HIJAAB WAALI
Don't love what you can't get

"Engaged?"

At first he couldn't believe his ears, and then, a wave of involuntary shock hit him and for a moment he stood there dry-mouthed, rooted to the spot.

What was she talking about?

"Come on Komal." He murmured breathlessly. "Tell me this is some kind of sick joke."

"This is not some sick joke. It's a healthy reality which makes me sick." She sobbed.

"Are you really engaged?" He still didn't want to believe.

"W, well n…not really." She stammered thickly.

"What do you mean by 'not really?" Aariz shrugged his shoulders, his heart drowning. "I'm sorry, I don't have any idea what are you talking about!"

"I…I can explain." She gathered her nerves and began to say…

"There was no tradition, no celebration. But it's my parents' decision. Just one day my father announced that he's seen some good guy for me, and we'd be suitable for each other, that's all."

"That's all?" He laughed emptily.

"Listen Aariz. It's not appropriate to talk about this, here in front of my house, and when it's already…"

She paused to glance at her wristwatch. "Oh my Gosh, it's almost three a.m."

Without saying a word, he turned. Taking slow, tired steps, he walked to his car.

"Aariz, I'd call you tomorrow. We'll meet." As he ignited the engine, he heard Komal voice.

But he didn't answer.

There was not much to say now, was there?

Next day, the first thing she did was to dial Aariz's number.

"Yes?" The same pure masculine voice came from the other side and her heart started to beat.

"Aariz, it's me." She murmured slowly.

From the other side, she heard a long, tired breath.

"I'm leaving for London tomorrow." She announced in silence.

"Good bye, have a nice trip." He said in a very formal voice, without much expression.

"Aariz…" She sobbed. "Don't do this to me. You know very well that I can't live without you."

"Then what can I do for that?" He asked.

"If my parents have seen some guy for me it doesn't necessarily mean that I'm agreed too." She said firmly. "He's not my ideal, and I don't like him an inch."

"So?"

"So, my feelings are the same, and I 'm still the same Komal for you. But…"

"But?" He repeated.

"Aariz…"

"Hmm?"

"I…I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"What if your parents objected?" She asked fearfully.

"We'd revolt." He said firmly and seriously. "We belong to this new Millennium, and we're bold and courageous enough to take our future in our own hands."

"So…" He whispered romantically. "What therefore God has joined together let no man separate."

"But do you really think God had joined us together?" She shook her head, the mass of nut-brown hair brushing her shoulders.

"He will, as soon as we get married." He smiled soberly.

"Do you believe marriages are arranged on the sky but are celebrated on earth, like they say?" Komal asked, curious to know his opinion.

"Umm. Yes." He said thoughtfully. "I do believe that if God has made your match with someone, you'd get him somehow, no matter how much obstacles come into your way."

"But Komal," His voice suddenly acquired an angry tone. "I have some objection."

"What's that?"

"Why you didn't tell me about your engagement before?" He asked.

"I was not sure of myself." Komal said breathlessly. "I didn't trust my feelings then."

He was silent at her comment. Absently, he pulled a plate of biscuits in front of him, holding the receiver with the other hand.

"What about my engagement?" Komal asked after a short interval.

"What about it?" He asked casually.

"What do I do of it now?" Komal asked in a low voice.

He put the biscuit halfway between his teeth and then 'cracked' it forcefully.

"Break it!"

Her eyes widened to their extremes.

"But how?"

"Bring me in the picture. Present me as a substitute in front of your parents." He swallowed the biscuit and took a fine sip of his tea. "That'll do it."

"You make it all seem so easy." She smiled sadly.

"That's simple." As he spoke, she could feel his voice smiling decently. "When one door closes, a bigger and better one opens!"

There was a short pause, and then he asked.

"Do you think you can convince your parents?"

"Yes," She said immediately. "They trust me, and I trust them. They would never want to do something against my will. They've always respected my happiness and wishes. But…"

"But?"

"I can see, the real problem would probably arise on your side Aariz."

"What do you mean?" He asked sharply.

"I still couldn't see myself being welcomed with open arms, " Komal pronounced. "I'm from a different 'sect'."

"Don't be silly, Komal," He muttered in frustration. "My father is not like that. He accepts people for what they are, and you're intelligent, ambitious and top in your field."

"And what about your mother?" She asked skeptically.

"Mother," He whispered thoughtfully. "She loves me more than anything else in this world. Moreover, she's an open minded and modern lady. She doesn't believe in forcing her opinions on others."

"Well," She said after breathing a short sigh. "Let's see."

"So" Asked Aariz, in a low tone. "Who's this guy?"

"Who?" She asked back.

"The guy your parents have liked for you."

"Well," Komal said with pure disinterest.

"He is my father's assistant. He is his second in command in our company."

"I see," Aariz said absently.

"His brilliant skills and marvelous business tactics have given him more success than he expected. My father's company is now one of the most successful and powerful companies of England."

"What's his name by the way?" Aariz finally asked.

"Sikander…" She breathed. "Sikander Riza."

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'Sikander Riza, the ruler', as her father privately dubbed him, was second-in-command of the company her father had built into one of the largest in U.K. 

Well bred, educated, and well off in his own right, he had joined it from one of their main competitors, and had quickly became Managing Director. He had his eyesight fixed on the stars. Getting to top was his prime ambition, and he was intelligent and hard working enough to be well on the way there.

"I thank the day Sikander joined me," Her father often used to say. "I'd be hard put to it replacing him if he left."

If her father hadn't thrown him at her as a suitable husband from the time she was sixteen, she might have found him tolerable. But knowing he was regarded as a surrogate son had made her react against him.

How and when it had all started? She could still recall that very well. After all, it was her sixteenth birthday.

Now, that was another thing that it had turned out to be a 'bitter-sixteen' for her instead of a 'sweet' one.

"Hello Komal, enjoying yourself?" He had asked in his typical, casual voice. Impeccable in gray dinner jacket and black trousers that emphasized his physique, his pale gray eyes regarded her unblinkingly.

"Very much. And you?" She asked back formally.

He nodded.

"May I have a word with you in private?"

Short of being rude, she couldn't refuse, and, stifling her impatience, she preceded him into her father's study.

What on earth did he want? Impatiently she tapped one small foot as he went to standby the fireplace.

"You're leaving for college on Monday, I believe." He said conversationally.

"Yes."

"Then I'm glad I can speak to you tonight. I'm going abroad for a while, and this is the only chance I'll have of seeing you until your holidays."

So what? She thought irritably. She hardly saw him anyway. 

"A little birthday gift, " He confirmed, holding it out. "I didn't want to put it with others in the hall."

Taking a flat and square black box from his hand, Komal opened it slowly and gasped.

On a bed of black velvet lay an excellent necklace of real, true pearls all arranged evenly. Involuntarily, Komal brought a finger to touch the brightly colored pearls.

She 'loved' it at first sight, although 'hated' the fact that Sikander was giving it. However, she didn't let her feelings reveal through her face.

"Thank you, it's a nice one." She said.

"I'm glad you like it," He answered tonelessly, and as their eyes met, she thought his pale as silver.

Komal was about to turn away from him when his voice gripped her feet.

"I'd like you to accept it as a combined birthday and engagement present," He went on. "To me, it seemed premature to buy a ring until you've given me your answer."

Speechlessly she stared at him.

"I'm asking you to marry me." He added.

He couldn't be serious! But his expression showed he was, and the very idea infuriated her into replying, 

"We hardly know each other. I've never even been out with you!"

