. I'm Emaad."

Khadija Aunty appeared in the doorway behind him. "Oh, Hareem!"

"Assalam Alaikum, Aunty. I came to return Ana's book and see if there's any other book that I can borrow." I smiled at my best friend's mother.

"Walaikum Assalam. Sure, my dear." 

My traitorous eyes wandered back to Emaad, my heart acting uncharacteristically by pounding rapidly. "It was nice to meet you." 

"It was nice to meet you too, Hareem." 

I headed inside before I started acting like a teenager, blushing and melting into a puddle. Hareem Jamshed did not blush and melt into a puddle!

When we had to watch Pride and Prejudice in English for GCSE, Ana and I used to melt over Colin Firth's Mr Darcy. We also used to have a thing for Mr Rochester of Jane Eyre. And now, for some odd reason, there was something about Emaad that was giving me the same feeling.

"Shut up, Hareem." I muttered to myself as I entered Anabia's old room. 

Above her desk, on shelves, Anabia had placed photo frames. Photos of her, Saim, Khadija Aunty, and me. There were a lot of photos of me and Ana, and I had the same in my room. But another thing common between me and Ana was the fact that neither of us had even one photo of our fathers. 

Speaking of Ana...

I took my phone out, and opened the writing app that I had installed for my silly ideas, and began to write away:

The dark locks of hair fell over his bronze skin, almost reaching his blue eyes. As his gaze clashed with mine, a sudden eruption of sparks was felt within me...

I frowned at myself. What the hell, Hareem? I shook my head and pocketed my phone again. "This is all your fault, Ana."

*

Anabia

I opened my laptop out and set it on the desk, feeling like I had to write. But I felt a little mischievous, so I pulled my own shirt off and put on one of Rehan's vests, the kind that I had seen him write in whenever he was home.

And I wrote. It was a historical fiction about a girl, Sara, moving to the UK from Pakistan after the Partition. Her father had been a loyal guard of the Viceroy and had been given an opportunity to come to England, where her father would continue to serve as a guard to another aristocrat in the UK. There she meets Sameer, the son of the chef- also having come from Post Partition Pakistan. 

I had studied the British Empire, and specifically Indian Independence during my GCSE year. And I'd also, for my own research, greatly studied about the creation of Pakistan. Since I had already studied from the British side of things, and how the War had greatly weakened the Empire, it was easier for me to write. 

"I need coffee." I muttered a while later, putting my phone on sleep mode and heading to the kitchen. As I waited for the water to boil in the electric kettle, I leaned against the counter, lost in my own thoughts. 

Unconditional love.

Pure love.

I wanted to pour out my feelings into everything that I wrote.

I heard the front door opened, and I straightened up, wide-eyed. Rehan's voice came through from the hallway, and my heart pounded hard as I thought if he had company. I hugged myself, praying that he was on the phone. I was dressed in his vest and a pair of my night-suit shorts. I really wasn't ready for company right now. "Rehan?" I crouched down behind the kitchen isle, hidden from the view of the doorway.

"Anya? Where are you?" He sounded confused.

"Are you alone?" I asked. "Were you on the phone or did you have company?"

"I was on the phone. What are you up to, sweetheart?" 

I stood up, sheepishly. "Well, I am not really dressed for hospitality right now." 

He stood in the doorway, his gaze going up and down my body...well as much as he could see from above the isle between us. "Anabia."

"Assalam Alaikum." I greeted him, cheeks warm. "Don't ask."

"Walaikum Assalam." He leaned against the doorframe, a corner of his mouth lifting up in a smile. "Wow."

"I'm making coffee." I decided to change the topic. "Do you want some or are you thirsty for something else?" My eyes widened at the unintentionally innuendo. 

He laughed. "No, thanks. I'll freshen up, and then I'll tell you exactly what I'm craving." He walked way.

I closed my eyes, embarrassed but smiling.

****

"Were you writing?" 

I was now sitting on the sofa in the living room, sipping my coffee. "Yes." 

Rehan came and sat beside me, his hair damp from the shower, wearing casual black trousers and a white t-shirt. "What are you writing?" He ran a hand through my hair, tangling his fingers with my brown locks. 

"Something s*xy." I teased him.

"So...you're writing about yourself?" He teased right back.

"Nah, the world can't endure that much cuteness and s*xiness together." I giggled.

"When do I get to read it?" He leaned closer, his gaze on me amused and adoring...and directly on my lips.

"Never..." I blushed, shaking my head.

"Come on. Just a paragraph..." His tone was low and pleading. "I'm your biggest fan, after all." 

"I'm embarrassed." I turned away to put my mug on the table because he seemed to be in a very playful mood, and that meant that no breakable objects should be around us.

