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*

Anabia

FLASHBACK

"Ugh. He's so overrated." Hareem made a face at the magazine page and tossed it aside.

"Half of the girls in our class are swooning over him." I picked up a couple more M&Ms from the bowl in front of me and tossed them into my mouth.

"I don't even know why. When I see him, I think 'Eww'. Who displays so much armpit hair all the time and expect women to drool over it?" Hareem made a disgusted face.

I giggled hard. 

"I prefer a guy with a leather jacket." Hareem said, dreamily.

We were fourteen, and it was before her Faiz Bhai had gotten married, so her whole family lived together. Only Rida Appi was married off. We were sitting on the soft carpeted floor of Hareem's room, leaning on the large floor cushions, eating snacks and gossiping.

"I had a bit of a thing for Faiz Bhai's best friend Hamza Bhai. He always wore leather jackets when he rode his bike..." Hareem sighed. "But I heard he got married..."

"Tragic." 

"Isn't it?" She shrugged. "Well, I have plenty of time anyway. I am currently in line behind one brother and three sisters, with Rida Appi already married off."  She opened the jar of Pringles and offered it to me.

"I don't like Pringles anymore." I looked at her. "Ooh! I forgot to tell you. I saw him at the library again. He smiled at me...again." My cheeks warmed up.

"Why don't you go ahead and ask his name!" Hareem looked frustrated.

"No!" I shook my head. "I don't want to. I just find it weird how he always smiles at me." 

Lately, a boy our age had started helping out at the school library during break times. Each time I went to borrow a book and have it scanned at the desk, I find him there. He always gave me a smile, while I stood there awkwardly, waiting for my book(s).

"He's cute." 

"No, he's not." I muttered. 

"He clearly has a thing for you." 

"I clearly don't have a thing for him. Stop it. Change the topic." I glanced away.

"You started it."

"Well, I am finishing it off now."

"Ah, unrequited love. The poor bechara." She said, dramatically.

"Poor, in this sense, and bechara mean the same thing. No need to say the words together." 

"You'll break his heart. He'd probably write poetry about you." 

I laughed. "We are not in a rom-com."

"I think all brilliant poets suffer heartbreak. They write from the heart, and anything done from the heart is magnificent." She giggled. "Maybe years in the future, GCSE students will be reading his poem in the anthology book that we study for GCSE English. 'The Ana Who Broke the Heart'."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you really think heartbreak is as dramatic in real life?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the real heartbreak for me is if junk food becomes illegal in the UK." She said.

*

PRESENT

I stared at Hareem quietly. She hadn't said much, and was fully focused on her lunch.

I had an early shift and was finishing my work when she had called me to tell me that she was coming to meet me. She seemed to have my work schedule still memorised by heart, it seemed because she had known that I had an early. Currently, we were sitting in Costa, where she was heaving a vegan meatball wrap, while I had a cheese and tomato toastie. But she was hardly eating. "What's wrong, Harry?"

She looked up at me, and I realised her eyes looked swollen. "I told him I loved him, basically."

"Hareem..." I could already feel what his reply was, based on the heart-breaking expression on her face.

"He was as cryptic as I was in my confession. He said that he also knew the feeling of being in love, but he doesn't think that he is good enough for me." She admitted.

"He loves you too?" 

She looked at me and the sudden indifference in her eyes worried me. "I don't care, Ana. I am not putting myself through this." Her lower lip trembled briefly but I could tell that she was fighting to remain calm and composed. I knew that she hated being this vulnerable, and she must be really annoyed at herself for doing something she was hell-bent against: falling in love. "Shouldn't you be eating healthy right now?" She gave me a small smile, trying to change the topic.

"I eat what my baby craves, as long as it's not harmful." I shrugged. 

Sometimes I missed the old days. When we were in Sixth Form, I often used to stay over at the annexe where Hareem and Gul Aunty lived on Friday and Saturday night. Since it was just the two of them after Rumi Appi and Sumaira Appi's marriages, Mama had no issues with me staying over. And she trusted that Gul Aunty would take good care of me, which she always did. We used to have a great time watching films, eating snacks and talking so loudly that Aunty eventually came to tell us off. But I knew that Aunty was happy to see Hareem cheerful and laughing. I knew that because Mama felt the same when she saw me and Harry acting like crazy weirdos together.