"We've known each other two years; I've seen you most times I've dinner here."

"I see…. Karim, our butler sees me every day." She rejoined, referring to her servant, "but I don't expect him to propose to me!"

He swallowed but said nothing.

"I know exactly why you want to marry me, and it's got nothing to do with love, " She said firmly without much expression.

"You're very sure."

"Actions speak louder than words, and yours can hardly be called lover-like!" She railed.

For several seconds Sikander remained silent, the increasing dark complexion of his skin the only a sign of anger. "I don't need to marry to a secure dynasty, Komal. I'm quite capable of securing my own."

"Come off it," She retorted. "This company is ready made for you."

"What makes you certain I don't love you?" He countered, ignoring her comment.

"They way you've behaved to me---as I said, you've never asked me out."

"A mistake, I agree. But only because I thought you too young to----"

"But mature enough to be your wife," She cut in sarcastically.

He took a very long breath and then said,

"But I'm honest…"

"Yes, no doubt about that. You've always been honest in your business, an excellent businessman, and I'm just another piece of business to you! Only there's one thing you've forgotten." 

"Which is?"

"That I can't be bought or taken over! Now if you don't mind, my friends are waiting for me."

Turning on her heel, she stalked out.

She hoped she had not come across too flat. But she had to be honest with him, and with herself. She glanced at Sikander as he came to join the guests once again; his face again spotless and was without any expression, like nothing had happened at all.

One never knew with him. He rarely showed much expression, while she herself was an open book.

Same night, her father had announced in private that he'd want her to marry Sikander. He didn't actually force her decision but it was clear that Sikander was his only choice, and then, it was not very easy for Komal to ignore or reject him specially when she had no one else in her mind.

"I'd want you to consider Sikander as the first man in your list, when the time comes." Her father had said.

"We've nothing in common." She protested.

"Sure you have, he likes this country. Like you, he is not conservative, and he's interested in art---same as you."

"You must be joking Dad! He's never once talked about it."

"When have you given him the chance? Soon as you see him, you rush off as if your tail's on fire."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning is clear. Spend time with him; try to understand each other. That's what a successful marriage needs." His father finally said.

Komal tried picturing being married to him, no highs, no lows, no quarrels, and no passion. 

How boring!

Not that she had ever actually fancied him! They were too disparate: he cold where she was warm, analytical where she was intuitive and reserved where she was impulsive.

Her friend Mawara always used to inquire about Sikander, in the same way like good friends tease their friends about their spouse-to-be, but surprisingly Komal never felt any heart-throbbing emotion for him whenever Mawara talked about him.

"What about your this guy?" Mawara had once asked.

"Sikander? Yes, what about him? "

"How's he?"

"Not bad I guess." Komal began to polish her nails carelessly. "He is always busy in his business and stuff you know."

"Komal, are you happy with this relation?" Mawara's question was sudden and unexpected.

"Which one?"

"Come on. I mean your relation with him."

"Miss. Mawara…" Komal said quickly, forgetting her nails for a while. "For your kind information, we don't have any 'relation' yet. We're not even engaged officially and properly."

"Okay...okay." Mawara raised her hand, stopping her from saying more. "I mean, are you happy with what your father said about him being your future husband?"

"Yeah I'm. Am I not supposed to be? "

"But, do you love him?"

"Listen my friend. The set up to which us eastern girls belong doesn't give us much choice. We have to obey our parents, no matter if their choice suits us or not, and I'm no different. But really I'm happy. I have left every thing on God. I'm sure He will do well with us."

"But that's not the answer of my question." Mawara shook her head in frustration.

"I asked, do you love him" Mawara glared at her.

"I'll try to love him definitely. Like most Pakistani girls do after marriage." She laughed coldly.

"I know." Mawara took a cold breath. "He's is not your ideal. "

" Yeah. But, I don't think it matters a lot. He is too cold to be my ideal. I like friendly, charming men, who could give me full attention and care. But Sikander doesn't have much time for me." Komal said blankly.

"But he can change." Mawara argued.

"Change?" Komal raised her brows in a gesture of disbelief. "Don't you know, a woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't, while a man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does." She laughed, but to Mawara, it clearly looked like an artificial act.

" Why? He looks so nice."

"Did I say he's not?" Komal's tone was colder this time. "He sure is a very nice 'business man'. My father can't trust any wrong person for his business and …well for his daughter."

"Know what Komal?" Mawara gave her a friendly look. "Value this relationship. You're lucky that your parents have seen some nice man for you in this bad era when most girls are still waiting for good proposals."

"I don't care about that." Shaking her hair, Komal had finally said.

After that birthday incident, Sikander talked to Komal only one more time on the topic, and she could guess that it was more of her father's wish that had made him to talk about the same topic again.

It was four months after her birthday that they met on the dinner table, alone in her house.

"Hello Komal," As usual his soft voice was devoid of any expression.

"Hi,"

"I wanted to know your answer."

"You already had one, if I am not forgetting."

He drank the glass of mineral water, without looking at her; his eyes seemed almost robotic.

"You didn't give me a clear cut one." He said as he gulped down the cold water.

"Oh," Her brows rose automatically. "I thought you were wise enough to…"

"It is wise to have clear cut answers in such important matters instead of wasting time in playing tricks and games." He cut in sharply, and for the first time she thought he was finally going to lose his temper.

"I'm not playing any games or tricks Mr. Sikander."

"Why?" As he spoke, she could note the mild amusement glistening from his eyes. "I suppose you're still young enough to play games."

"Yeah, that's why you were proposing me the other day," She laughed with sheer satire.

"I didn't say that we were getting married the very next day." He said, now once again back to his cold, plain style.

"I'm sorry," She replied quickly. She had decided not to waste her time, energy and mind by talking with such man who was well known for his 'business stamina' and 'talking energy'.

"The answer is 'no."

He looked unaffected, like he had already guessed it.

"May I ask why?"

She didn't reply, just brushed her lips with the fragrant tissue paper and got up to leave.

"Do you hate me?" He asked suddenly.

She thought for few moments, and then came to conclusion that she had, Infact, no feelings for him. No love, no hate.

"No." She said and reached near the room window.

"Do you find me repulsive then?"

His question startled her, and almost without realizing it she made a physical inventory of him, accepting again that some women would admit the tall, lean figure, the dark precise features.

"I simply feel 'nothing' about you Mr. Sikander."

"Would you mind telling me the reason?" He asked again.

"That's because your character's like an iceberg most of the time---three quarters hidden!" She told him.

"Icebergs melt, given sufficient warmth."

She pretended not to hear and stared through the window as if she had never seen England before.

"I hope you've got what you wanted to know?" Turning, she asked one last time and then seeing no response from him, she turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

Since then, they never talked about it again. Their conversation had always been very formal and couldn't increase more than typical 'hello and hi'.

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"If your dog is barking at the back door and your wife is yelling at the front door, who do you let in first?" Shaheryaar asked Aariz with a very serious expression on his face.

"My wife ofcourse." Aariz said, shrugging his shoulders. "What about you?"

"The dog." Shaheryaar told him thoughtfully. "At least he'll shut up after you let him in."

His gesture and expression made Aariz laugh. He had just arrived in Shaheryaar's apartment a few minutes ago, with a hope that his old friend could give him some considerable suggestion for his matter regarding Komal. But, from what looked Shaheryaar's mood, it was not so easy.

