17. Project Milap

Balancing Muaaz's weight on my torso, I dialed Abbu, who picked up the second the line went on.

"Abbu! Muaaz fainted, Abbu." I babble, slowly starting to lose my mind. "I don't know what to do--"

"I know." His calming voice cut through my panic. "I'm only 7 minutes away." His soothing tone steadied my racing heart. "Ask people around you for help."

"Koi faida nahi hai. There's no one near us."

"Go and look for someone."

"How do I leave him here!?" I exclaim.

"He's fainted already. You need to hurry up! We can't let him stay unconscious for too long. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now go." He hangs up.

I lay Muaaz down on the grass, feeling the cool blades beneath my trembling hands. My pulse thundered in my ears as I pushed to my feet and sprinted, scanning the park for anyone. My eyes burned with unshed tears, and the sun's harsh glare made it hard to see.

Finally, I spotted two lanky men lounging on a bench. "Please! Help! My fiancé fainted," I gasped, my voice cracking.

They exchanged glances before jumping up. "Show us," one said, his brow furrowed with concern.

We hurried back to Muaaz. The men carefully lifted his limp body, their faces strained with effort. We made our way to the nearest exit, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

As we approached the gate, Abbu's car screeched to a halt, and he sprang from the driver's seat. His face, usually so composed, was etched with worry.

"Muaaz," he tapped his cheek gently. "Muaaz?" Abbu called louder but to no avail.

"Dhoop lagi shayad," one of the men muttered, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Together, we maneuvered Muaaz into the car's back seat. I slid in beside him, my hands shaking as I tossed my bag and files onto the passenger seat in front.

Abbu glanced back at us, determination hardening his features. "Hold on, bache," he murmured, gunning the engine as we sped towards the hospital. The car's interior seemed to shrink around us, the tension palpable. I clutched Muaaz's hand, silently praying for him to wake up.

"Run me down on what happened," Abbu asks, his voice steady despite the tension.

"I don't know. We were just walking, talking about how bad the weather is today when he said he felt like he was going to pass out. And he did." I pause, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Do you think it's exhaustion?"

Abbu takes a look at him and shakes his head. "He's probably dehydrated."

"Oh my God!" My heart races at the thought of what could have happened. "He was also complaining about nausea the other day. Maybe he was vomiting when I came to fetch him in his room earlier today."

Abbu's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Dehydration can cause all of that. He needs fluids and rest. We'll be at the hospital soon."

I glance at Muaaz, his face pale and sweaty, his breathing shallow. "He seemed fine this morning," I whisper, more to myself than to Abbu. "I should've noticed something was wrong."

Abbu's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, a hint of irritation flickering in them. "Don't blame yourself. Sometimes these things happen suddenly." His tone is firm, almost dismissive.

I nod, but guilt gnaws at me. I brush a lock of hair from Muaaz's forehead, my fingers trembling. "Hang in there, Muaaz. We're almost there."

Abbu's frown deepens. "He's a grown man, Muskaan. He should be able to take care of himself."

"He's family, Abbu," I retort, unable to hide the frustration in my voice.

Abbu's lips press into a thin line. "Yes, but he always seems to be in some kind of trouble, doesn't he? You can't always be there to save him." He pauses. "Aysa lapatne ki zaroorat nahi hai usku. He'll be fine." His comment makes me realize that I am practically hugging Muaaz's passed-out body, resting my head against his temple.

"Whooops." I sit straighter, with one arm loosely draped around him, and try to get my act together. Where are all these protective instincts coming from? I wonder, staring at his pale face.

I fall silent, staring at

The hospital finally comes into view, and Abbu pulls up to the emergency entrance. As soon as the car stops, I fling open the door and wave frantically for help. Medics rush out with a stretcher, and I step back as they carefully lift Muaaz from the car.

"He's been faint and unresponsive," I explain quickly. "He was fine this morning, but now he's like this."

The medics nod and swiftly wheel Muaaz inside. I follow, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. Abbu trails behind us, his expression a mix of worry and irritation.

"Please, let him be alright," I whisper, clutching my hands together as we wait for the doctors to do their work.