"You have read my writing, and it's only fair that I should get to read yours..." Gradually, he started to pull me closer. Our lips were inches apart, and I placed a hand on his cheek. For a few seconds, his gaze remained on my lips, before he looked up to meet my eyes.

"You have read my fanfiction."

"I want to read an Anabia original."

"Yours are published novels! Everyone got to read them, not just me..."

"Yours should be published novels. Everyone should get to read them, but first me." He turned his head, and nuzzled his mouth against my palm.

"It's romance. You don't like romance." 

"Well, I guess my opinion has started to change a little on that genre..." He rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard as we felt the intensity of desire between us.

"Okay." I sighed in defeat. "One paragraph."

"One chapter?"

"Don't push your luck, mister." I stood up and began to walk out of the room. "Are you coming or what?" I turned and saw him with his elbow propped up onto the backrest of the sofa, smiling at me. 

"You look too damn hot." He stood up. "Ma Sha Allah."

My cheeks flaming, I headed towards the bedroom, hearing his footsteps behind me.

*

I let him read everything I had written so far. His opinion meant a lot to me, considering that I'd loved his writing before I fell in love with him. And now, as a senior editor, everything he said was going to be worth me taking a note of.

I lay in bed and watched him read, sitting at the desk, a thoughtful frown on his face. As I saw him finish reading, I lay on my stomach, pulling a pillow above my head. Fanfiction is different! What was I thinking? Getting a bestselling author, now a senior editor, to read my romantic crap! You deserve the humiliation, Anabia.

"Get up, Anya."

"No." I muttered.

He gently took the pillow away and tossed it aside, before reaching to lift me up by my waist until I was sitting on my knees, my hair all over my face. Good, at least he won't see my red cheeks.

He sat down, rubbing a hand up and down my back as I faced away from him. "Can I give you my opinion?"

"Go ahead." I whispered.

"Your historical facts were accurate, makes your writing more believable. And the way you have described the feelings of the characters, it's all so well written and beautiful." He began. "However, there are places when you have mixed up between the past and present tenses. And also, sometimes the change of scene isn't very clear. It seems like you've rushed into the next scene, and not given enough description to the readers as to what's happening, and where exactly the characters are." 

I turned to look at him thoughtfully. "You are being too nice. Be honest. It was rubbish and you just can't tell me that honestly?" 

"A writer should not insult the imagination of another, nor look down upon it." He smiled. "Anabia, I could picture myself in that time and place, and that shows damn good writing. And the chemistry between the lead couple..." 

Our gazes met and I felt almost breathless. 

"You've poured your heart and soul into this, and I can clearly tell." He put his hands on my bare thighs, before running them up to rest on my bare waist underneath his waist. "You're very talented, Ma Sha Allah, and I knew that from the moment I read your first fanfiction."

"Rehan..." I breathed out.

"Hmmm?" 

"There's something I feel like I want you to read." I had no idea when, but I had decided to completely open up my heart and soul to him.

"Sure." 

I got up from the bed and headed to the wardrobe. Bending down onto the ground, I grabbed the small luggage trolley and zipped it open. I took out the sparkling pink and purple notebook, once again deciding if I really wanted to do this or not. But then I glanced over my shoulder and saw Rehan now leaning against the headboard of our bed, arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed.

My eyes wandered over his neatly trimmed beard, his soft hair, his strong biceps, and the well-toned torso which was well-emphasised by his t-shirt. I trust that man with my life, my heart, my soul and my thoughts.

I walked back to the bed after putting the trolley away and held out the notebook. "Here."

He opened his eyes, looking up at me, before taking the notebook from me. With the other hand, he grabbed my wrist, and pulled me down onto the bed next to him, practically half over him. "Why don't we read this together?"

I wanted to protest, but it felt so good to be in his arms, that I surrendered.

*

Rehan

Anabia rubbed her photo against mine, and her hand curled into a fist over my stomach. I could feel her anxiety, and I wondered why. I only had to open the notebook to the first page to get my answer.

Mama and Papa are getting a divorce, and because I am feeling so sad, Hareem gave me this notebook to cheer me up. She thinks that writing out my feelings will make things a tiny bit easier.

Some of our classmates were saying that people get divorced because of their kids sometimes. Does Papa not like me and Saim anymore? Is he bored of us? Did Saim and I cause this?

But I heard an old relative say that sons can never cause problems between a couple, because sons are a matter of pride. Does that mean that I caused the problems? 

Am I the reason that Mama and Papa are divorcing?

My jaw clenched as I read the anxious thoughts of a very young Anabia. My arm tightened around her, and I felt my shirt dampening from her tears. 

