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*

Syra

I couldn't help laughing with happiness as I celebrated Qudsiya's wedding.

Wearing a pale pink lehenga with a peplum blouse and silver circular sequins that lined the hems and borders of the dress and with a matching dupatta, I felt like a princess. 

**The blouse seems see-through in the photo, but isn't for story purposes**

But more than the outfit, more than anything, I was happy for other reasons. Reasons that dwelled deep within my heart.

My Dad had spoken to Musa's Dad...and the parents were going to meet!

"Ma Sha Allah!" Aniqua Phupho smiled as she saw me. The eldest amongst the siblings, she was based in Toronto with her family. Her daughter was getting married to a British guy, hence they were here. "Hamari gudiya to bohat khush lag rahi hai. Allah har buri nazar se bachey. Ameen." She placed her hands on my cheeks and kissed my forehead.

*"Our doll seems very happy. May Allah protect you from evil eyes. Ameen."

Aamna Phupho also approached us. "Humse bhi to share karo is khushi ka raaz, meri chanda."

*"Share with us as well the reason for this happiness, my love."

"It's Qudsiya's wedding." I blushed as I replied. "Of course I'm happy."

My father's older sisters exchanged a knowing look.

"Photo?" A photographer randomly approached us. Sometimes it feels like the wedding photographers and videographers are on the lookout for mushy family moments to capture.

My Phuphos wrapped their arms around me, and the three of us smiled at the camera. In the next photo, both of them were kissing my cheeks, the adored niece of doting Phuphos.

I was adored in my Dadiyal because I was the only child of the only son/brother of the family. I was adored in my Naniyal because I was Mum's only child. Would I be adored in my Sasural? The thought randomly popped into my head.

And the thought of my Sasural made me think of Musa. And the thought of Musa Duraid made me blush again.

*

Musa

"So, you're gonna be fine, right?" I asked the little boy in front of me, my last patient of the day.

The little boy nodded, holding onto the little plastic T-Rex in his hand.

"Good boy. And you know that if anything is bothering you, you can talk to me, right?" I gave him a warm smile, to assure him that I was a friend and someone who would help him.

Again he nodded.

"Thank you doctor." His mother said, relieved.

"It's my job." I stood up and walked over to hold open the door for the mother and child, and they walked out. Closing the door, I took off the stethoscope from around my neck and placed it on my table before picking my phone up. I saw a notification on my phone as I took a seat on my chair again.

<Dad: Call your Mum to check up on her. I'll be stuck in surgery, and apparently Faris and Shaila will be out till late.>

I laughed. It was sweet how Dad worried about her. I dialled her number and she answered sleepily. "Assalam Alaikum. So gaye si tussi?"

*"Were you asleep?"

"Walaikum Assalam. Nai, meri jaan. Bas thodi jayi neend aagyi si." She yawned.

*"No, my love. I just got a little sleepy."

"Theek ho tussi?" I asked, softly.

*"Are you okay?"

"Haan, meri jaan. Tu dass. Khush te honvenga, Ma Sha Allah." She sounded like she was smiling.

*"Yes, my love. You tell me. You must be happy, Ma Sha Allah."

"Bas thaudi duawan chahiy diyan ne." I whispered. It was still unreal that I was able to say that to her mother, to ask her to pray for me.

*"I just need your prayers."

"Tee saal, mere bachay. Ik wi din nai ghuzreya jadon main tere liye dua nai mangi." 

*"Thirty years, my son. Not a day passed when I didn't pray for you."

"Laikin Faris laiye zayad, haina?" I teased.

*"But more for Faris, right?"

"Tu samajh nai sakda, Musa. Faris te mere kol sigga. Par jais aulaad laiy maa tarasdi ay, aus aulaad de laiy jitni duaway o mangdi ay, auda gawah sirf Khuda ay."

*"You can't understand, Musa. Faris was with me. But the child who a mother yearns for, the supplications she makes for him/her is only witnessed by Allah Himself." 

I smiled. "Kaash au lauki aina tadpan jaina thonu tadpaya ay."

*"I wish the people who made you suffer should suffer as much."

"Na, mere Musa. Baddua na daiwin. Unhan de amaal unhande te Khuda de darmayan ne." 

*"No, my Musa. Don't wish bad upon them. Their deeds are between them and Allah."