"You've become so lazy." He slapped him playfully. "Don't you like to do any work?"

"I like work. It fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours." Shaheryaar said with a lazy smile. It was almost twelve p.m. noon, and he was still lying in his bed.

"Try some exercise." Aariz suggested sincerely.

"Well…. I've already thought about that." Shaheryaar said. "But, every time I get the urge to exercise, I lie down till the feeling passes."

"Hard work never hurts anybody." Aariz told him with artificial anger, pushing the heavy pillow away from Shaheryaar's sleepy face.

"But why take the chance?" Shaheryaar replied quickly and pulled the pillow back to his face.

He was really being funny today.

"Come on. Get a life." Aariz called him, shaking his shoulder.

"Why not a 'wife'?" Shaheryaar asked in return, his eyes still closed.

"Why don't you get married, Shaheryaar?" Aariz asked, now really getting into the mood with his friend.

"You can't be serious." Shaheryaar asked in a tone like he didn't believe Aariz could suggest something like that.

"I don't think any girl would be willing to marry a man like me."

"Why not." Aariz raised his brows. "You can give an 'ad' in a newspaper classified, saying 'Wife Wanted." I'm sure you'd receive hundred of letters in response." 

"Yeah...letters from husbands instead…. All saying the same thing, 'you can have mine,"

His statement made Aariz smile again. 

"You can do some business. I can support you, if you're really serious." He gave him a sincere suggestion.

"I don't feel like doing anything for a while." Shaheryaar yawned lazily.

"But atleast you can start thinking about that." Aariz gave him a serious look. "When there's a will, there is a way."

"I don't agree." Shaheryaar replied, closing his eyes sleepily. "Where there's a will, there are five hundred relatives."

Although, Aariz tried, but it was impossible to remain serious at his spontaneous remark.

"Your apartment look so dirty." Aariz said unpleasantly, looking around to see a pile of dirty socks with scattered cloths and dirt everywhere.

"Well…I did clean my house yesterday, sure wish you could have seen it." Shaheryaar said thoughtfully.

"Shall I award you a trophy for that?"

"No." Shaheryaar opened his right eye while keeping his left closed. "I already have many."

"Shaheryaar…" Aariz got nearer, his voice almost turned to a whisper. "There's a secret I want to tell you. It's just between you and me."

"Don't worry." Shaheryaar assured him. "Your secrets are safe with me and all my friends."

Before he could finish his sentence, Aariz threw a heavy sofa cushion toward him, which made him rise from his bed finally.

"Okay…okay man. Give me some minutes." Shaheryaar said, putting his feet into the slippers and then turned toward the washroom.

Feeling bored, Aariz picked the newspaper from the table and began glancing at the headings.

"What brings you here so early in the morning?" Shaheryaar asked as he entered the room after few minutes.

Aariz nearly killed him with eyes on his 'early in the morning'.

"Well…I needed some advice."

"Yeah, you can take my advice, I'm not using it!" He said, rubbing his hair roughly with his towel.

"Do you ever get serious?" Aariz said frustratingly. 

"Only when you're not." Shaheryaar added. "Okay man, I stop now. What's the problem?" His face became so serious that if someone saw him at the moment he couldn't believe that this was the same man who was continuously joking around just few seconds before.

"You already know the problem." Aariz combed his long, slender fingers through his silky, shiny hair. 

"Sectarian differences for marriage."

"Oh," Shaheryaar sighed aloud, pouring hot tea into the cups from thermos.

"Well, my friend." Shaheryaar handed him a steaming cup and then sank into the easy chair in front of him. 

"That certainly is a big problem."

"What's the solution?" Aariz bit his lower lip. "I'm thinking and thinking but seems like my mind has stopped working." He exclaimed helplessly.

"You know you're getting old when you stop to think and forget to start again." Shaheryaar told him with a mild amusement in his eyes and then said,

"Well…. To be frank with you my dearest friend. My sincere and honest advice is… " Shaheryaar left his sentence unfinished to take a fine sip of his tea. "You should drop this idea. In our social set up, you can't break the hard rules."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No…just a plain, simple reality." Shaheryaar said, sipping his tea slowly. "Even if your parents allow that to happen, things are going to become even more complicated after your marriage."

"Meaning?"

"Such disputed marriages produce confused and frustrated kids. They find themselves caught between two different school of thoughts." Shaheryaar said thoughtfully.

"Well, that's not so hard." Aariz said, lost in his deep thoughts. "Children can always choose the right way on their own wish. I'd not want my children to adopt my faith reluctantly. If they think their mother's sect is good for them, that's fine with me." He shrugged his shoulders

"I see." Shaheryaar "Perhaps you need a second opinion on that?"

"What?" Aariz didn't quite understand what he meant.

"Finished with the tea?" Shaheryaar looked at him, asking for confirmation. On Aariz's nod, he motioned him to stand up.

"Follow me, we need to meet someone."

"Who?" Aariz rose. 

"You'd know." Shaheryaar told him and preceded him out of his apartment.

"Stop this nonsense Shaheryaar." Aariz yelled, looking displeased at his action. "I came here only for your suggestion."

"Listen Aariz." Shaheryaar turned toward him in a serious gesture. "You're my friend and before you take the most important decision of your life, it's my duty to inform you about its possible consequences."

"But where are we going?" Aariz asked, as he followed Shaheryaar.

"Just to the neighboring block. That's at the walking distance from here."

After five minutes, Shaheryaar was ringing the doorbell of another apartment.

A few seconds later, the door opened and a man in his late thirties with moustaches and tight face, emerged from inside, his features softening rapidly as he saw Shaheryaar.

"Oh, nice to see you, Shaheryaar." He smiled at Shaheryaar, taking him into his arms.

"Sameer, this is my best friend Aariz Ali."

"That makes him my friend too." He hugged him too, smiling affectionately.

"Make yourself comfortable please." Sameer told them as he led them toward his drawing room.

"You two sit here, I'd be back in few minutes." He said softly and then left.

"What's this all supposed to mean?" Aariz was still confused at Shaheryaar mysterious behavior.

"Sameer is the son of my father's close friend." Shaheryaar said. "A product of an inter-sectarian 'Shiyah-Sunni' marriage." He gave Aariz a meaningful smile.

"Oh!" Only then Aariz understood the purpose behind visiting Sameer.

"It doesn't make any difference for me."

"May be not for you." Shaheryaar whispered as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. "But for others, it does."

Sameer returned with a tray of cold drinks and snacks in his hands.

"So, what brings you here at this time?" Sameer asked gently as he sat opposite to them.

"Sameer…we wanted to talk about something important." Shaheryaar said as he held the glass of soft drink in his hand.

"Welcome. Why not?" Sameer said in a friendly tone. "What can I do for you?"

"As you told me that you're a product of an inter-sectarian marriage." Shaheryaar gazed deeply at Sameer, taking first sip of his drink. "A Shiyah-Sunni marriage, right?"

"Yeah." He gave a short answer.

"What do you think about the future of such marriages?" Shaheryaar asked gently and set the cup down

"Hopeless." Sameer said without any expression on his face. "Miserable."

Aariz frowned and chewed anxiously on his bottom lip.

"Why do you say so?" Aariz asked, keeping his tone quiet.

"Personal experience." Sameer turned toward him, a rigid smile playing on his lips.

"We're total four siblings, two sisters and two brothers. Our Mom is Sunni while father is Shiyah."

"Was it a love marriage?" Shaheryaar asked.

