𝟕. 𝐉𝐚𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐧

Plumber.

Is thay what i look like?

A plumber?

Are plumbers as handsome as i am here?

Or did she think I have materialized out of a Sinns' videos?

*scoff*

A plumber? Seriously?

I will take this with me to my grave.

Stepping out the front door, I let it shut behind me and spin on my heel to take a good look at the house.

Was I at the wrong place?

I don't think so because this house seems oddly familiar to me. I know I've been here a couple of times, be it in my childhood but the feeling of this home is etched into my soul.

Perhaps the family has moved to someother house. That could be a possibility. Because none of the faces seemed familiar. But again, something about that man, the girl's father, was sparingly familiar. The stare he gave me sent shivers down my spine that I somehow managed to withstand not wanting to be scared of someone i barely knew.

But that stare. The way he squinted his eyes, scanning me up and down was something else. It felt like i was posing a threat to something he loves dearly and I was going to whisk it away.

Shouldering my bag, I begin strolling towards the gate when I hear someone call.

"Bhaiya!"

Whose older brother have I become now?

I've been in the country for less two hours and Allah miyan, look what is happening.

Throwing my head backward in a groan, I shut my eyes momentarily before twirling around.

And suddenly I was SRK from K3G. The extended cut of the title track began playing in my mind when my eyes fell on the woman standing in front of me a couple of steps away.

'Kiya bebasi hai ye,

kiya majbooriya,

hum paas hai phir bhi kitni hai dooriyan.'

Shouldering my duffel bag, I place one after the other and cover the distance between the front door and me. My heartbeat skyrocketed with every step and I was suddenly transported to the second half of K3G, feeling no less than Rohan coming home to the family he never knew existed.

A lump began to develop in my throat, slowly cutting the air supply to my lungs. I wanted to slap myself when tears filled my eyes because my body was acting the weirdest it has ever gotten.

In front of me were 2 women whose names I couldn't recall despite practicing the whole duration of the flight. The one of the right, was tall, thin and had tears in her eyes just like I did. And without missing a beat, I knew who she was.

"Turkey?" I croak.

The other woman on her left, throws a hand over her mouth. Out of shock, out of joy I couldn't tell. Turkey, a.k.a Saira Mumma choked on a sob when the word registered in her mind. She takes a step my way, her thin arm moving to caress my cheek.

"It's really you." She whispered through her tears. "It's our little boi, Maryam." She tells her.

Maryam Khala inches forward, running a hand down my face. She was smiling with tears in her eyes too. The duo making it really hard for me to hold back mine. I am pulled into a hug by the two, with their heads resting against my rapidly beating heart. I hear a sniffle before they let go, and all three of us are patting their eyes dry, while looking away from the other.

"Come on in," Saira Mumma says, ushering me inside.

"I've got my luggage back in the Uber. I'll just go and get it."

"Fateh will take care of it."

"It's too much for him. He'll probably need a hand. I'll--"

"Get in, you've had a long flight." She stressed.

"Thank you." I blow a breath, stepping out of my trainers and walk into the foyer. An older man I didn't recognize stood with his arms folded.

Was this the lion? I mentally asked myself but brushed the thought away when he smiled and took me in an embrace.

"I was supposed to be picking you up from the airport." He says.

"Oh, assalalsikum." I recall Ma saying something about the younger brother of the lion. Then, I turn so I was facing everybody I had met until now. "I'm sorry I'm terrible with names. Ma had sent me a fairly old picture of you guys with names of each person marked on it. It was only the second generation of the Abdullah's and the first grand child of the house. It will take me sometime to catch your names. I'm sorry."

"Arey, koi baat nahi, bache." He Pat's my shoulder. I flash all of them a grateful smile.

"Thank you for having me. I was okay with staying at the hotel and still am. Please don't feel obligated to keep me at your place. If I bother any one of you in the tiniest bit, I'll pack my stuff and check into a hotel."

