welcome to the MODosphere @modosphere - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook (2024)

Hi! Just wondering where the Silent Night oneshot is. Thanks!

Right here!

Better late than never, I hope!

Silent Night

Christmas EveStyles Family HomeMalibu, California2023

“They look so adorable, don’t they?” Rose smiled, appearing next to me. I nodded, turning back to Ed, Dany and Hughie as they stared, unblinking, at the newest range of Power Rangers storm through a skyscraper. It was extremely gushy of me, I knew, but seeing Dany clutch his red Power Ranger in awe made me feel happy. “Looks are so deceiving…” Rose added, making me laugh. She had that right - especially since Ari had been born, I’d learnt that despite all of the innocent looks, brother and sister were anything but.

Maybe if it didn’t remind me of myself and Adam so much, I wouldn’t have minded as much as I should.

I followed Rose into the kitchen after looking at the boys one more time, the three of them practically falling off the sofa, they were watching the TV so raptly.

Christmas with Rose had officially become tradition. Everyone put it down to Rose’s food and amazing hosting skills, but I knew better, even if I didn’t say it - it was understood between Rose, Harry and I that even though Rose had never gotten her memories back, hosting Christmas was something she was comfortable with; like the constancy of it was therapy for her or something.

Five years. Five years since the accident and it still felt too close, too raw. It still hurt, knowing Rose couldn’t remember such a huge part of her - our - lives - and having to watch her hope deteriorate. No matter how many times the doctors had warned her that her memories returning was becoming less and less likely, she’d never given up, saying her brain would magically heal itself like one of those medical miracles she always saw on TV. She’d just kept… Waiting. Yes, okay, she’d still lived her life while she did wait, but she hadn’t been living properly - she hadn’t been living her life as Rose Avery.

Just a few months into her job with with the London Met, she’d given it up - and not because of her pregnancy with Ed, but because she’d claimed she couldn’t be “taken seriously” when the paparazzi were constantly snapping pictures of her and Harry together. Of course, I’d known that was a lie. Rose Avery, or what little had been left of her, was who had sent in the application for the London Met job; but Rose didn’t know that person anymore. So by the time Ed was born, the only version of herself she knew was Rose Styles.

Of course, that didn’t mean my best friend wasn’t in there any more. It just meant she… She wasn’t exactly the same best friend I’d always had. I’d always dodged the question when she’d asked, but the old Rose wouldn't have been able to adapt to being a 1D wife as quickly as this Rose had; she’d charmed the fans, embraced the limelight, where the old Rose would have been too insecure to make it last. It had been a good change.

But she was more stubborn than before. So it had hurt more and more to watch her diligently wait for a brain miracle that wasn’t about to happen.

It was silly to think about now, but… Well, nobody else had bothered to keep hope for Rose’s memories as more and more time had gone on. Why should they? Rose losing her memories somehow made everything… Easier. Liam and Harry’s underlying issues stopped existing when Rose couldn’t notice them and feel insecure about them anymore and Eddie had… Extracted himself from the situation by then. The stupid boy had given up too, and now that Rose only remembered Ryan as a friend, he’d considered hanging around as pointless.

I’d tried to maintain hope, really. But deep down, I’d lost it before Rose had. How could I? Just because I’d not believed in happily-ever-afters only to have one handed to me at the last minute, it didn’t mean I expected that to happen all the time. Too much time had passed for Rose to suddenly just… Remember. And honestly, the entire time, it felt like the Rose who I’d known before the accident was in there somewhere deep down, wishing she wouldn’t fully remember. Her life was simpler this way.

But Rose wasn’t stupid - after two years, she finally accepted that her memories were gone.

It hadn’t been pretty.

I’d felt so… Obsolete. Even if she couldn’t remember it, how many times had Rose been there for me? Pulled me through, made me smile when I’d thought I couldn’t anymore? But when Rose finally accepted that she’d lost access to an entire part of her life, I… I was useless.

What kind of a friend did that make me?

The only word I had to describe how she’d been when the doctors had told her there was nothing more they could do, is depressed. She stopped going out as much, she struggled to find things to do at home. She just… Lost interest, until one day she and Harry had gotten into a ridiculous argument in front of a two-year old Darcy.

It had been insane. Rose and Harry didn’t argue; they sniped and sighed and moaned at each other, but they didn’t argue, not properly - certainly not the way Aman and I did when we kicked off, in a flash of fireworks and shouting. But Rose had gone totally insane - shouting, screaming, throwing things. Once she’d calmed down - and that took a week, a whole week of ranting coffee sessions and threats of divorce -, I’d managed to get her to agree to getting some time away. It had actually been Harry’s idea, but… Harry had been public enemy number one at the time.

She’d spent two weeks away, two terrifying weeks where I didn’t know where my best friend was or if she was okay. Even though Harry had promised he’d be able to handle things by himself, Ed had stayed with us for a while. We’d been home in London and Harry and Rose hadn’t bought their California place yet - so Ed and Darcy stayed with us during the day and Harry took baby Darcy between recording the new album of the time.

That said, it was no secret that Harry being alive this long after being given responsibility of his own breathing was nothing short of a miracle - so I’d made sure he and Darcy had spent plenty of time with us, too. If Rose needed time away to get her sh*t together, then fine, but I’d at least make sure her husband didn’t lose himself and his baby girl to baby wolves during the time she was away.

Rose had come back completely refreshed, and had acted as if nothing had happened. As cruel as it sounded, seeing her finally so content with herself had made me relieved. In an odd way, the accident had set her free in a way she never would have been if she hadn’t lost her memory - and now that the gap in her mind was here to stay, what was the purpose of wishing it wasn’t? Yes, I wished Rose remembered all of our jokes and all of the milestones we’d had when she’d first arrived in London, but I still had her here, with me - we were still together. So my selfishness, for once, just had to shut up and deal.

So even though it was a really dumb thing to reminisce about so much later… I still felt so proud of Rose. She looked so elegant in the sleeveless, olive-green dress she’d taken at least a month to choose. Elegant and content.

We’d gotten through it all.

There was a party in full swing, with tinsel wrapped around the banisters and scented candles lit in every room. Rose had hired catering staff to keep serving guests snacks and fancy flutes of champagne, even though she had cooked one of the most amazing meals I’d ever witnessed for dinner. The guests were mainly industry friends of Rose and Harry, some of them people I knew from way back when, but all of the familiar faces were here too - Niall was here with Alanna, Hughie and Izzy, who was sporting her ridiculously tiny pregnant stomach at seven months; Liam and Kara were here with the twins, who were called that even though they weren’t; Ryan was kicking around somewhere, chatting up some models. Rose’s family hadn’t been in touch since the accident, but she had a new family now - us. And we weren’t going anywhere.

The only couples that were missing were Louis and Vivienne and, of course, my beloved ex-husband and ex-childhood best friend. Lou and Vivienne were spending Christmas in Mexico as part of their honeymoon… Yep, honeymoon. The two idiots had finally stopped playing with one another and had decided to get married in a tiny ceremony in the middle of nowhere, with just their family as witnesses and baby Scarlett as a bridesmaid. Although we’d all teased them about being cut out, we weren’t angry - honestly, so long as Vivienne was finally committing, I was more than happy. She’d taken long enough. That girl’s commitment issues were legendary and God only knew how Louis had been not-so-subtly trying to tie Vivienne down for years now.

As for Zayn… Well, I didn’t miss him in any way. He’d finally gotten one child ahead of me - Layla had given birth in England to their newest son, Syed.

It was pathetic, really, how Zayn felt the need to get Layla to pop out another baby the moment he found out I was pregnant. Mikael, his eldest, had been announced as on the way less than three months after I’d announced I was pregnant with Dany. It was sad, really. No, actually, not sad - downright pathetic. It also turned out that Rianna, their only girl, had been cooking in Layla’s stomach when Zayn had tried to make my and Aman’s baby his through raping me.

God, I hated him. It hit me in waves, the space between them always making me think I was over it, but… The mere mention of him made me want to tear him to pieces. He’d seen Ari, my baby Ari, as some sort of sick substitute for his pitfalls as a husband when we’d been married. Who did that? Who tried to hijack the innocence of a brand new baby, to try and use in their own sick agenda?

Oh, right. The creep I’d once made the mistake of marrying.

It really was a godsend that I’d met Aman. If I’d hadn’t, I would have always just assumed I had really sh*tty taste in men.

I did worry about Layla, every now and then - though reason, as well as everyone I knew, told me I shouldn’t. I didn’t care if it sounded egotistical; every fibre of my being told me that Zayn had married one of my friends, someone who had been at my wedding the first time around, out of pure spite. Did he treat her right? From what I’d heard and seen he did, but I knew better than anyone what a two-faced prat Zayn really was.

That said, Layla and I weren’t built the same. Zayn couldn’t just get up and leave Layla whenever he wanted - she’d take him for everything he had if he dared. In a sick way, they kind of deserved one another.

Anyway - it was because Zayn and Layla were still in England that Aman and I were celebrating Christmas with Rose for the first time in at least two years. It was nice, to be back again. Therapeutic, almost - it felt like nothing had changed even though everything had, and for the better.

“Where are Darcy and Zarina?” Rose asked, nudging me and snapping me out of my nostalgia. She handed me a pack of extra long candles and motioned with her head to the candles on the table. It was pathetic. I was a mother of two, but was still too scared to use normal-length candles.

“The playroom, the last I saw, with Alanna and Izzy.” I told her, trying to shake off the overwhelming sense of oldness that I felt whenever I saw Alanna. Alanna was five years old now - five, huge years old. It felt like only five minutes had passed since we’d all been waiting outside Isolde’s hospital room, listening to her scream as she gave birth. How had five years changed everything so much? Putting aside the motherhood, I even had a new husband; and after two kids, I didn’t even think of him as new anymore.

Hell, on paper, I was even a respectable businesswoman. That had never been a… Thing, five years ago; but then, five years ago, I hadn’t had shares in Conde Nast, or had been developing the media branch of the Zafar Inc. I’d barely learnt what an eyelash curler was back then - and now, I could apply mascara in a moving vehicle, with my son playing Power Rangers next to me.

“You really need to explain why you’re dressed like a tramp to me.” Rose sighed, eyeing me. Um, rude. “Like, seriously, what is even going on over there?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not hospitable to insult your guests?”

“I wasn’t hosting the party where that was said.” Rose grinned cheekily, making me laugh. “So. Explanation?”

I looked down at myself. I hadn’t thought my outfit wasn’t presentable! Less on the fitted side that baggy, yes, but still appropriately festive. My jumper was oversized with a strip of black lace running down each sleeve, but my jeans were skinny and my heels weren’t ugly. I was just… Covered.

“How do you know I haven’t just gotten really fat?” I retorted. “I could actually be crying on the inside right now, because of your comment. I could be really offended. Ever think of that?”

“Nice try!” Rose snorted. “You enjoy being some kind of yoga dominatrix way too much in bed with that sexy husband of yours to ever really let yourself go.”

There was no point pretending she was wrong, so I let her see my smug smile. Hey. I had talents in the bedroom now.

That had definitely changed in the past five years.

“You really need to tell me what’s going on with you.” Rose continued, swatting my hands away from picking some strawberries from reindeer’s nose. Oh, yes. Rose had made a reindeer cake. “I know there’s something and I will keep you hostage until you tell me.”

“As flattering as your obsessive behaviour is,” I said in my snootiest voice. “My bank balance and ability to strike the fear of God in anyone who questions me, means that I could do something about it.” I grinned as I took one of the strawberries, ignoring Rose’s narrowed eyes. “You’re just a pop-star’s wife. If this were an episode of Gossip Girl, which our lives clearly are nowadays, I am definitely Lily van der Woodsen enough to win a rich-people’s smackdown.”

“I’m going to let that one go, just because I know it comes from your jealous place.” Rose told me, flicking me with the napkin she’d been holding. I laughed, dodging it. “You’re just mad that the world knows how hot I look in a swimsuit, after last month’s shoot. And I know something is up. I’ll get it out of you.”

“Good luck with that.” I grinned, stealing another strawberry and laughing as Rose looked like she was about to tackle me. “And who cares if you look better in a swimsuit - I’m a yoga dominatrix in bed according to you, remember?!”

Of course, Rose just laughed.

It didn’t take long for the rest of Rose’s guests to slowly disappear. Everyone wanted to look glamorous and rested for Christmas Day and after an hour or so, it was just us - the original group, but the extended edition.

We ended up sitting on the patio - or “porch”, as the new English-to-American dictionary in my head informed me - overlooking the sea, the wall-sized window of the lounge allowing us to watch as the children slept. Despite Niall’s initial worries that Hughie wouldn’t get along with Ed and Dany thanks to how close they were, the three of them were sprawled across one another on the sofa, asleep.

