Chapter 50: "Decision made"

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First draft: July 2018

Zayn stayed rooted to the spot, as Mr. Rahman, with his back  to Zayn, shut the heavy folder. He turned around to face Zayn, his face grim.

"Assalamo'Alaykum," he greeted, his tone strict and eyes stern.

"Wa'Alaykum Salam," Zayn muttered, letting go of the door and stuffing his hands in his pockets. From his stiff back and set jaw to his slightly raised brow and dead serious eyes, his body language clearly conveyed that his guard was up and he was annoyed.

Zayn had a feeling why he was summoned and that was not something he was keen on hearing. Let alone, the manner in which he was brought to this meeting. And to think he had thought it was Alex acting up.

"You know a call would have sufficed, telling me of the time and a place?" Zayn said, barely resisting the urge to scoff. "Don't see why the kidnapping theme drama was required."

"Sit down, and you will," Mr. Rahman replied, his tone relaxed but grim at the same time. "It be best if you shut the door behind you."

Mr. Rahman turned to the folder in his hands, making it clear that he was expecting Zayn to do as he was told. Zayn bit into his cheek in annoyance. He had to remind himself that the man in front of him was still Salma's father and a man he respected. Snapping at him would be a poor move.

Releasing a breath, Zayn toed the door shut with a bit more force then was necessary and slouched over to the chair in front of Mr. Rahman.

"What is this about?" Zayn asked, sounding cross.

"My daughter."

Zayn pursed his lips.

"What about her?"

Mr. Rahman fixed him with a hard glare. Zayn ignored it. Yes, his manner was offensive, but there was not much Zayn did not know of already. So, he could not be bothered to care. Salma's solid silence over the past few days spoke volumes. She would never accept him, given a choice. Zayn did not even know why all those months ago, he had bothered fooling himself into thinking she would.

"From a guy who claims to have an interest in my daughter, I would expect a bit more respect," Mr. Rahman said coldly.

"With all due respect, I don't just have an interest in your daughter, I love her," Zayn retorted, meeting his hostile glare squarely. "Excuse the lack of courtesy, Mr. Rahman, but I'm bound to not care when I'm called to give her up!"

Zayn saw a muscle in Mr. Rahman's jaw tick.

"Sir!" he added with bitter sarcasm.

There was a sudden movement as Mr. Rahman slapped something on the table in front him. Zayn closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Read," he heard Mr. Rahman demand. "Do you know what that is, kid?"

Kid! Zayn almost exploded. He just hated it when men acted all high and mighty as if he could not take them on.

Clenching his teeth, Zayn opened his eyes to find Salma's father towering over him in front of the desk, glaring him down. Zayn exhaled, reaching for the damn contract he was to sign, except, it was not a file with divorce papers. It was something a lot smaller.

An unfamiliar, leather bound, green ID card, with the words Green Coats Intelligence Agency emblazoned in gold around their trademark coat of arms of two howling wolves. Not knowing what to make of it, Zayn flipped the cover open.

His eyes did a double-take.

The hell?!

"I renewed my license to active practice in this country," the Green Coat agent said, snapping Zayn's attention to the date of issue date of the card, which was only a year ago. "It shouldn't be hard to guess why."

Bee.

Zayn looked at the card, unable to believe his eyes.

Alex was right, he kept thinking. Damn your sharp eyes, Wickfield, you sniff them right out!

Although his heart was racing and thoughts all over the place at the mind-blowing revelation, Zayn did his best to appear cold and indifferent.

"So you're a Green Coat," he said, lifting one corner of his lip, reading the card. "I still don't understand all the dramatics."

He shrugged and sat back, before sitting up a little straighter with mock show of respect and reverence.

"Sir," Zayn added again, then lifting his eyes to meet Mr. Rahman's, which were remarkably like his daughter's, especially in the distrust it held for him.

"Hurt her again, take her forgiving nature for granted, or her kindness for a weakness and you will understand the dramatics when your life is turned upside down," he threatened, putting the file he had been studying, between them, on the table. "I know everything about you."

He opened the file.

"Your childhood . . ."

He turned a page.

"Your time in England . . ."

Another page.

"Where you were schooled . . . what club you played for . . . your accident . . . your arrival into the U.S. . . .Tanta Bay . . . The high school you attended . . . the part time jobs at Mrs. Walter's studio . . . your involvement in undoing the drug ring . . . "

He kept turning pages.

Zayn was paralyzed by the picture on the next page, surrounded by newspaper clippings and hand written notes. The one of a gaunt looking girl in a hospital bed, her wrist, that she had slit open because of him, covered in heavy bandages, her eyes dead-looking, staring off into the space.