"Aysa kuch nahi hone wala." My mom's youngest cousin says. "Aur agar hua bhi to-- One second. Do you understand Urdu?" She asks. "Because you've been answering us in English."

I clear my throat, ready to give them a demo. "May understand kar sakte par thora rustic hay mera Urdu." And as expected, all of them erupt in chuckles. "That's the reason I stick to English." I say as a matter of factly, probably turning pink on my cheeks.

"Hey! You spoke well." Saira mumma says, shutting down the giggles.

"Dont mind us." The other sousin says and I am made to sit on the sofa in the living room of their house. "You hungry?"

Errrrrrr--

"No." I manage a smile that probably falters in their scrutinizing gazes.

"Yup, he's hungry." Saira mumma claims and walks away followed by the other lady. I take a moment to look around when a young face makes an appearance.

"Hi," She says.

"Hello, young lady."

"I'm Farha." She introduces herself while blushing.

"I'm Muaaz. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." She gives a shy smile, settling on the chair across from me. "I am Imran Abdullah's daughter."

"Imran?"

"The one who was just here."

"Oh, so his name is Imran."

"Yup, and the one in yellow cotton suit, she is my mom. Maryam Khan." I nod, storing the name away in my file knowing when I wake up tomorrow I'd forget them again. "I also have an older brother, Fateh, but we call him Fatty."

"Why Fatty?" I snort.

"I don't know. But that's what Muskaan baji has been calling him ever since. So we also call him the same."

"Muskaan who?"

"Tum!" My head whips to the side as the new person steps in fron to me. "Tum yaha kiya karre? Gaye nahi abhi tak? Payment ka wait karre shayad."

"Nayyi, I--" I am cut off by her.

"Aur Farha, strangers se ayse baat nahi karte. Kitni baar bole ye baat?"

"But, baji--"

"Go and get Abbu's wallet. We'll pay and send him on his way."

"Listen--" Poor girl tries to intervene but is quickly shut by her sister.

"Behes nahi, Farha. Go."

"Aapko malum nahi hai aap kiya kare." She huffs getting to her feet and leaving us alone. Her eyes cut to mine almost instantly and the name I've been hearing the past 2 weeks for a million times a day strikes me.

Muskaan.

It was her.

I watch her open her mouth to say something but the other kid who called me 'bhaiya' steps into the living room and quickly pulls her to the side. He practically flashes his phone in her face who looks confused before squinting at the screen. Her eyes moved between me and whatever she was looking at on the screen a couple of times. The confusion on her face disappears and is replaced by a hard expression, followed by anger and disdain in that order.

What's all that for? It's not my fault she mistook me to be a plumber.

My eyes watch her as she stomps her way away from me and disappears into the house like I'd disappointed her. Massively.

Looking at the boy, I gesture in the direction she just went and silently ask him what's going on with her. In response, he just waves a hand, saying 'She'll be fine.' before following her.

Muskaan returns minutes later, demanding Farha to come upstairs with her to bed.

"I am not sleepy, baji."

"Doesn't matter. Just come with me."

"I want to talk to bhaiya."

"You don't talk to strangers." She argued.

"But bhaiya stranger nahi hai. Apne cousin hai."

"Apne liyea to stranger hi hai na." Her eyes cut to mine. "He could easily be a serial killer in the pretense of being someone's son."

Oh?

"Don't mind her. She watches too many crime documentaries."

Oh.

"Chalo, jao, sojao. Kal college jana hai."

"Tomorrow is Sunday." I cut in, watching how her sharp gaze moved on me.

"We are not used to staying up so late. For anyone." She adds bitterly. "Come Farha."

"Muskaan, why don't you join us for a bit?" Maryam suggests, but her niece was quick to turn the offer down.

"No, Machi. I'll head upstairs and probably take Farha with me as well."

"I'm not heading to bed now." Farha protested, earning a glare from her cousin's sister.

"Muaaz bete, chodo unko. They never stop bickering." Saira Mumma comes my way with a tray of food in her hands. I push to my feet, take the tray from her, and set it down on the center table.