I tapped my finger against my desk thoughtful. Why were some people so good, yet some so cruel?

"Tu kadhe kisi de khilaaf apne dil wich gilla na rakhin. Apna dil saaf rakhin hamesh, Musa."

*"Don't ever hold grudges against anyone in your heart. Always keep your heart clean of such thoughts, Musa."

"Ji, Mum." I nodded even though she couldn't see.

"Aur Khuda de waaste, menu 'Mum' na keh. Mamma keh le, Ammi keh le, laikin 'Mum' na keh." She laughed.

*"And for God's sake, don't call me 'Mum'.  Call me Mamma, call me Ammi, but don't call me 'Mum'."

I chuckled. "Sorry, Mu...Mamma."

*

When I got home, I yawned as I entered my bedroom. Unbuttoning my shirt, I tossed it into the laundry basket in the bathroom, before completely stripping off completely and stepping into the shower. 

I heard my phone ringing inside the room and sighed. A guy can't even shower in peace. 

Wrapping my towel around my waste, I came back outside and headed straight to the bedside table where I had left my phone and wallet. Picking up my phone, I glanced at the notification. 

Missed Call (1): Syra Amir.

What? Why did Syra call me? Frowning, I immediately dialled her number, my heart rate automatically speeding up as the phone rang on the other end. 

"Musa?" Her soft voice was enough to drive me crazy.

I walked over to stand by the window, leaning against the wall as I lifted up the white net curtains lightly. "Syra?" 

"I..."

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I just..." She sounded flustered.

"What's wrong?" 

"I almost broke our promise, and I felt guilty." She breathed out. "I almost agreed to marrying a guy my parents chose for me." 

"I think you should focus on the word 'almost', Syra." I tried to reassure her, even as I felt curious myself. I paused briefly, before  continuing, "You want to elaborate?" 

"Well, I agreed to marry him, but then I confessed everything to my Dad, which Mum overheard too and..." She sighed. "I didn't go through with it, Musa. I didn't break our promise."

"Are you still willing for us to...?" 

"Yes!" She replied too quickly. "Yes, Musa."

I smiled. "It's okay, Syra. Almost breaking a promise isn't the same as actually breaking it. But, of course, if you do change your mind regarding us, you have an escape clause. And that escape clause is that you just have to be honest with me, and then you'll no longer be bound to this promise." 

"I don't...I'm not going to change my mind." 

"I'm glad to hear that." I walked back to my bed and sat down. "How are you, anyway?" 

"I'm good. Alhumdulillah. You?" 

"Great, Alhumdulillah. How did your project go?" 

"My boss loved it. Even the owner of the magazine loved it!" She spoke excitedly, and started telling me all the details. 

I leaned back against the headboard with a smile, listening with full concentration. I was mesmerised by her voice, and her excitement was contagious. 

"Anyway, forget about me." She said.

I resisted the urge to chuckle. If only forgetting you was possible, Syra.

"How was the family reunion?" Her excitement remained on the same level. "One day, we need to sit down together and you need to give me the details!" 

"In Sha Allah." 

For a few seconds, we remained silent, but I was completely at peace and at ease, and I had a feeling that she felt the same.

"Musa?"

"Hmm?"

"I called today because I wanted to stop this burden of guilt." She said. "But these calls can't be regular. My parents are doing a lot for me regarding my wish to marry you, and I don't want to do anything to break that trust. Talking to a non-mehram, even if he's my husband-to-be, is breaking that trust." 

"I respect that." Although this time, I couldn't pay attention to anything but the fact that she'd referred to me as her 'husband-to-be'. "Just give me a heads-up when your family plans on the meeting with my Dad."

"I will. Take care Musa. Allah Hafiz."

"You too, Syra. Allah Hafiz." 

I ended the call, and briefly, I genuinely missed the days back in Khwabpur. Yes, I will still searching for answers, but those moments that I spent with Syra, falling in love with her; those were the best moments of my life. 

I can't wait for the moments when we can be together with halal rights with each other, In Sha Allah.

*

FLASHBACK

Farid

"Dr Duraid?" 

"Speaking." I frowned at the unfamiliar voice.

"I'm calling from White Oak Primary School. It's regarding your son Musa. He fell down and..."

"I'm coming." I didn't even wait for her to finish her sentence before I had jumped up from my seat and fumbled for my car key. 

