𝟏. 𝐇𝐚𝐢 𝐀𝐩𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐥 𝐓𝐨𝐡 𝐀𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐚

Sunlight streamed across the kitchen floor, highlighting the dust dancing in motes. Dishes piled precariously in the sink, a casualty of this morning's rushed breakfast.  With a sigh, I attacked the mess, the clinking of china blending with the infectious soundtrack of a Bollywood movie playing in the background.

It was Padosan, and by the sound of it, a full-blown dance sequence was erupting on screen. I hummed along, my movements mirroring the film's chaotic energy as I scrubbed a greasy pan.  The kitchen gleamed when I finished, a stark contrast to the playful Bollywood chaos.

Grinning, I grabbed a dish towel and dried my hands, sneaking a peek at the living room. Collapsing onto the couch, I snatched a stray pillow and settled in.  The scene unfolded in a burst of color - Nisha and her friends danced in vibrant sarees, a kaleidoscope of movement against the backdrop of the song.

Just as Nisha twirled around a tree, her voice filled the room, singing, 'Is pyaar ka fasana hai, yeh ishq ka nasha hai'   I smiled, picturing the iconic scene.

Giving the worktop a final swipe of the washcloth, I move to wring out the water in the sink and then lay it flat out to dry. Grabbing the freshly washed mugs and spoons, I arrange them in the overhead kitchen cupboards, before stealing a bag of Butterkist Toffee popcorn and a box of Jaffa cakes from the other.

I may have watched the movie and heard the song over a billion times now, but everything the words register in my mind, my heart goes mmmm. It pushes me to say words like 'manifesting', 'me and who', and 'this could be us', as though my life is an Instagram affair and I am posting stories in search of 'the special one'.

Let's face it, music back then was to die for.

The memory triggered a flicker from last night's dream.  I'd been walking along a beach with a girl. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink.  The sound of crashing waves mingled with the gentle melody from her phone, a song by some unknown artist but with a strangely familiar tune.

We stopped, her hand brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, but something was wrong.  Her figure was bathed in a soft, golden light that obscured her face completely. It was like looking at a shimmering mirage.

"Wanna dance?" her sweet voice, soft like the lapping waves, asked.

The strange music swelled, and despite the unnerving lack of a face, I felt drawn to her. Before I could stammer out an answer, she grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. We swayed to the music, a strange sense of familiarity washing over me.  Her laughter blended with the melody, a sound as captivating as the unknown tune.

As the song reached its peak, the sky pulsed with a kaleidoscope of colors, mirroring the swirling light around her figure.  The beach shimmered, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I glimpsed something ancient and powerful etched beneath the sand.

Suddenly, the light intensified, momentarily blinding me. When I opened my eyes, the beach was empty. The music had faded, replaced by the rhythmic crashing of waves.  A single seashell, perfectly smooth and pearlescent, lay at my feet.

And I woke up soon after with a strange feeling in my chest.

Turning my attention back to the Television, popping a toffee popcorn in my mouth when I heard my phone ring. I expected it to be Ma, given that it was Friday but let out an annoyed sign on reading the name 'Majid' instead. I decide not to answer, and press the power button to decline the call.

Rolling my eyes at the caller ID, I hit answer this time.

"what's up?" I answered the Bollywood music a faint murmur in the background.

"Just checking in, to see how the solo weekend warrior life is treating you," he said, his voice laced with a teasing smirk.

"Not bad," I mumbled, already blushing. "Just finished cleaning..."

Mark let out a loud, obnoxious snort. "Yeah, right. And by 'cleaning,' you probably mean watching Bollywood musicals on the couch." But before I could say anything, he spoke up. "Which movie is it this time?"

I huff. "Padosan. A classic!"

"Pad-o-sun." He mimics my accent, laughing at his sick joke. "You really need to up your Urdu game, pal."

"Just like you need to up your timing game, pal."

"Anyway," I roll at his selective hearing and move forward like I didn't say anything habit and await the words coming my way.  "I'd gladly leave you to your cultural enrichment program but something's come up in the office. Old man Oscar's here. And George wants to speak with you."

My mood instantly soured at the mention of George and Oscar together. I could only wonder what they wanted to talk about given my track record.

"How much time do I have?" I sighed.

"A decent half hour."

Glancing at the cargo shorts I was still in, I nodded, reluctantly pushing to my feet. We say our 'see ya's and hang up shortly after.

"Can't even have a single Friday to myself," I mutter ruefully staring at the big screen.

Cut to 20 minutes later, I park my car turn off the engine, taking a minute to gather my thoughts.

"I'm gutted for you, young man. It hurts me equally to say this but you're fired." I said out loud, preparing myself to hear the exact words leave George -- my boss-- mouth.

and was now stepping out of the lift of our office building.

"Hey, Mu!" I smile at Sophie in return for her trimming my name which was oh-so-difficult to pronounce for these gora pakoras.

"Alright?"

"All good." She replies from behind her desk. "Oscar's waiting for you."

I nod, continuing my determined stroll when I feel my phone buzz in the pocket of my slacks. Fishing it out, I see a text from Laila that reads 'We're going shopping tonight!!'

Not a request, nor a question. She knew I couldn't say no.

I shoot her a thumbs up, not that it was necessary, then pocket my phone on seeing Majid approach me with a sly smile on his face.