Sometimes friendship is one of the best cures to pain, and I will do everything in my power to make her feel better. I hate seeing her like this.

*

Hareem

"I am uploading Hareem's profile on this matrimonial app." Mamma announced to my siblings. 

"Is Hareem okay with it?" Faiz Bhai looked at me.

"I have her consent, Faiz." Mamma told him.

After the drama caused by our father, Faiz Bhai had become extra protective of his sisters, especially me. He tried his best to be a paternal figure in my life, and I adored him for it. 

"Here, Rida. Have a look." Mamma handed a tablet over to my eldest sister, who sat beside me. 

I discreetly looked at the profile over Rida Appi's shoulder.

Hareem Jamshed

Age: 25

Height: 5'5 

Profession: Digital Marketing Assistant 

Likes: Reading, Writing, Travelling.

Lives in: London, United Kingdom

Nationality: British citizen

Religion: Islam

Background: Mother, background from Swat, but born and raised in London; Father (deceased) from Punjab, Pakistan.

Looking for: Male between 28-32, Muslim.

"Are you sure this matrimonial app is a good idea?" Bhai asked, concerned.

"It's all verified, Faiz, with strict background checks. It's mostly managed by the parents of the potential brides and grooms, and the ladies at the mosque highly recommend it, saying that their friends and relatives have found good rishtay on here." 

"The app verification doesn't mean that I'm not going to do my own verification though." Bhai took the tablet from Rida Appi and looked at my profile.

"I wouldn't expect anything else, my love." Mamma smiled knowingly.

Bhai looked at me again. "You sure you're a hundred percent happy with this?" 

Rida Appi looked at me with concern obvious on her face. She had an idea about my internal chaos, and as much as she wanted to speak up, I'd made her promise not to.

"Who is a hundred percent happy with losing their freedom?" I joked weakly.

"In Sha Allah, we will find a perfect match for you soon. I have full faith in my Allah." Mamma was happy. "This app works in a way that it recommends rishtay that seem compatible to the profile of the bride-to-be or groom-to-be."

"I can't wait for Hareem's wedding, In Sha Allah." Rumi Appi grinned. "It will be so exciting! Our Harry finally tying the knot." 

"That man is blessed." I continued by humorous façade, even while my heart was shattering. 

"Koi modesty sikhao is ladki ko." Mamma said, fondly.

*"Somebody teach this girl some modesty."

"Harry's man will be one of a kind." Dania Appi said over video call. "I mean, he would, first and foremost, need an immense amount of patience for her silliness."

"Excuse me?" I made a face. "Just like Ibrahim Bhai? Poor becharay got stuck with Queen Dania." It was a well known fact in the family that Dania Appi (fourth in line of the Jamshed siblings) had been a self-obsessed snob. Over time she had learnt to be a much better, kinder person. 

*Warning: Written In the Stars spoilers in the following paragraph. Skip if you haven't read yet.*

We've all had our fair share of dramas: Bhai had to be the pillar of strength for the rest of us when our father had let us down. Rida Appi had almost faced issues in her marital life due to trouble balancing her time spent between her husband and kids, and her maika. Sumaira Appi's first husband had married her while being engaged to Anaya Yasir (my Bhabi), and had eventually divorced the pr**k and married Shehbaz Bhai, who she was now completely happy with. Alhumdulillah. Dania Appi had learnt the harsh way that we should not value materialistic things in life. Now she resided in Lahore with her husband Ibrahim Sheikh and their son, Issa. Rumaisa Appi had felt the deepest impact of our father's deeds, especially when he had emotionally manipulated her, but she had come back to us, thankfully, and was now happily married to Amir Bhai.

I had to be strong like my siblings. I had to fight this internal battle and come out stronger than ever. I valued my self-respect and I would protect it, as well as myself. 

*

Emaad

"I am going back to the US." I told Hamna.

"You are running away." My sister said, matter-of-factly.

"Running away from what?" I didn't look at her as I sat down on the sofa in my living room.

"The girl." 

"There's no girl." 

"And I am not an incredibly smart, talented girl." She laughed. "Now that we have both stated false statements, let's tell the truth." 

I stared at the blank TV screen, my mind a million miles away.

"Emaad, why are you so self-destructive? Why can't you ever do something for yourself?" 

"I moved here for myself."