Dany’s arm was hanging off the sofa’s arm-rest, his fingers loosely linked with Ari’s hand through the bars of the cot Harry had brought down for Darcy and Ari to share.

Pathetic as it was, it made me feel… Happy, knowing how close Danyal and Zarina were. Everyone, including Aman, kept telling me that it didn’t mean it would last into adulthood, but… Well, how could it not? It had been some kind of miracle, having Danyal at all - and then having Zarina so healthy, especially considering the challenges she’d been put through before even being born. Dany had never become jealous of the attention Ari had gotten when she was born; if anything, even though he was barely older than he, he doted on her.

Even now, after being (fairly) happily married for four years - and having actually loved him for more than that, unlike the first time -, I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. My children adored one another, my husband and I didn’t hate each other and then there was the news I had to tell Rose…

I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t expected this all to happen so quickly but now that it had, I didn’t regret it; which was strange, because before now, I’d been a barrel-full of regrets whenever things were moving too fast.

Apparently, my incessant need to be a control freak was subsiding. Ever so slightly.

I was - for lack of a better term - maturing. Supposedly. It was hard to believe when it was just Aman and I arguing over what channel to watch once Dany and Ari were in bed, but seeing my friends around me… We’d all matured.

Like Niall and Isolde. They were sitting beside Aman and I, Niall sitting on the floor with Isolde’s sock-clad legs resting over his shoulder. Although Izzy was just as fierce as ever, finally being with Niall meant she’d mellowed slightly - but only slightly. They balanced one another out, now. Isolde wasn’t as bitter about being thrust into the limelight, because she’d finally realised it wouldn’t affect Niall’s duties as a father. Even Aman had been ecstatic when they’d finally announced they were getting married - just after Isolde had found out she was pregnant with Hughie, at an intimate, fairy-tale like ceremony in Ireland with Alanna as a flower girl. We’d been invited - Niall had insisted there’d be no trouble with Zayn there - but it… It hadn’t felt right. As much of an amazing pair of friends Niall and Isolde had been to me, I couldn’t ruin the balance. Zayn had been there first.

Plus, you know, Aman still wanted to stick his head on a spike and attach it to the back of one of the cars.

What with Vivienne and Louis finally tying the lot - the boys truly were like dominos, once one got married and had children, the others followed -, Liam and Kara were the only ones who hadn’t gotten married. That wasn’t exactly surprising - even when Kara had found out she was pregnant with Charlie, she’d wondered if it was the right choice. Considering she was all too ready to give the rest of us much needed uncomfortable advice when necessary, it was nice to be able to pay her back a little - they hadn’t even been living with one another until Kara was at least four months pregnant, which was when Liam - and everyone else - put their foot down.

Still - seeing them snuggling together on the seat opposite made me smile. Liam had made some really sucky choices in his life, including forcing Kara into rehab and then forcing himself into her life, but by an amazing bout of luck it had worked out; even better, Kara wasn’t afraid to call Liam out on his crap. Of which there was plenty.

Harry and Rose didn’t count in my proud reminiscing. Harry and I had finally managed to get back on track after his… Behaviour following Rose’s accident and in a weird way, it had made us closer. It also made me tell him regularly that he was a giant loser who I’d happily rip apart if he ever hurt Rose, but I knew I didn’t have to say it. I’d seen Harry and Rose happen. And even though I still wasn’t sure if Harry had been the best choice out of him and Eddie, he had turned out to be the right one - he was here, with her and I knew better than anyone how Rose needed that.

“Thank you again, for inviting us to dinner tomorrow, Rose.” Liam sighed as he stretched. “I’m really looking forward to it. When you still hadn’t invited us at the beginning of the month, I was getting a bit worried.”

I snorted loudly at Kara’s mortified expression.

“I am so sorry about his atrocious manners.” Kara muttered, nudging Liam hard in the ribs. “I think what he means, Rose, is thank you for your wonderful hospitality.”

“Hospitality.” Rose smiled… Except that was not a happy smile. Oh, no, how much wine had she had? “You’d know all about that, too-”

“How about more cake?” I said loudly, ignoring Aman raise his eyebrows at my sudden enthusiasm. It wasn’t enough to stop everyone from noticing what Rose had said, but I was hoping it would lessen the impact. I started picking up some of the empty bottles and dishes on the table, mouthing Kara a sorry when I was opposite her. “Rose? You know I can’t be trusted in your kitchen alone. Come on, up you get.”

I glared at Harry as Rose silently strutted into the kitchen, looking annoyed. What the Hell was that? Had Rose not wanted Kara at the party? I understood Harry putting his foot down and saying she had to be - there was no way Liam could come and not Kara - but Rose was volatile. She didn’t like being forced to do things nowadays, even if she knew they were right.

One of the accident’s little side effects.

Rose was already sipping on a fresh glass of wine when I found her in the kitchen. Some of the cleaning team were already here, packing up dirty dishes from earlier in the night.

“What,” I said slowly. “Was that just now?”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Rose shrugged. “So it’s not like I said the whole of what I was going to say.”

“Everyone understood where you were going with it.” I sighed, handing the pile of dishes to one of the cleaners. I did not clean. Some things never changed. “I mean, a crack about-” I stepped closer and lowered my voice. Liam had worked hard to make Kara’s past disappear. “- her past career? Not cool, Rose.”

“What’s not cool is everyone, including you, acting like she’s one of us!” Rose protested, setting her wine glass down angrily. “Sure, Isolde is our friend and you’ve known Vivienne for a long time, but she’s practically a random stranger, sitting in my house - for what?”

“Rose.” Where had this come from? It was no secret that Rose wasn’t exactly warm with Kara, but she’d never been outright nasty, either. “We’ve known Kara for a long time-”

“Since when is how long you’ve known someone a good measurement?” Rose snapped. “You knew Zayn for less than a year when you guys shacked up. What difference does time make?”

… What?

I didn’t say anything for a few seconds - not just because I was stunned at the guerrilla tactics, but because something was wrong with what Rose had just said. Something that was setting off alarm bells.

No. No, I was imagining things - Rose was just angry and lashing out and so I was making excuses for her. I was being stupid.

Except…

I pushed it to the back of my mind, seeing how Rose’s eyes had widened at what she’d just said.

“I’m going to go back into the other room, before you say more stuff we both regret.” I said quietly. “And unless you want to drive your guests away before lunch tomorrow, I’d suggest you calm down before you go back in there, because nobody else is a fan of the bomb you just dropped.” I didn’t have to say the rest - that Rose was lucky Vivienne wasn’t there, because Vivienne would have lost it, or that Harry was aghast at her behaviour -, and so I left the kitchen, leaving Rose in there.

Something feels wrong! She shouldn’t - no. I wasn’t doing this. I wasn’t doubting her.

Rose came back out onto the deck a few minutes later, all smiles and apologising about her outburst - she claimed it was a stress-related event thanks to problems with the turkey. She even apologised to Kara; she “explained” how she meant Kara had been to so many parties and things, Rose had been expressing how flattered she was - but that, after I’d explained how it had come across, she was sorry if she’d been misunderstood.

It was a lame excuse. A ridiculously lame excuse. But everyone, including Kara, pretended to accept it because that made things less uncomfortable.

Rose and I didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

. . .

Christmas morning was like something out of Miracle on 54th Street.

Harry and Rose had bought presents for Danyal and Zarina and left them under the tree, and of course we’d bought gifts for everyone before arriving. We’d stayed over - like we’d planned to, despite Aman being disgruntled at the thought of relying on anyone, regardless of how well he and Harry got along -, but the weird feeling at the back of my head was still there. Like I was deliberately missing something, like I was ignoring something huge.

I carried on ignoring it.

“Those PJs are hideous. Explain.” Rose laughed, handing me a mug of fresh coffee. Aman looked at me, confused, as I subtly put it beside me and it wasn’t hard to read his mind; she doesn’t know?

“Hey, I dressed for comfort.” I protested, rather put out that nobody else loved my pyjamas - Aman’s Harvard sweatshirt and a pair of my comfiest grey joggers. “And are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help for later? Please say yes. Otherwise I’m stuck babysitting these two idiots.”

Aman and Harry snickered as they high-fived over my head.

“She’s just jealous of our love.” Harry told Aman happily.

“Unless you tell me what you’re hiding from me, it’s your punishment.” She shrugged evilly. I smiled - I wasn’t over what she’d said yesterday -, though promising myself I’d tell her tonight. I had to. One bitchy comment didn’t make her any less… Rose. “And anyway, I’ve told the others too, that everyone has to starve until it’s time to eat. Christmas dinner has come out fabulous.”

We all stopped as Dany and Ed started to wave their arms excitedly at their newest present - ones, I realised instantly, Harry and Aman had chosen for them. Matching water pistols, in loud colours. The boys were already making shooting noises and the toy wasn’t even out of its packaging yet.

Darcy and Ari watched them from where they sat in their fathers’ laps, snuggling close under the same blanket.

I smiled as Danyal tripped over Ed’s legs, to squirt Ari in the face with water. Ari hated water in her face - she screamed blue murder whenever I washed her hair. Considering I was the most hated person on the planet when I washed her face, her outraged giggle in response to the water pistol was almost offensive.

Almost.

Darcy, on the other hand, ripped the pistol out of Ed’s hands and attacked his face with it.

Ah, the girls.

Ari giggled loudly at Ed’s outraged face, watching carefully as Dany yanked Ed’s T-shirt to his face and told him “wipe it”. So mature, just at three.

“What’re you thinking?” Aman asked me quietly, unnoticed as Rose and Harry discussed something between themselves over our heads.

“Nothing.” I smiled, attacking Ari’s cheek with kisses and laughing loudly as she pulled my face down and attempted to do the same thing back. It wasn’t quite perfect, but it was definitely good enough for me - her skin was always so soft, but her strength always surprised me. “I’m just… I’m just glad that we have such a big family.”

. . .

The rest of the day passed in a lazy, festive blur.

I, as tradition dictated, was amazed at the seamlessness of Rose’s efficiency. There was officially no room for my kitchen ineptitude and even though that meant I spent the day becoming increasingly freaked out at how Rose and I had given birth to boys who were essentially younger, more mischievous versions of their fathers, I did feel kind of guilty that I wasn’t useful at all.

Not guilty enough to actually help bark out orders at the catering staff, like Rose was, but enough to prove I had a conscience.

I was in charge, with Harry, of getting the children ready - that was an experience. Harry had lovingly tied Darcy’s long brown hair into a little bun and had spent the entire time grinning at her, as she stepped into her sparkly red dress.

Ari, on the other hand, had kicked and screamed at the prospect of wearing anything remotely feminine. She hated dresses. I was sure she partially thought she was a boy like her brother - Dany was in black trousers and a white shirt and Ed was even wearing a little tie -, but Aman put it down to Ari “being confident in her femininity”.

All that meant to me, was that Ari only ended up wearing the Dolce & Gabbana printed dress Harry had bought her for Christmas because Darcy pointed out that hers was still more sparkly and Harry promised Ari she could wear one of Ed’s hats with the dress.

Ari currently was obsessed with hats. She wore her father’s Yankees cap to bed.

Surely Dany should have been the more difficult one? But no. Dany was laid-back when it came to clothes and getting dressed. His only demands were Batman underwear and vests that weren’t itchy - he had sensitive skin -, but other than that… He didn’t care what he was wearing. But my little girl? No. No, the only dress she’d ever willingly bought in the two years she’d spent on this planet, was a dress that was covered in comic strips.

Was I meant to be proud or embarrassed at how much she was like me?

Harry did Ari’s hair too, which was a miracle in itself. He managed to brush it through and pull it into a neat pony tail - complete with a red rose clip on the side. If I’d have tried that, Zarina probably would have bitten me.

“You know Rose is going to have something to say about that outfit?” Harry grinned, seeing what I was wearing when I finally got dressed.

I was wearing a beige cashmere jumper that did not at all cling, the same black skinny jeans from the day before and a pair of beige loafers, a long, thick black cardigan thrown on top.

“This isn’t trampy!” I protested, allowing Harry to stand behind me and latch my necklace for me. “It’s elegant! And I’m wearing jewellery, so it’s still festive, too.”

“This is to do with what you’re hiding, isn’t it?” Harry asked - and I laughed because really, when was Harry ever that observant? “Your hair looks nice.”

I’d left it out and done nothing to it, including brushing, but just told him thanks.

Everything was lovely. Louis and Vivienne briefly Skyped from Mexico to wish everyone a merry Christmas and Zayn text the others. Isolde’s cravings for cinnamon were quenched with Rose’s special “mulled apple juice”.

Everything was lovely, right up until when it wasn’t.

“Are you sure you don't need a hand with the burning pud?” Kara asked Rose, as we all waited around for dessert. “Trust me, I can handle a blowtorch. Occupational hazard.” She joked.