After what feels like an eternity, a doctor finally comes out to speak with us. "He's suffering from severe dehydration and food poisoning," he explains. "We've given him fluids and are monitoring his condition. He should be okay with proper rest and care."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Thank you, Doctor."

Abbu, however, seems unimpressed. "What caused this?"

"Food poisoning and severe dehydration. Vomits bohot zyada hue jis wajah se body fluids drain hogaye. Drip dere abhi, but he will need rest. Does he have a physically demanding job?"

"He's an architect working at an outdoor site currently," I answer.

"Minimum 5 days no outdoors." He announced.

"Kuch parhez?"

"Hydrating food that is light on his stomach. Biryani zara rok do ek hafte tak."

"He should be able to take better care of himself." Abbu remarked.

The doctor gives Abbu a measured look. "Food poisoning can hit anyone unexpectedly, and dehydration can escalate quickly if not addressed. It's not always a matter of personal responsibility."

Abbu's frown deepens, but he says nothing more.

"Can we see him? Is he awake?" The words left my tongue before I could even realize it. I feel Abbu's cocked brow and the puzzled gaze he shot my way but I refused to look.

"He's not awake right now," The doctor said. "But you can see him once we shift him to the general ward. Make sure not to tire him much, he needs rest."

"Sure. Thank you, doctor." I nod and head towards Muaaz's room, Abbu following reluctantly. Muaaz is lying on the bed, an IV drip attached to his arm. He looks exhausted but better than before.

"Hey," I say softly, sitting down beside him.

Muaaz opens his eyes and gives me a weak smile. "Hey."

"Don't scare me like that again," I whisper, my voice shaky.

"I'll try not to," he murmurs, his eyes closing again.

Abbu stands at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. "You need to take better care of yourself," he says sternly.

Muaaz doesn't respond, already drifting back to sleep. I look up at Abbu, my expression defiant. "He'll be fine with some rest and care."

Abbu sighs. "Wait here, I'll go take care of the paperwork. And inform your mother about her laadla."

"She's gonna lose her mind." I say quietly, earning a chuckle from him as he exits the room.

I sit at the bar stool by his bed, staring at his immobilized body. His eyes shut, chest rising and falling at a slow pace. Just when my phone buzzed.

Assuming it to be Mom, I answer the call and hold for a moment when I hear an unfamiliar voice.

"Moozy, where are you? Why haven't you been answering my calls? I--"

Moozy?

"--I miss you. I miss spending time with you. Come back already--"

"Hello?" I spoke up which led to the end of her rant.

"Hello."

"Sorry, wrong number," I say.

"Oops. Sorry, my bad." the girl on the other side says and we hang up.

But the phone rings moments later this time on FaceTime. That's when I realize, it's not my phone. It was Muaaz's.

"Who are you?" She asks the second I answer.

"Who are you?" I counter, acting cocky. Then it clicked in place.

Is this Layla? Muaaz's girlfriend but not his girlfriend at the same time.

"I'm Layla." Aha!

"And I'm sure you're looking for your Majnu."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who do you mean by Maj-nu?"

"How many Majnus have you got?"

She blows a breath starting to get frustrated with me and I couldn't enjoy it more.

"Listen up lady--"

"The name is Muskaan."

"Yeah, whatever-- wait, Muskaan?"

Allah! Ine to Muaaz se bhi gayi guzri hai Urdu mein. Ache bhale naam ko Moose-can banadi.

"I know you."

"Oh really?"

"I've heard so much about you! Oh dear! Khala!" She yells, calling someone over and showing the phone to her.

"What has Muaaz done now?" The older lady who is wiping her hands with the towel asks as she makes her way over to Layla.

"Haan bete?"

"Khala, guess who?"

"Uhmm," I sit awkwardly in my place with the Phone raised to capture my blank face.

"Who is that?" She squints briefly before her eyes go wide and tears fill in them.

"Muskaan?" She asks in a go. "Is that you my bacha?"

"Assalamalaikum," I say in a strange voice. Trying to smile and meet her overwhelming emotions.

"Ya Allah! Wajih! Ayra! Ammi! Baba! Jaldi aao."

