𝟔. 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐮𝐣𝐡𝐬𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐡𝐥𝐞 𝐊𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐊𝐨𝐢

The doors of the lift slid open agonizingly slow and people rushed out like they'd been trapped for the last two minutes since we moved up from the lobby to the 5th floor. I too join them, pushing the door of my department open, sharing my 'hello' while striding towards my mini cabin.

"Salam, bibi." Kishore greets me, offering me the tea he had in his tray.

"Kaise ho Kishore?" I ask.

"Badhiya. Chote ka daakhila kara diyea hain school me. Aap ki madad se hi hua hai sabhi kuch. Bohot bohot dhanyawaad."

"Arey koi baat nahi." I say, taking a sip of his special tea. "Bus aap ayse hi chai pilate rahiyea. Bhagwaan aap par apni kripa banaye rakhega."

Setting things down on my desk, I look around me to find the apparent boyfriend muttering something to Shefali. I watch her smile and reach for her bag.

"Ye yaha phir aagaya?" I ask Kishore who tuts in response.

"Peecha chordta hi nahi uska."

"Ab chordega." I mutter, taking the last sip of my tea and covering the distance between the couple and me.

"Baby, I need 2000 more." The sick fu😶‍🌫️er said. "I told you na, daddy's pension is late and my salary is--"

"I know, baby." Shefali coos, being the good and understanding girlfriend she is. "And I told you not to give me explanations like this before--"

"Kyu?" I cut in, gaining their reaction. "Kyu na de explanations? Tum konse jhard se tord kar lare paise jo iss mada💩d pe barsare?"

"Aye, who are you? And how dare you call me a madar💀d? Do you even know who I am?"

"A mada🤡d." I shrug. "That's what you are."

"Muskaan! Muskaan, please, mera boyfriend hai--" Shefali comes to stand beside me, her hand clutching my arm to calm me down and probably shoo me away.

But I was not having any of it, because I was sitting on a pressure cooker-- I am the pressure cooking thats been cooking on high flame since the last couple of days and I wanted a release. Until the actual fasaad ki jard is here.

"Boyfriend?" I ask, turning my attention to her. "Ayse hote boyfriends? Apni hi girlfriend ka kaat raha hai ye."

"Kiya-- kiya matlab hai tumhara?" He argued. "Aur kon permission diyea tumko humare beech me bolne ki?"

"Kyu?" I scoff."Huma Qureshi hai tu? Permission like haath lagana? Malum hai mera baap kon hai? Ek call pe tu, aur teri wo chamiya jo abhi parking lot me tera wait karri, dono ka game kardenge."

"K-kon chamiya?" He challenged, already stuttering.

I turn to my friend. "Shef, iska phone unlock karwao."

She frowns, glancing between me and her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. "I need his phone, Shefali." I demand, jolting her.

"Your phone, Dhruv." She asks.

"But baby, dont you trust me? Is terrorist ke baton me aake you're asking me to hand my phone over?"

Something went off in my mind and I have no idea what happened in the next couple of seconds.

"Terrorist kisko bola, bhos🤖e?" I launch myself at him, gripping the collar of his cheap t-shirt and knee him in his balls. "Hum terrorist hai? Hein? Aur tum kiya ho, desh bhakt?"

He looked intimidating with his biceps but one hit in the right spot had him burst like a balloon. Dhruv yelps, clutching his pathetic manhood over his jeans. I see that as my chance and shove him to the ground before climbing on him.

"Saala, ek lardki pe tu tikta nahi, har hafta scooty wali ko change karne wala meko terrorist bolra." I hold his head in place by fisting his hair with my left and slap his face with my right. "Ek naukri nahi hoti terese, aurton ke paise pe palne wala leechard hai tu, kuttey!"

"Somebody stop her, please."

I deliver a punch to his eye and his nose, confident I heard something crack. Sick glee surges through me when I see the first drop of blood trickle down his nose. Taking that as my sigh, I continue with my lesson.

"Muskaan!" A horrified voice yells behind me.

"Agli baar kisi ko terrorist bolne se pehle ye musalmaan ka art attack yaad karle." I snarl at the groaning man, allowing whoever had their hands on my arms to peel me away.

"Pagal hogaye?!" Dani yelled in my face, but I was not bothered. "Already ek autowale ko thappard mardiyea, ek bike ki tail light smash kardiyea, car wale ko galiyan bak diyea aur ab ye?"

"They deserved it all." I say in a calm voice, feeling better than I had in days. Glancing at the blood on my knuckles, I look for something to wipe it on when Kishore comes to the rescue with a washcloth and ice on his tray. "Thank you, Kishore."

"Aaah," Dhruv groaned behind us, still lying on the ground.

"Arey, aao bhailog." I call. "Bahar chordke aayi inko. Aur thoda extra chillar dena na bhoolo, marham patti karwale thodi."

