by Zeenat Mahal
It was so worth it.
She hesitated on the threshold just for a minute, but then she walked in with her head held high and the same plastic smile on her face that he was beginning to recognize as her pitiful new trademark. Poor KK.
Where the hell did that come from?
He shook himself mentally and followed her, determined to enjoy her comeuppance.
‘Oh my God, it’s true!’
‘Khayyam! What were you thinking?’
‘All that time in college you made us believe…’
He smiled and said in an undertone, ‘Sweet, sweet vengeance, KK. Now go and look happy.’
He shoved her lightly towards the table while he laughed and joked with his friends, who were openly making suggestive jokes about how he had ‘tamed’ Khayyam. He made no effort to stop them. In fact, he grinned every time someone said anything that suggested she’d actually had a torch burning for him since college. He was enjoying himself immensely.
Khayyam laughed and smiled initially, but gradually she fell into a dignified silence, embellished with her plastic smile as the jokes became more aggressive.
Akbar was intrigued beyond measure. What had happened to her? Her house had looked pretty shabby and her father was now retired from the government job he had held; but how was her marriage going to help?
Alia, a classmate who had never liked Khayyam piped up. ‘So Khayyam, you’ve sold out too. What happened to your dreams of fighting for women’s rights and joining the UN? You’re ending up marrying, just like, what was it you said you’d never be, an average bimbo? Well now…’
They laughed.
Khayyam tried to shrug, but Akbar could see Alia’s words had hurt her.
Mubashir added, ‘And to submit to Akbar, the man you called an example of everything that was wrong with the youth of this country. What a man you are, Akbar! An inspiration for us all.’
Khayyam swallowed visibly, smiled and said in a low voice, ‘He’s the man.’
Mubashir and the others winked and nudged but suddenly, Akbar had had enough. He hadn’t forgotten the old slight because it had hurt at the time. She had been young and passionate about some things that he had been obviously opposed to and maybe she had said things she probably wouldn’t say now.
‘You’ll have to excuse us, guys, Khayyam and I have to go somewhere. We should do this again.’
He was already helping her out of her chair. Why did he feel this sudden urge to protect her? Her face was rigid with the control she’d been exercising. Now that he had embarrassed her and got even, why did he feel…defeated?
Her hand felt small and delicate in his as she walked by his side quietly, and he looked at her surreptitiously. She was even more beautiful than before. She exuded a strange aura of strength, and yet he could sense the vulnerability that had never been there before.
He certainly wasn’t the same. People grew up, changed…so had they.
She slipped into the passenger seat and stared ahead rigidly. For the first time since he’d met her again, he felt tongue-tied. Had it gone too far?
Had he?
‘Khayyam…’
‘It’s KK, remember?’ she said icily and then added with irritation, ‘What does it even mean?’
He smiled.
‘It’s pretty lame. Your not knowing was the punch line. If I tell you, it loses it’s edge.’ Facing her, he added, ‘So I’ll tell you, as a peace offering. It’s Kosher Khayyam.’
She nodded and gave a mirthless half-laugh.
‘I see. Standing up for hopeless causes and right and wrong, self-righteous…yeah it is lame.’
‘Told you it was. And Khayyam, I’m sorry about tonight. They went a bit too far. I should have stopped…’
‘Don’t bother, Akbar. I can pay my debts and I paid mine with you tonight. Or at least I think I did. If you don’t agree, lead on. I can handle whatever you have to throw at me.’
‘Still the tough firebrand somewhere inside, I see.’
He smiled but she didn’t.
And Akbar wanted to know how, or who, had extinguished the fire in Khayyam. He remembered her passionate speeches and her dedication to some good cause or other. Now she seemed to be fighting herself, some invisible constraint that kept her from incinerating her opponents with her biting barbs. He was beyond curious.