"So, how was your film date with yourself?" He joked as we slapped hands in greeting.

"Great, if you weren't there to ruin it."

"C'mon! How many times have you watched that film?" He scrunches up his nose, before putting on one of his best mimicking faces. "Up to the age of 25, a man should be a bachelor, celibate. From 25 to 5O he should be a householder. From 5O to 75---"

"Every second I spend around you, my belief that you were sent only to bully and humiliate me only grows stronger." I cut him off. "Thank you, Majid Ali, for never leaving my side since college and staying by me while I watch such films whose monologues you have just narrated."

"Those things are cringe. How do you live with yourself?"

"The same way you find guilty pleasure in watching those cringe films so many times with me you can put the dialogue word for word like you have. Hypocrite saala."

"Is that your Urdu word of the day?" He snickered.

"Shut up!" I laugh, shoving him away a little. "Not my fault I am whitewashed more than you."

"Just because I wasn't born here and immigrated when I was a teen, doesn't make me less of a citizen than you." Majid points out.

"Which reminds me, how is baby Ahmed?" I change subjects effortlessly.

"Good. And his father is praying day and night, he doesn't turn like you."

"Ouch. I hope his mother is praying otherwise." The scowl I receive from him, makes me cocks a brow. "What?"

"Bohot fikar hai aapko bhabi ki." He sassed. "I'll ask you the same when you tie the knot."

"Where did tying the knot come from?" I retort. "You are just jealous, because I am still single, and the crush of many while you are the husband and father of your firstborn at 28 when you should be grateful for being united with your better half."

"Haan, haan, hum hai ungrateful." He rolls his eyes. "Teri shaadi hone de. Then I'll say, welcome to the Twat club."

"I would never."

"What? Get married?"

"Join the Twat club," I affirm. "I'd only marry if--"

"If I fall in love with the person." Of course, he knew me. We are best friends for a reason. "And how would you know that you have fallen in love with a person? Violins will start to play in the background, things will move in slow motion, and your heart begins to palpitate as it has never before. And when you see her, she'll take your breath away. I've heard all of it enough, but do you know what we call this?"

"Lo--"

"Lust story." He deadpans, cutting me off.

"What?!" I exclaim, horrified at his answer.

"Love at first sight is bullshit. It's only lust at first sight." A cloud of silence stood over us. I blinked at the possibility of his claim, wondering if that was the case. For most men, maybe, because we are hardwired that way. But did it apply to all of us? And what about the female population?

I see Sophie wave her hand at me behind Majid, gesturing to George's cabin.

"Thank you for the thought-provoking claim. We'll explore the topic some other time. Bye for now." I say and begin to walk past him.

"Ya Allah! Bollywood ko dunya se ban karwado." Majid says, earning a chuckle from me. "Itne unreal expectations bhare hue hai mere dost ke dimagh me, I'm scared kahi uska sapna chan se na toote."

"Tum-haray mooh meh gee shakkar." I say with a scowl at his absurd dua. He should be asking for my expectations to be met and come true--

My scowl deepens when Majid bursts out laughing as though I cracked a joke. "What's so funny?"

"It's not ghee shakkar, meri English mem. It's supposed to be 'tumhare muh me khaak' for when you don't want their words to come true." He explains, and I wanted nothing more than a YRF film to swallow me whole.

Embarrassed, I silently curse my pathetic Urdu, and quickly spin on my heel, rushing towards George's cabin. The happy side of me leaves me with every step I take in the direction of the meeting-cum-court room where the verdict on my fate will be announced very shortly.

I suck in a deep breath, my hand resting on the doorknob. I rap my knuckles and wait till I hear a 'Come in' before pushing the door and stepping in.

"There you are!" George cheers.

"How are you doing?" I ask with a tight smile on my face.

"Not too bad. And yourself? Please, have a seat. We have things to talk about."

I settle on the chair right across from him. "Oscar was going to be here too, I heard?"

"That's correct-- Oh, there he is."

I turn to look over my shoulder at Oscar, my boss's father making his way through the door. It's been ages since I last saw him. The cane he leaned on as he walked was a new addition to his slightly hunched posture. I push to my feet and shake the old man's hand before settling in again.

"How ya doing?"

"Not too bad. I hope all's fine with you as well."

"Ah! Just the usual." He chuckles, while I nod.

"You wanted to see me?" I initiate.

"Oh, sure. About that, uh," I waited patiently as George struggled to find the words. Everybody knew of his insecurities especially when it came to his father. Even after all these years, he gets all worked up and nervous in front of old man Oscar.

Suddenly, my stomach began churning with an unpleasant feeling the longer the silence stretched. I start a silent prayer.

Dear Allah, I know my days here are numbered. I have been on a streak for unsuccessful projects right after giving this company my best for a very long time. I am aware of how the world works, and I pray it doesn't hurt me too much when they announce my layoff. I've only had a rough patch in my career and that doesn't mean I start hating my profession. I'm still in love with my job as much as I was on day 1. Please, grant me a better opportunity after I leave here---

"Well," I snap out of my rant, leaving it hanging midway, and look between the father and son duo.

"We are sending you to India."

⚜️

Mubarak on reading the first chapter you guys! I hope you stay with us till the end.🫂

Sending love and joy your way  💕