"Ofcourse." Sameer sighed coldly. "Our society still avoids arranging such troubles." 

"My father revolted against his parents and married my mother who was his class fellow in his university." Sameer began to say. 

"There were objections on both sides. My mother's parents cut off completely from her as soon as she got married. Other the hand, my father's relatives did a social boycott of the newly wed couple. Gradually they became isolated. Just after one year when the intoxication of 'love' began to fade away, my parents realized it was a 'big' mistake to become so selfish, without caring about their parents' happiness." Sameer told them in detail.

"It's not just that." He lowered his head, his face showing painful expressions. "Since the beginning of our childhood, we came across with the most weird situations. This social-religious conflict always kept us confused. In Ramzan, my mother used to do "Iftaar" ten minutes before my father did according to her 'sect' and this made us think about how and with whom to open our fast. With our father or with our mother?"

As Sameer spoke, Aariz sat upright, tense and still, and watched his profile intently. Sameer looked like a tensed man. His voice was impatient, irritated, his face matched his tone.

"Oh. That's really sad." Shaheryaar exclaimed, feeling really bad for this guy.

Sameer's voice was even lower now, he looked somewhat defeated and tired.

"We always kept wondering whose method of prayer was right. Either my father's, who used to leave his arms straight or our mother's, who always crossed them while praying?" He laughed sarcastically.

"In Muharram, it was even more tough." Sameer added roughly, gulping his drink. "My mother used to wear red and pink cloths, used to do make-up as usual but my father wore black cloths, as those were the days of mourning for him."

"Frustration increased." He continued in the same rough and harsh tone. "My mother's perspective about Islamic principles and history was totally different from my father's. She used to believe in "Caliphs' after Prophet but my father accepted "Imams" after prophet."

"I often ask this question. What was our fault?" Sameer's voice became a little louder. "We're still confused and frustrated. Both of my sisters are still waiting for appropriate proposals."

"Waiting for proposals?" Aariz couldn't get his point.

"This damn society won't let them get married because they are considered of 'mixed' religious orientation without any certain school of thought." Sameer's voice acquired an emotional tone. "Families come to our house, sometimes they have even liked my sisters for their guys, but as soon as they get to know that our parents don't belong to the same community, they apologize and leave and then never come back."

"So, what do you suggest?" Shaheryaar asked, observing him keenly. "Should one really go for such marriage?"

Sameer gave them a wounded smile combined with a hard look like he couldn't believe if could still ask such a question. He first looked at Shaheryaar and then at Aariz.

"I'm myself a victim of this terrible thing." He said harshly. "How can I suggest something so stupid and dangerous?"

On his meaningful sentence, Aariz averted his eyes away.

"It would be a big blunder. Even if you parents agree… problems would definitely arise, as your children will grow up. Also, when your children will reach their marriage age, things would become even worse, when nobody would be ready to marry his offspring with this 'mixed' and 'impure' generation of yours."

"So, you think one's love should be sacrificed for the sake of his religion and his parents, huh?" Aariz suddenly asked in a rough voice. His tone was so strange that Shaheryaar turned toward him to see if something was wrong with him.

Sameer looked at Aariz for a few good seconds, smiled and said,

"Brother. As far as I know…love itself is a name of 'sacrifice. We've this famous saying of Holy Prophet that 'if you make your parents angry, you make your Allah angry'. It's just a matter of love. There're standards and grades of love. We love our parents, we love our friends, we love our spouse, and we love our boyfriends and girls friends. Now the point to be decided is that which love is the greatest and should be preferred over the other? Is your love for your parents greater than your love for your beloved or not? Do you love your parents the most? Parents…. who gave birth to you, who are the reason for you being in this world, who raised you, brought you up, facing difficulties and hardships for your comforts, feeling pain for your pleasure…. Or do you have more love for your girl friend or boy friend, who is beautiful, smart and sexy, and you two have met just a few moments ago?"

Shaheryaar gave a sideway glance to Aariz, who sat there silent, looking visibly tensed.

"If time ever comes," Sameer was not finished yet. "You should always be prepared to give sacrifice of your lesser love for a greater one. That's the whole philosophy of love, in my personal opinion."

"I…I suppose we should better leave now." Aariz stammered weakly. It was too much for him.

"Well, thank you very much, Sameer." Shaheryaar said, finally rising from the sofa.

"You're welcome dear." He shook hands with them.

"That was a good try from you." Aariz gave Shaheryaar a harsh look as they came once again in the fresh air.

"Listen friend…" Shaheyraar turned slowly to glare at his face. "As a friend, it's my duty to inform you about the possible consequences of the step you're about to take."

"I just wanted your advice and that's all."

"In that case." Shaheryaar said plainly. "I'd advise, stop yourself."

"Impossible" Aariz's voice was firm, his attitude unshaken. "We've gone too far. We can't stop now."

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"Now was the time," Aariz thought, letting out a long breath, as he made his way toward his mother's study.

He had decided to inform his mother about their decision. He was sure his father was not going to object if his mother agreed. He loved his mother dearly, and he could never bear too upset her by telling her everything only in the end. Ofcourse, he wanted to make everyone happy and satisfied by his decision.

He stopped at the door of Mrs. Ali's room and knocked. As he heard her call, he inched the door open, peeped in and smiled before finally letting him self-go in.

Smiling, Mrs. Ali kept slid her eyes away from the big book she was reading for the last one hour as her only son sat beside her on the sofa. 

"Mother…do you remember what were you talking about, last week?" He grinned, and took her hand in his own.

"About your marriage?" She smiled back at him, and took off her glasses.

"Did I ever tell you mother what a good memory you have?" He laughed softly, still keeping her hand in his.

"No." She laughed softly. "You just told me."

"So?" She gazed lovingly at her son. She was proud of him. He had never betrayed her trust on him. She still remembered the moment when, after Aariz's birth, her doctor had announced that due to certain complications, she wouldn't be able to have more children now. It was the day she had decided that she'd do her best to give all the love and comforts to this precious gift, which God had given her in the form of 'Aariz Ali'.

"Well…" He smiled again, a bit shy, a little hesitant to open his mouth.

"Did you like someone?" She raised her brows, fluffing the soft black hair away from his forehead with her left hand, her right hand still in his hand.

In answer, he lowered his head and nodded.

A long breath escaped out of her lips.

"I hope Aariz you have liked someone very nice and you won't disappoint me in the most important matter of your life."

"Trust me Mother, I won't." He gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently with his own.

"What's her name?" A meaningful smile was now playing on her lips.

"Komal," He breathed. "She's from London, a Pakistani."

"I see." She pressed his hand warmly. "How and when did you two meet?"

"Just a week ago, mother." He smiled for the third time, and from his expression, Mrs. Ali could clearly see that he was very much happy and content.

"What about her family?" She said, lost in her deep thoughts.

"Well, they are from London. Her father owns a big business company in England. She is the only child of her parents."

"Is she from our own sect?" She asked suddenly.

He frowned. "What difference does it make?"

Her hand slipped out of his.

"A lot of difference!" Said Mrs. Ali. As she spoke now, Aariz noted a definite change in her tone.

Anger began to surface inside her, slowly but very surely.

"Why?" Demanded Aariz through his teeth, and his mother coldly answered him, drawing herself up in her chair.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Aariz, but if you really must know, I am not going to let you marry that girl. Now, we should better not waste our time and energy by talking about this useless topic. Should we?" She said with an irony in her voice.