When I arrived at Musa's school, my six-year-old son was sitting in the Student Centre, a bandage around his knee and on his forehead.

"Musa!" I called out to him.

"Dad!" Sobbing, he stood up and limbed over to me, even as one of the school staff members attempted to help him. My son wrapped his arm around my waist and burying his face against my stomach, continued crying. "It hurts, Dad." 

"How did this happen?" I demanded from the members of staff.

"He was just playing around and he fell, Sir." One of them replied.

I leaned down and kissed the top of my son's head. "It's okay, Musa. Let's get you home, kid."

There were times such as these when I weakened and considered remarrying. After all, this was one of the days that I could have rushed to Musa's school in case of an emergency. What if there were other days when I couldn't?

But there were also the negative points of remarrying, and the most important one was that I had no guarantee that Musa's stepmother would have treated him right. There was no way that I would ever allow even the smallest threat to Musa's happiness and wellbeing.

And beside, I was fiercely loyal to Aisha, even now. There was no way that I was going to betray her.

I bought my sobbing little boy an ice cream, which cheered him up just a little. And when we were home, I got him to clean up and change, before he headed to his room for his afternoon nap. 

At first, Musa couldn't sleep as he felt discomfort due to his injuries, but then I sat by his bedside, and read from his favourite superhero picture books, until his whimpering stopped and he fell asleep.

After brutally losing Aisha, Musa was my whole world, the one reason I was still alive and sane. I loved him obviously, and not just because he was my son, but because he was a part of her. He was Aisha's boy, the same little baby she had refused to let go off the first time she held him back in the room in the haveli in Khwabpur.

*

PRESENT

I stood in the doorway to Musa's room after he had gone to work in the morning, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed over my chest.

I had made a decision to leave my life here and move to Islamabad, where my wife would come and join me. The offer was obviously open to Faris and his wife as well, but I wanted to give them the choice as a young married couple, whether they wanted to stay with me and Aisha or elsewhere. I'd left Musa this option as well, but I was starting to regret it. A part of me wanted to force Musa to come with me.

I knew he was thirty, a grown-up man, Ma Sha Allah, and he was fully capable of taking care of himself.  But he was still my son, the kid I'd solely devoted thirty years of my life to, without regret or a complaint. 

And I knew, without Aisha having to say it, how much she wanted Musa around. She'd spent three decades without her firstborn, and now she craved to spend time with him.

With a job offer in hand as a neurosurgeon at one of Islamabad's best hospitals, and with talks going on with estate agents for a new home, I was basically ready to move back to the homeland. I was awaiting the day when I once again brought Aisha to our home as my wife.

But a part of me knew it would be incomplete without our sons. We never had a chance to be a family, and if our boys refused to move in with us, we will never have the chance either.

*

Syra

"Syra." 

I had been staring blankly at my computer screen when I heard a voice unexpectedly calling me by my actual name instead of 'Sarah'. I turned and saw Jill walking towards me and I winced internally. "Yes, Jill?"

"Rachel and I will be going to the Emerald Rose after work with some other colleagues for some Friday night drinks. Want to join us?" She asked.

First she calls me by my real name and now she's inviting me to a social event? What's gotten into her? But giving her the benefit of the doubt, I gave her a small but genuine smile. "Thank you for inviting me, Jill, but I don't go to pubs and I don't drink alcohol."

"You don't have to drink, Syra."

"You missed the part where I said that I don't go to pubs." I had no idea what this was about. She hated me. Why was she being so nice?

She closed her eyes and I could see that she was clearly trying to remain calm and patient. But suddenly, her usual snarky expressions returned. "Ugh, there's not even a point with you. The whole point of these social gatherings is to socialise with your colleagues and make new connections. Sometimes, it even brings you into the spotlight for the chance for a promotion. But if you don't want that, it's your loss, so be it." She held up both hands in surrender and walked away.

"I don't want success at the cost of my faith." I muttered, returning back to try and focus on my work.

My phone buzzed and I glanced down at it.

<Mum: Dr Duraid is going to visit us tomorrow afternoon, In Sha Allah!>

My heart skipped a beat. It was actually happening!

"Syra!"

Now what? I looked up but my frown disappeared when I saw Rachel walking quickly towards me in her towering Louboutin stiletto heels, a big smile on her face, as she held a magazine in her hand. She set the magazine down onto my desk. At my questioning look at her, she nodded. "Have a look."