It took us a long time, but I ended up reading through the entire notebook. How hurt she felt that her father had left, how much her mother had sacrificed for the twins and how Saim and Hareem were always there for her, no matter what. The notebook was filled with her heartbreak and pain. 

"You can understand why I can't bear to do anything to hurt Mama, right?" She looked up at me, her face tear-streaked. "A part of me initially blamed myself for the divorce..."

I knew through the investigation of Sanaya that Zohaib Waleed had cheated on Khadija Aunty. How could Anya possibly blame herself for a man's disloyalty? 

I set the notebook aside and sat up, pulling her onto my lap. She rested her head against my chest, silently sobbing. "Anya, marriages fall apart, but it's usually due to the issues between the couple, or sometimes the involvement of toxic relatives. But it's nothing to do with the kids, especially young, innocent minors."

She looked up at me. "Today, I am like an open book in front of you, Rehan. I've poured out my heart in soul to you, through this diary, through my writing. There are some thoughts in these diary that not even Saim or Hareem know, ones that I have let you read about. How I was so miserable at one point that I wished to Allah to let me die..."

I held onto her tighter, feeling overprotective of this beautiful love of my life. "Thank you for trusting me. I promise, Anya, I will never break you trust. My loyalty to you will remain until the day I die." 

"If we ever have a daughter, don't let her lose faith in the beautiful relationship of a father and daughter, Rehan." She whispered. "It hurts more than I can describe in words."

"If Allah blesses us with a daughter, I promise you that she will think that fathers like Zohaib Waleed are just fictional villains. She'll never see anything but a loving, protective father in my lifetime, Anya, and you have my word for it."

"May Allah bless us with a daughter one day then. Ameen. Because all daughters deserve to have a father like that: loving and protective."

Ameen. I smiled at the idea of a little Anya. Damn, Anya, you really have no idea how much I would pamper our daughter...In Sha Allah. It would be the true meaning of having someone wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger.

*

The next morning, I stood in front of the mirror, running a towel through my hair. Wearing my formal work trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, I was preparing to go to work. I glanced at Anabia in the reflection of the mirror.

She was lying in the centre of the bed now, fast asleep, her hair spread out over her face, still wearing my vest and shorts. I smiled in the direction of her reflection, but my smile wavered when I recalled the words of the innocent child in her old notebook.

Children are the worst victims of a divorce. May Allah always protect those innocent souls from such pain. Ameen.

I walked over to the bed and sat down, lightly brushing her hair away from her face, one strand at a time. I'm sorry for all the pain that you've experienced, Anya. I can't erase all that, but I promise that I will do everything in my power to give you a lifetime of happiness to compensate for all that pain. In Sha Allah.

And I knew just where to start.

****

I pulled my car into the driveway of Anabia's mother's house. Think again, Rehan. This could go really badly.

For Anabia. I got out of the car, running a hand through my hair. Locking my car, I headed towards the house, when another car pulled up in the driveway. Curiously, I watched as a man in his early thirties stepped out and locked his car.

He looked up and looked confused for a second. "Aren't you Rehan Tariq?" 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Emaad Malik Ghafoor." He held out his hand as he walked towards me.

Oh, right. The psychiatrist. I shook his hand. "Yes, I'm Rehan Tariq."

"Khadija Aunty kept mentioning her son-in-law Rehan, but I never ever imagined that it would the bestselling author, Rehan Tariq." He smiled. "Nice to meet you, man. I have read your books, and your writing on human psychology is spot on. Have you studied psychology, by any chance?"

"Thank you, but no, it's nothing like that. It's just research and conversations with people who have connections in psychology." I replied. I glanced towards the house. "So, I'm guessing it's time for Aunty's session?"

"Yes. I was called over earlier today." 

"Okay, well, then I'll have to come back another time. Allah Hafiz." I nodded at him and began to walk back towards my car.

"Don't take it personally, man. Sometimes fear is so powerful that a person loses control of it." He called out after me. "It takes time and some help to free yourself from that fear, and I'm convinced that she will be as well."

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "She's Anabia's mother. I don't take anything she says personally." 

He smiled. "That's a nice attitude. Usually people don't have patience with people suffering from a psychological issue that is beyond their control."

I thought about the fear for Yasin's safety that had kept me and my parents under its powerful grip, especially after that almost-accident outside the cinema hall. I knew fear, I understood it. I was nobody to be judge someone else on their fear. Our fear had caused us to force our thoughts and opinions on Yasin, without considering his feelings. But that didn't mean that we didn't love him, or that we didn't want the best for him. Khadija Aunty had suffered the same, and since the person she was being overprotective of was the love of my life, I could not ever resent my mother-in-law for it.