He let out a long cold sigh, and then got to his feet, turning his back toward his mother.

"But we have decided our future." He said plainly. "We won't compromise our love at any cost."

"Mind you," She told him thickly. "We humans have no power to decide about our fate. It's our Allah who does that!"

"Yes, but Allah has given us full authority to spend our life in the way we want." He answered patiently. "And using that right and authority, I'd make Komal my wife as soon as possible."

"How dare you?" His mother was trembling with shock, hurt and rage. "Want to drown the name of our family?"

He turned back to look at her, his eyes glittering angrily. She stared back at him, her own eyes blazing defiance.

"I can't even think of that." He explained, not quite understanding what she really meant by that.

"Yes, that's what you're doing." She murmured thickly. "By bringing some other girl from a totally different community to our family!"

"Mother, they are Muslims." He protested.

"Yes," She replied loudly. "But have you ever noted the differences which exist between 'Muslims' now? They are far greater than those exist in between Muslims and Non-Muslims."

"It doesn't matter for me any way." He told her with ice in his voice.

"But for me, it does matter a lot." Mrs. Ali said, quite unaffected by his coldness.

"Nobody in our whole family history has ever married a girl from different sect. I'd not let that happen at any price." She announced her decision and stood up, throwing a final look at him.

"I'd revolt." He shouted. "I don't give a shit to these stupid family values."

"Shut your mouth." She yelled back.

Aariz was stunned as he saw his mother reacted so intensely.

He had never expected that his own dear mother would react this way?

Her words hit him like blows and felt like slaps.

"We love each other very much." He clenched his teeth, trying his best to keep his voice as low as possible.

"I don't care!" She ignored that, carrying on in flat, cool voice.

"I don't care about whether you care or not, mother!" He looked explosive.

"AARIZ!" This time his mother's voice was louder than ever. "Are you in your senses?" She glared at him with angry eyes. 

"I'm not one of your female friends or colleagues. I'm your MOTHER!"

"I'm going to marry her." He announced his decision without mercy.

His mother's teeth met and dark red anger surged up her face.

"Over my dead body!"

"Do that!" He had yelled back, resenting the blackmail, and she had walked out without looking back, leaving Aariz in raging temper.


It was about ten o' clock the next morning when the phone rang and disturbed Mrs. Ali.

"Can I talk to Aariz, please?"

"May I know who are you?" Mrs. Ali asked back.

"I...I'm Komal, his friend."

"Friend?" She repeated her voice rigid and her tone cold.

"What do you mean?" Komal was confused.

"What I really mean is something you know very well." Mrs. Ali said rigidly.

"Listen Aunt…

"You listen…" Mrs. Ali cut in sharply. "Find some guy for yourself from your own community. Our sect is different, and that is a 'big' difference."

From the other side, she just heard few breaths.

"But we've decided to get married…" There was a definite trembling in her voice when she spoke.

"Who're you to decide anything about my son?" Mrs. Ali added in a rough voice. "This is not your London. I have not brought up my son like the way you 'westerners' do. We do care about our values and community a lot."

Her words came like a chain of bombs linked with each other. 

There was a deep silence on the other side.

"Keep your hands off him. I know very well the girls of your type." Mrs. Ali's voice grew colder.

"Stop following my innocent, sorry, 'stupid' son. Keep yourself out of his way. OK?

But the line had been disconnected on the other side.

Mrs. Ali sat upright in her stiff Victorian armchair, staring straight ahead, her mouth set.

"This time I am not going to let him talk his way out of it!" She murmured to herself.

Disgraceful behavior, fighting with his own mother for some other girl---what did he think he was doing? 

Spare the rod and spoil the child, her father always said, and he was right.

I should have been stricter with Aariz when he was a child. I've let him twist me round his little finger, that's the trouble. He has always got away with far too much, and look what it had led too! Getting the family into other sects, different communities, leaving his own. All my community, friends and relatives will be hearing about it.

"What would they think?" She clenched her teeth and closed her fists with force. An angry flush crept up her face.

She took a long breath and then left her chair. 

She had to take care of this problem sooner, before it could get out of control.

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He lay on top of his bed and stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling. Not even the rhythmic lapping of the waves could soothe his shattering senses. It seemed impossible that only a short while ago he had been filled with such a delicious feeling of excitement, of happiness, of a sense of satisfaction. Now all he felt was a deep-rooted gloom.

He couldn't even imagine that his own 'modern' broad-minded mother would turn out to be so typical and conservative on the question of his 'marriage'. He simply couldn't believe it. His mother was behaving like a narrow minded, religious fanatic instead of the highly educated professional that she was.

His mother had cursed him so much today that he couldn't believe it. Breathing fire and thunder, and making threats he didn't take seriously but which had left him edgy and irritable.

She had become even angrier and shouted that he couldn't marry Komal as long as she's alive.

He knew any further protest would seem foolish and cowardly and he didn't want her thinking he was either. His mother had made him believe that he was practically one of his family, and her only child but it was becoming increasingly obvious that she was truly selfish when it comes to her traditions and favor.

Yes, he thought painfully.

For his mother, her customs, heritage and traditions were more important than her son, her own blood and flesh.

His mind whirled endlessly with questions he couldn't possibly answer.

Komal shut herself in her bedroom and telephoned his cellular phone. It was Aariz, this time.

Her heart pounding so painfully when he came on the line, so much that for a second she couldn't speak.

"We should forget each other, Aariz." Komal said with no preamble as soon as she heard his voice. "I know it's not normal to just walk out from one's life but I can't give you any time at all. We have to part from this moment."

The words burst out like a despairing cry and there was silence for a minute before he said quietly.

"I know…you don't have to tell me the story." Aariz said, feeling very much guilty for his mother's reaction.

She remained silent.

"I never ever expected it even in my wildest nightmares that my mother would turn out to be this prude when it comes to her only son's happiness." Aariz almost cried with pain. "She has totally disappointed me."

"So…what do we do now?" She breathed a cold sigh. "Shall we say goodbye to each other now?"

"No way." His pulse raced. "I've been an obedient son so far but that doesn't make me a coward man."

He then took a little pause, as if gathering his breaths.

"I have made the plan."

"What plan?"

"I'd try to pressurize her through my father." He told her determinedly. 

"What if it didn't work either?" She asked in a low tone.

"Then…" He said firmly. "Then, we'll do a court marriage."

For a moment, Komal was shocked to her very core. 

"You mean you'd leave your parents?"

"For you…" He breathed. "Yes, I can even go that far."

Although, this was not the moment, but his words showered her in a rain of weird satisfaction and possessiveness.

"Now it's your turn." Aariz said in a deep tone. "Try to tell your parents about our decision."

"What if they don't agree?" Komal asked, her voice filled with worried tone.

"Then…" Aariz took a long, shuddering breath. "Then, it would be your choice, whether you want to live with your parents or with me?"

"Don't say that." She cried out emotionally. "You know very well that I can't even imagine spending my life without you. I love you Aariz."

"So do I." Aariz murmured, his voice thick and heavy with affection and feelings. "Okay. We'd wait and see for a week. Let's see if our parents respect our choice and wish."

"What if they don't?" Komal inquired, her voice trembling because of some unknown fear.

"In that case…." Aariz made his mind before he said. "I'd wait for you here. Get back to Karachi after a week and we'd do a court marriage."

Court marriage. Komal gasped and shuddered at the thought.