I glanced down and my eyes widened. On the cover of this magazine that was published globally, was a photo of the Khwabpur haveli, surrounded by kites. In front of it were the words: Exploring the serene village of KHWABPUR. "Are you kidding?!" 

"The boss loved your project." She smiled. "Your photo will be the cover photo, and your article will be the main feature of next month's issue."

I jumped up. "Oh my God!" This just proved it. Success didn't rely upon me socialising with a bunch of drunk colleagues. Hard work was key, and dedication.

"Congratulation, Syra." She held out her hand.

I shook it. "Thank you, Rachel!" The moment she walked away, I picked up my phone and messaged Jannah, the one who had introduced me to Khwabpur, and without whom, this wouldn't be happening.

<Syra: MY PHOTO MADE NEXT MONTH'S COVER AND MY ARTICLE WILL BE THE MAIN FEATURE!!! 🎉🎉🎉>

I felt like squealing. Alhumdulillah.

Jannah replied immediately.

<Jannah: I'M LITERALLY SCREAMING OUT LOUD! CONGRATULATIONS, GIRL! YOU DESERVE IT! YOU HAVE EARNED IT! MA SHA ALLAH!>

*

"Ouch! Mum!" I groaned.

She yanked the brush through my hair, lightly pulling at the tangles. Setting the brush aside, she then proceeded to apply oil in my hair. "Wash it in the morning tomorrow."

"Mum, my hair is going to smell like tail tomorrow!" I complained.

"Better than it looking like a dry bird's nest." She said. 

"I thought you were a British desi and you didn't believe in this desi remedies."

"British or not, I'm a desi. And that's how my mother raised me." She shrugged. "The way she made me oil my hair in the weeks leading up to my marriage was unbelievable." She continued complaining. "You had such beautiful long hair that you couldn't even manage. It's such a shame."

I grinned. "My photo is on the cover of a global magazine, with my article as the main feature, and our only concern is oiling my hair."

"Your career path and achievements do not change the fact that you have to look after your hair, Syra." 

I wrinkled my nose as the smell of the oil hit my hard. Why do our parents punish us for no reason sometimes?

*

Musa

I had no idea what to wear.

What did one wear while going to the house of the girl you're in love with, for a marriage proposal?

Finally I chose a pair of black formal trousers and a dark blue button-down shirt...basically by daily work outfit. I then headed downstairs to the utilities room to iron my clothes. Impatiently, I glanced at the clock on the wall in the living room as I passed by. One hour and thirty minutes before we had to be at Syra's house. It was approximately a forty minutes drive to Syra's house, which meant that we had fifty minutes to get ready.

After I returned to my room, I went for a shower, applying my best-scented shower gel. And once I stood in front of the mirror in my room, with just a towel around my waist, it took me a few minutes to choose the right cologne. Finally, I put on my trousers and as I started to button up my shirt, my phone buzzed with a notification. I walked over to the dressing table to peek down at it and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a message from my younger brother.

<Faris: Good luck, Musa Bhai! Mamma has been making extra prayer for you all day!>

I smiled and replied.

<Musa: Thanks, mere bhai.>

I then dialled Mamma's number. Not Mum, Mamma. I reminded myself as the phone rang at the other end.

"Hello?" Her soft voice answered the phone a few rings later.

"Assalam Alaikum, Mamma. How are you?" 

"Walaikum Assalam, Musa. Menu besabri se intezar ay ke kad tussi donon wapis aawo ge te menu sab kuch dasso ge."

*"I'm waiting impatiently for you two to return home and fill me in on everything."

"Bas tussi dua kare rawo, Mamma." 

*"Just keep praying for me, Mamma."

"Hamesha, mera bachay. Allah tenu har o khushi dewe jidday wich teri palayi ay. Ameen."

*"Always, my son. May Allah bless you with all the happiness that is also beneficial for you. Ameen."

My heart warmed up, feeling utterly blessed at the maternal duas that I never thought I'd experience.

"Waalid sahab kithe haige tere?" She asked.

*"Where is your dear father?"

"Apne kamre main howainge." I replied. "Gall karawan?"

*"He must be in his room."
"Shall I pass the phone to him?"

"Main karlawangi unha noun. Tu pehle Faris nal gall karle." She said after I heard muffled whispers from the background.