She wasn’t being malicious, or goading Rose. Kara was just… Like that. She hit things over the head and dealt with them, she joked her way out of awkward situations. We’d spent enough time talking for me to know that Kara found it difficult to not just punch someone as means of effective communication. This was her, trying.

But it backfired. Spectacularly.

Everyone laughed, except Rose. Even Aman had snorted into his glass and he made a conceited effort to not acknowledge Kara’s past, most likely because his affinity with prostitutes (that sounded so wrong) wasn’t something he planned on making public knowledge.

“Occupational hazard?” Rose repeated, looking… Furious. The alarm bells in my head got louder. “Considering you’re so proud of your career, why don’t you just come out and say the rest of the men here would make good clients? That’s what you’re thinking, right? I mean, when you talk about occupational hazards, you fail to mention the genital herpes or whatever else you’ve got, do you?” Rose laughed once, darkly. I… We were all too shocked to move. “Then again, I suppose pretending being a slu*t is an actual profession helps you to pretend you’re not really just some washed-up crack whor*.”

Everyone stopped. Everyone, except me - because at the crack whor* part, I had to shut my eyes and pretend I wasn’t seeing the smug expression on Rose’s face, right before she calmly walked out.

What - what - had possessed Rose to just… To… Lash out like that? What had she been thinking?!

I wasn’t the only one thinking it.

“Is that some kind of f*cking joke?” Liam said angrily, staring around the table. I looked at Harry, but he was staring after Rose, his expression horrified. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“She’s probably just stressing out over dinner.” Kara said quietly - and that somehow made everything worse, that she, out of everyone, was the one jumping to Rose’s defence. “I should have kept my mouth shut, really. I knew she was upset yesterday and I pushed the dark humour-”

“This isn’t your fault!” Liam snapped - before looking at me. “She’s your best friend! Want to tell us what’s going on, or what?”

“Hey, it’s not Soph’s fault!” Kara told him, looking annoyed. Oh, great. Not only was Rose calling people crack-whor*s under her own roof, but apparently now I was inadvertently causing a domestic. “I’m Soph’s friend and she’s never-”

“We thought Rose was your friend too, but she’s turned out to be a grade-A bitch-”

“Alright!” Harry shouted loudly. “That’s my wife you’re talking about, mate, do you want to calm down?”

And just like that, everyone was arguing.

This was insane. Insane. Rose didn’t - Rose didn’t like confrontation! She may have developed more of a spine since the accident, but she didn’t like causing trouble and she certainly did not enjoy her parties being given a bad reputation. This made no sense. This made no sense, how had I missed her freaking out like this?!

You didn’t. You knew something was wrong, but you ignored it.

This was my fault.

“Everyone, just calm down-” Niall was saying patiently, but it wasn’t working. “Look, why don’t we let Harry talk to Rose, while we cool off in here and see what’s happening next-”

“I think I should go.” Kara said firmly. “That’s what should happen next. I was the one who started it, I don’t want to ruin what’s otherwise been a lovely Christmas-”

“We’re not going until she apologises!” Liam spluttered, now in full mouthing-off mode. Wonderful. Just wonderful. “Soph, are you going to sort this out or what?”

“That has to be the second or third time you’ve said that.” Aman said quietly, looking up at Liam with an annoyed expression. I poked his leg under the table. No. No. Now was not the time for his overprotectiveness to rise up; particularly when, ever since the… Incident when I was pregnant with Ari, he’d had a much lower tolerance for any of One Direction. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s not Soph who’s responsible for Rose’s actions?”

“Well then, do you want to tell me who is?!” Liam was still shouting, but he seemed a bit… Calmer, at seeing Aman’s expression. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The effect of Aman’s silent but scary temper was not something I needed to worry about right now.

Aman pretended to think, pointedly ignoring my incessant poking. Rude.

“Rose, maybe?”

“Liam, will you please just shut up and calm down?” Kara groaned loudly, shoving him away from where he was towering over the table. What was going on with Rose? What was so bad, that she couldn’t just tell someone? Me? “Manny, Soph, I’m sorry, none of this is your fault - none of this is anyone’s fault! Rose has the right to not want an ex-hooker in her home and honestly, if you guys think I haven’t heard stuff like this before, you’re underestimating how good I was at my job.”

“How are you still cracking jokes right now?” I was trying not to smile. How could Rose not like Kara? This was exactly why everyone else did! Kara was covering for Rose’s almost unforgivable blunder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Please don’t leave. Let me talk to Rose and find out what’s really going on.” I squeezed Kara’s hand. She’d been such a good friend to me, for ever since I’d known her…

And just like that, I was angry. How could Rose do this? How dare she? She’d never been jealous or possessive before and if this truly was about me accepting Kara as a friend like she’d said, then she was insane. Kara had been there for me since the beginning. She hadn’t expected me to hate her because of my faith or whatever else; damn it, she’d been there for me on my wedding day when Rose hadn’t! On the day of my reception, Kara had kept me calm in a way nobody else could have - not even Rose, who had been too busy playing house.

That’s unfair. You forgave her back then, you can’t take it back now.

Yeah - not unless I’d never forgiven her in the first place.

How much did Rose think she could get away with? After the accident, I’d kept justifying her erratic behaviour as her way of coping after the accident, but how could I keep saying it was okay? This was not okay!

“Kara, sweetheart, I’m so sorry about what Rose said. You know we don’t see you like that, you’re just as much family as anyone else here is.” Harry sighed, glancing at me with false smile; play along. “Probably more than this one, since she’s so posh these days.”

“Whatever.” Kara muttered, shooting me a grin. “These peasants just don’t know how to deal with upper classes, huh, Soph?”

I grinned, feeling sick. What the Hell had Rose been playing at, lashing out at Kara like that?

“I’m just going to go and check on Rose, see what’s really going on.” I told everyone as I got up, squeezing Aman’s shoulder on my way. He understood what that meant - keep it together here. Sometimes, this whole soulmate thing wasn’t such a giant inconvenience. “And Liam - just pour yourself another drink and calm down, alright?”

“Yeah.” Liam muttered, letting Niall firmly push him back into his chair. Thankfully, he shot Aman an apologetic look. “Sorry, everyone.”

“You can’t be perfect all the time.” Aman joked, now apparently silently communicating with Niall.

“Yeah.” Niall added. “Makes the rest of us look bad.”

That was the last thing I heard before going into the kitchen - and finding Rose calmly looking out of the window, drinking a glass of wine.

I shut the door behind me.

“What the f*ck,” I asked slowly. “Was that? Where did that even come from?!”

“I’m sick of her acting like being a whor* is such an accomplishment.” Rose shrugged. She could pretend to be calm all she wanted - I knew her too well. I could see she was still livid. What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t? “I would have thought you would have backed me up and understood that, but apparently not.” I stared, speechless, as Rose looked at me disapprovingly. “I heard you out there, with Manny and Harry, covering for me. I don’t need you three to cover for me.”

“When you drop crap like that, you do.” I laughed, though not at all because I found this funny. “You invited her here, Rose! And even if you didn’t really want to, since when were you so… It’s the holiday season. You love the holiday season.”

“Oh, of course I do!” Rose suddenly shouted, making me jump as she finally turned to face me. “Of course I love the festive season! I hold Christmas every year and play happy families and you know what? You’re right, I do love that part. But what I don’t love is everyone pretending everything is just dandy! Everyone is pretending what she is doesn’t matter, that how she met Liam doesn’t matter, but when I was deciding between guys - and not giving them hand-jobs in alleyways during it all -, I was the bad guy! Somehow, when Liam was being a sh*tty boyfriend, I was still the whor* - and she is, and what, she gets nothing?”

We didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Rose was breathing heavily and staring at me with wide eyes, like she’d said something wrong - but she hadn’t - except she had, because something felt wrong, that feeling at the back of my mind was back -

Oh, Soph, you idiot.

“… You remember.” I whispered, feeling my heart begin to thrum in my throat. I tried to swallow down the feeling - to calm down. “You… You remember.”

Yesterday. Yesterday, when she’d mentioned Zayn - it had seemed wrong because it was wrong. That was before the accident. Rose didn’t remember anything between leaving Australia and the night of the accident, when Harry had told her they were together, when he’d lied; but I’d… I’d thought it was fine. I’d thought what she’d said about Zayn was fine, because I was so used to Rose’s voice talking about my first marriage that I’d forgotten she wasn’t the same Rose anymore.

“No.” Rose muttered… But her voice was shaking. Oh, my God, she remembers. “No, no, I don’t-”

“Yes, you do!” I argued. It made sense now. It made sense! I’d gotten so used to lying to Rose about her past, because I’d had to, that hearing the truth after so long had been like… Like taking a break and only a small part of my brain had noticed. “Yes, you do! Rose, this is - this is huge! How long have you remembered?” Why was this being hidden? This was amazing news! We’d all thought it would never happen, this was great… Except it wasn’t, it wasn’t, because Rose looked… Guilty. Or at least like she was trying to hide that she felt guilty. “Oh my God, Rose, how long have you remembered?” I asked again, but this time, differently. I wasn’t excited this time.

“You don’t get to judge me.” Rose finally muttered, stabbing her finger in my direction. “You… You don’t get to judge me!”

“How long, Rose?!”

“I didn't go away because I had some kind of depressed break down, okay!” Rose suddenly shouted. Oh my God. Oh my God, she’d remembered and I hadn’t even noticed. “I know you love to think of me as this depressed loser who you need to constantly save, but-”

“What? Are you insane?”

“- I remembered! I was playing with Darcy and she was crying because Harry wasn’t around, like always-”

“She’s a child, Rose!” I snapped, seeing where this was going. Rose had been so excited to have a girl, so excited - because she saw her as a substitute, as the universe’s way of compensating her for a mother and sister that didn’t care. I’d warned her, I’d told her she couldn’t think about it like that - Darcy was a person! If we hadn’t learnt that everyone was a real person that we couldn’t just know inside out, what the Hell had we learnt after all of this time? “You do understand the concept of a child, don’t you? She’s innocent!”

“She made me remember!” Rose suddenly screamed, making me jump back. “Do you not get that? That little bitch-”

“Rose!”

“- she made me remember! And you know what? I was better off forgetting!” Rose hissed. I’d… I wanted to believe it was the drink, that all of the wine had gotten to her head, but I knew that wasn’t true. This was years’ worth of venom bubbling to the surface, venom I thought she’d trusted me enough to share in the beginning. But she hadn’t. She’d lied.

Like she was lying now.

“Two years. Two years.” I said, finally realising the maths. When she’d went away. When we’d all thought she’d lost hope, when I’d thought she was mourning.

This was huge. Huge. And I had so many questions. Did she remember everything? Had it come all at once, or was she still piecing things together? Why had she hid it, when had she decided to?

How could she have?

“Does Harry know?” I demanded. Harry. Harry. Oh, God. He’d… He thought he’d cheated her somehow, cheated himself into having a happiness he didn’t deserve. After Eddie had died - or gone away to -, he’d taken that all on himself, blaming Rose’s rejection of Eddie on himself. He’d been struggling with that ever since, he still was - but Rose knew? “He - he’s taken on your guilt about Eddie! He blames himself!”

“And there it is.” Rose muttered cruelly, staring at me up and down. “Perfect little Soph, upset because she’s losing control of micro-managing my life.”

No. No. I knew exactly what she was talking about and she did not get to say that to me.

“I did what I had to, as your friend.” I told her seriously. No. No. There was absolutely no way in Hell that she was putting that on me, acting as if I did what I did for kicks. “I did what I did because the doctors told me you were at risk and because I had to deal with damage control, when Harry and Ryan and everyone else panicked-”

“Like that’s the only control you have over my life!” Rose snorted. “What about my marriage, hmm? What about the fact that ever since before Harry and I got together, you’ve always been in the middle, you’re always acting mediator when nobody even wants you there?”

I couldn’t help it. As much as I told myself I’d changed, that I was more mature and mellow, that was a load of crap. I was not taking anyone’s crap ever again - I’d made that promise to myself a long time ago.

And Rose did not get a pass card just because she was feeling sassy.

“Well according to you, I’ve always been there - so it’s not hard to imagine your marriage falling apart without me being there to pick up the pieces of your dramas!” I snapped back instantly, not even having to think about it.

I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to have this conversation, this argument, with Rose. There were too many things for us to be bitter about.

But it felt really good to just say it.

“This is exactly what I mean.” Rose laughed - and it wasn’t scary to hear anymore, it was pissing me off. “Perfect little Soph, with her perfect little life, looking down on everyone else. You act like such an angel-”

“No need to act like an angel, when we know I’m a queen.” It was meant to be a joke - to calm things down, because logic told me we needed to - but it came out more serious than I intended. Not that, at this point, I cared as much as I could have. “Just because you are too wrapped up in pretending to be someone else, doesn’t mean everyone else is as screwed up!”