"Okay," She said. "I'd call you after I talk to my parents about it."

She put the phone down straight away, only just hearing his startled exclamation as he rasped out her name, and then she pushed him out of her mind, not out of her 'heart' though.

On this part of the world, Aariz had reached at a certain decision after a sleepless night. They had to get married at any price. He couldn't leave her, couldn't afford to lose her at any cost.

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Waiting at the cabin door was the Senior Attendant, a black-haired woman of about thirty-eight. As each passenger went by, she gave him or her the ritual farewell. 

"I hope you had an enjoyable flight. Thank you for flying with us and hope to see you again real soon."

"Well…I hope to see you again soon too," Komal gave her an equally refreshing smile. "In a flight to Karachi."

She picked up her handbag and followed her mother toward the terminal lounge.

Well…

She was back to London.

Spring was late that year. The weather had been wet and chilly for weeks; people made their hurried, frowning way to work in London's crowded streets hunched under umbrellas in the drizzling rain, or gloomily contemplated the weather from indoors, wishing they did not have to go out.

Most people were still wearing winter cloths. That morning, Komal was wearing a full-skirted apricot wool dress, which gave a little warmth to her enticing hair and brown eyes, and gave a glow to her fair skin.

When she joined her father at the breakfast table, he eyed her with fond pride. "You look very pretty---new dress? It suits you."

Komal smiled at him.

She wanted to tell him now. But she loved her father too much to tell him frankly how she felt. He wouldn't understand; he would be baffled and hurt.

"Going somewhere special?" He asked her as she poured herself coffee, and she wished he wouldn't have given her that hopeful look. Ever since she'd left school he had been waiting for her to get married, and questioning her eagerly about Sikander.

He asked again, and she told him,

"I'm having lunch with Mawara."

"Mawara," He made a bad mouth. She knew her father didn't like Mawara due to her 'free, out-going and out-spoken' nature.

"Where are you eating?" Asked Arif Khan, sipping his morning tea delicately.

"West Brooks," Said Komal. She was spreading marmalade on her whole meal toast.

Her father gave a yelp, his eyes riveted on the newspaper. 

"You know I never give up when I really want something." He said complacently, proud of his own obstinacy. 

He had a look in his eyes that she recognized, a dreamy yet determined look. 

"Sikander is special, Komal. You're too young, you wouldn't know what he really is."

"Yes, I know very well what he really is." She almost said to herself. Sikander was just the type she hated.

"Handsome fellow, isn't he?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so. If you like the type."

"You don't?" Her father watched her narrowly. "Other women seem to like Sikander."

"I'm not 'other' woman, Daddy." She said coldly.

She supposed her only wanted the best for her--- trouble was, his 'best' was Sikander Riza, a man she disliked intensely despite his apparent virtues being rammed down her throat--- or probably because of it!

That night, trying desperately to block his images from her mind, she lay perfectly still and waited for sleep to overtake her body. As she waited, another, more persistent thought emerged. Sleep just wouldn't come. 

This was the feeling that had been missing from her life for so long, and now this feeling was becoming unbearable for her rapidly.

She needed to relieve her heart before it was too late.

"I need talk to Mommy and Daddy about this as soon as possible." She finally decided and then closed her eyes for a peaceful sleep.


Mawara, dressed in a business suit with a silk blouse underneath, was waiting at their table when Komal arrived at Penthouse Restaurant on the top floor of west books. 

"You're always late!" She complained as Komal dropped into the seat opposite her.

"But your dress worth it." Mawara smiled at her friend. "Must be very expensive?"

"Not really." Komal shook her hair care-freely by a gentle push of her left hand. "I'm not that prodigal."

"Do you think women are more extravagant than men?" Mawara asked thoughtfully.

"Umm, I suppose yes." Komal said. "A Man will pay two dollars for a one dollar item he needs but a woman will pay one dollar for a two dollar item that she doesn't need."

Mawara laughed, nodding her head in agreement.

"What about you?" Komal looked at her from head to toe. "Back to trousers?"

"No… I still prefer hipsters." Mawara told her. 

"Good for you." Komal said, picking up the menu as the waitress approached. 

"Have you ordered?" Komal looked at her friend's face. "Good then, then I'll just have melon and the bean and Pasta salad."

"Pasta?" Mawara made a bad mouth. "So fattening, don't do it!"

Komal laughed. "Pasta OK if there's no rich sauce with it. Shall we have soft drinks too?"

"Well, mineral water for me." Mawara said plainly.

When the waitress had gone, she said, "I'm sorry I was late, Mawara---I got stuck in traffic. London is hell these days."

"So is life," Mawara said mournfully.

Komal gave her an amused look. "Is it? What's happened now? Again broke up with someone?"

Mawara's life was full of dramas; it kept Komal constantly entertained.

"You're so cynical," Mawara accused. "You always think the worst." She said huskily, like she was almost about to cry.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Komal asked again, looking into her eyes, trying to find the answer there. "Boss being a jerk?"

"Someone betrayed me." Mawara said with tears in her eyes, then laughed when she saw a look of terror in Komal's eyes.

 "Oh stop it, you! I'm not pregnant!"

Komal laughed weakly, that was exactly what she had immediately feared.

"What happened then?" Komal questioned.

"You know what men are like. Two dates and they think they can put you to bed." Mawara cursed under her tongue.

"Would you mind telling me what exactly happened to you?"

"Well," Mawara sighed aloud, then told her story. "I met this Paki guy online who seemed so stupid. He started to tell all those funny dialogues and stuff even on our first chat. Believe me Komal…he looked so simple…so plain…"

"And you took full advantage of that, right?" Komal asked with a look of anger in her eyes.

"Haha, ofcourse, what else could I do?" Mawara winked naughtily. "But in the end he did the reverse." She made a crying face. "But man…Whoa, this guy is one hell of a kisser."

"So, did he flatter you or something?"

"You can say." Mawara said. "He asked me, 'have you ever seen Brittany Spears?' "

"I said, 'Ofcourse, many times."

"Your figure is just like her.' he told me." Mawara copied him. "But I'd forget this one too. I can't stuck myself up to one guy only." She added.

Komal flushed angrily. "You're out of your mind."

Then bit her lower lip as the waitress brought their first course.

She said, forking a piece of melon, looking down.

"Who?" Asked Komal blankly.

"Stop living like this Mawara." Komal said flatly.

"What do you mean?" Protested Mawara.

"Don't you think a mature man is better than some girl-crazy kid with pimples in the backseat of a car?" Komal asked gently, feeling real sympathy for her childhood friend.

"Whatever." Mawara said stiffly. "I've no intention of falling in love until I'm sure the guy is in love with me, and means it."

The waitress whisked their plates away and was back a moment later with their main courses.

"However, a few making-out sessions in the back seats of cars do make you mature." Mawara smiled devilishly, pressing her left eye teasingly.

"I hate you when you talk like this." Komal said angrily.

Mawara's eyes widened as a waitress arrived with club sandwiches, set the plates down and left.

"There is this new club in North London. I'm planning to visit it tonight. Want to go?" Mawara grinned and lifted the steaming brew to her lips.

"You know very well that I've never been to night clubs." Komal replied in a serious tone.

"Look Komal, you're going to learn to be less up tight. You've been to places I can only dream about, and met people I never will, and that's great; but you're back in the good old England now, and you need to try to fit in more than you have. Try letting some of those formidable defenses down a little." Mawara lifted her chin and began methodically removing frilled toothpicks from the sections of her sandwich.