Lenny.

The page was turned, casually, as if it was not one his most horrible nightmares but just a normal part of his story.

"Your relationships . . . friends . . . Your move to LA, everything!" Mr. Rahman finished, shutting the file close, not wanting Zayn to see a picture of his grandma who had died shortly after. "There is not a thing in your past that I have not looked into, not a move in your present that I'd overlook, and not a decision about your future that you'd make and I won't know of. There is absolutely nothing about you hidden from me, be it your aspiration to continue Mrs. Walter's studio as Zayn Harris, your intention to sign up for Borussia Dormund in the coming season, or playing for National side in the upcoming Championship, I'll have my eyes on you."

Zayn sucked in his cheeks, biting into them, trying to swallow his anger and panic, alike. Lenny's pale face flashed before his eyes, making him grit his teeth harder. His hard glare fixed on the file on the table, now closed, that carried so much of his hate, anger and bitterness.

"So you've told her all about it," Zayn rasped. It would explain the solid radio silence from Salma. Although he already had a clue things between him and Salma were over, this would be a point of no return. She already knew about Lenny's suicide attempt, but to know the whole story --

"No," Mr. Rahman replied, snapping Zayn's attention back at him. He was first relieved, then confused by Mr. Rahman's reply.

"Then you're telling me all of this to blackmail me," Zayn guessed. "That you would tell her should I ever –"

"I don't need to traumatize my daughter with any of these tragic stories, kid." Mr. Rahman interrupted him. "All I need is for you to know, whenever I want, your glamorous life will be in ruins. Don't give me a reason to do so by causing my daughter distress, ever!"

Zayn turned away from the man whose daughter he loved to bits, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"You don't understand, do you, Mr. Rahman?" He turned back to him, shaking his head bitterly. "You've never had her upset with you, have you? Have her looked at you with so much contempt in her eyes that you start hating on yourself. I have. I know what's at stake here. You don't. I know the cost of hurting her and it's none of what you have on that file. I have been through that, and dealt with all that crap already. Nothing in there can scare me or haunt me, more than it already has, unless, of course, it somehow finds its way to Bee. Yes, then I'd get hurt. Other than that . . . ?" Zayn shrugged resentfully. "So when I tell you all of what you'd done was unnecessary, it was unnecessary."

Mr. Rahman said nothing for a while. He just studied the boy sitting across from him. He exhaled and took a seat.

"Come back to me in a few decades time when you have a daughter of your own and tell me what I'd done was unnecessary," he said.

Zayn smiled ruefully.

"Provided that I manage even a fraction of what you are as a father, Mr. Rahman." Zayn scoffed. "I don't see that happening."

He was met by silence. Sharply rapping his knuckles on the table, Zayn got to his feet.

"I will take my leave now, but since this is probably the last time I'll be seeing you, I'll take the opportunity to apologize," Zayn said. Mr. Rahman relaxed in his heavy leather bound seat, and looked up at him with interest. "I should have told you who Arethas was when you first proposed on her behalf, although I feel like you knew already." Zayn's eyes strayed back to the Green Coat's card. "Regardless, I hope when I walk out of this office and your lives, I'd have made it up to you somehow . . . "

Mr. Rahman nodded in a distracted sort of a way. Zayn pushed the card towards the Green Coat on the table.

"You really think I'm a good father, kid?" Mr. Rahman surprised him by asking. Zayn looked up to see not an intimidating agent staring him down distrustfully, but a father, doubting his role as a parent, concerned for his shortcomings.

Zayn laughed dryly. Was he serious?

"With having raised a daughter like Bee? I'd say yes." Zayn shrugged.

Mr. Rahman reached for his card. Zayn figured the meeting was over.

"Send the divorce papers to my lawyer," he muttered, trying to ignore the pulsating pain in his chest. "I'll take care of the rest."

When Mr. Rahman didn't reply, Zayn turned to leave.

"Where you fail, she'll pick up after you," Mr. Rahman spoke up. "Then, meet me in a couple decades time and tell me this was unnecessary."

Zayn froze mid-step.

"Salma has decided to stay with you."

Not believing his ears, Zayn turned around to a man with a lot softer expressions on his face.

"It naturally becomes my job as a father to put her significant other in his place," Mr. Rahman continued, "and let him know he's getting them beatings should he misbehave."

Zayn didn't know what to say. Was this some kind of an elaborate joke? If it was, it was a sick one. A rather sick --

"Also, to let him in on the family secrets," Mr. Rahman tapped his ID card against his fingers. "Just in case he's overwhelmed and wants to call it quits --"

"Hell no!"