"I know." I paused. "It was nice to meet you to, Emaad."

*

Anabia

"I'm comparing him to infamous literature hotties." Hareem groaned, putting a hand over her face.

I burst out laughing.

"Shut up." She shoved me lightly.

We were walking through a local park near my home, as Hareem had come to see me. 

"I have seen him." I looked thoughtful. "I suppose I can see where you are coming from..." I grinned. "Am I sensing a developing a love story?" 

"No, sweetie, that's probably just a concussion from the numerous times you've hit your head. Go and see a doctor." She shook her head. 

"Dr Emaad?" I laughed again.

"I will kill you." 

I smiled at her, and I couldn't stop smiling.

"Anabia. Shut up.

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear those thoughts running through your head." 

I doubled over laughing. 

"I should never have opened my mouth in front of you." She muttered, shoving me again. This time, because I was laughing so much, I lost my balance and fell onto the grass on my backside with a shriek. This time Hareem doubled over laughing.

"Oww, you cow." I muttered. 

She flopped down onto the ground beside me, pulling her knees up against her chest. "Okay, he's handsome. But I am not gonna be a lovestruck female lead of a fictional story, swooning and fainting over some guy."

"I'm thinking...my lilac-lavender Valima dress will work for your wedding day, right?" I asked, thoughtfully.

"Haye Allah, yeh to puri tarhan khisak gayi hai." Hareem said, dramatically, glancing up at the sky.

*"Oh Allah, she has completely lost her mind."

"Never say that in front of your... what did you say...bae doctor. He might get offended." I giggled.

"Anabia..." She narrowed her blue-green eyes at me from behind her glasses.

"Ooh! Krispy Kreme!" My gaze fell on the doughnut shop across the street. "I've been craving their chocolate filling doughnut." I stood up and started walking towards the store.

"Craving?"

I stopped walking, as realisation dawned on me. Although I had loosely used that word, the strong urge inside me to buy that particular doughnut could definitely be defined as a craving. But then my memory returned and I smiled. "I just started my period this morning."

"You looked relieved." Hareem approached me. "Not ready yet?"

I shook my head. 

"That's cool. You know I just mess around, and Allah knows, that I look forward to the day when you make me a Khalla, In Sha Allah, but I know and respect that it's your choice."

"I want a baby, Hareem. Last night I kept picturing Rehan holding our baby daughter, and God, it gave me a baby fever." I sighed. "But not right now." 

She slid her arm through mine.

"Right now, I need to focus on your wedding to Emaad Bhai." I giggled.

"Stop shipping us!"

"Too late. I'm already halfway across the Atlantic on the ship!" 

She just pressed a hand against her forehead. "Ya Allah, this girl..."

*

Third Person POV

Zohaib Waleed was lying in bed, suffering from an awful headache, with the curtains pulled across the window.

Suddenly, the door of his bedroom burst open and Sharmeen walked in, looking distressed. "Zohaib!" 

"What now, Sharmeen?" He almost snapped at her.

"Remember the concert near Manchester? The one we refused Mariyam from going to?" She shreiked.

"What about it?"

"Mariyam snuck off there. And she went with that boy!" Sharmeen's panicked voice was high enough to be considered window-shattering, at least in Zohaib's opinion.

He sat up straight. "She what?!"

"That boy does drugs. And those girls she calls friends, they went along as well, but they drink, Zohaib! What kind of influence would they be on our sweet Mariyam?" 

The blood inside Zohaib's blood vessels froze. Immediately his harsh words to Khadija came to his mind: "Keep Anabia under a tight leash otherwise she'll slip out of your hands!" He had said that in a fit of anger, because he had been worried about Anabia going astray. 

"Our daughter has disappointed us...let us down." Sharmeen shook her head. "Fiza kept telling me that she thought that Mariyam was dating him, but I never believed her..."

"Ya Allah!" Zohaib tugged at his thinning hair with both hands, the fear of having his honour shattered making him tremble. I attempted to ruin my one daughter's life. I accused her of being a gold-digger, of being a characterless person. 

And now my other daughter is voluntarily hell bent on destroying her own life.

"We are ruined, Zohaib! We are ruined!" Sharmeen wailed loudly.

*

Will Zohaib finally face the consequences of his mistreatment of Anabia?

Anabia has opened up her heart and soul to Rehan, and their relationship is getting stronger day by day. But will things always remain so bright and peaceful?

Hareem and Emaad? Thoughts?

I show Anabia's day-to-day work life because it's almost what I do, and I wanted you guys to experience it all with me. Plus, it's nice to write about a female lead's career. 

Saim should win brother-of-the-year, right? 

Thoughts and comments?

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