Komal stopped chewing and swallowed, her eyes snapping.

"You know, you really should wear something other than Jeans to school. I'm telling you, university period is the best time you'll ever have, and with a body like that you could have them eating out of your hand."

"Do you think of me as one of those who came to college to find a husband?" Komal asked, not believing what her friend had just said.

"No big deal if you give it a try anyway." Mawara said without much care.

"What do you mean?" Komal flashed her an angry look. "Didn't you get my email about that guy in Karachi?"

Komal heard Mawara gasp aloud.

"Oh…" She let out a longer than usual breath. "So, were you really serious?"

"I've never been this serious about anything in my whole life." Komal said confidently.

"Sorry" Mawara whispered, her eyes sparkling. "Okay, I'm serious now." She straightened herself up on the chair, changing her facial expressions.

"Tell me about him, then." Mawara said evenly.

"What does he look like?" Mawara wanted to know and Komal was quite astonished how clearly a picture of him sprang into her head.

"Come on, Komal, spit it out!"

"Handsome, wealthy, and hard, cruelly hard." Komal added almost defiantly, her hand trembled a little as she poured coffee from the restaurant carafe into her cup.

"Okay, slow down for a second, girl, you're talking way too fast. Now what's this all about again?"

"We met in some wedding and fall for each other instantly. He is daring and bold but still reserved, and this is what I really like about him." Komal said as she braced both arms against the edge of the table and leaned toward her friend, glaring.

"But there's a problem." Komal lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Umm…not unexpected."

Komal looked back at her silently, as if asking why it was not unexpected.

"I mean..." Mawara got her message. "Most love stories do have some problems. They don't often don't go so smoothly like we expect them to be." She gave Komal's hand a reassuring squeeze. "So tell me, what's the problem?"

"He is from a different sect."

"What non sense." Mawara flushed aggressively. "You can't be serious."

"Well…Mawara, for some 'conservative' people, it's really a matter of life and death." 

"And who are those 'conservative' people?" Mawara asked sarcastically.

"Parents." Komal said shortly.

"Umm" Mawara tapped her head back to the chair and a long breath escaped out of her lips.

"That I can believe." She said, lost in her thoughts now. "Some of those typically backward Paki parents really have a 'thing' for stuff like that."

"That's what I'm really afraid of." Komal said in a worried tone.

"Parents are either completely blind, or they don't miss a trick." Mawara murmured.

"I…I'm really scared Mawara." Komal gasped. "I can't even imagine myself living without him now. What if our parents objected?"

"Hard cheese. It's your life, not theirs, and no one can dictate how you live it." Mawara said mercilessly.

Her face softened as she saw the glitter of tears in Komal's eyes. She had to change this sensitive topic now.

"Komal…What about some joint?" She addressed her friend, as she brought a long, white cigarette out of her purse.

"What's this?" Komal asked, her eyes growing wider as she stared at the weird cigarette.

"Let's try 'Sheesha' today " Mawara winked for the third time today.

"Sheesha?" Komal couldn't understand what she meant. "Is it some drug?"

"Oh no…plain leaves, nothing else. It soothes your mind." Komal said as she lit the fore-end of the cigarette. "It's fun you know. Something very good to smoke."

"I'd rather keep myself away from your stupid things." Komal said repulsively.

"Can you," Mawara said, exhaling smoke with the words. "I guess you probably had a pretty good time back in Pakistan."

"What the hell do you mean?" Komal inquired arrogantly, although she knew Mawara was just joking to make her mood better.

"The Paki guys must be all over you on dates."

"Stop it Mawara. Be serious, what do you think I am?"

"You?" Mawara repeated amusedly, "A very attractive girl."

"You turn heads, Komal" Mawara said seductively. From her expression, Komal could see that she was back to her typical funny mood again and now it was useless to talk to her about the topic.

After they had eaten their club sandwiches, Mawara drove her friend back to her house. As the reached Komal's house, Mawara threw one last look at her best friend. One hand on the inside handle of the car door, she gazed at her best friend with wide, frightened eyes.

"If anything happened to you-" Mawara left her sentence unfinished.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." Komal gave her a confident smile. "I just need your best wishes."

"Yes, the biggest thing has already happened to you!" Mawara's features softened as she saw the happy, content face of Komal.

"What's the date tomorrow, by the way?" Mawara suddenly asked.

"Fourteenth November." Komal told her, confused at her sudden change of track. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you know why fourteenth November is called as Children's day?" Mawara asked very seriously.

"No. Why?"

"Because it is exactly nine months after the valentine's day."

Komal's loud laughter followed her as she pushed down the accelerator.

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Arif Khan scowled down at the newspaper while he ate his breakfast.

There was a tap on the door, and he glanced up, frowning. "Yes?"

"Morning Daddy," She came forward and hugged her father affectionately. A man of nearly fifty with neat, graying fair hair and pale brown eyes, he and his daughter had always been very close to each other.

"Enjoying your morning paper?" She inquired pleasantly.

"Enjoying?" He laughed, swaying slowly in his easy chair. "The morning newspapers are where they begin with 'Good Morning', and then proceed to tell you why it isn't."

His funny sentence made her laugh.

"That's my day, daddy seems to be in a good mood today." As she thought, she felt more relaxed.

"Daddy…I need to talk to you about something very important."

"That's very rare. Isn't it?" He asked back, his chair still swaying back and forth.

"What?"

"I mean it's not every day that you want to talk to me about something 'important." He smiled teasingly.

"Oh Daddy." She gave him a fake angry look. "I'm serious."

"Alright. Here I'm." He folded the newspaper and kept it down on the table. "What's the problem, hmm?"

"Well…" Komal thought for a moment, searching for the right words to begin with.

"Now or never." She thought.

"Daddy…I like someone." She told him at once.

His swaying chair stopped for a moment.

For the first few moments, he couldn't speak, shocked or surprised or both? No one could tell from his expression.

When at last he spoke, his voice was very tired.

"I knew this was going to happen."

"Why do you think so?" Komal asked, keeping her voice low.

"Because you never trusted my choice. You never gave a single thought to what I liked for you."

"You mean Sikander?"

"You know very well what I mean." He said harshly.

"And now you're telling me this at this stage when your mother is almost finished with your marriage preparations..."

"Yes…" Komal said, without waiting for him to finish his sentence. "It's not my fault because only 'now' I found someone who is just like my ideal. As for marriage preparations, I'm ready for that, but with 'Aariz' Ali ofcourse."

As she took Aariz's name, her father's eyes glared at her in an unpredictable fashion like he couldn't believe she could decide about this most important matter of her life without even informing him.

"Since when you've started to make your decisions alone?" He asked sarcastically.

"Daddy…its me who'd have to spend my life with him 'alone' and only I can decide about it." She said fiercely, saw her father's startled face and swallowed.

"What does he do, where he is from?"

"He is from a nice family. He lives in Karachi, his father is a big business man."

He averted his eyes for a moment. 

"Is he from our own religious school of thought?" He asked in a dry tone.

"What?" Komal couldn't believe he could ask such a thing. Her 'moderate, modern and broad minded' father was asking this question at this stage.

"No, he is not." She looked angry, stern and deadly serious.

"I don't want to talk on this topic now." He said icily and unfolded the newspaper again, ignoring her eyes.

"But daddy, they're Muslims." She protested.

"That's not the only thing that matters." He replied back.