Settling on the couch with a sigh, I take a moment to notice the bowls of butter chicken, naan and biryani in front of me. All of them are my classic favorites.

"I hope you like them," Farha says. "Saira mumma has made them all for you herself."

I grin, hearing the sounds approach. The two khalas, Farha's father and brother were now sitting around me. My luggage was delivered to my room. Tearing a piece of naan, I dip it into the gravy and pop it in my mouth. Another smile made its way to my face.

"I've never felt anything like this before." I confess to the lot, not stopping my hands.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I cover my mouth so I could quickly chew and swallow, earning chuckles from my audience. "Wherever I've traveled for work, it was mostly only me and a few colleagues with boring stats in a hotela and eating out most of the time. Here, you guys have made such arrangements for me, I don't know what to say accept thank you. Oh, and a special thanks to you Saira Mumma for the food. I was starving even after eating the terrible flight food." Another round of chortles errupted. .

"You're welcome, meri jaan. And it's no big deal seriously. You've come back after all these years, all grown up into a very handsome man, this was the least I could do."

I multitask between eating, answering their questions and asking some from my side. We settled on calling Saira Mumma, just Mumma, Chachi and Chachu to Afra's parents, Fateh as Fateh.

"Is it only you guys in the house?" I ask, taking a sip of the water.

"Mummy and daddy are sound asleep. And Fahad bhaiya is--"

"Mummy and Daddy?"

"My grandparents." Farha, the talkative one answered. "I call them Dada and Dadi."

"Guess you can call them the same. I mean, Dulha bhai was like their third son. So I don't see a problem."

My head was starting to spin with the amount of people I was to keep in mind. Who the hell is Dulha bhai now?

"I'm sorry, who was Dulha bhai, again?"

"Your father." Chachu snorts, followed by everyone. I jam my lips together in embarrassment and look away, tomato-faced.

Ok.

"And then there's my husband." Mumma sighs. "Fahad Abdullah."

The lion.

"Yup, that's him. Who is currently at a friend's place." I notice the awkward silence that suddenly took over like a dense cloud above us. Taking a sip of the water, I set it back on the now-empty tray of food.

"Ma sent her love for you all," I say in an attempt to change the subject. "Like, literally she sent her love. All the luggage you see it's all for you guys. I only had the duffel bag to myself, rest all is not mine."

🕚

"What took you so long to call?" Papa inquired.

I bite my tongue, thinking about what excuse to feed him. Certainly, I couldn't tell him that I was being fed homemade butter chicken by the wife of his ex-best friend. Or that, we had spent the past hour chatting about life in London, recalling past things and how much of a baby I was when we last visited.

"Muaaz?" His voice reached my ears.

"Traffic." I say in a calm voice. "The car I was in stood in the same spot for like an hour. Stupid people honking at no one in general. It's crazy out there."

Didn't have be that dramatic, but ok.

"How's the hotel?"

"Fine. Nothing fancy." Taking a look around me. "It's giving me home vibes."

That was the truth. These people I've been with ever since I landed, are family. Although we hadn't met in 20 years, sitting there with them didn't feel like it. It felt like we'd known each other for a lifetime.

"That's good. Here, I'm putting Ma on the phone. Talk to her." I gulp, swallowing the tight bundle of nerves that were choking me, and release a breath.

"Assalamalaikum, meri jaan." I reply to her Salam, falling on the bed behind me. I narrated almost everything I had to papa to before asking her whether she was out of earshot.

"I am now," She says and I hear a door shut from the other side. "Have you met them?"

"I have, and I'm staying at one of their guest bedrooms."

"The one by the stairs?"

"The one by the stairs." I confirm and both of us share a laugh. I tell her how I managed to get to their place with the address she had given me, how I pictured myself as Rohan Raichand walking upto the front door, and Saira Mumma had made my favorite dishes, and how everyone has been treating me like I'd grown up here.