“I’m not pretending!” Rose gasped. Seriously? Seriously? “I am being the person I am, the person I was meant to be - before everyone screwed me over and took advantage of me trying to be everyone’s friend!”

“Such a victim, all of the time!” I yelled. “Do you ever realise how self-involved you are? How pathetic it is? Your problems revolve around which boy to choose - and you act like you’re hard done by, when you’re the one who put yourself in that situation!” I groaned. This was ridiculous. This was just insanely ridiculous and not because of this conversation. “You can’t run from your feelings, Rose! You can’t pretend to not feel guilty! You - you-” I had to take a second, to calm myself down. I had to say this. I had to say this properly, for his sake. “- you’ve been lying, for two years about having no memory. Eddie wasn’t dead then. He was ill, but not dead and he deserved to at least know you chose to stay with Harry! You made him give up!”

“Don’t you dare-” My mouth fell open as Rose shoved me angrily. She was not serious. “Blame me for his death. That’s on you. You were so eager to focus on my problems and make yourself look like the golden girl in comparison, that you didn’t know how to be a good friend.”

In fairness, the moment Rose had touched me, I’d began to have an out-of-body experience. I wasn’t in control anymore - not the so-called mature, mellow Soph who balanced out the power-hungry rage monster that had been inside me since God knows when. I wasn’t in control anymore.

I couldn’t take responsibility for what I did next.

Without even thinking about it, I was standing to my full height, glaring up at Rose with a hatred I’d never expected to feel towards her. I was fuming. She hadn’t just lied to me - this wasn’t, despite what she wanted to think, about my bruised ego. She’d lied to everyone - to everyone, to all of the people who’d weaved their lives into the giant lie that had come from us trying to protect her.

How dare she?

“I’m not scared of you.” Rose told me quietly, glaring down at me.

I stepped closer.

“Maybe you should be.” I muttered. “You are not the person I thought you were. My friend isn’t here anymore.”

Rose shrugged. It didn’t even bother her. It didn’t even bother her.

“Whether you think I’m a sucky person or not is your problem, but you owe it to me to keep your mouth shut.” Rose told me, making me gawp at her. Really? I owed her something? She was a lying, conniving bitch who had been manipulating us all for the past two years - and that was a long time to maintain a lie this huge - and I owed her something?

It wasn’t just the anger. I didn’t honestly believe I was just angry. I was hurt, too - betrayed. She’d never told me. She’d never told me about her memories coming back, or even how she felt about me interfering in her life. She hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth when I’d only ever bore my soul to her and that betrayal hurt me so much right now, I wanted to lash out and hurt her - because it was easier to deal with whatever nasty things I’d said, rather than accept that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to trust her again.

“You’re lying. To your friends - forget that, to your husband.” I shook my head. “Harry’s my friend, too. I’m not going to lie to him out of a sick sense of loyalty.”

“Yes, you are!” Rose shouted again, pulling me by the arm before I could leave. I swatted her off. I could hear voices outside the door - clearly, they’d heard shouting and Harry was worried. Hearing the voices too, Rose began to hiss. “Yes, you are. I kept your secret when you were pregnant and you didn’t want Zayn to know, at the risk of my relationship with Harry. I didn’t tell anyone you fell in love with Aman when you were still married to someone else, I have kept your secrets for years when I could have screwed you over the entire time - so you owe me.”

Just like that, something… Left. Something flew right out of me, something that suddenly made it so much easier for me to no longer care.

It’s like flipping a light switch. Just like before.

“So you’re not asking me as a friend.” I nodded, finally understanding. “You’re blackmailing me, as a person. As someone in your way.”

Rose shrugged, her arms folded over her chest.

Wow. Wow, I really hadn’t seen this coming.

“Fine. I’ll cover for you. If I’m asked, I won’t lie, but I’ll cover for you.” I promised, feeling… nothing. Empty. Rose wasn’t my best friend any more - and if I was being honest, she hadn’t been for a long time.

“Good.” Rose said primly, making me roll my eyes as I went to turn away. “And get out of my life, while you’re at it.”

I thought about that for a grand total of, ooh, a second?

“No.” I laughed. “No way in Hell. Just because you’re too weak to admit today, or even tomorrow or the day after that, you need me. You called your three year old girl a bitch today, Rose.” I shook my head. God. God, how had she gotten so twisted? And coming from me, that was saying something. “Just because you’ve forgotten to be a good friend, doesn’t mean I have. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Harry is my husband and Darcy is my daughter!”

“Darcy may be your daughter, but Harry was my friend long before you decided to mess him around!” I snapped. “I’m already lying to him for you, that’s all you’re getting from me.”

Harry had just stepped in, when Rose said it.

“God, I hate you, Soph.”

Only Harry saw how I closed my eyes. In defeat. Because I knew, better than anyone, exactly what she was like - and when she meant it.

I had been so wrong about us.

“What the Hell happened?” Harry asked, looking between us with wide eyes.

“It was my fault. Rose was angry about me not telling her what was going on.” I forced a smile, tried not to notice the lie - lie number one, the beginning of the end of our friendship; and no, that wasn’t just dramatics. Unless Rose told Harry that she had her memories back, our friendship was just going to keep breaking down; and it didn’t look like she was going to be telling the truth anytime soon. “She doesn’t approve of the news.”

“What news?” Harry looked more confused than ever.

I turned to Rose, hoping that, even if she wasn’t the person I knew any more, the next bit stung.

“That I’m pregnant again.” I said, the news sounding… Boring now. Who even cared? “I wanted to tell my best friend, but apparently it didn't quite work that way.”

Rose barely flinched.

“Like I just told her,” Rose said to Harry coolly, staring down her nose at me. Wow, she really wanted to stop doing that before I backhanded her. “She should stop popping them out so quickly. Someone might think she was doing it for the wrong reasons - you know how people have babies just to trap their husbands.”

Ouch. That one hurt.

Was this what I was in for? Jabs about my past from her, constant reminders I was keeping the secret of a clear sociopath?

“Sorry, Harry.” I forced a smile, told myself to play along. I wasn’t going to freak out in front of her. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “I think I should go.”

“But-” Harry stopped as he hugged me tightly. “Ignore her, Soph, this is great news. You don’t have to go-”

“Trust me, Harry.” I smiled genuinely this time. He deserved more than this - from me and Rose. “I do.”

It was just then that we heard Darcy calling for her mum.

“For God’s sake, Harry, go and deal with her.” Rose snapped, rubbing her temples.

“I’ll go.” I said, before either one of them could say anything. God. God, I wanted to hit her. I wanted to hit her, but I wanted to shake her at the same time and beg her to be the person I’d always thought she was. “And… Listen, I was thinking - send Darcy over for a sleepover sometime soon. Ari and Darcy don’t see one another enough.”

Darcy shouldn’t have to deal with a mother like that.

Maybe Rose was right. Maybe I was an interfering bitch who couldn’t keep her nose to herself - but that was exactly what had gotten Rose happily married to the guy of her dreams. I’d kept my end of the bargain, I’d become the journalist and introduced her to One Direction. Apparently, that was all she’d wanted.

But I’d helped her get her ending. So whether she liked it or not, I was going to make sure Darcy had a chance at that, at least. I knew Rose and her family, I could see the signs - Rose was turning into her mother.

As I hugged Harry goodbye at the doorway, ignoring Kara’s worried expression, I promised to keep an eye on Darcy. For my friend’s sake.

The one I didn’t have any more.

I know it's your story and you can do whatever you want to it, still hurts that I spent so much time shipping the crap out of ZOPH.. I'd read MOD in 2012. Now in 2020 on account of the 10 year anniversary and all I went through the archives to read it all. Broke my heart.. Zayn's character development (regression?). Whatever. This isn't hate, please don't mistake it for hate or anything. I just felt uneasy having something I've shipped for so long just ruined like that. Peace.

Hi! I’m so sorry this is so late!

Honestly... I don’t take this negatively at all. In fact, I take it as a compliment. I remember thinking about writing TR (back in the bloody day, now) and how my biggest fear was that Zoph falling apart wouldn’t seem feasible. I think everyone was a Zoph shipper at one point, myself included; but honestly... I wanted there to be unease at how things moved on.

As much as I was rooting for Zoph in the beginning, I realised there were a lot of things wrong with their relationship, and because of it, the endgame changed. It’s meant to feel uneasy. In the same way Soph fell in love with Zayn (as far as she understood, anyway), and felt confused and lost at how that fell apart... we did too.

My Only Direction: Chapter 11

“Rose, make sure they don’t look pasty in comparison to my sunny complexion.” Harry told Rose airily, admiring her handiwork in the mirror as Rose moved with a rueful smile over to a disgruntled Louis. “Good job.”

Rose allowed herself a small smile as Harry fought his own smile, as they met eyes in the mirror. Harry was notorious for his constant need for perfection when it came to his hair and make-up team and Rose had already been forewarned that getting a compliment out of Harry Edward Styles was as easy as getting blood out of a stone.

Well, apparently rocks could now bleed, Rose thought happily to herself, as she dusted powder on Louis’ scrunched up nose. It was her first day and the actual word “good” had been used in Harry’s compliment. Renee, one of the other make-up artists, had been on the team for more than a year and the maximum Harry had ever given her was “it’s alright”, upon prodding. That was considered the highest compliment he’d ever given.

Until now, Rose thought slightly smugly.

Within ten more minutes, Rose was done and went to join Soph backstage, where she was texting, her legs tucked under her on the sofa.

“Off-duty?” Soph asked, barely glancing up.

“Mhmm.” Rose nodded. The rest of the team had told her that, for her first night, she could watch the show. Rose was pretty sure that nobody enjoyed clean-up but then again, maybe Liam taking Rose out of the room by the hand had something to do with it, the boys rallying beside her.

“Want to see something funny?” Soph sighed as she heaved herself from the low and comfortable black leather sofa, offering out her hand to Rose.

Rose took it and watched her, interested.

Soph walked them over to the outskirts of the stage, from where they could see the audience, an excited buzz echoing through the stadium.

“You got changed.” Rose noted, looking at Soph’s new attire; a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, some beige boots with furry insides and a mustard-coloured, extra large and baggy T-shirt, braving the face of a large grey fox.

“Yeah, after work.” Soph nodded, scouring the crowd, before finding what she was looking for. Rose watched Soph closely. There was something... Different about her tonight. “There.” Soph said triumphantly, nodding to a blonde figure in one of the balconies, watching the stage with a keen, impatient expression.

Rose recognized her instantly.

“But-” Rose gasped, turning to Soph’s grim face as she glowered at the blonde. “Isn’t she – I mean-”

“Zayn’s ho of an ex-girlfriend?” Soph offered. Rose nodded mutely. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“But why?” Rose finally managed to say, feeling confused. “I... Just... She... Why?”

“She says she wants to talk to Zayn after the show.” Soph said darkly. “Something about clearing up any misinterpretations between the two of them.” Soph said the words with such a foul taste in her mouth, she almost spat them in disgust.

“What, you mean like her having her tongue down the throat of another guy?” Rose gaped. “I don’t even know, man, how can you misinterpret something like that?”

Soph just raised one eyebrow, still glaring holes into Dianna’s head, clearly unimpressed.

Rose went to turn away, before stopping and her mouth opening slightly at Soph’s face. She was chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed as she watched Dianna sit down, smoothing down her skirt. Her lips were a slightly sparkly, light pink and her eyelashes looked longer.

“Nice nails.” Rose managed to say at the unmatching, bright pink nails Soph was sporting. “And are you wearing makeup?”

Soph shrugged.

“Zayn chose the colour earlier.” Soph said absently, tapping her nails on the doorway before turning back to the sofa, Rose watching her, suddenly alert.

“Excuse me?” Rose said after a moment, shaking her head and following Soph back to the sofa.

“Oh.” Soph said, blushing slightly as she realized what she’d just said. “Um, we hung out today.”

“You did?” Rose said slowly.

“But we’re keeping it on the down low.” Soph said pointedly. “Please, Rose, all of the boys already think there’s something strange going on with me and Zayn, I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.”

“And by sneaking around with him, that’s better?” Rose teased, flopping down beside her. “So... What happened today? How the Hell did you end up hanging out? Explain!” Rose demanded.

“Well...” Soph said, a smile spreading across her features. “He came to the Vogue building with my lunch.” Soph glanced at Rose meaningfully. “Pizza. With all my favourite toppings.”

“How did he know?” Rose gasped.

“I asked him that when we went to Haagen Dazs for dessert.” Soph grinned. “He said that just because he hadn’t spoken to me for five months, didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed a few things.”

“He’s so into you.” Rose murmured, shaking her head happily. “So into you.”