*"I'll call him. You speak to Faris first."

I smiled. 

"Assalam Alaikum, Musa Bhai! Excited?" 

"Walaikum Assalam, Faris. I'm sure you know the feeling very well, brother."

"I do. May Allah do everything and anything that's beneficial for you. Ameen."

"Ameen. Thanks, bhai."

Dad came in the doorway, looking like the suave neurosurgeon that he was, dressed in formal black trousers, a fitting white button down shirt, with a suit jacket draped over his arm. "Shall we go, Musa?" 

I grinned. "Faris, put Mamma on the line. She was enquiring about her husband."

Dad just shook his head at me.

I added the video option and Faris accepted it. We grinned at each other, before I saw Mamma on the camera. I flipped the camera to focus on Dad. "What do you think, Mamma?"

My mother's face turned red, obvious even in the camera. She shyly dropped her gaze. "Musa..."

"Kyun tang kar reya ay ono, khoteya? Dikha menu." Dad walked forward and held out his hand and I placed my phone in it. "Aisha, chodo in do namoonon ko. Suno, baat karni hai tumse..." He strode out of the room, lowering his voice.

*"Why are you teasing her, you donkey? Let me see."
"Aisha, forget these two jokers. Listen, I want to talk to you..."

I chuckled. May Allah protect our family from evil eyes. Ameen. We've been through enough.

*

Syra

"Eastern or western?" I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. I literally stood with a towel wrapped around me, only with my underwear on underneath, unable to decide what to wear. I had taken two finalist outfits out, but neither seemed too tempting anymore. Jannah had messaged me that he'd love me no matter what I wore. But this wasn't just about Musa. I had to wear a decent dress suitable to meeting your father-in-law-to-be for the first time. I'd met him before, but this was the first time I was meeting him for the rishta talks.

I then chose to wear a navy blue tunic dress, along with black leggings. Placing a black lace dupatta over my shoulder, I gaze at my reflection in my mirror. Sniffing my hair, I ensured that it didn't smell like oil, which it didn't, and I pinned it back with a glittering clip. I only applied mascara, eyeliner and a light shade of matte lipstick. 

"Syra, jaani, are you ready?" Mum's voice came from the other side of the door.

I couldn't reply. I suddenly realised how nervous I was.

"I'm coming in, my love." The door opened and my mother stepped in. "Ma Sha Allah, you look so beautiful, my sweet Syra." She walked over and hugged me. She pulled back and studied my face. "You okay?" 

"I'm scared."

"You have travelled through foreign cities alone, and you're scared now?" 

"Visiting foreign cities was not a lifelong commitment." I turned my back to her. "What if I mess this up? What if Musa's father refuses?"

"Oh, my sweet darling child, stop overthinking." She smoothed my hair. "They'll be here soon. Take the time to regain the confidence that you normally have, Syra. Remain relaxed and be yourself. In Sha Allah, it'll all be fine."

I forced as smile, simply to reassure her. 

But on the inside, I was having a nuclear meltdown. The practical side of my mind was trying to take charge, but the nagging thoughts kept pouring over all its efforts, making my heart beat faster with anxiety.

Ya Allah, please let everything go smoothly.

After Mum had gone, I sat down on my bed because my knees felt too weak to keep me upright. That's when I received Jannah's message.

<Jannah: At least he's not a complete stranger. He's Musa, your love. This isn't an arranged marriage. This is a love marriage. You chose each other. ❤️>

I smiled. Jannah was right. Musa and I wanted this. And, as far as I can see, neither of our parents had a good reason to reject this pairing.

Hope. The world revolves it.

*

Musa

I was driving and because my phone was connected via Bluetooth, my notifications appeared on the car's display screen. Including Zeeshan's messages.

<Zeeshan: Be cool.>

Dad chuckled beside me as he clearly saw the message.

<Zeeshan: I already consider her Bhabi, if that counts. Parents are just a formality.>

Zee, wait until it's your turn, In Sha Allah. Watch how I expose your deeds in front of your father.

"Right, because what matters is the approval of friends, right?" Dad asked me.

"Obviously. Those idiots know us better than anyone in the world." I shrugged.

We drove in silence for a while, and I pushed back a stray lock of my hair off my forehead. I was following the guidance of the GPS as I hadn't visited her area before. 