"It doesn't feel like I've met these people after so long, Ma. They've been joking with me like I am one of them."

A knock on the door startles me. I push to my feet asking Ma to hold and pull the door open.

"I'd asked Muskaan to keep this bottle of water in your room," Mumma says. "Guess she forgot."

"Is that Turkey?" Ma asked from the other side.

"Mumma," I call out, taking the bottle from her hand. "Ma is on the phone," I tell her softly, watching the way her eyes slowly widen.

Handing the device over to her, I take her hand and wrap it around so she doesn't drop it. Not that I'd care about it cracking, but still. I wait until she puts it against her ear and says hello to it before stepping out of the room to give her the space she needs. Allah knows how long since they'd spoken to each other.

Deciding to get myself water, I went to the kitchen when a figure bumped into me.

"So you were here all the time?" I cock a brow at this 5 foot 5 detective when she jumps backward.

"It's my house." She says nonchalantly. My brows pull together. Wasn't she supposed to be long in bed?

"Were you spying on me this whole time?"

"I was looking out for my family."

"Ahan!" I flash her a smirk.

"What?" She frowns, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Mm-mmm. Nothing." I say, walking around and heading towards the kitchen.

"No, tell me. What made you go 'Ahan' like that?"

"I say, let it be. I don't wanna break your strong heart by saying the truth." I reach for the half-empty jug and pour myself a half-full glass.

"What truth?" She pressed.

I motion her closer with my fingers. With the grimace intact, she leans in ever so slowly waiting for me to say the words.

"You're jealous they love me more than you," I whisper the words like it's top secret and pull backward, placing the glass to my mouth.

"I hope you choke on the water and die." She snarls.

As though in an instant her wish was granted. I was meant to laugh when the liquid went down the wrong pipe and I burst out into fits of coughing. The water splashed everywhere, as I meekly placed the glass on the worktop and clutched my stomach. Tears pricked my eyes as I struggled to breathe for a good half minute. I was wheezing by the time the coughing subsided, and groans left my throat with every intake of breath I'd take.

"That was quick." She says, leaning against the fridge and flashing me a sickly sweet smile.

"But I didn't die." I manage to say in between my pants.

"Ye to sirf trailer tha. Picture abhi baaki hai." She spins on her heels and makes her way towards the door when she suddenly comes to a halt. Glancing back at me over her shoulder, she says. "Welcome to Hyderabad."

Was that supposed to scare me?

...

Cut to a good sleep later, I was up and making my way to the dining room where the voices were coming from. I greet the familiar faces from last night and the two new ones, Dada and Dadi, all of whom were seated around the table.

"Mashallah!" Dadi says, raising her wrinkly hand to my face with a twinkle in her eyes. "Poora Wajih hai."

"Wajih se acha hai aur." Dada comments. "Urdu samajhta bole nahi Imran ine?"

"Ji, daddy." Chachu answered while I walked around and took my seat. "Bol bhi sakta lekin accent ki wajah se zara avoid karte, janab."

"Itna sa tha," Dadi puts her hand up to her waist to emphasize on my height. "Abhi 6 foot ki ladder hogya." The three of us snort at her words.

"Uthgaye bubba," Chachi walks in followed by Mumma. "How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," I confess.

"You could've slept in some more. We don't have hard rules set for the kitchen, ke 10AM to 12 is breakfast uske baad kitchen band. And that is also the reason why the kids are not here yet."

"I'm an early bird, can't sleep for too long even if I try."

"Aye Hayee, bichara bacha."

"Hungry?" Saira Mumma asked, setting down the big dish of yellow rice.

Khichdi?

"I am now." She laughs softly, gesturing me to bring my plate forward and filling it up to her heart's content then pouring a spoonful of the sesame seed chutney, kheema, fried masala egg, and papadum on the side. I eye the intimidating-looking plate and swallow my spit wondering how am I supposed to finish this.

"Aaram se khao bete, koi jaldi nahi hai." Chachu cheers me on, probably from the terrified face I'd just had on. The others settle down just as quickly and dive into their meals with occasional small talk here and there.