"No, you didn't!" She was frustrated. "You moved here because of Dad, to be here for him. Again, you thought of someone else before yourself." 

"Of course I would put my aging father first, Hamna." 

"I know, but my point is that for once, you need to think about yourself as well, Em."

I didn't reply.

"Tell me who she is." Hamna said, gently.

"She deserves better." I admitted, placing my head in my hands.

"I know that forgetting certain things is hard." She said. "But as a psychiatrist, you should be an expert as to how to rebuild that damaged self-esteem." She placed a hand on my upper arm. "Who is she?" 

I closed my eyes and immediately blue-green eyes flashed in my mind. The way she tilted her head, twisting her mouth sideways as she thought about my questions. The way she rolled her eyes when she thought she was being too emotional. "She's a closed chapter."

"You are being a stubborn donkey right now." Hamna snapped, standing up. "Are these feelings mutual?" 

"I am in love." Hareem had said. "I always speak my mind, and this is what my mind is telling me right now. I am in love."

"I know the answer. Do you think you are being fair to her, Emaad?" She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Breaking someone's heart is a terrible thing to do. Just remember that." 

"I am saving her from that!" I protested. "I cannot cause Hareem any unhappiness. She has been through enough." 

"What are you saving her from?" 

I ran both hands through my hair.

"How ironic is it that the man who helps others feel better cannot help himself." She whispered.

I got up and strode out of the room, not wanting to discuss this any further.

*

I lay in bed, unable to sleep. 

"I am not happy. You may understand other people and their feelings, but you will never be able to make your own partner happy, Emaad. I feel suffocated!" For the past two years, those words had been haunting me, eating away slowly but continuously at my self-esteem.

Maria.

She was the reason Mom was afraid that I'd be alone all my life. She was the reason Dad had felt that it was better for me to start a new life afresh in the UK.

"You may be a good psychiatrist, but you'll never be a good partner, Emaad."

Maria and I were going to be married, an arranged marriage decided by both sets of our parents. I was happy, and initially she seemed happy as well. But then she had started to want more.

"I want a resort marriage. All our guests will have their rooms paid for, and we can get married on the beach. I mean, the Nikah can be inside, of course, but the wedding reception can be outside."

"I want to wear a dress designed by that designer who designed the wedding dress for that politician's daughter in Pakistan." 

"I want more. You are not enough."

"I don't want this boring life. I want to fly freely. I want to explore the world. You are stuck in an office, talking to people all day. You cannot give me the life that I want."

"For a girl to be free and happy, she cannot be tied in a marriage with someone like you."

For two years, I have believed that. And I continued to believe that.

But Hareem had suffered a lot of pain. She deserved only happiness, but I didn't believe in myself to give her that. In fact, I should not be getting married, period. No girl deserves to feel the way Maria had claimed that I made her feel. I didn't want Hareem to be unhappy, and to feel suffocated with me. I don't want her to walk out eventually, the way Maria did.

A few days before our Nikah, Maria had left, leaving behind just a text message.

<Maria: I can't do this anymore. We have no future.>

I sat up in bed, feeling restless. Repeatedly, Hareem's heartbroken expressions kept bothering me. I had hurt her, caused her pain. 

"Do you know the feeling of being in love, Emaad?"  Hareem had asked me.

*

"I felt that I had to remain strong. I know that my mother and my siblings worry about me because I am the youngest, and I just don't want to worry them." Hareem softly played with her fingers. "For me, it's easier to just bury my thoughts, my emotions, and act indifferent to everything around me."

"Well, here, you don't have to. Come on, let me in on some of those buried thoughts and feelings." I gently encouraged her.

"I want to scream. I want to just see our father one more time and ask him why he did this to us? Mamma dedicated years of her life to him. He showed no regards for me and my siblings." Her blue-green eyes lowered. Her light brown hair was in a braid, with loose strands flanking her face.

"So you keep a happy façade for the sake of your family?" 

"I don't want them to know how much everything has impacted me." She shrugged. "I cannot trust new people. I don't have faith in new people. I look at others suspiciously, pessimistically, like I expect them to hurt me again. When you have been broken by someone who is never meant to hurt you, how can you trust other people around you?" 

I stared thoughtfully at Hareem. It was obvious that she was not only considering her loved ones' feelings, but she was clearly protecting herself. She was one special girl. Strong, confident, bold...but if you looked deeply enough, she was also sweet and vulnerable. She fascinated me.