2 colleagues of mine grab each arm of his and drag him away. Even in the little pain I managed to inflict on him, he muttered 'slut' under his breath just as he passed by me.

"You know," I start, gesturing for the person to hold on for a bit. "Why do they call a woman a slut? Because she's got the morals of a man."

Boom.

"Muskaan," I glance over my shoulder to see Shefali standing there with a guilty look on her face.

"Kiy hua?" I frown.

"I'm sorry, yaar. It's because of me you had to deal with him."

"And what about you dealing with him?" I ask softly. "Didn't you see the red flags? Red flag chodo, poori ki poori red carpet hai ye."

"I never paid attention. Every time he came up with a reason and convinced me to lend him money. Aur main--"

"Main pyaar ke haathon majboor thi. Apne pyaare se boyfriend ko mana nahi karsaki. Yahi na?"

"You are a bitch." Shef says with a laugh of her own, wiping a stray tear that slipped her eyes.

"Bitch apni jagah hai. But how do you fall for such crap?"

"Crap?" She questions and before I could explain what crap is to me, Dania does the honors.

"Crap, in Muskaan's dictionary means love. Pyaar. Mohabbat. Ishq. Which she thinks is bullshit. Nobody loves anybody, everybody is mean and has a purpose of their own. What we see in almost all the movies is fake and fictional that raises people's hopes and romanticize the smallest of things. Isliyea har kisi ko red flags dikhne ke bajaye red hearts dikhre."

"Is that what you really think?" Shefali asks turning to me. And I nod in response. "I can't disagree with you on that after today." She conceded.

"Ye baat!" I raise my hand to give her a hi5 when I hear my name being called from the far corner of the massive office.

"Miss Muskaan, in my office. Now."

Looking over Dani's shoulder, I notice Afsaar, my boss's boss, standing by the door of his cabin. His hands folded across her chest.

Why didn't anyone tell me he was here today?

"Are you in trouble?" Someone asks in a dreadful voice.

"Only time will tell." Giving my hand a final rub of the wet cloth, I pull my shirt down and tug at my hijab to look like I did a couple of minutes ago while striding toward his office.

I step in, plopping myself on the chair in front of him.

"Hello, Sir." I greet him with a smile.

"Care to explain what the mini dangal in my office was?"

"One of my colleagues was assaulted by her partner. If this had happened outside of office grounds, somewhere private, then I would've let go. But I couldn't here and decided to stand my ground and support her when he assaulted me as well and I had to take a stand for myself. Whatever followed that was self-defense, sir." I conclude.

He regarded me with an unnerving stare, and I felt the need to jump under the desk and hide from those eyes. But I managed to hold position, put up a brave face and not let my knee bounce too much.

A breath is released, and a head is shaken after which he moves to do something on his monitor. "Mr. Hussein will be joining us this Monday. I hope you have all the things ready for him."

"Absolutely, sir. Everything's under control."

"Except you." The muscle of my jaw ticks. "I'm only letting you go because you're leading the biggest project of your life. Yet."

"Meherbani," I mutter under my breath, earning a cocked brow from him.

"Hussein is going to be here Monday. And I want you to take him to the site as early as you can and get going on this."

"Of course."

"Thank you." He said dismissively. I rise to my feet and make my way out of the suffocating cabin. All eyes were on me, waiting for bad news.

Smiling at the crowd, I give them a thumbs up. "Alright hai apan." A collective set of sighs were heard and everybody went on about doing their things.

I drag my feet back to my cabin and plop down on my ergonomic chair with a massive sigh.

Ye kaise sankat me daldiyea Allah? Ek hi hafte me do cheezon kaisa jhelungi main?

"Ab kiya hua?" Dani asks, settling on the chair across the desk.

"Yaaro, do-do new additions hone wale hai next week. Ek office me aur ek ghar pe. Kaisa balance karungi main?"

"Kyu?" She asks casually, biting into the scrambled egg sandwich. "Is your baspan ka fiance coming home?" Dani teased.

"Aye chup! Allah na kare. Tumhare muh me khaak. La haul bila quwat."

"Have you ever met the guy before?"

"No! I don't even know what his name is."

"You mean, beghair naam malum karke rishta pakka hogya? Sadqay Tumhare wala scene hai kiya?" She winks, resting her elbowsnon my desk.

"Dani, meri ma, nahi hai kuch bhi aysa."

"How are you so sure? He is your cousin as well."

"As well kiya matlab?"

"Arey, wo drama mein bhi Khalil and Shano were cousins, no? But Shano's mother didn't want this rishta to go forward and that's why that toxic woman does all the things that she does. Is Saira aunty too--"

"Oh God! Oh God!" I groan, burying my face in my palms. "Daniya Khurram, my life is not that Paki drama. I am not getting married to my cousin, I am not engaged to my cousin, I am not in love with my cousin."

"But you are going to get to know him." She offered.

"Not with the current situation of our house and I am still not interested."