Oh my God. I should've just not answered the phone.

"Allah khair kare! Rehana ayse awaazan nakko do. Dil marleta mera." I hear a deep baritone say.

"Dekho kon hai!" Rehana khala flashes the phone with equal excitement as Layla is not more.

This man too takes my name in a second. "Muskaan,"

I say my Salam to him before he called over someone else asking them to guess who the person on the phone was and they'd take my name effortlessly while I sat here clueless and awkward as the cycle went on before the phone came back to Rehana Khala.

"Bete, I am Muaaz's mother."

"I am his father,Wajih."

"I am your khala, ayra."

"I am your Nana's brother. Your mom's bade papa."

"And I am your cousin, Layla."

I flash them all a polite smile as they went on about how much I've grown, how tiny I was when they last saw me,and asked if I remembered them.

"Nahi, I'm sorry I don't remember you guys actively. But I am sure Dada jaan ke paas photo albums hai, but that's all really."

"Meri jaan, koi baat nahi. I dont blame you at all. Its our fault that we didnt stay in touch. Aur humari aulad kahan hai? Phone do zara. Itne din se hai wahan pe ek baar video call karaya dekho sab se."

"Muaaz is sleeping and I have his phone cuz we have the same model and same color."

Une to sab beech ke sota. Rehne do bache. I'll call him later. You take care, ok? Send our Salam to the rest of the family.

Aapke abbu ko chordke sab ko Salam do humara." Wajih uncle says and I am suddenly reminded of their rivalry. We hang up shortly after, the conversation stiring mixed feelings in me.

Kaun hai ye log? Kaha se aate hai?

They knew who I was, were so happy yet shocked to see me that they were literally gushing while I had absolutely no idea they even existed.

After this phone call, one thing is clear. Whatever fued exists, its between the two men. And their family, just like mine has no role to pay in this.

⚜️

"Mummaaaa,"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what the fued between Mr. Angrez's father and Abbu is all about?"

All women were standing in the kitchen,Machi and Mumma heating up food and preparing for dinner while Farha and I were here for a chat.

Fatty has gone to the hospital to feed our patient some ghar ka khana while the rest of us were home.

"Why are you suddenly asking about this?" She cross questioned, cooking her brow at me.

"Have you finally warmed up to Muaaz bhaiya?" Farha asks cheekily, shooting me a goofy smile as she popped a Ms Vickies in her mouth and chewed as loud as she could.

"Hmm." I flash her a sarcastic smile in return. "Why do you ask? Are you interested?"

"Taubah." Maachi says, shaking her head at my question.

"I'll back out if you feel threatened." Farha remarks, earning a gasp from me and a chuckle from our mothers.

"Badtameez!" I take a step in her direction but she is quick to make a dash for the exit.

"By the way, do you feel threatened?" Machi pushed.

"I have no competition." I smirk, receiving hoots in return. "But, let's not go off track. Back to my question mumma. Do you know what happened between the two?"

Mumma sighs, shaking her head. "I don't, meri jaan. Initially it looked like any ordinary argument between friends. But the longer they didn't speak to eachother the serious it got until a boycott campaign was launched between the Taseer's and Abdullah's." She sighs again. "Anyway, why this question now?"

"I spoke to Mr. Angrez's family today."

"How?" She frowned.

"I mistook his phone to be mine and received a call from his-- I mean, our cousin, Layla, who passed the phone around so everybody could introduce themselves to me."

"Who all did you speak to?" Machi asked.

"Not speak speak, I didn't even know anyone. But everybody knew me. Rehana aunty, wajih uncle, ayra, their parents, and Layla."

Mumma gave a sad smile at my words until she teared up at the possible thought of seeing them.

I tsk. "Mummaaaaa," Covering the distance between us, I take her in a bear hug. "It's OK. Everything will be fine."

I hear her sniff, feeling her head nod on my shoulder. "Inshallah, meri jaan."

"Itna kaisa ro sakta koi?" I tease, pulling away.

"Soft hearted people cry too quickly, unlike you."

"You mean to say, I'm not soft hearted?"

"I can literally count the number of times you've cried this year which is 0."