And with each meeting, with each session, the fascination just grew. I often found myself paging through my diary to see when we'll be meeting next. I often found myself disappointed as the sessions ran out.

And without even realising it, I found myself falling harder and harder, getting entangled in her voice, in her words. And as she began to grow comfortable around me, starting to open up more, I found myself feeling protective of her, like I wanted to shield her from the emotional storm whirling up inside her.

*

"I know very well the feeling of being in love." I whispered into the darkness. "I am in love with you, Hareem Jamshed." 

But I wasn't emotionally strong enough for her, despite my profession. 

Hareem deserved the entire world. She deserved countless smiles, endless laughter, and pure love that would heal the wounds that had left deep metaphorical scares within her.

And yet at the same time, as I thought about her marrying someone else, I felt the pain stab me in the heart, as sharp as a physical dagger.

*

I was going to tell Mom my decision to move back to the US. I was going to tell her to stop rishta-hunting for me. But then something very strange happened, something that made me reconsider everything.

"Here." Mom set a pile of papers on the dining table in front of me. "After breakfast, had a look at these. I've printed out the profiles that was suggested to you, based on the matrimonial app's algorithm." 

"Mom..."

"Have a look. I have skipped through, and they seem like lovely ladies." Mom sat down opposite me. "Humour me, Emmy." 

I picked up the pile of papers and did as she asked, but I wasn't interested. I'm sure that these ladies are all very nice, but none of them are... "Hareem?!" I asked out loud, stunned.

Mom looked at me, surprised. "You know one of them?" 

I stared at Hareem's profile, skimming through her information. The phrase 'what's meant to be will find its way' started to run through my mind over and over again. Like me, she liked reading and travelling. I pictured travelling different parts of the globe, with her by my side.

"Are you interested?" Mom asked, softly, leaning forward to peek at the profile.

I'm in love. I stared down at Hareem's profile, and realised that I was letting my fear overpower me, something that I always tried to help people with. I was afraid that I wasn't good enough, but my fear was preventing me to move on. All this time I had held myself back because of what Maria had said and done.

I had been advising Khadija Aunty not to let her fear control her, and yet I was doing the same. Fear of not being able to keep her happy was stopping me from giving us a chance. I could potentially be preventing myself from achieving my true happiness.

And I couldn't help thinking what a coincidence it was that Mom had come across Hareem's profile.

Maybe not a coincidence. Maybe this is what's meant to be for me...and Hareem.

*

Yasin

The art department had its own sprawling five-floor building. I feel in love with it before I even stepped inside.

Today, we were being shown around the buildings and areas that would be most relevant to us during our respective courses. As I followed the group, I still couldn't believe that I was at university!

And as we entered a huge room, the size of a school gym, I looked around in wander. Murals and paintings covered the walls. The scent of paints hung heavily in the air. The glass dome ceiling of the hall spread warm light that poured over the easels placed around the room, where various students stood working on potential future masterpieces.

"This is like a haven for art students." The guide told us. "Students can either come here to work on their projects for university, or even come in here to paint or draw or leisure. It's a free, open space for the art students." 

I felt like the university itself was a haven to me. It was everything that I had dreamed of! 

I wandered around, looking at the artwork of other students, beaming. I am a university student too!

And then I spotted a girl working on a painting, a stunning view of city lights reflecting in a body of water. It wasn't like a painting...it was as realistic as a photograph. The girl wore blue jeans, a purple knee-length baggy shirt, tie-dyed trainers in pastel shades and a lilac hijab. Her gaze was focused as she blended in the shades of blue. A tiny nose ring sparkled as she tilted her head to the right.

I stood there for a few seconds, mesmerised by her work...and by her. Art was my passion, and to see her look as passionate about it as I felt... "I like your painting."

She looked up towards me, surprised. She was maybe nineteen, twenty at most. She looked almost startled to see that I was addressing her. "Thank you." She turned back to her painting, without a further word.

"What is your favourite colour?" 

She glanced at me again, but this time she seemed confused by the question. "My what?" 

"Your favourite colour?" I repeated.

"Umm...blue, I suppose." She shrugged, before turning back to her painting. 

"Are you starting as a first year student?" 

She nodded.

"I'm Yasin! I'm starting as a first year student as well!" I said, excitedly. 