"Arey haan, ghar me sab kaisa hai?"

The topic I'd been avoiding.

"Jang ka maidaan hai Barkat Villa aur kuch nahi. Waha se Abbu fire karte, Mumma defend. Yeich chalra humare ghar me. Manhoos insaan k pair bhi nahi pade ghar me aur ye haal hai sabka."

"Aye, manhoos nahi bolte kisi ko!" She swats my arm.

"Toh aur kiya bolu? Koi good news to aari nahi."

"Wo bhi jaldi aajati. But you tell me when is this Londoner landing?"

"Kyu? Aapko gulposhi karna hai?" I ask sarcastically.

"Arey, you tell na."

I sigh. "I don't know. This weekend I think. Looking at the speed with which Mumma had the guest room cleaned, he might even land tonight. What does it matter?" I shrug.

Oh, but it did.

Cut to 12 hours later when I was having a little bit of me time with my book and a candle up on the terrace of Barkat Villa. I saw a car pull up at the main gates that weren't shut for some reason and a man stepped out from the passenger seat. He shuts the door behind him, and says something to the driver before making his way inside.

"Hey!" I call out.

The person pauses, looking around him to detect the source of the sound. I whistle, "Yaha uper dekh, uper."

"Oh, hi there!" He calls back, waving his hand.

"Hi, nahi bye-bye. Kaun hai tum? Aur ander kyu aare humare ghar me?"

"I am--" My dimagh ki batti lights up.

"Naeem bheja? Bete hai tum uske?" I take his silence as a 'yes'. "Ruko. Aariyu main neeche."

Grabbing my dupatta from the bench and my book in hand, I exit the terrace and make my way downstairs.

"Who's there?"

"Naeem ka beta."

"Itni raat me?"

"I'd phoned him 'cause there is a massive leak in my washroom."

I pull the front door open. A warm breeze mixed with a tantalizing musky scent slapped me. I stay rooted in my spot, checking out the classy outfit of this man.

'Mashallah,' I mutter under my breath looking at the total Apple package on him starting with the latest iPhone, matching iwatch and AirPods in his ears. 'naeem ki halat dekhe to koi nahi bolsakta ye uska beta hai.'

"Seedha UK se are kiya?" I joke, but looking at his confused expression, I shake my head at the absurd question. "sorry'. Opening the door wider, I urge him to come in, failing to see the luggage that was kept on the porch.

I lead the way to my room upstairs, catching Abbu on the way.

"Who's he?" my father questions the second he lays his eyes on him.

"Naeem ka beta." My answer was followed by a scrutinizing glance that worked better than a security check at the airport. He grunts in response, making his way back to his room.

Poor guy looked intimated under Abbu's stare before his eyes met asking the same question he was asked.

"Mere Abbu." I expect him to nod or shrug but he does a double take, looking back in the direction of my parents' room.

Weird.

We continue to my room where I tell him what's wrong. He crouches silently to examine the leak and looks around for tools. I called Fatty to bring whatever we had at home since he came khali haath and put this man to work. I watch him get to work, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"He doesn't look like Naeem's son, no?" I whisper to Fatty whose eyes shine in agreement.

"Ine to actual plumber bhi nahi dikhta, baj."

"Bilkul aapne meri much ki baat cheenli." I slap his open palm.

"Plumbing ke ilawa aur kiya karte?" Fatty asked him but only silence came our way. "Hello?"

"Construction." He answered.

And ooohhhh, what a deep voice.

I watch his broad back in silence, almost admiring his arms that the grey polo was doing a great job of defining. I crane my neck to get a better look when a hand strikes my forearm.

"Kiya hai?" I hiss at Fatty who was frowning at me.

"Don't stare at him like that."

"I was only admiring the physique he's developed from lifting all those bricks."

"Achi baat nahi hai--"

"Done." The stranger pushes to his feet and I struggle to look away at the drenched shirt that is stuck to his chest, outlining the fainst abs he has built.

What is this man?

"Hogya?"

He nods, wiping his thick brow with the back of his hand. Putting whatever tools he's used back in the box, he walks out of the room without a word. He didn't even spare me a second glance.

Itni bhi buri nahi hoon main, I think peeking a look at the mirror on the side wall.

Footsteps echo in the quiet hallway signaling his departure. I sigh, stepping into my bathroom to see the leak fixed with a tinge of him in the air.

"Fateh, I am sending you a picture of Muaaz. You really need to leave for the airport now." We hear mummy yell from downstairs.

"Ok, tayi ammi. Roger tha --* gasp*.

"Yallah, kiya hua?" I ask, walking over to him. "Fatty, hua kiya?"

"You know why you were wondering if this man was Naeem's son?"

"Because he didn't look like him," I answer.

"That's cause he is not Naeem's son."

Hein??

👨🏻‍🔧

Kaun hai ye plumber? 🤔 Any guesses?