"To aap kiya chahte? Main rolete baithun? Tears don't solve anything, ammi jaan."

"Allah miya, ek dum apne Abbu pe gayi meri eklauti aulad." She huff, going back to stiring the pot.

We were silent for a moment before I speak up again.

"You know, it was the first time I'd seen Abbu this concerned for him today." I say recalling the frown that never left his forehead this afternoon.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. I mean he didn't treat him any different thay he would if it were Fatty in his place."

"Acha hai. Atleast we know Muaaz is not on Fahad's radar."

"Radar pe aur koi bhi nahi hai, mumma. It is just the two men on eachothers radar."

"Allah rehem kare bus." Biting in the cucumber, I chew thinking of ways to end this fued.

"I was wondering, if we set up a confrontation between two ex bestfriends, would that solve the issue?"

"Yes, but-- Why are you suddenly so interested in this topic?" She prods.

"Seeing Mr. Angrez alone in the hospital didn't sit well with me." I say with all honesty.

"Oh?" She cocks her brow.

"If he'd been with his family, he'd feel better."

"Acha?"

"Anyone would feel better with their family around."

"We are his family too."

"Immediate family ki baat nahi aati, mumma. I kind of feel bad for him."

"You feel for him?" Farha materializes out of nowhere with her arms crossed.

"Bad. I feel bad. Nothing else."

"Bad is good for starters." Machi says. "Atleast that's what your mom felt for your dad.'

"I didn't feel bad for Fahad," mumma corrects her. "I felt frustrated,angry, pissed but not bad."

I snort at her claims, mentally gushing how cute this pair is.

"Any the way, let's go eat."

I sneak into the drawing room post-dinner, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls, adding an air of mystery to my clandestine mission. I head towards the dusty shelves that hold our family's history-photo albums untouched for the past five years. My fingers trace the spines of the albums before I pull one out, feeling the weight of time and memories.

As I flip through the pages, I am greeted by the smiling faces of my family, each photo a frozen moment of happiness and togetherness. My breath catches when I come across faces that are both unfamiliar and familiar-the same ones I saw today, just younger.

There they are, everyone from Barkat Villa: grandparents, Mumma, Abbu, Machi, Ranchu, and me. And there, too, are Muaaz and his parents, right here in the room where I now stand. A rush of nostalgia washes over me as I recognize baby Farha, a chubby, pink-cheeked infant with kohl-lined eyes staring wide-eyed at the camera. Beside her is toddler Layla, striking a pose reminiscent of the iconic Amul baby, her innocence radiating through the photo.

I turn the page and find a snapshot of Fatty and the two girls, captured mid-game, their laughter almost audible as they run in circles. The carefree joy of childhood is palpable, a stark contrast to the weight of the present.

Then, my heart skips a beat as I come across a picture of Muaaz and myself sitting in a sandpit, our beach toys scattered around us. I look on the verge of tears-a rare sight these days-and Muaaz is glaring fiercely at someone behind the camera. If I were to look at this through rose-tinted glasses, I'd say he was mad at whoever made me cry or was about to. His expression is lethal for a child his age, a fierce protectiveness that takes me by surprise.

The next photo confirms my suspicion-I did cry. My face is buried in my palms, probably too shy to show my tears. But what takes me aback is Muaaz's tiny arms wrapped around me tightly, his eyes still shooting daggers at whoever caused my distress. I chuckle at our antics and sigh, marveling at the innocence of our childhood.

Flipping through more pages, I stumble upon a picture of Abbu and Wajih uncle, their arms draped over each other's shoulders, their smiles wide and genuine. In another, Abbu has Wajih uncle on his back, both of them laughing, the bond between them evident and strong.

The subsequent photos are of a similar kind, filled with camaraderie and joy. It makes me wonder what went wrong between the two. Their bond clearly went back ages, and whatever caused their feud must have been significant.

Despite not knowing the details, one thing becomes clear to me. It's not my concern to dig into the past, but perhaps I can help them mend their fractured relationship. The thought lingers as I close the album, a sense of purpose settling in my heart.

📸😀

Thank you for reading.

Much love, God bless 🫰🏻