She didn't say anything, just sat there in a state of complete shock, remembering the famous lines of famous Pakistani poet, Ahmed Faraz.

Yoonhi Mausum ki Ada dekh ke... yaad aaya hai

Kiss qadar jald badal jaatey hain, 'Insaan' ...jaana

"I…I am sorry daddy. I'd have to change my opinion about you now. You always taught me that a person should be moderate in everything, including his religion, and we should keep a balance between our world and our faith. But now when the time has come…" She couldn't finish her sentence; her voice became husky due to intensity of her emotions.

Her father shifted his position on his chair, feeling extremely uncomfortable due to his daughter's remarks. And, then for the first time in his life, he regretted his statement. Religion had always been something secondary for him coming only after his worldly preferences, and now, the result was in front of him.

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was searching for something at her face. He loved her dearly and couldn't see her sad.

Feeling the heat of his eyes on her face, Komal lowered her eyes and began to play with her nails.

Then, she heard her father letting out a long breath.

"Well, your mommy would deal with that honey." He decided, avoiding her eyes, glancing at the newspaper.

She got to his feet with an impatient lunge.

"This is the most important decision of my life, Daddy and you're not even paying attention to it."

"No, don't get me wrong." He put the newspaper aside to look deeply into his daughter's eyes.

"I'm with you darling, and that's why the only one left is your mother, go ask her."

"Can't you convince her Daddy?" She asked, her features looking less tensed now.

"Convince for what dear?" He asked innocently. "I don't even know this guy. I never ever met him; don't know his family and background. If we live in London, that doesn't mean that we've have adopted each and everything of western culture."

He looked at her for a few more seconds and then added.

"There are some important things to be considered before taking such a big step."

"Like what?" She forced out, blinking back her tears.

"Like family back ground, community, status…

"I told you." She cut in before he could finish. "Their status is not less than ours. Financially, they are well off."

"Ok, I even leave status…as money is not important for me more than your happiness." He argued. "But as far as the matter of 'religious' community is concerned, that can't be compromised for sure." He stated matter-of-factly and then stopped talking.

He was at a loss of words, and she filled the silence with her own.

"Leave it Daddy." She laughed huskily. "I knew you're saying this only because you want me to be with your 'ruler' Sikander."

"Go, and talk to your Mom about it."

"We talk about moderation and call ourselves 'open minded' and 'modern', yet we are the same from inside. Backward, traditional fanatics." Komal's voice began to shake with emotions but she didn't stop.

"Don't misunderstand…

"I'm not misunderstanding anything, Daddy." She pushed her feet with force on the floor. "Infact, only now I've understood everything."

He waited until he heard the front door slam before he returned to his newspaper.

As soon as she closed the door angrily, she caught her for what she saw in front of her. Her mother was there, standing closely to the door. 

She'd heard everything, for sure.

"Mommy… Mom… I… I'm sorry." Komal stammered weakly. She was not, in any sense, prepared to face her mother in this condition.

Her mother just looked at her daughter with shock, without saying a single word.

Turning silently, Mrs. Khan took her first step toward her room, her feet trembling with the height of her patience, her blood pressure reaching its maximum limits.

"Mommy, trust me. I didn't have any control for that. It…it just happened." Komal tried to explain, following her mother.

"Mommy…

Silence.

"Mommy, he is very nice. Like me, he doesn't care about this damn Shiyah-Sunni stuff either. I really love him Mommy. I really love him. I can't live without him."

There was no answer.

"Mommy, please say something." Fearfully Komal reached to take her mother's hand in her hand, feeling really scared because of her mother's strange silence, which was a clear indication of some forthcoming storm.

"Mom…

"Do you want an answer?" Mrs. Khan suddenly asked, turning quickly to face her.

"Yes." Komal bit her lower lip.

"Here it comes…"

SLAP.

Her mother lashed out at her, catching her off guard, her fingers leaving a red line across her cheek, and her head snapped back for a second.

That was definite answer from her mother. Her hand had imprinted all five fingers on her soft, fragile cheek.

"Satisfied now?" Her mother asked coldly. Throwing one last ignoring look at her, her mother closed her bedroom door at her, leaving her alone in the gallery.

Wrenching violent sobbing seized Komal's body as she fell a limp heap onto the cold, smooth floor. Her legs were no longer capable of holding her up.

She resisted the urge to scream out her frustration and dropped her head on her knees, sobbing, trying to wash her anger and sadness through her tears.

No one sees anything. She thought to herself; no one would ever know what I think, how I feel. 

Her parents had no concern for her as a person, for her likes or dislikes. She felt that to them she was nothing more than a pawn to be used to gain advantage for them as they tried to be elevated to the peerage.

She remembered very well that her parents had never told her about Islamic history in detail. Her mother had never told her anything about her 'own' sect. She had never seen her mother wearing 'Islamic Hijaab' and had never found her father praying five times regularly. But now, they were acting like they were the greatest Muslims in the world.

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A seven a.m. call on Sunday from his maternal uncle's town shattered all of Aariz's plans.

"You'd best come down at once, Mrs. Ali. Your cousin was taken ill during the night, and...." Someone told his mother.

"I'm on my way!"

Crashing down the receiver, Mrs. Ali motioned him to stand up and left hurriedly to her room for change.

It was Sunday and he was sitting with his father on the breakfast table, chatting about current affairs of the country when the call had arrived.

"Abbas uncle?" He questioned his father, quite unfamiliar with this name.

"Yes." His father said. "Your mother's cousin, the eldest son of your mother's aunt."

"Oh I remember now." Aariz sighed. "The same man who had a massive stroke attack a few months ago, right?" Aariz asked.

"Yes." Mr. Ali told him. "Due to some complications and family disputes, your mother's family and his family didn't go along well. Still, he has visited us a few times but you were in U.S. those days."

"But he is not my real uncle." Aariz said, confused at his mother's reaction to see Abbas uncle instantly. 

"I mean, he is just a cousin of my mother. Why she's so desperate to visit him?"

"There was something else too." His father smiled gently. "She never hid it from me and I always appreciate her for that."

"And what was that?"

Mr. Ali sighed and lit up his cigar.

"Your Mother and Abbas both were very close to each other since their childhood. Often, your mother used to go to his village to spend vacations with his family. They both got very close, perhaps even loved each other."

Aariz was surprised as his father talked about his mother's past affair so casually, without showing any discomfort or displeased remark. He searched his father's face for any sign of anger or jealousy, but he looked quite normal.

"They both wanted to get married, ofcourse. But your mother's parents, I mean, your grandparents were not happy with their relation."

"Why?" Aariz felt sad for the two.

"They said, they didn't want to give their daughter into the same family and also…Abbas Hasan was not established then. So they accepted my proposal, rejecting him."

"Oh," Aariz was truly shocked as his father gradually revealed the hidden story.

"But then, your mother started a totally new life with me, always preferring me on anyone else like any typical traditional eastern wife should. She never disobeyed me and always respected me and accepted me as her husband."

"But father, don't you see how she's behaving with me now?" Aariz asked stiffly, looking clearly disappointed due to his mother's strange behavior. "If she's been a victim of the same thing, she's supposed to care more about my feelings then."

"But your mother's case was different." His father went on, explaining. "Abbas Hasan was her cousin. He was from the same sect and same community but you want to bring a totally different girl into our family."

"So what daddy?" Almost against his will, his temper began to surface again.

"Take your time Aariz," His father said simply, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

He wanted to laugh. 

"Take time? For what?" He