“Haha, no, he’s just sweet, that’s all.” Soph laughed, laughing even harder at Rose’s stricken expression. Soph had called Zayn sweet. Jesus take the wheel. “Oh, come on, there must be some redeeming quality in him if Harry is best friends with him, too, right?” Soph thought for a moment. “Odd I never thought it like that before, really.”

“So...” Rose said slowly, too many feelings swimming around in her head. TOO MANY FEELINGS. “Then what happened? Did people notice you in the pizza place?”

“Oh, no, we ate it in a back alley at the top of Regent Street.” Soph said matter-of-factly. “After we bumped into that creep from yesterday-”

“You bumped into him?!” Rose yelped, jumping up and staring down at her best friend. “What? When? What happened?”

“Zayn gave him some pizza, it was all very civil.” Soph replied, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Except for the bit when he threw the pizza on the guy’s shirt, but other than that, it was fine.”

“No!” Rose gasped loudly, slapping her hands over her mouth.

“Yes!” Soph laughed excitedly, standing up. “Oh my God, you should have seen it, the guy was trying to get me to ditch Zayn and have lunch with him-”

“Asshole.” Rose muttered darkly.

“- and he kept going on about how hungry he was and being all weird and sexual and innuendo-ey and then Zayn was like, HAVE SOME PIZZA ON ME and BOOM he had pizza all over his shirt and, Rose,” Soph allowed herself to do a jerky, weird victory dance, pumping her fists. “IT WAS SO AWESOME!” Soph let out in a strangled cry of joy.

“Oh my GOD, right on his shirt?” Rose whispered, holding Soph’s hand tightly. Soph nodded, grinning. “Then what?”

“Right, yeah, okay, so then he was like Soph, let’s go, but I didn’t get it but then I did and so he kind of... I don’t know, escorted me away from that asshole because he was all in my face and we crossed the road and then he couldn’t believe I still wanted dessert and then he took me anyway and then we went shopping-”

“You went shopping?” Rose repeated, her brain unable to keep up with the rapid Soph and Zayn love going on.

“Mhmm, and then this lady offered to do my nails and Zayn got all interested because I’d made him buy so many new clothes-”

“Wait, you were shopping for HIM?” Rose yelled, a hand on her heart. She was about to have a coronary. There was going to be scratching teeth and everything.

“Yeah, I mean seriously, there are only so many varsity jackets a boy can have.” Soph told her, wrinkling her nose, in the exact same way she would have told Zayn, Rose knew, something which automatically made her smile. “We just got him some normal clothes. You know, jeans, a couple of V-necks, Converses, because God knows his wardrobe needs them.” Soph shook her head. “There was an awkward moment when we passed the Marvel underwear and we both wanted to check, but we passed it.”

“Oh, my God, I would have so loved it if you’d bought something.” Rose giggled.

“Wait, what?” Soph said confusedly. “No, he got the Iron Man boxer briefs.”

Rose couldn’t help but let out the high-pitched hoot of laughter. This was just all too much. It was ALL TOO MUCH.

Rose could only listen, her ears ringing slightly with joy, as Soph continued to tell her a word-by-word play of what had happened. They’d shopped, they’d hung out for a while in Starbucks. There were even a load of blurry pictures of Zayn and Soph both acting like utter fools, which Soph had apparently been sorting through when Rose had walked in.

But, from what Rose could gather, the most important thing was that they’d talked.

Zayn was freaking out big-time about Dianna coming to the show tonight, something Rose could at least somewhat understand. The last time he’d seen her, she’d had her tongue down another man’s throat, in a restaurant full of busy people. From what Soph and Rose knew, he’d ignored her messages, which were probably trying to cover up her tracks. She’d known that Zayn had seen her when Soph had told her God knew what.

Soph and Rose were deep in thought, their heads full of theories about what Dianna could want, when Zayn walked in.

“You alright, ladies?” Zayn said politely, Rose grinning as she saw his eyes linger on Soph’s face slightly. Soph had told her how they’d already both decided to ease into their friendship in front of the others. Not only was their random bonding something they didn’t really understand, but also, Soph wanted to tell Harry about that creep her own way, instead of upsetting him.

So Zayn had no idea that Rose knew. Which, for some reason, made Rose feel epic.

“What’re you wearing?” Rose suddenly blurted out, as Soph’s eyes widened, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to stifle a laugh.

“What?” Zayn asked innocently, looking down at himself. He was wearing a pair of bog-standard blue jeans, some tattered trainers of his and a deep green T-shirt with Mr T’s face on it in cartoon, the caption reading “Quit Your Jibba Jabba Fool”. Zayn’s eyes flickered towards Soph as the corners of his mouth twitched. “I bought it today.” Zayn looked at Soph, fighting the urge to laugh loudly. “What do you think, Soph?”

“I think it’s lovely.” Soph told him, unable to stop the smile on her face from showing.

“Normal clothes?” Rose muttered under her breath at Soph, as Soph and Zayn grinned at each other. “Really? Those are normal clothes?”

Soph just grinned at her best friend.

The rest of the boys filtered in then, as Zayn put on his varsity jacket of the evening, a green affair which he buttoned to the very top, hiding his T-shirt from the crowd.

“What is up with your T-shirt?” Harry asked slowly, stopping as he chewed his gum, seeing Zayn button himself up.

“What’s wrong with it?” Zayn asked defensively.

“Nothing.” Louis muttered, the boys peering at Zayn. “It’s brilliant.”

Soph grinned slyly at Rose, who just shook her head at her best friend, grinning to herself as Zayn and Soph smiled at each other from across the room, before Rose’s eyes caught Liam’s smouldering ones and her heart stopped.

The show was brilliant, as usual.

Soph glanced at Zayn continuously throughout the show, a concentrated expression on her face, as she glanced between Zayn and Dianna. Dianna was cheering him on happily in the crowd, ignoring the fact that Zayn was desperate not to make eye contact to her.

It was just as the boys were wrapping up I Should Have Kissed You (to many screams of delight), when Rose nudged Soph, just about to bear tearing her eyes away from Liam.

“Soph, who’s that next to Dianna?” Rose muttered, as the music stopped, signalling the boys to come traipsing in.

Soph felt herself go sick to her stomach as she recognized the blonde tramp from the restaurant, with the blonde tramp she’d been kissing.

“Rose, can I borrow you for a second?” Liam asked innocently, taking Rose gently by the wrist before she could respond.

Zayn ran back in, the last one in and before Soph could stop herself, she’d placed a hand on his arm, still peering into the crowd with disbelief.

Zayn glanced up at Soph sharply at the contact, despite the thick layering his T-shirt and jacket provided him with.

Soph stopped for a moment, her eyes widening as she glanced at her hand, clutching Zayn’s bicep, to Zayn’s face. Quickly, she dropped her hand.

“Zayn.” She said quickly, looking back into the crowd. “Zayn, look who she’s with.”

Zayn and Soph started muttering between the two of them, Zayn surprisingly calm as he informed her he’d seen Dianna and her new partner from the stage.

They were so engrossed in their conversation, that they didn’t notice Harry glance over at them and double-take, his happy expression slipping away as he saw them both whispering together, Zayn’s head slightly inclined and bent down so he could hear Soph properly.

Meanwhile, Liam had led Rose to the corridor.

“So, um, what’s up?” Rose asked, her heartbeat stuttering irregularly in her chest.

“No, my hair is just getting in my face, help me out?” Liam smiled nicely, disappointment making Rose’s heart drop.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Rose muttered, heading into the empty dressing room and going straight for the hairspray. Screw this bullsh*t. Lucky Soph got all the fun, Rose thought wryly.

That was until she felt Liam’s warm body behind her.

Within seconds, he’d whipped her around, his body pressed fiercely tight against hers.

There was a small moment, where Liam looked down at Rose, with the softest expression.

But then it was gone as he pressed his lips fiercely against hers, smashing their mouths together and before Rose knew what she was doing, she had her fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping her stomach tightly under her thin black T-shirt, her legs winding around his waist as he set her on the worktop, consequences and Ryan be damned.

The boys returned onstage within a few moments and Rose came back into the room, her cheeks flushed.

“What happened to you?” Soph asked distractedly, watching Zayn. He was too calm, she thought. For somebody who had felt so confused and lost earlier, he was way too calm.

Rose just shook her head, smiling to herself. It was too soon.

Liam was an amazing kisser, let’s just put it to that. And boy, did he know how to work a girl up quickly.

A few more songs passed, before Tell Me A Lie.

“Can’t ever get it right,” Liam began to sing, smirking slightly as Rose blushed, both of them knowing how wrong that was. “No matter how hard I try and I try...”

Soph bit the nail of her thumb carefully as Zayn came onstage, a presence about him that hadn’t been there before.

“Well, I put up a good fight, but your words cut like knives... And I’m tired.” Soph frowned as she felt pity, watching Zayn close his eyes briefly and smile to himself as his words hit home. “As you break my heart again this time...”

The music began to build slowly and Soph watched as the conviction grew in Zayn’s eyes, as he sang with the boys;

“Tell me I’m a screwed up mess, that I never listen, listen. Tell me you don’t want my kiss, that you made your distance, distance, tell me everything but don’t you say he’s what your missing baby, he’s the reason that you’re leaving me tonight, spare me what you’re thinking...” Soph bit on the flesh of her thumb, a proud smile spreading across her face as Zayn looked Dianna dead in the eye, her face shocked, as he sang; “Tell me a lie.”

Soph and Rose couldn’t help but almost burst with pride as Liam and Harry sang their verses, the chorus sang with such conviction from all of the boys, knowing who was watching them and what she was doing to Zayn, that the crowd went wild.

Zayn held his high note perfectly towards the end, almost entirely at ease and as he sang his solo version of the chorus, he rang with a confidence that let Soph know he’d be okay. Because even though it didn’t make a difference to her whether Zayn got through this or not, it did make a difference to everybody else. And more than that, it made a difference to Dianna.

And God knew that bitch needed a telling.

Sometime later, once Rose and Soph had stopped screaming at the victory that was the silent Zayn/Dianna eye battle (Zayn had won, before Dianna had walked out, holding the hand of the aforementioned trampy drug dealer), the show took a pause.

Since their first tour, the boys had upheld the tradition of making every concert a different, unique experience for the fans.

And that included DJ Malik and DJ Tommo.

“I’d like to dedicate this special song to a new friend of mine.” Zayn told the audience, feeling the back of his new T-shirt stick to his back under the heat of the stage lights. “We didn’t know we were going to be friends, but she’s really helped me out today and so this is for her.”

The crowd screamed in such a high-pitch, Zayn temporarily went deaf. They’d noticed the use of the word “her”, then.

A beat-less version of Milkshake began to play, before the music picked up, in the form of Usher’s “Yeah”.

Soph laughed, thinking only of Mo’s strange dance moves, Rose biting her lip as Liam stood at the side, smirking at her from the stage.

As usual, the show ended spectacularly, with – of course – no other than What Makes You Beautiful, as per tradition. The show marked the first of the boys’ comeback tour. There were a few more in London, before they started travelling up North and after that, from Ireland onwards. Soph felt slightly sad, as the boys ran into the small antechamber backstage, screaming and shouting from their adrenaline rush.

Soph wouldn’t be going on tour with the boys, like Rose was. Even though Soph was technically covering the entirety of the boys’ comeback, thanks to their publicist’s exclusive deal with the Vogue House in Hanover Square, she wasn’t travelling. The other Vogue correspondents in each different country would do their own cover and, as of today, Soph was going to be overlooking everything 1D related.

Yeah. Lauren had dropped that bombshell on her today, when she’d returned from her seriously prolonged extra lunch break with Zayn. Lauren had been waiting in her office for Soph. Soph had been expecting at least some type of verbal warning, but instead, Lauren had told her she wanted Soph to overlook the 1D team and the Vogue team had arranged.

Soph had, obviously, been utterly lost for words.

Lauren had gone on to explain that Soph clearly had a good connection to the boys and whilst she’d love it for Soph to be her fly on the wall, she knew that would be compromising Soph’s principles as clearly a member of the 1D family.

Lauren had told her that, as Soph probably knew them better than most, she would therefore be helping them regain their image, as the boyband who had left at the very top.

“And,” Lauren had added. “I’m also doing this because I want an invite to your and Zayn’s wedding.”

Soph had forced herself to laugh at that, despite how weird she found it.

She hadn’t told the boys yet. Soph had explained to Lauren that she wasn’t able to travel very much out of London, due to family commitments. Lauren had explained to her that whilst that would usually be a factor, Soph’s close relationship to the boys (either Lauren was assuming a lot from Zayn, or she knew more than she was meant to be letting on, Soph had thought) outweighed that. Anyway, with Vogue London being the header, it didn’t matter very much, as long as Soph started using a company BlackBerry, which she kept on at all times.