Mr. Rahman smiled, his whole face switching from an intimidating Green Coat's to a fatherly within seconds. He looked Zayn squarely in the eye

"Welcome to the family," he said kindly, before smirking to add, "son!"

First draft: July 2018

Salma forced one foot in front of the other, making a crying face at the new mall that had opened downtown as her mother and Anne walked out of one store and into the next. They had dragged her along, much to her disappointment. She did not understand the fuss. These were the exact same stores and brands – some new ones, but not all – that her mother and Anne had ransacked just a week ago, in the super center.

And to make matters worse, they would not let her be a silent bystander. Usually Salma would just catch up on some books or watch random videos while Anne and Alley engaged in their 'does this looks better on me than that?' ritual or 'how does this color go with that?' practice for hours, before finally deciding on something completely unrelated. Instead, they were practicing all the rituals on her.

"Grey looks good on her."

"Yes, but that purple dress is brighter, don't you think?"

Salma prayed for patience as she saw one dress after the other waved in front of her. Apparently, they were trying to see which color suited her best – with her face covered!

"Ladies, can I, maybe, catch a break --"

She was suddenly yanked to one side and her arms laden with, what looked like, five dresses.

"The try room is that way," her mother pointed in a random direction, before gasping at Anne, "That one is wonderful! Is it the right length?"

"I think so." Anne smiled, holding up a black dress.

"Salma, what do you think?"

Salma turned to the black dress.

"Grateful that you asked. I think --"

Before she could voice out her opinion, which was "It's beautiful but can we stop? I have enough clothes in my closet and this is annoying" she was turned around in the direction of the dressing room with the black dress piled on top of the others she was to try out.

"Try the black one first." Anne rushed her in. "Be quick!"

Salma felt dizzy. What was going on with these women and their sudden fest to buy her clothes, and rather fancy ones at that too? Huffing, Salma took her sweet time changing out of her abaya and clothes and then trying the new one on. She stared at her exhausted, disinterested image in the mirror. Granted, the dress with its three quarter sleeves was beautiful against her pale complexion and fit her like a glove, Salma could not bring herself to be excited. She was tired and bored and –

"Salma! Hurry up!"

She sighed and opened the door.

The women gasped, and awed, and cooed, and made her turn around, and then back, and then to the side and around again. After what seemed like an eternity of critiquing the dress – and Salma in the process – the practice was repeated with a grey dress, then the purple and then the green.

Once Salma got out of the last one, and back in her ninja suit, she gave herself a brief pep talk. Giving herself a thumbs up, she braced her shoulders and opened the door. Before the two ladies holding more dresses could catch up, Salma shot out of the try room and straight down the aisle, holding the black dress up, threateningly.

"That's it!" she warned. "One more dose of dress trying torture and I rip this one into two."

The two women exchanged glances. Salma put the dress on the rack, when they did not order her to get back to the try-room.

"I'm going out for a snack break," she announced.

Her mother shook her head while Anne rolled her eyes.

"Brat," they muttered in unison as they went back to business.

Taking it as their permission to leave, Salma grinned and started walking out of the store.

"Don't wander away too far," her mother called, taking the black dress off the rack again. Probably to get it packed and paid for.

Salma chuckled at her mother's protectiveness.

"The burger joint is just a floor above, mum," she replied nonetheless, "come, get me when you're done."

Salma had every intention of going straight to the eatery, but she could not help but stop by the bookstore on the way. Halfway through her book quest, she had this sudden feeling of being watched. It was coming from a man standing at the far corner of the store, wearing a cowboy hat and pretending to read nursery rhymes – upside down.

Alright, Salma pursued her lips in annoyance, not this time.

Getting out of the store to test her theory, she walked into the next one – which unnoticed by Salma was that of men's footwear. To her annoyance, she saw the figure following her out of the bookstore and into the shoe store. He did keep his distance though. Getting her suspicions confirmed, Salma took flight again.

She led him down the hall, towards the stairs, up into the next floor, past the food court, into this largely secluded area of the mall that people barely frequented. It had these massive showrooms for expensive furniture no one wanted to waste money on. Salma jumped in a small space between two showrooms. She saw a mope lying next to her by the wall and realized it was the janitor's closet. On instinct, she picked up the mope.

She heard hurried footsteps drawing close, then slowing down and then stopping all together. Pressing flat against the wall, Salma gripped the stick more securely. The stalker had barely appeared around the corner, when Salma grabbed his collar, swinging him about with all her might. He lost his footing and his back hit the janitor's cupboard with an explosive bang. By the time his knocked-out hat fell off of his face, he had a stick pressed flat against his throat, pinning him against the cupboard.