After dropping her off, he went straight to his mother to get to the bottom of things. And she told him exactly why Khayyam would let him go to any lengths to stay engaged to him. Not that his mother knew that particular bit of information, but he understood. Akbar felt that strangely unfamiliar emotion again, to protect.
The very next day he hired a lawyer to do what he needed him to do.
***
Akbar and his mother sat at the dinner table with Khayyam and her family. She was dazzling—laughing and glowing with happiness. She was unable to take her eyes off of her younger brother who’d recently been acquitted of a kidnapping charge that had proven to be fabricated and groundless. Everyone had known that and yet, it had been an uphill battle to prove it.
Her parents looked stronger, as if a pressure had lifted off of their shoulders.
But Akbar had eyes only for Khayyam that night. It was likely the last time he was going to see her, now that she no longer felt she had to shield her parents by being the obedient and dutiful daughter. She could go back to her actual mission of saving the world.
She’d probably tell him to deliver on his word and call off the engagement. Akbar felt a sudden tug at his heart. He had unwillingly admired her will and tenacity even in college, but now, he felt more than that. He had respect and a deep…oh, hell, he thought with disgust and an aching heart. Who was he kidding? He was in love with her…and wasn’t that just peachy! What a fool he was. She hated his guts. Found him lacking in everything; morality, depth, maturity, style. And he’d gone and fallen in love with her. He toasted his stupidity in silence.
After dinner, he walked back to the dining room where she was cleaning up, and getting things ready for the after-dinner tea. He wanted to see her one more time. Maybe bait her one more time, for old time’s sake.
She looked up and gave him an unusually pleasant smile.
‘I guess your reasons to stay engaged are obsolete now.’
Still smiling, she shrugged and said, ‘And yours? I can assist you in your charade some more…if you like?’
He shrugged. He didn’t want a charade.
Silence.
She watched him from under her eyelashes. These past few weeks had been a revelation to her. Akbar Rasul had changed. And it was a change that made him even more devastatingly attractive than he’d been in college.
Khayyam broke the silence with her heart in her mouth, ‘Do you want me to…return your ring?’
A flash of something passed across his face, but it was enough for Khayyam. She knew what he’d done for her brother. She’d been an activist too long to not get to the bottom of things. Her brother had been victimized—she had known that. But then, out of the blue to be championed by one of the best lawyers in the country had been too unbelievable. It hadn’t taken much to convince the lawyer to tell her the truth.
Akbar wasn’t just the charming boy she remembered but a strong man, who could admit to his own faults and take ownership of his mistakes. That night he’d apologized for something that she had probably deserved.
But she had already pleaded with him once to get engaged. She wasn’t about to do it again.
He ventured slowly, ‘There is another option…if you think it could work, maybe?’
He looked at her casually as he said it, as if it didn’t mean anything either way.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘We could stay engaged…for real.’
‘Okay.’
She was afraid she may have said it too eagerly. He stared at her. He looked stunned…and then irritated.
‘That’s it. Okay.’
So she was still good, she thought
with some wicked relief. She tried not to smile and looked at him innocently, ‘What else would you like me to say?’
He looked uncomfortable and hesitant.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Let me explain the obvious to you, Akbar. Even though you’re not the last man on earth, I’m willing to wear this atrocious ring…voluntarily. Now that’s got to account for something, right?’
He stared at her for just a second too long and then slowly, his eyes lit up and he smiled. His cocky grin replacing the hesitation and doubts on his handsome face, as he said, ‘You always were good at volunteering for noble causes.’
***
Keep reading for an excerpt from She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, by Zeenat Mahal, available as an ebook from Feb 14, 2015
Excerpt from She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
The clear February sky was crowded with kites, and the rooftops with enthusiastic boys and girls. Most of them were attired in yellow, and had to shout to be heard over the blaring music.
Zoella, however, registered all of that as a faraway din. She barely noticed the colorful kites and everyone else, focusing only on the delicious-looking Fardeen. The music, shouting and laughter did not distract her from her goal one bit. Her concentration did not waver. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Fardeen.