The American Vogue House had wanted the 1D story. As the boys had moved out to LA for a year or so before they’d taken their break, they thought they had more resources to cover the story. That and with 1D being signed to Columbia, one of the biggest record companies out there exempt Hollywood Records, the Disney company, America had been desperate to get the story.

But apparently, after consulting the boys, they’d all decided they wanted everything to come from where it had started – home, in England.

In fact, Soph had found out afterwards that her first interview and meeting with the boys was actually the trial session, to see if they’d made the right choice.

And even though Lauren didn’t say it, Soph got the feeling Lauren had brought that to mind when she’d made her decision.

“Great show.” Rose told Harry confidently, with a smile. Rose realized Harry was sort of her boss now. Weird.

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Harry said wryly, fighting a smirk. He leant down, his breath brushing against the nape of Rose’s neck and she almost shuddered from the heat. “Next time you start having a tonsil tennis tournament with Liam, you may want to close the door properly.”

“Oh my God.” Rose muttered, her face instantly flushing a deep red. “Oh my God, Harry, I-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry laughed, leaning against the wall with Rose and folding his arms casually over his chest. “Haven’t you got a boyfriend, though?”

It was like a slap in the face.

And the worst part was, was that Rose knew Harry probably hadn’t meant it to be.

“Sorry.” Harry said quickly, straightening up slightly, apparently noticing the distraught look on Rose’s face. Oh God. She’d been so wrapped up in her little world, in this universe where One Direction were the entire centre of her universe, she’d forgotten that she had a boyfriend. And that she’d just cheated on him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

“No, no, its fine, I needed to hear it.” Rose mumbled, covering her face with her hands as the familiar sting of tears began to grow behind her eyes. “Oh my God, how could I forget something like that?”

Harry stood there quietly for a moment, the room full of staff and family members. Rose and Harry were at the side and, even though he knew Liam would be looking for her, Harry wanted to take Rose away for a moment. If she’d just realized what she’d done, the last person she’d want to see was Liam.

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, standing in front of her, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Oh God, I don’t know.” Rose said, stopping the tears about to run down her face by placing a finger under her eye, her voice thick with tears. She looked up at Harry tearfully. “What would you do?”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Honestly?” Harry asked. Rose nodded. “I wouldn’t tell your boyfriend.”

Rose gasped.

“It depends.” Harry shrugged. “If this thing with Liam is for real, then tell your boyfriend now and get it over and done with. But if this is just you getting caught up in this massive craziness, then it’s not worth losing somebody you love over.” Harry tried to give Rose an encouraging smile. “Nobody would blame you if you wanted to stay with your boyfriend, you know.” Harry shrugged. “It’s easy to get caught up in all of this.”

“But... How...” Rose shook her head, fighting the urge to burst into a fit of tears. “How can I even make a choice like that? Everything is moving so fast.”

“Maybe you can’t make it yet.” Harry said seriously, kicking the floor absent-mindedly, watching as he scuffed his shoes. “Maybe you never should have had to in the first place.”

Rose glanced up at that, but Harry kept staring at the floor.

“I have to go and talk to Soph, are you going to be alright?” Harry asked seriously. Rose nodded, Harry’s words bouncing around in her head. “See you later.” Harry said with a small smile, before heading away.

“Rose!” Louis shouted, running over as Harry disappeared into the crowded room. “What’re you doing over there? Come on!” Louis dragged her into the crowd as Rose covered her upset face with a big smile, Harry’s words making her feel sick.

“You got a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Soph smiled, following Harry out of the room and into the corridor. “What’s up?”

“Soph, what’s going on with you and Zayn?”

“Nothing.” Soph said immediately, cringing at how false it sounded.

“I know what happened at Shazia’s.” Harry interrupted. “And I know you were going to tell me and if I see that prick, I’ll happily clobber him, but right now, I want to know what’s going on with you and Zayn.”

“Harry-” Soph began, not sure how to explain something she didn’t understand herself, but Harry interrupted her.

“If there’s nothing wrong, go and argue with him.” Harry told her, crossing his arms resolutely. “Prove it.”

Just as Harry expected, Soph’s temper flared.

“Fine!” She snapped, before storming back into the backstage room, Zayn unluckily going to walk out at the same moment. “Malik, do you honestly have no sense of direction?”

For the briefest of moments, Zayn’s face flickered with confusion, but, upon seeing Harry, Zayn instantly knew what was going on.

“It’s not my fault you find yourself incapable of walking in a straight line.” Zayn retorted, crossing his arms defensively, Soph’s fists balled at her sides.

“Oh, you know what?” Soph growled, stepping forward towards Zayn threateningly, Zayn squaring up, too, both of them now furious and neither of them knowing why.

“I KNEW it!” Harry yelled, pumping his fist in the air. Soph and Zayn snapped out of it and turned to him curiously.

“What?” Soph demanded. “We’re arguing, aren’t we?”

“No, you’re not.” Harry grinned, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. “I saw that look. I saw it.”

“What the f*ck are you on about?” Zayn asked irritably, already in a filthy mood thanks to Dianna.

“Don’t worry.” Harry told them, grinning co*ckily now. “I won’t tell.”

And with that, Harry left.

Soph and Zayn stood there, seriously confused for a moment, before turning to each other.

“What?” Soph demanded, seeing Zayn stare at her.

“What?” Zayn shouted, just as angrily back, before they both stormed off in opposite directions. Soph bumped into Harry’s shoulder as she entered the small antechamber again, Harry smiling victoriously.

Because what was going on between Zayn and Soph was clearly not nothing.

hi! this is the anon from before who was asking about the my only direction chapters! sorry, I found the rest of the series in the archive (which was ofc the last place i looked AFTER sending my ask) all except for chapter 11 of mod. hope you don't mind uploading it when you have the chance! thanks again :)

Hi!

I actually... Had no idea this was missing, so I will look into it ASAP for you. I’ll aim to have it done before Christmas!

Happy reading! It makes me smile to think people are still enjoying it :)

Baby It’s Cold Outside

“Harry, just admit it. We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.”

“Harry, we’re lost!”

“We’re not lost!”

“Harry!” I shrieked, slapping my bare legs and instantly regretting it. OW. “We are lost, we have been driving around what may as well be a desert-”

“We’re in England, there’s no comparison.” Harry muttered off-handedly.

“- for nearly two hours, you have no idea where you’re going AND we’re going to be late to Mrs Malik’s Christmas party!”

“Rose!” Harry yelled, looking at me. “We’re not l-”

We both stopped, hearing a weird sound coming from... Oh, no wait –

“Harry, please tell me the car is meant to make that noise and I’m just not used to it because we only use surfboards in Australia.” I muttered, clutching the door. This wasn’t happening. This was not happening, no way, NO WAY WAS THIS HAPPENING –

Of course, that was the exact moment the car decided to stop.

As if things could not get ANY WORSE! It was bad enough that I was going to see Liam at this stupid party, for the first time since... Well, everything. Not to mention I’d barely seen any of the boys anyway, PLUS the fact that Soph was coming with her parents and Adam, so was going to be freaking out about them behaving with the added pressure of her refusing to acknowledge her and Zayn were made for each other, BEING ENGAGED AND ALL, with the even greater added drama of being not only stuck in a car with Harry, of all people, Mr Strange himself, but totally avoiding Australia for Christmas not out of choice (though, to be fair, I’d been planning on Christmassing in London anyway this year), but because my family were evil and had invited Ryan over for the holidays, because my mom didn’t want me to die alone.

What even.

“Rose, I have to tell you something.” Harry told me to break the silence and the mental screaming of me as I totally freaked. “We’ve ran out of petrol.”

Lies. It was all lies. I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended I couldn’t hear it.

“Not happening.” I muttered to myself. “Not happening, not happening, not happening.”

“And we’ve got none spare in this car.”

“So not happening.” I repeated. It was like a mantra. The more I said it, the more it was meant to work, right? “So not happening, so not happening...”

“And we’re lost.”

“What are you, mentally deficient?!” I yelled, whacking Harry as hard in the arm as I could. And no, this was no time to fangirl. I was way over that. With Harry, anyway. Our first meeting had been false bloody advertising, okay? FALSE ADVERTISING. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for the past CENTURY and NOW you admit that we’re lost, when we’re in-” I looked outside, only to be greeted by the bleak landscape of... Nothing. Just one single road and f*cking grass. THIS. WAS NOT. HAPPENING. “- where the Hell even ARE we?!”

“Um...” Harry coughed awkwardly. “I dunno, the Tom-Tom’s not working.”

“The Tom- it’s not – the Tom-Tom’s not-” I took a deep breath. I would not lose it. I mean, it was only a Christmas party. With everyone I knew. And a paranoid Liam. And a freaking out best friend, Soph and her relatively evil, though albeit sexy, fiance Zayn, in Zayn’s home, who, by the way was a member of ONE DIRECTION AND... Calm. Calm, happy thoughts. “Harry.” I said in a dangerously low voice. “I think I’m going to stab you to death with my eyeliner.”

“I can check the boo-”

“Don’t open the door!” I yelled, practically falling onto Harry’s lap to stop him from opening the door. I looked up at him from his lap, feeling my eye beginning to twitch. Somebody had to die, okay? And soon. “We don’t have any goddamn gas and it’s practically zero degrees out there, so we can’t warm up again and YOU may be used to living in f*cking Antarctica, but I come from a place where we have chilled fruit juice this time of year to celebrate the yuletide festivities, so unless you want me to slowly freeze to the same temperature as my ice cold heart and take you down with me, DON’T f*ckING MOVE.”

Slowly, Harry released the door handle, keeping it closed.

“You haven’t got an ice cold heart.”

“Harry, SHUT UP!” I practically screamed. I would not cry. I would not cry, I wouldn’t. Urgh, why was every kind of strong emotion – not even all strong – connected to my tear ducts? “Oh my God, I have no signal. Perfect. Do you?”

“My phone battery died three hours ago.” Harry told me slowly. “I was going to charge it at Zayn’s.”

“Well, do you remember going past any signs?” I asked desperately. I had to be logical. For God’s sake, what use was a psychology degree now if I couldn’t subliminally remember... sh*t and whatever? I knew I should have taken journalism. Never did Soph any bad. What was I saying? I loved psychology and – OFF THE POINT.

“No, I was driving.” Harry said slowly. “Did you?”

“Harry, I was doing my eyeliner.” I snapped. “What do you think?”

“I thought girls were meant to be the multi-taskers?” I glowered as Harry’s mouth began to twitch into a smile. “Sorry. Guess not all of them.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Oh, c’mon, it could be worse.” Harry nudged me as I retreated to my seat, realizing I was still sprawled across Harry’s lap. I edged as far away from him as I could and let me tell you, in this car? Extremely possible. Mercedes cars were spacious things, especially this baby. “Rose, cheer up! At least you’re stuck in a car with me and not some rapist.”

“Same thing.” I muttered under my breath. “Harry, what are we meant to do? Everybody is expecting us, they’ll think this is on purpose!”

“What, breaking down in the middle of nowhere?” Harry looked at me. “Liam won’t think that, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not!” I said immediately, sounding guilty, even to my hopeful self. “It’s not. “ I said, calmer this time. “I mean, Soph. She needs me. What if she thinks I flaked out, huh?”

“She’s my best friend, too, you know, give me a bit more credit.” Harry sniffed, folding his arms across his chest. “She won’t think that. Anyway, she’ll be with Zayn.”

“Precisely.” I said pointedly. “Oh my God, what are we going to do?”

Harry didn’t reply. Clearly, he was lacking in brain cells. Well, at least if he didn’t have anything intelligent to say, he wasn’t saying anything at all.

I hoped.

I pressed my hands to my hair, trying not to ruin it, though. This sucked. Not only was I in the middle of nowhere in a country I had only just called home, but I had no jacket. That was what I got for relying on the 21st century and not being a medieval peasant with layering.

Not to mention how my dress was utterly WASTED. And it was so pretty, too! It was this gorgeous white one-shoulder thing, with this really cute purple pattern at the waist and – well, it didn’t matter now, did it? The only person who was seeing it was HARRY. And I didn’t care what Harry thought. The only reason we ever really spoke, was Soph. And that was only because she was our mutual best friend.

Like I cared what Harry thought about my dress. I already knew Liam would like it. Liam liked everything I wore.

Harry. Whatever.

“Rose, what’s going on with you and Liam?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking what seemed like another silence, but what was really just me yelling at myself in my head. I shut my mouth. Tightly. I didn’t want to have this conversation with Harry, of all people, but I knew he’d make it really easy for me to talk. “Are you still together?”

“We’re just...” I cleared my throat, not meeting his eyes. “We’re going through a rough patch.”