"Wait-WAIT!" The balding, grey haired man wheezed, his electric blue eyes saucers of fear. "I mean no harm, Miss! I mean no harm!"

Salma backtracked when his features registered in her mind. She pulled the stick away, just enough to let him breathe freely.

"Darren?!"

"It's me!" He gasped. "Miss, I mean no –"

"Why were you following me?!" Salma snapped, pressing the stick again.

"Master Harris said to!" he protested, trying to pull away. "To look after you!"

"Say what?!" Salma gritted her teeth.

The old man flinched, fearing he would get choked again.

"Tell your arrogant Master Pest I can take care of myself!" Salma hissed.

"Yes, Miss, of course!"

Salma heaved an exasperated breath and pulled away, not wanting to give the poor man a coronary.

"Look, I'm sorry, but if I see you sneaking around me again, Zayn might need to hire another servant," Salma warned calmly. "You make sure you tell him that."

"He heard you," a third voice spoke up.

For the briefest instant Salma froze, then she overcame her shock and whipped around ready to take on the intruder. She stopped just in time for the stick to halt mere millimeters away from his perfectly straight nose. Zayn, who was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, tilted his head to one side, looking amused.

"Let him go," he said, moving the stick away from his nose with his index finger. "I asked him to follow you."

Salma threw the stick away, folding her arms stubbornly.

"Perhaps you should stop forcing your employees into situations where they could get hurt," she said.

"Duly noted," Zayn said with the same amused tone. "Might I say I was not expecting him to get cornered like that?"

Salma looked away, feeling a little embarrassed now.

"Taught myself a thing or two about self-defense." She shrugged, before turning to Darren. "I'm sorry. I probably over-reacted,"

"No problem, Miss!" Darren said with a lot more enthusiasm than Salma expected. "This old man is proud to see Master Harris's lady can hold her own!"

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. Swiftly reached down for his hat, he dusted it and put it on his head.

"Son." He touched the tip of his hat at Zayn before walking away briskly. Salma looked after him, wide-eyed. Was that really the weak, stuttering man she had just cornered?

She heard Zayn chuckle.

"Didn't expect that, did you?"

Salma blinked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Why are you here?" Salma asked, suddenly aware of the fact that two of them were alone.

"He called. Told me something was fishy about you." Zayn shrugged. "That you had suddenly started roaming the mall alone and were trying to get away from people."

Salma rolled her eyes, as she started following after Darren casually, hoping Zayn would not catch up on the fact that she was trying to cut through their solitude.

"He was the 'fishy' around me," she said.

"I figured." Zayn smiled, falling in step with her.

None of them said anything for a while. Salma felt her heart picking up pace. This was not how she had anticipated her first meeting with him after she walked out on him the night Agha Gul was forced to back down. She thought she would ask to see him in a more rehearsed environment, where she would revise her explanations before she had to say them to him.

Avoiding his gaze, Salma paused by the food court. This was her stop. She did not know how to send him away, without him realizing.

"I, uh - I should go," she began lamely. "Mum and Anne –"

"Bee, can I at least. . ."

Zayn trailed off uncertainly, not knowing what say. Looking up into his golden brown eyes, Salma was uneasily reminded of his last request to hold her one final time. Zayn, on the other hand, just stared at her longingly.

There were so many things he wanted to ask of her. Could he hold her hand? Could he treat her to lunch? Could he take her out for a drive? Could he embrace her? Could he just be in her company for little while longer?

And yet he could not word any of it even though this time they were free. Free to be with one another. Free of threats. Free of political pressures and murderous deals. This time they were a pair by choice. He had chosen her and she had chosen him. She had finally chosen him! Although unplanned and unprepared, he wanted their first meeting as a couple by their choice to mean something.

And as if all his unspoken words had reached her, Salma felt her heart pulsing out waves of an unfamiliar emotion, shooting warmth to the tips of her fingers. Not able to hold it in any longer, she made a grab for his hand. It took Zayn a while to realize she had dragged him back to secluded spot by the janitor's closet between the two showrooms.

"Bee, what --"

Zayn froze. All breath was knocked out of his system when he realized her arms were around his neck and her body close to his, hugging him tightly.

Author's Note:

I thought, No cliffhanger for a change, but then I thought 'Why not?' May be a small one? :P. Also, yes, confetti and flowers, because Zalma is finally sailing -- for once ;)

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J.