"Let's go." The guide called out to me. "We are on a schedule, mate." 

"What's your name?" I asked her, softly. I was just trying to be nice. It would be good to know some friendly faces when I started my first year.

"Saba." She didn't even look at me as she continued painting.

"I'm Yasin." I said, shyly, before I realised with mortification that I'd already told her my name. 

A small smile appeared on her face, before she composed her expressions. "I got it...the first time."

"I'm sorry. I just get overexcited when I see someone else be so passionate about art..." I adjusted my weight from one foot to the other.

"Hey, bro. You gonna come or shall we leave without you?" The guide appeared by my side.

"I'm coming." I glanced towards Saba one last time. "It was lovely to meet you." I waved lightly at her, before following the guide out.

*

When we gathered in the lecture hall at the end of the day, my eyes glanced around. I could see Fardeen sitting in the second row, but there was no seat beside him or near him.

As my eyes roamed over the first-year students, I spotted the lilal-hijab-clad head amidst the crowd. She sat beside other girls, near the back of the hall and was giggling at something. While she had seemed like a serious, reserved person back in the hall, here she was bright and cheerful.

I have two potential friends at university already! I sat down on the sixth row, right at the end, setting my bag down on the seat next to me. I glanced over my shoulder, sneakily, and saw her now softly smiling as she wrote something. Long lashes practically kissed her cheekbones as her gaze lowered while writing. She had prominent dimples. 

Her smile is like sunshine. 

I faced the front again, feeling my cheeks turn warm. Stop being silly, Yasin, and focus on your education...

I was surrounded by people who loved art, yet my mind was forcefully diverted towards that one girl. It was strange, and I was really confused.

*

Hareem

I slid into bed under my duvet, yawning. This was the best time of the day, the best time for 'Me-Time'. I usually read or watched TV during this little time I got for myself.

"Hareem?" Mama's voice was followed by a knock on the door.

"Come in, Mama." 

She entered and came over to sit on my bed, facing me. "Hareem, there's a rishta for you, not even through the app. They are some acquaintances of Faiz, and they approached him. The guy is an English teacher at a Primary School, a cousin of one of Faiz's friends or something." 

"What does Bhai have to say about this?"

"Well, he says that his friend is from a very good family, but of course Faiz will look into this further." She placed a hand over my cheek. "The family would like to visit..." 

"Mama, I know you'll make the best decisions for me, so I leave this in your hands." I said, simply. My heart ached, but I refused to let it weaken me. I needed to let my mind and its practicality take charge now. The heart had done enough damage. 

Mama seemed happy. "I'm glad to hear that. But, as a reminder, there won't be any pressure on you, okay?" 

"I know, Mama." 

"I only want your happiness, whether it is in getting married or...not." She swallowed hard.

I knew very well that she preferred that I got married, but she was still being supportive. "I love you, Mama." I leaned over and hugged her. "I trust that you want nothing but the best for me, and that you, Faiz Bhai and my sisters will do everything to ensure that when it comes to this marriage."

But when Mama left the room, and I once again drowned in the silence of the room, I wondered...

Is it fair to marry another just to forget someone?

"I really should have stuck to my promise of never falling in love. I deserve this for being an idiot." I muttered to myself, furiously.

I turned off the lamp and lay in bed, not wanting to read or watch TV today.

The mind might be powerful.  The mind might control our entire body. But the mind was helpless when the heart decided to fall in love. I knew that now. I had resisted so much, and yet here I was... unable to free myself from the thoughts of the man who didn't think that we were worth fighting for. 

As I closed my voice, a spiteful voice sneered in my head, "You are doing this to hurt Emaad. You want to prove to him that you can be happy without him."

I sat up rapidly, and cried out in frustration. "Get the hell out of my mind!"

But my heart had won, and it refused to let my mind forget that.

*

Guys, this chapter is written in two different days, but both times when I was incredibly sleepy, so ignore the errors.

I am going to go on a Ramadan break, and that's why I am speedily releasing chapters till then.

I'm exhausted after work, but I wanted to publish something for you guys.

Do you think Emaad and Hareem are meant to be?

So...Yasin met someone too! He is stepping out of his protective bubble and is now starting a new, independent chapter of his life. But will he succeed?

Thoughts and comments?

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

😴

I literally can't keep my eyes open now.