"In one hundred yards, turn left. Your destination will be to your right." The GPS concluded the journey and I pulled in front of the home of Syra Amir. It was a beautiful two-story grey-brown bricked home with a converted loft. The French windows were large, and gave a classy appearance to the picturesque house. The large front door was painted black, flanked by white  pillars with a grey triangular awning that matched the actual roof of the house. A small brick wall bordered the property, with a large hedge creating extra privacy for the residents of the house. The property was closed off with small black iron gates, with a small black mailbox attached. As we pulled up outside, the front door opened and a man came out. With a smile on his face, he came down and opened the gates for us, gesturing for me to bring the car inside.

I pulled the car inside and stopped beside a black Audi. Dad and I got out of the car, and the man approached my father.

"Assalam Alaikum. Dr Duraid? I'm Amir Waleed, Syra's father." 

"Walaikum Assalam. Please call me Farid." Dad shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Waleed."

Mr Waleed smiled. "Please call me Amir." 

"Assalam Alaikum." I greeted him, walking up to them. "I'm Musa."

"Walaikum Assalam." Mr Waleed shook my extended hand. He then gestured his arm out towards the house. "Please come inside. Did you have any trouble finding the house?" 

"No, the GPS was very accurate." I grinned.

Syra's father laughed. "Yep, we're all heavily dependant on technology these days. I still remember the days when my parents used to use the actual paper map while going on long road trips."

"Those were the days." Dad laughed as well. "Not knowing which destination you might actually end up in." 

I followed the two men as they talked. As we walked up the two steps at the threshold, a woman appeared in the doorway, dressed in a cream coloured shalwar kameez suit and a floral dupatta.

"This is my wife, Rumaisa." Mr Waleed introduced us. "Rumaisa, Dr Duraid and his son Musa."

"Assalam Alaikum." Aunty greeted us with a warm smile. 

After we all exchanged greeting, we were led inside the house. I paused by the stairs as I saw something hanging on the banister, a necklace. It was a silver heart-shape studded with silver diamantes. I recognised the necklace immediately, not that it was a surprise since this was its owner's house. I smiled as my gaze went up the wooden stairs. There was no sign of her, but she was here obviously. The proximity was already making my heart pound harder. The anticipation was making me greatly impatient. 

It's been a while, Miss Amir.

*

Syra

I peeked through the lace curtains, pursing my lips together. They were here.

And it seemed that Musa and I were twinning, wearing the same colours. I almost panicked and changed, but then I shook my head. It wasn't as if it was intentional.

I paced my room for a long time, feeling the nerves overwhelm me. It was almost forever later that my mother came up to my room.

"Come on, Syra." She spoke gently.

"C-Can you tell them I'm at work?" I was getting cold feet.

"Syra, sweetheart..." 

I stood up, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready." I'm really not.

I began to recite the Durood Shareef internally. The Durood Shareef is a way of sending blessings upon Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him), and for me personally, I always recite it when I felt nervous or anxious. It soothed me and my soul deeply.

Holding onto my arm, my mother led me down the stairs. As we passed the banister, I frowned. I saw my necklace hung there, but along with the silver heart shape pendant, something else had been looped through the chain- an 'M' keychain. My cheeks turned warm and I was glad that my mother hadn't noticed it as she continued leading me inside.

We entered the room and the three men in there stood up.

"Assalam Alaikum." I spoke quietly. Excuse me, dear throat, what happened to my voice? Any explanations?

"Walaikum Assalam." Farid Uncle patted my head. "How are you, beta?"

"Alhumdulillah. How are you? How's Aisha Aunty?" I blurted out, before my cheeks turned red again.

But Musa's father just gave me a warm smile. "She's well, Alhumdulillah. And she's back with us." 

"I'm glad to hear that." I smiled back at him. I didn't dare look at Musa again, at the risk of completely melting with shyness, but as I passed him to sit beside Dad, I caught the scent of Musa's familiar cologne.

"I'm going to be direct here, Amir sahab." Farid Uncle said once we were seated. "Your daughter had a major hand in reuniting our family, and for that we'll forever be grateful."

Dad ran a hand over my head, proudly.

