"Yeh aapne kya kardiya?" Moussa said forcefully in a low voice, the door to the piano room closing behind them with a solid thump.
He strode forward and grabbed Salima by her arm, "Sab keh saamne yeh aapne kyun kiya? Kisse puchke aapne yeh faisla liya?"
"Baba...," Kiara whispered terrified, of her father's anger. The grip he had on Salima was bruising. She should know, she knew her arm would bruise from her mother's tight grip.
Kiara's voice broke through his rage, and he abruptly released Salima.
"What difference does it make? Aaj nahi to kal, she will be marrying Ahad," Salima said standing tall in the face of Moussa's ire. "Maine kya galat kardiya?"
"Mama...," Kiara said softly, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she studied her mother's arrogant face. "Ahad...he...he's seeing someone...he has a girlfriend..."
"What makes you think Laila and I didn't know?" she raised her eyebrows as she looked at Kiara coldly. "Of course, we knew and now you know, he does not have a girlfriend anymore..."
Kiara looked at her mother in shock, speechless by the sudden revelation.
"And don't think I don't know about you and that boy. That Turk," she spat. "I saw that, how close you were in this very piano room. I don't need to take a wild guess on what you were doing that had you needing to fix your makeup after."
"Mama...I...," she swallowed guiltily, her throat clogged with tears.
"What did you think Kiara?," Salima scoffed, "Did you even think? Kehne ko toh sab superstar banna chahte hai, bus koi ek sirf bantha hai," she mocked.
"That...That's not fair Mama. You...you don't know him," she said, her voice cracking.
"I know enough; the parents own a small bakery where they supply goods to cafes, the eldest daughter is cooking school studying to be a chef, that boy is a senior in high school but dreams of becoming a rockstar, there is another daughter who is still in middle school. They barely make ends meet even with that boy working in a Pakistani grocery store on the weekends," she rattled off.
"That boy, he dreams of becoming successful with his music," Salima sneered, "which like thousands of people out there, it will only remain a dream."
"Don't say that," Kiara whispered forcefully, her eyes blurring with tears.
"Don't say what, beta-ji," Salima mocked. "That is the realities of life. Dreams seldom do come through. That is life. Accept whatever is dealt and move on."
"But...But...Mama...I...I love him...," she breathed out, her tears burning paths down her cheeks.
Salima scoffed but paused as she studied Kiara's face. And shocked both Moussa and Kiara when she threw her head back and laughed heartily. The sound of her laughter reverberated in the silent room even when Salima paused.
"Ya Allah, I need to sit," she continued laughing as she sat on the dark green sofa. "Kiara, you really know how to make me laugh." Salima's ivory colored silk shalwar kameez contrasting brightly with the darkness of the sofa, making her look ethereal but yet commanding everyone's attention.
Kiara looked at her feet, unable to meet her mother's eyes.
"Love," Salima said to herself and chuckled, like there was some inside joke that Kiara wasn't privy too. "You do not have the luxury of love. Ask your darling father, beta-ji. Come on, ask him," she grinned maliciously.
"W-what...what is..is...Mama saying?" she spun around to look at her father who avoided her eyes with a resigned expression on his face.
"Baba...," Kiara said trembling feeling utterly confused.
"Oh, you're taking too long," Salima said gleefully as she looked at Moussa.
"Aap kuch zyaada maaza nahi leyh rehi ho?" Moussa hissed; his nostrils flaring as Salima opened her mouth to speak.
Ignoring Moussa, Salima continued, "We have just signed a deal with Laila's husband's capital venture. They will be pumping in funds for the new automotive prototype that we are manufacturing, and Ahad will be heavily involved. We thought it best that we'd keep the family business in the family by making him family. It's a lucrative deal for both sides."
"And if you ask me, I know Ahad can do better," Salima looked at her daughter panning her eyes slowly from head to toe, the rumpled curls hair, the eyeliner running down her cheeks, the blotchy skin. "Yes, he definitely could do so much better," she tsked.
"We didn't agree on this Salima, you and I both know that. This was not part of the agreement. We were going to leave it to the kids. If they want to be together then they will," Moussa said forcefully before facing Kiara.
"Beta-ji, believe me when I say that it was not supposed to be like this," he pleaded. "We were going to leave it all on you..."
"All...all this time...you've...you've been asking me about Emre and I...what...what...," Kiara stuttered unable to finish her sentence confusion coursing through her as she searched her father's face for some reason, some meaning, something. Her mind racing with all the secrets she's shared with her father. Every single moment that she had spoken about Emre to her father flashed in her eyes. Her own voice ringing in her ears, the words she had spoken in confidence to her father repeated.
"You are going to Paris, Kiara. For a few years no less. I didn't expect anything from it especially with you being so young...," Moussa cautiously walked closer to his daughter who was trembling in front of him.
"How am I too young for love, but old enough for marriage, Baba?" the tears ran freely down her face, ask Kiara questioned her father brokenly.
"Hai Allah, you need to get over yourself Kiara. You were not raised for love, much less love with a poor man...," Salima said cruelly. "Look around you, look at where you are then take a good, hard look at where that boy is from."
"That's not fair, Mama," Kiara argued weakly, wiping the tears that stained her cheeks.