"How are your grandparents?" Dada inquired.

"They're good. Nani has a knee problem which makes it hard for her to move around sometimes. But Nano is fit still. Goes for a walk every morning."

"Are they in London or?"

"Mm-mmm. I am the only one who lives in London because of work. Ayra khala's family too. Ma and papa moved to Manchester with Nano and Nani."

"So, what bought you here?" Chachu inquired. I narrate to him the story of how this revamping of an old heritage site venture was imposed on me and I was sent here as a trial to see how far the project could go if it could even start.

"What did you say the name of the firm was?"

"HeritageSpace Architects Ltd."

"And the one here?" He asks.

"UrbanEra Architects."

Everybody stopped doing whatever they were doing and suddenly all eyes were on me. Dada's jaw, Chahu's hand that was on it's way to the mouth, Chachi's hand that was around the glass of water and Mumma who was helping herself with some Kheema, all of them froze as though we were doing a mannequin challenge.

"What's wrong?" I ask cautiously. "Do you know someone who works there? Someone who can help me navigate the project? Because I have absolutely zero idea of how things work here. It would be really nice if I could have someone I could trust."

Still, no answer. They merely blinked at me. But then we heard footsteps approaching in the background, definitely coming our way. When the groggy 'Salam' was uttered, everybody seemingly zoned back in, giving each other strange looks I couldn't interpret. And just like that, we were back to normal as though the last 500 or so seconds had never happened.

"Jaldi uthgayi meri shehzadi." Mumma smiles at her daughter who wound her way around the table while placing kisses at everybody's cheeks.

"Neend aayi to so bhi sakta insaan. I didn't see any point in laying in bed any longer." She grumbled, plopping down on the chair next to her mother.

Taking in her night suit and the way her hair was a mess, the mini conversation we had last night in the kitchen played in my mind. Our gazes clash, and a sick idea is generated in my mind. I wait for when Mumma dumps a spoonful of rice on her plate and wraps her hand around the spoon in Kheema's bowl.

"Erm, mumma, can I get some Kheema, please?"

"Of course, bacha."

Although Muskaan had her plate raised, she took a spoonful and dished it out to me first then her. I watch from the corner of my eye how her nostrils flare and a scowl reappears on her face. She slams her plate down on the table with quite some force, startling everyone up.

"Careful,"

Muskaan lowers her head now wide awake and takes a good look at the meal she was supposed to be having.

"Khichdi?!" She exclaimed, looking for an explanation from her mother and her aunt. "Why Khichdi? You know I don't like khichdi!"

"Muaaz likes khichdi." I smile politely at Chachi. "Ammi told me he is a Khichdi lover."

We'll debate on who Ammi is later. For now, let's ponder on the strange pleasure I was getting out of irking her this way. Even if it is only the third time I've seen her in two days.

I could feel the burning gaze she had directed on me and it took every ounce of strength in my body to not smirk. Not smirking. But it appeared on my mouth somehow and the glare turned into daggers.

She knew I was having fun. But how? And why was I having fun? I didn't even know the girl.

In the next couple of hours, the daggers transformed into lasers as more and more people stopped by to meet me. They'd claim the last they saw me was when I was a little boy cuz apparently 10 years was still considered little. They gushed, ran a hand across my face, and ruffled my hair like I was an exhibit in a museum. That's exactly how I felt, clueless about the people around me, and sat with a smile pasted on my face to appear polite.

Muskaan was around me the whole time like a shadow, giving me dirty looks every time an aunty walked past her towards me and repeated the gushing cycle. Not that I didn't enjoy the attention, I had to pretend as though I was having the best time of my life.

Suddenly, I see as she points a finger at me and then runs get thumb around her throat in the you're dead gesture.

Today it was established that she and I belonged to two rivalries. We were our own parties and the war had only begun. For what? Guess only time will tell

⚠️🥷🏻

War begins!