With bated breath, she waited for the miraculous moment when angels would trumpet their silver bugles, flowers would bloom in deserts and Fardeen Malik’s eyes would finally meet hers. The realization that the love of his life, Zoella Khan, though unsophisticated and from a modest background, had been right under his nose all this time would hit him like a bolt of lightning. Overcome with passion, he’d fall to his knees and declare, enraptured…
“Bo Kaata!”
Salaar’s yell invaded her ear-drums and Zoella’s imagination crash-landed back to reality, and back to the rooftop of Swaba’s family friend’s house in the old city. Half of Lahore had gathered there to celebrate the advent of spring with Basant: kite-flying, food, fun and flirting.
“Take that, you pretty boy,” laughed Salaar as he gave Fardeen’s kite-string one final tug with his own.
“Tsk-tsk, such gross insults. On losing your own kite too!” Fardeen replied. In response to Salaar’s questioning lift of the brow, he clarified, “That’s not mine little brother, it’s yours.”
Zoella looked upwards. Indeed, Salaar’s flamboyant red kite was now floating down the busy skyline mournfully. Around them, boys hooted and girls tittered. Ignoring Salaar’s groan, Zoella’s eyes were back on Fardeen, who stood a full two feet away from her, skillfully steering his own kite towards another prey. A big green one.
That was Omer’s wasn’t it?
“Swaba!” called out Fardeen. “Want to see me humiliate Omer, or Salaar again?”
Zoella’s best friend, who was sitting on an old stone bench sulking. At her brother’s question, she glared in response.
“I hate Basant!” said Swaba. “It’s a stupid festival, where we have to dress in this stupid yellow, which is highly unflattering to our skin tones, and watch stupid boys fly stupid kites…”
“We get the picture,” said Fardeen drily. Turning towards Salaar’s friend, he said cheerfully, “Watch it Omer, fair warning.”
Salaar threw frantic instructions at Omer, as Fardeen tugged and pulled at his kite-string, trying to trap Omer.
“Tighter, Omer!”
Omer pulled on his string, tightening his grip.
“Not that much, you fool!”
Omer let the string loose.
“This way, this way!” yelled Salaar. “Left, you idiot! That’s my left! Leave me alone! Fardeen Bhai….”
Omer stopped short as the big green kite began drifting away towards the boys on the neighbor’s rooftop, who were yelling, dancing, hooting and throwing loud insults at them cheerfully, having poached Omer’s kite.
Omer glared at Salaar and stomped towards the pile of brand new kites, looking shamefacedly towards Swaba.
“Pitiful,” mocked Fardeen, looking at him.
“I don’t know why they think they’ve been castrated every time their kites go down,” Swaba whispered to Zoella.
“Interesting choice of words,” Zoella whispered back.
That made both of them laugh. Zoella’s eyes gravitated back towards Fardeen again.
But no matter how many times she looked over towards Fardeen, his handsome, sculpted face never ever turned her way. Ever. Angels had better things to do than blow trumpets for her. The earth continued to rotate on its boring old axis, following the same well-worn orbit. God was not in His heaven, all was not right with the world. Fardeen was still not hers, nor ever likely to be.
Zoella’s defeated sigh originated all the way from her coral-tipped toes.
“Nice job, you!”
At the sound of the lilting, sing-song voice, Zoella grudgingly looked at Neha, Fardeen’s soon-to-be affianced, long-time girlfriend. Neha was sophisticated and exuded oomph. It wasn’t difficult to see why Fardeen never spared anyone else a glance. Zoella knew she did not have oomph. Oomph eluded her. And oomph was important. Especially in Lahore.
“Thanks! Just let me cut my brother down to size one more time before we go on to the Gardezi’s,” Fardeen said smiling, eyes firmly fixed on the sky that seemed to be throwing up kites.
“I’m not the only one with a kite here, am I?” Salaar snarled.
“True,” grinned Fardeen.