"You'll understand what's fair, when you have to sacrifice all the luxuries that you have to stay in a rundown apartment, living paycheck to paycheck. Barely having enough money to buy food, how will you ever afford your penchant for Chanel nail polishes, glittery bracelets, and fresh flowers. You think that boy can afford it? If not now, in five years, in ten years? Do you really think that he can afford the luxury that is normal daily life for you?" Salima said icily, her legs crossed, her hands resting primly on her knees. She looked at Kiara as though she was truly expecting an answer. Salima relaxed back on the couch, her eyes tracking both Kiara and Moussa.
"Everybody makes sacrifices, Kiara. Everybody makes choices between love and family. Because family will always demand the greatest sacrifices and we as women, will do it. No matter how much we refuse, no matter how much we resist. It is all up to the family and what is needed by them," Salima finished bitterly, the echo of words spoken to her echoed in her conscience.
"Just because you had to sacrifice your love, Mama, it doesn't mean that I have to do it too," Kiara said after a beat. "I know I'm naive. I know that. But that doesn't mean that I can't choose love. That doesn't mean that I have to choose to turn into you."
"Kiara...," Moussa said her name in warning.
"I see how you are with Baba and me. I've always seen it. You don't love us. You never have. And now you wish the same fate upon me. How cruel...how selfish can you be?" Kiara forged on ignoring Moussa as her voice increased in volume.
"Baba has only ever asked for your love, nothing else. But you refuse! You are a cold, selfish, heartless bitâ"
Kiara's head snapped to side. A warm stinging feeling on her cheek. Raising her hand, she cupped her cheek as she looked at Moussa, the prickle of tears burning her eyes once more.
"Don't you dare talk to your mother like that," Moussa hissed, his body rigid with tension.
Kiara felt her heart crack into two. The father who she swore without a doubt would protect her from the evils of the world, today choose the woman who never loved either one of them. Her eyes flicked to Salima and Kiara could see the ghost of a victorious smile on her face.
"I...I'm...I'm sorry...mere bacche," Moussa's voice shook, full of remorse. He couldn't believe that he had done that. He couldn't believe that he had slapped Kiara. He took a step towards Kiara and she instinctively backed away.
"Right, agar yeh drama khatam ho gaya hai, can we go back to the party?" Salima said, boredom dripping from her voice. "Our guests are still out there," Salima stood up and dusted her clothes as she prepared to leave the room.
"We are not done yet, Salima," Moussa rumbled.
"Oh, I think we are. Kiara is going to get engaged to Ahad in December. And once she is done with her studies in Paris, they will be getting married," Salima said with an air of finality. Her tone and her gaze brooking no argument from both Moussa and Kiara.
She smiled her saccharine smile as she walked up to Kiara. Gently patting her cheek, she said without an ounce of maternal feelings, "Fix your hair and makeup, Kiara. Then came back down to the party."
Salima sashayed pass Kiara and Moussa rejoining the party without a care in the world. She smiled and chatted jovially to the guests like the argument in the piano room never happened. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Moussa do the same albeit a bit more stiffly and she smiled to herself.
Kiara watched the cold water run from the tap in the sink dully, her mind empty of its usual hum of music. Robotically she cupped her hands under the running water. Barely registering the iciness against her skin. She washed her face a couple of times to minimise the swelling that she knew will be there around her eyes and her cheek. Picking up the round purple jar that was her cleansing balm, she scooped the balm into the palms of her hand with stiff movements. With halting movements, she removed whatever makeup that she had applied today. She swallowed the lump that was lodged in her throat, each inhale and exhale making her chest constrict more and more. Had it really just been a few hours ago that she had poked and prodded her face as she applied makeup wanting to impress Emre.
She had wanted a different look to her usual simple style and since she couldn't choose her outfit, her decided on her makeup. She chuckled mirthlessly to herself, she should have known better by now. How could she be so silly? How could she be so silly to think that she would be allowed to choose who she could love? How could she be so silly to start imagining a future that wasn't even hers to begin with? She wasn't even allowed to choose her own clothes. Why did she even for a second think she could choose who she would love? Her lower lip trembled as she looked at herself in the mirror, her skin blotchy, her dull and puffy eyes, her nose red, her lifeless hair.
Ahad could do so much better, she could hear herself repeating those words to her reflection. A lone tear trailed down her cheek and she brushed it away roughly as she gritted her teeth. She wasn't a beauty like her mother, so beautiful that even though starved for love, her father still stayed by side. She swallowed heavily, brushing away another tear. She cupped her cheek again, although the sting of it faded the soreness that stayed was reminder of how much her father was in love with her mother.
She braced her hands on the counter, taking shaky deep breaths. Kiara tried her best to remember the sweet words that Emre had uttered but her mother's voice rang louder and louder in her ears. She pressed the palms of her hands to her ears and suppressed the urge to scream. She could feel it, right at the breastbone; the scream that she had buried every time she was forced to do a recital. Every time her mother ignored her. Every time her mother had uttered harsh words. Every time the cane landed on her fingers while she played the piano. She could feel the need to scream crawl up her skin to the back of her skull, settling there like a heavy hand.
Emre. Try to think of Emre, she told herself but her heart splintered a little bit more every time she pictured his dimpled smile as he looked at her with eyes that were alight were laughter, teasing her. Kiara sank down on the cold tiles and sobbed, no longer able to hold her emotions at bay. She mourned the abrupt end of their story, the one that had only just begun. She grieved the heartache of what felt like betrayal that she stomached from her father. She hurt knowing her mother would probably never love her the way she craved for it.
Surrounded by the soft, white fabric of her dress, Kiara bawled until there were no more tears left to cry.