As the adults started to talk, discussing Khwabpur and other areas of Pakistan that had great potential but were being neglected, I finally looked at Musa. He sat with neutral expressions on his face, listening to Dad and Farid Uncle. But a few moments of my gaze on him and he turned his head, our eyes locking.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk appearing on his face. I rolled my eyes, wrinkling my nose slightly and looked away, but I had a small smile on my face as well. A few moments later, I looked up, and his smirk had morphed into a warm smile instead. I tugged a lock of my hair behind my ear. He cleared his throat. "Aunty, may I go wash my hands?" 

"Of course." Mum nodded, before turning to me. "Syra, why don't you show him where the bathroom is?" She was busy serving tea and snacks.

I nodded and stood up, quietly heading out of the room. I felt him following me and my heart pounded harder. The moment we were outside, I pointed towards the banister where my necklace still hung and asked, "Is that your keychain?" 

"Is that a problem?" He asked, huskily. He stepped towards me, his gaze intense as he looked at me.

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't move my gaze away from his. 

"I'll show y-you where the bathroom is." I moved past him and rushed down the hall.

"Syra?" 

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "Hmm?" 

He walked over to me and stood right behind me, leaning his hand on the wall beside us. "I want to ask you this directly, before our parents start the discussion. Do you want to marry me?" 

"I absolutely do, Musa. Do you want to marry me?" 

"Let's just say, Syra Amir, that in recent types it's not only biological family that I found. I also found the one I'd like to make a part of my family. You, Syra Amir, in case I wasn't obvious enough."

The day, our parents agreed with the marriage alliance.

And something that had started since before we were even born, began to come into action, starting a journey that would eternally bind me to my soulmate.

*

Third Person POV

The front door opened and Aisha stepped out into the cool night air, her gaze blank. She walked down the wooden steps and onto the dew-covered grass. The sounds of crickets broke the silence of the night, and the moon was the only source of light.

She heard the cry of the baby once again. "Musa!" She rushed forward, running around the open-spaced garden. After a fence, there was slope that led down into the main valley. "Musa! Chado ono! O bacha ay! Nai reh paway ga mere baghair!" She screamed out into the silence of the night. "Khuda ton daro! Musa noun waapis lao!"

*"Musa! Leave him! He's a baby! He won't be able to live without me!"
"Fear Allah! Bring Musa back!"

The cries of the baby were heard again. Aisha pressed her hands over her ears, crying. "Na tadpao mainu, Amma. Bano Bi. Tussi donon wi maaway o. Menu mera bacha dedo. Mera bacha." 

*"Don't torture me, Amma. Bano Bi. You two are mothers as well. Give me my baby. My baby..."

The light of the lodge flickered on and Aisha turned. She squinted her eyes as she saw a silhouette of a familiar man. "Farid! Farid..." She sank on her knees and sobbed. "Mera bacho lado. Aap sab ko Allah ka wasta hai. Mera bacha lado, mujhe aur kuch nahin chahiye."

*"Bring my baby. For Allah's sake, all of you. Bring my baby. Bring my baby, I want nothing else."

Faris wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her tightly and kissing the top of her head. This was nothing knew. His mother's trauma often came out in this form. It was better now, but previously it had been so bad that government officials had wanted to place Faris in a children's home for foster care. It was only when the kind ladies at the homeless shelter had defended Aisha, had those officials backed off, otherwise Faris wouldn't even have his mother today. He took his mother inside, where Shaila wrapped her arm around her shoulders and led her back to her room.

Taking a deep breath, Faris headed to his own room and picked up his phone, dialling a number. "Assalam Alaikum. Baba, aap aajayein jaldi se. Mamma ko sambhalain, unhain aapki bohat zaroorat hai."

*"Baba, come quickly. Come and take care of Mamma, she needs you a lot."

*

Aisha's trauma is deeper than it looks. Sometimes people seem cheerful and happy to us but the depth of their pain and trauma is not something that can be immediately seen. For those asking why she didn't reach out for thirty years, she was suffering from depression and from the severe impact of all that she had been through: having her baby snatched from her, being torn apart from her husband, getting lost in a world unknown to her while pregnant, giving birth to her second child in a homeless shelter while her mind struggled. It wasn't as simple as her looking for Farid. Remember that Aisha was generally unfamiliar with the world outside her village and her flat in Islamabad.

While Farid doesn't want to leave Musa behind, he will now be forced to rush to Pakistan for Aisha. What would Musa's decision be?

Thoughts and comments?

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