“Well then? Go alpha on someone else, will you?” Salaar almost whined. Almost.
“Aw…is that a tremor I hear in your voice?”
Salaar harrumphed.
Zoella was holding the big pinna, the spool of string of his kite for him. Salaar had already cut his fingers twice on the string, which was laced with ground glass, apparently all the better to cut other people’s kite strings with. Most boys sported Band-Aids on their fingers and each had a girl standing a few feet away from him, holding his pinna, trying to keep up with his frantic requests—‘loosen it’ or ‘back, back’ or ‘roll it’—and standing by for a defeated, ‘yaar!’ or a victorious ‘bo kaata’. Usually it was the girlfriends, or fiancées or wannabe girlfriends who liked to do that sort of thing. Zoella, however, had offered to hold Salaar’s string-ball and be his spool-girl so she could watch Fardeen without interruption.
“Aaaaaaannnd, done,” announced Fardeen, as Salaar’s second kite, a beautiful black and red one with a big fancy tail, came gliding down.
“Bloody hell, Bhai!” Salaar glowered at his brother.
Fardeen laughed heartily as he walked towards Neha.
Zoella let her arms fall, now that the string was kite-less. The pinna consisted of a heavy wooden rolling pin, with two big discs on either side fitted with handles. Her arms were aching. They’d been at it for hours.
“Just…you’ll see. I will crush you…and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fardeen said. Looking at Neha, he shook his head in disgust at his brother’s performance. She handed him a glass of lassi. Fardeen took it with a salacious wink at her and then as he sipped his drink, he turned and said, “Salaar, kite-flying is an art. It’s a legitimate sport. You can’t just hold a string and say you’re flying a kite. This is Lahore, not Karachi. The three years in IBA there took their toll on you. I’m afraid you’ll never be the same again. You’re damaged goods.”
Salaar was busy stringing his new kite, muttering curses and Zoella caught a few words like ‘bloody show-off’, ‘I’ll show him’ and then, “thinks he’s…some…some…”
“Prince?” supplied Zoella. Salaar scowled at her.
She felt rather than saw Neha’s cool gaze on her. Had Neha heard? Ooops! The once-over Neha subjected her to made Zoella want to straighten her clothes. She felt fat. And short. Neha was a sylvan nymph at five foot seven and a hundred and ten pounds. Zoella was only five three, and she was curvy. Ugh!
“I don’t believe we’ve met…” said Neha to Fardeen, still surveying Zoella.
Looking confused for just a moment as he chugged his glass of lassi down, Fardeen paused, empty glass resting in his hand, and said hesitantly, “Oh, this is Swaba’s friend…Zohra.”
Salaar snorted. Swaba frowned at her eldest brother for a full ten seconds before correcting him, “This is my best friend since kindergarten, Zoella.”
Fardeen smiled at Neha as if all was clear and none of their business anyway. Swaba wasn’t going to let it go so easily though. He knew he’d made a tactical error. He might as well have forgotten his sister’s name. Best friends were serious business and he knew this friendship meant a great deal to his sister, judging from the fact that Zoella was always around, staring at him like a lost puppy.
Giving Swaba a disarming smile, he said, “Aim the icy daggers at Salaar, Miss Piggy. He’s been seeing that girl you went to school with. Your arch-enemy, Mah-something?”
Swaba and Zoella swung towards his younger brother in unison and yelled simultaneously, “Mahnoor?”
Fardeen wasn’t one of the best lawyers in the city for nothing. He was forgotten and Swaba’s attention was now on their brother. Salaar could only scowl at the betrayal. It made Fardeen laugh even more. Thoroughly entertained, he watched his brother try getting out of that one.
“Salaar, you traitor! You’re going out with Mahnoor?” Zoella looked appalled as she asked the question, while Swaba merely curled her lip in disgust. Then, very deliberately, Zoella put the ball of string down on the ground and crossed her arms. That meant Salaar was officially in trouble.