“Rose, I-”

“We’ll fix it, okay?” I muttered, pretending to go through my clutch and trying to blink away the tears. No way. I’d spent a goddamn decade on just my mascara. “It’s just a rough patch, we’ll get through it, we always d-” I stopped and closed my eyes as I felt Harry’s hand on my bare shoulder, comforting me. “We’ll be fine.” I whispered, biting my lip and trying not to cry. No. NO.

“Rose...”

“Look, I don’t need you to tell me Liam and I aren’t in a good place right now, okay? I know that. Trust me, I know that.” I put my head in my hands, feeling the anger disappear. Who was I trying to kid? I wasn’t angry, I was sad. I was sad and I was hurt. “I just don’t know what I did wrong, you know? I- I thought everything was going so well and then he just... I don’t know, I just don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Rose, you didn’t do anything.” Harry told me vehemently, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning forward. I snorted. The sad thing was, I knew Harry well enough to know he wasn’t even lying to make me feel better. He genuinely believed it. “It wasn’t you, trust me.”

“Why?” I asked, looking up at him and placing a finger under my eye to make sure my make-up didn’t run. I laughed dryly. “What, you can read minds now? Or he said something to you?” I stopped, seeing Harry’s face darken. “Oh my God, he said something to you? What did he say? It’s my fault, isn’t it? I’ve done something?”

“No.” Harry ran a finger through his curls and I wondered what it felt like. Soph had told me Harry’s hair was soft and bouncy, for what it was worth. Or maybe I’d had one too many glasses of wine when I’d been getting dressed earlier. “Rose, no.”

“Well than, what is it?” I asked, getting annoyed now. “Harry, if you know something, tell me! Can’t you see how much I’m freaking out!”

“It’s not something you’ve done.” Harry told me gently, his eyebrows furrowed in what I knew was a mixture of hesitance and internal debate and not just general confusion like everyone thought. What? I’d been studying Harry as a specimen for long enough, even before I’d gotten over my fangirling and thought he would be my husband. But hey, if one of us had to get married to the guy of our dreams out of me and Soph, I was glad Soph had. I had my guy Sort of. “It’s more... What he’s afraid you’ll do.”

“That makes no sense.” I told Harry bluntly. “Harry, please, just put me out of my misery. Oh my God, if you know something and don’t tell me and I carry on, it’ll kill me.”

Harry just shook his head.

Urgh, what was his problem? See, this was something I didn’t get about Harry. He was a great guy; in theory. He was fun and at least relatively smart, not to mention handsome and witty and a good friend, but a good brother, too. Yet when you got to know him? He had the emotional depth of a goldfish, okay? Not even because he was a heartless bastard. I mean, if that were true, it’d be easy to fix. Sure, he was the evil guy of the situation, but you could empathize or whatever goddamn well else. But that wasn’t it. Harry was just so guarded, all the time and for no reason. He just... Never opened up. No matter how hard you tried, nothing. I mean, was it really that bad to own up to someone? And it wasn’t like he was a total robot, because between Soph and Zayn, they usually got the full picture, but with anybody else, even asking if he was okay turned into a mission. He could laugh and joke as much as he liked but we all knew he was just trying to hide the fact he was human. I mean, since when was being insecure – if it was just that – an excuse to be totally emotionally void? It wasn’t. And that was what made me so confused.

“I can’t believe you.” I muttered, before staring at him, my voice rising. “I can’t believe you! You know what is potentially destroying my and Liam’s relationship and you’re just sitting there? Letting it happen? What, do you enjoy this?”

“I enjoy it, yeah, but I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt!” Harry suddenly said angrily, making me shut up in surprise. Um, what? “Rose, don’t you get it? Everybody else knows what’s going on and you just sit there! Do you just not care that you’re killing me?”

I stared at him.

“On what f*cking planet does me and Liam having issues anything to do with your emotional wellbeing?” I asked, staring at him. He was clearly insane. It explained everything. HE WAS INSANE. “You can’t care that much, you won’t even try and help, I mean-” I stopped. Oh no. “Oh my God, is it because Liam thinks he’s better off without me? Is that it? So you’re just letting it peeter out, because he doesn’t want to DUMP me?”

“Rose...” Harry sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s not like that.”

“What else am I supposed to think when you’re not telling me anything?” I demanded, staring at him expectantly for an answer. But I got nothing back. Except silence. “Whatever, I’m going for a walk.”

“It’s cold outside, Rose.” Harry told me seriously, locking the doors. “You can’t go out there, it’s dangerous.” He even had the audacity to crack a grin. “Baby, it’s cold outside.”

“You can’t lock me in here, that’s kidnap!” I yelled, unbuckling my seatbelt and trying to snatch the keys. Harry just looked at me and put them in his trouser pocket. “Are you serious? Do you honestly hate me that much?”

“What?”

“You heard me!” I yelled angrily, slumping back into my chair in defeat. “I know that you hate me, okay? I know that you have ever since Soph asked if I could ever be interested in you-”

“Rose, I do NOT hate you-”

“- but, really, considering everything else, you’d think you’d let that go, I mean, COME ON, you were fine with me before, just recently it’s like you’ve had a head transplant and you know what? I’m sick of it, sick, sick of it, because what have I ever done to you, huh? I adored you before I even knew you, I didn’t realize that was a BAD thing, I’m so sorry for being a fan! I just don’t understand how you can hate Liam enough to watch this relationship turn into a trainwreck, I mean, I get you don’t want to make me happy, but come on! Is this really-”

That was when Harry decided to shut me up.

By kissing me.

And oh my God, I can’t believe it, but I actually kissed him back.

I don’t know how it happened, honestly, I don’t. But one minute, we were just sitting there, arguing (okay, so it wasn’t really arguing, it was me yelling at him) and then the next... The next Harry had my face in his hands and he was kissing me, roughly but softly at the same time, urgently and...

And I was kissing him back.

I don’t know how long we were doing that for, but I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t a long time.

“Rose-”

And then I did something truly horrible.

I pulled his face back to mine and kissed him back.

In the small, though still sane, part of my brain I had left, I was freaking out. What was I doing? I was kissing Harry. On my way to see Liam. When things were difficult, but that was no excuse! What was I doing?? I was risking any chance of happiness I’d ever have and for what, to be another one of Harry’s conquests?

But I knew Harry too well to believe even for a second that that was true.

Who was I trying to kid? I had never left those feelings of utter adoration for Harry behind and whilst these past few months I’d just put it down to my fan obsession from years ago and it was just a force of habit, I couldn’t lie anymore! I’d told Soph about the amount of times I’d found Harry staring at me, or muttering angrily with Liam – especially recently – and just... Being there for me. For no reason. Just being there. I mean, what about the time he’d blown off his date with that – and I quote – “hot older woman” to sit with me and watch Titanic for the billionth time because I was having a particular bad period and Soph was working late?

Oh my God, what was I doing.

Oh my God, why was I enjoying it??

I don’t know how things escalated. But I wasn’t just kissing him anymore, I was straddling him – on his lap – and his hands were firm on my waist and we were kissing each other like we wouldn’t be able to breathe otherwise and I was clutching his shirt because I didn’t want him to let go and I was helping him shrug off his blazer and running my fingers through his hair and GOD, his hair was so soft, just like I’d imagined and – and, oh my God – and Harry’s hands were running over my breasts through the fabric of my dress and my hand was snaking into his trousers and this was way better than anything I’d ever done with Liam and -

“What am I doing?” I gasped, pulling my mouth away from Harry’s but otherwise not moving away at all. “Harry, what are we doing?”

“Keeping each other warm.” Harry grinned, going to kiss me again... Before his grin faded. “I don’t know.” And that was when realization hit Harry too. “Oh my God, Rose, I’m so sorry.”

“This is what Liam was scared of.” I whispered, before sliding off of Harry’s lap and getting back into my own seat. I felt so cheap and dirty and... No, I didn’t. But I knew that was what I should be feeling. But I wasn’t and that just made it worse. “Wasn’t it? Of us doing this?”

Harry looked torn about whether or not to tell me; but by the time he slowly nodded his head, I already knew.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

I felt Harry’s hand on my shoulder, massaging softly, as I put my head in my hands. Oh my God.

“We’ll get through this, Rose, I prom-”

“Us? There is no us!” I yelled, sitting up and staring at him accusingly. This was all of his fault! How could he have – how – you don’t just – KISS people like that! “I am Liam’s girlfriend!” I shoved him with each word, feeling water build in my eyes. “I-am-Liam’s-girlfriend-I’m-”

“Rose, no, don’t cry.” Harry pleaded, sighing and trying to pull me close. I batted him away. I couldn’t have him touching me. Then again, what difference would it make after what we’d just done? Oh God! “Rose, please-”

“He’s one of your best friends, how can you do this to him?” I shouted tearfully, trying to ignore that it was my fault, too. Probably more mine than Harry’s. Because if I was as committed to Liam as I thought I was, I wouldn’t have even ever thought about running my fingers through Harry’s hair, let alone kissing him. “How? What kind of a friend are you?”

“Rose, you kissed me back!” Harry reminded me, his voice rising.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I told him icily. I had to pretend like this had never happened. I had to pretend like this was not okay and him kissing me again was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Rose, I was here, I was the one you were kissing, you kissed me back!” Harry shouted, slapping the steering wheel loudly. “You can’t lie to my face! Rose, you have feelings for me-”

“I only did it because you’re Harry Styles, nothing else.” I lied, trying to sound strong. And I did. Just... Not enough.

“Bullsh*t.” Harry snorted angrily.

“I don’t have feelings for you, I just wanted to see if you were playing me or not!”

“Bullsh*t!” Harry yelled, staring at me, full of anger and... Hurt. I felt my argument disappear as I saw the hurt in his eyes. “Rose, why are you doing this? Why are you pretending that what just happened didn’t just happen?”

“Because if I just admit I kissed you back, I’ve just cheated on my boyfriend!” I yelled tearfully, wiping angrily at my face. f*ck my make-up, nobody was going to see it anyway and Harry didn’t count, because we’d been practically grinding all over each other two seconds ago! “What does that make me, Harry? That makes me a slu*t!”

“Rose.” Harry’s face softened and that only made more tears fall. “Rose, no, you could never be-”

“Don’t, okay?” I sniffled. “Please. Just don’t.”

“I’ll wait.” Harry told me quietly, watching me seriously. “For however long it takes.”

“I don’t want you to!” I shouted. “You can’t, okay? I don’t want you to. Isn’t it going to kill Liam enough if he ever finds out? I don’t even know if I have it in me to tell him, I...” I closed my eyes. “I don’t know.”

We were both silent for a moment. Oh God. What if I hadn’t thought of Liam while we’d been kissing? Would we be having sex right now? Would my hand be down his trousers and would his be up my skirt?

And why did I want that?!

“I think I should go for a walk.” Harry said finally. I barely heard him.

“It’s cold outside.” I muttered, turning my back on him and curling up in the seat. I watched his reflection, pretending I was watching the sky outside my window instead.

“Not as cold as it is in here.” Harry muttered, but he didn’t move.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up a little while later, Harry’s blazer was thrown carefully over me and Harry had turned towards his window, too. He’d turned the light off and it was three minutes past midnight.

I sat there for a moment, watching what other variation of wet weather England was dishing out.

This was such a mess.

I got up and leant over to look at Harry. He was sleeping peacefully, his cheek showing a dried track-mark from a tear. I felt my eyes well up again. This wasn’t his fault. Harry would never have kissed me, especially under the circ*mstances, if he hadn’t been 100% sure I’d kiss him back.

Or would he?

I didn’t know anymore.

Hesitantly, I leant over and kissed him on the cheek, my lips catching the side of his mouth. My dark red lipstick left a mark and I stroked his cheek gently as I tried to smudge it off. Even asleep, he looked restless.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” I whispered, crawling back up in my own seat again.

His reply was so quiet, I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard it at all.

“Merry Christmas, Rose.” And then, more definitely, more confidently; “And your present is that I’m not giving up.”

And no matter how screwed up this evening had been, somehow, that one line still managed to make me smile.

And when I heard the gentle creak of Harry turning and when his hand found mine, one arm wrapped around my waist over his blazer, I was glad it was cold outside. Because no matter how cold it was going to get out there, I had Harry to keep me warm.

All I Want For Christmas Is You

“Soph! Can you come down for a moment, please? Your father is calling you!”

“Down in a sec!” I yelled back, closing my bedroom door again, so I could say my goodbyes to Rose. “Okay, drive safe and text me, alright? I want to know how everything goes. I’ve got to go, my parents want me.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, bye!”

I hung up and head downstairs, throwing my phone onto the bed before I did.

“What’s up?” I asked, walking into the dining room. Mum and Dad were sitting at the end of the table, a cup of tea each and a packet of biscuits between them.

“Sit down.” Dad told me, a small, smug smile on his face. Oh dear God, this wasn’t going to be good. Not for me, anyway. “Don’t look so worried, Soph, relax.”

More reason for me to be worried.

I sat down on the other end of our table, opposite my dad, at the head. Bring it. This was bad. Either Dad was having another mid-life crisis and had decided to moan about his life more publicly than usual, or they were adding to my weekly quota of family time again.

“Soph, Zayn’s parents just rang.” Mum told me calmly. Dad watched me carefully beside her and I felt my stomach flip at his name. Okay, I was definitely not ever going to get used to that. His name, I mean. Even from my mother’s mouth it sounded ridiculously appealing to me and that in itself was so dysfunctional beyond words, I almost shuddered in disgust.

“Oh, did they?” I tried to sound neutral. It kind of worked. “What did they say?”

Dad took a sip of tea and looked over at me.

“They’re inviting us to their Christmas party.” He said the last two words with contempt and I tried not to wince and roll my eyes at the same time. Dad was still having... Issues about that. “It’s next week on Christmas Eve and then they invited us to spend Christmas Day with them, too, to have... Lunch.”

“That was nice.” I opted for saying, going with the neutral answer. “A bit short notice, isn’t it?”

“Well, apparently, Zayn was meant to mention it to you.” Mum turned to me and I felt my body tense slightly at the icy look in her eye. “You see, this is why we don’t like our young, Muslim daughter working in journalism and finding her own husband, because we can’t control your exposure to him and find everything out last.”

I couldn’t help but feel my anger rise slightly, even though I knew I was rising to the bait.

“Well, not really, you know exactly what happens and when I see Zayn.” I frowned, irritation seeping into my voice.

“Yes, darling.” Mum said patronizingly, in that way that made my skin itch. “But if we had from the beginning, you wouldn’t be engaged right now, would you? You didn’t tell us when you met Zayn before, because you knew we’d disapprove.”

I scowled, even though I’d heard that wasn’t a great look for somebody who had graduated.

“I think what your mother is trying to say,” Dad interrupted coolly. “Is that it would be nice if you didn’t withhold information from us, sweetie.”

He called me sweetie.

Yeah, I wanted to kill them both.

“So either Zayn’s parents are lying, which I don’t see any reason for them to do.” Dad continued. “Or Zayn didn’t tell you. Or you didn’t tell us.”

“And if Zayn didn’t tell you, that’s not a very trusting relationship, is it, darling?” If my darling mother patronized me one more time, I was going to jump across our stupid glass dining table and rugby tackle her to the floor.

“He did tell me, I just didn’t think it’d be your thing.” I said defensively, not liking the way my parents automatically wanted to blame Zayn. It wasn’t because they even wanted to think their daughter perfect; no, it was because the more dirt they had on Zayn, the more they could rub it in my face.

“Leave it to us to decide whether it’s our thing or not.” Dad said, sounding slightly menacing now. I clenched my jaw and tried to envision happy thoughts. See? I couldn’t win. If I didn’t back up Zayn, I was marrying a total loser and my parents would be on my back about it. If I took his side, they felt all pissy because I wasn’t a part of their crappy little gang. Urgh, I hated them both. “Now-”

“I just thought you guys wouldn’t want to go and anyway, you wouldn’t unless they called to invite you.” I frowned.

“See, there, it wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, was it?” Dad smiled patronizingly and again, the urge to rugby tackle somebody took me over. I shook my head to protest, but Dad just shook his head at me. “Now, now, Soph, we’re just trying to help, we’re not throwing accusations, are we, Ruby?”

Mum just raised an eyebrow at me.

“So, what did you say to them?” I sighed in defeat, clenching my fists under the table. “Do you want to go, then?”

“Well, I was going to tell them we’d think about it, but your father thought that would be too abrupt.”

I decided to not look in my mother’s direction. When she was like this, I only wanted to gauge her eyes out with a plastic fork.

“Do you want to go?” Dad asked me carefully.

Oh, God, I knew this was a trick question.

“Are you here that weekend?” I asked, proud of the neutrality in my voice. “And doesn’t that mean we’d have to stay in Bradford for a few days or something?”

“You leave that to me.” Dad told me calmly. “Do you want to go, Soph?”

I was tempted to tear my hair out. I mean, what a stupid question. Did I want to spend Christmas with Zayn? As opposed to staying, okay, yes, in London, but with my family, awkwardly fighting for volume control as I tried to watch the Doctor Who special?

Then again... Even if Matt Smith was no David Tennant... There was still the Doctor Who special.

“I think it’d be nice.” I said carefully, ignoring the triumphant looks on my parent’s faces. You’d think they’d be a bit more mature. I mean, for goodness sake, Zayn was my goddamn fiance, the least they could do was understand that that meant something.

“You won’t just be seeing Zayn, his entire family will be there.” Mum told me coldly and even though I knew she was only playing Bad Cop so Dad wouldn’t, she was still seriously pushing it. Whether she admitted it or not, she liked Zayn, so I didn’t see what the goddamn fuss was. “I hope you’re not just doing it to please him. I mean, God forbid you should try and please your parents, but this boy comes along and oh, you’ll do anything for him-”

“Alright, Robina, do you want to have this conversation with her when I’m not here?” Dad snapped. Ah, there it was. Dad’s false sense of manliness. What difference did it make if we spoke about feelings? Not that I did that anyway, but I did simply loved the way my Dad acted like we were talking about periods or something whenever my feelings for Zayn came up. Not that I really... Had anyway. I mean, a second ago I’d referred to him as my fiance and no matter how true that was, IT CREEPED ME OUT TO SAY IT. “Soph, if you want to go, we’ll go, okay? Do you want to go?”

I nodded reluctantly. Hadn’t somebody once warned me that love was all about sacrifices? Well, I was screwed. I refused to admit I had any type of positive feelings for Zayn and I was still sacrificing the years of teenage rebellion I’d built against my parents for him. What even.

“Right, then your mother can call them back now and we’ll tell them we’ll see them next week. It’s not a problem.” Dad smiled at me and it was one of those rare moments that I didn’t know whether to accept his sudden niceness and forgot he was mostly a prick, or be suspicious. Mum opened her mouth to complain, but Dad just glared at her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Robina, she’s already marrying the damn boy, what more embarrassment can she cause us?”

Yeah... Prick it was.

“Hey, Adam!” I yelled over the din of surround-sound Power Rangers. “Do you want to go to a Christmas party next week?”

“No.” Adam shouted back, before shuffling in, in all of his eleven-year-old glory. “No, wait, whose party is it?”

“Zayn’s parents.” I told him calmly, feeling slightly better as our parents watched us, confused. “I think it’s in Bradford, though.”

Adam thought for a minute.

“Is Zayn going to be there?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, that’d be cool, we’ll go.” Adam told us importantly, before going back into the lounge and watching whatever crap it was he was watching.

“Adam, why should we go and see Zayn?” Mum shouted out, teasing. I heard Adam grunt at the interruption. He’d finished his studying for the day, I knew what that meant; his brain was officially dead until he had to wake up for school tomorrow. “Don’t you think it’d be more fun to stay at home, just us four?”

“No.” Adam said back, snorting from the other room. Mum could see him from where she was sitting, but I didn’t need to watch him to know what face he was giving her; the look that clearly meant she was crazy. “Zayn’s cool, he said he’d play COD with me.”

“When did you meet Zayn?” Dad asked sharply.

Adam was so good, I didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“I didn’t, but he follows me on Twitter.” Adam said. “I’m watching TV now.” Translation; shut up and leave me alone.

So we did.

. . .

1 WEEK LATER

“Make sure Zayn knows the boundaries.” Mum was telling me quietly as Dad parked the Range Rover somewhere we wouldn’t get blocked in. “If your father sees him touching you, he’ll kill him.”

“I know!” I sighed, rolling my eyes as we waited for someone to open the door. The driveway to the new house was packed with cars. I knew the boys would be here. Rose was going to be late – Harry was picking her up from the station, he’d been running late anyway – but the others should be here.

Including Zayn.

I’d gone for the natural look today, not that I’d had much choice, what with the whole no-red-lipstick-until-the-wedding-day thing. I was still wearing more make-up than usual, though. Black eyeliner, mascara, tinted moisturizer, fairly natural looking pink lip-gloss. The clothes I had chosen myself, for fear my mother would make me so feminine, Zayn wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing skinny black jeans, a stripy jumper that screamed “festive season” and some navy high-top Converses to match the stripes.

Adam clearly looked the smartest out of all of us. He also looked way too much like a rockstar for my liking. Skinny black jeans, a white shirt and a black blazer, with his own black Converses. He and Mum had argued over the shoes, but Adam had argued that if I was the only reason we were all going and I wasn’t being forced to glam up, he shouldn’t be either. And Dad had just agreed because we’d been running late.

I rang the doorbell, chewing on the inside of my lip nervously.

“Soph, don’t be nervous.” Mum told me quietly, squeezing my hand. “You look hot, Zayn must be bloody blind if he doesn’t see that.”

That made me snort, especially as I saw Adam shoot Mum the most freaked out look ever.

And then the door opened.

“Louis, you wan-” Niall’s eyes widened as he saw me, eyebrows raised, standing with Mum and Adam. “Soph! You made it!” Niall shrieked, before grabbing me in a great bear hug.

Now, I love Niall’s hugs, I do. But my mother isn’t such a fan.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He was so... Enthusiastic. I hadn’t seen any of the boys for the past few weeks, what with the second leg of the tour and everything. I’d spoken to Harry a few times about the whole thing he was going through and the other guys had emailed a couple of times... I hadn’t really spoken to Zayn much. Sure, he’d called and text, but I’d always found a reason to cut it short.

Don’t judge me, okay? The whole... Getting married thing was scary. Especially considering... Well, everything we had gone through to get here. But it all seemed so much more real now. I mean, I was getting married. To Zayn. Of all people in the world.

“Soph’s mum, nice to meet you.” Niall grinned, letting me go to hug Mum instead. Adam and I glanced at each other, trying not to laugh, as Mum politely hugged him back, looking confused.

“Hi.” Dad nodded to Niall as he let go, appearing out of nowhere. He had his polite voice on. “Shall we come in?”

“And you must be Soph’s Dad!” Niall yelled happily, shaking Dad’s hand enthusiastically. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Lovely to meet you all, truly. And you must be Adam!”

“Hi.” Adam said politely.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, man, we’re all playing video games in the other room, so stick around.” Niall told him sincerely and I felt my shoulders relax as Adam smiled broadly up at him. It was one thing for Adam to approve of Zayn, but it was another for him to approve of the other boys. “I’m Niall, by the way.” Niall said to Mum and Dad, smiling. “I’m the token Irish one in the band, I work with Zayn.”

I knew Mum recognized him from my hardcore One Direction days, back when they’d just released the first album. Dad nodded and smiled like he knew what was going on and Mum brightened a little. I knew what she was remembering; me and her cheering Niall on as he Irish-danced on Alan Carr.

Niall hustled us in and I stared at how... Busy everything was. There were people everywhere, to start with. Drinking, laughing, talking – yelling at kids.

“I’d avoid her if I were you.” Niall told us cheerfully. “One of Zayn’s relatives friends or something, all I know is that she likes shouting a lot, she hasn’t made many friends.”

I shook my head at Niall, smiling, as he took our coats.

“Soph, I’ll go and find the rest of the boys, they’ll be so glad you’re here, we didn’t know if you were coming or not.” Niall grinned. “I mean, Zayn told us you were coming with family, but we didn’t know if you’d actually be able to make it or not, coming in from London and all.”

“Nice save.” I mouthed as soon as my parents back were turned and Niall shook his head at me, Adam giggling beside us. The boys knew about the constant battle Zayn and I were having against my family.

“Adam, come with me, you can join our little tournament.” Niall clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Soph, I’ll-”

“Oh, you’ve arrived!” I heard somebody gasp and I turned, with a smile, to my future mother-in-law. God, that term was dysfunctional. “Niall, why didn’t you tell me? Honestly, you boys are useless – Robina, you look lovely!”

I let Patricia do the whole happy-hostess thing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her to pieces, but I knew she had to play it up for my Dad. Which she did. She looked stunning, as always. Yaser – sorry, Uncle Yaser (future father-in-law, oh God) came out and he and Dad seemed to be getting along.

It was surreal, I’m not going to lie. Not the party; the 1D Mums loved me. Why wouldn’t they? I kept Harry in check, pushed Liam to get a love life, ate relatively healthily with Niall, made sure Louis didn’t let anybody use his minutes so he had enough to stay on the phone with his Mum and... And, yeah, okay, Zayn was my future husband. But still. The girls came over and said hi. The usual; hugs, kisses, “Oh my God, you look great!” being passed around.

“Oh, there you are!” Aunt Patricia – you see, I had no problem calling her Aunt, I mean, c’mon, I’m Asian, I’d been doing it for years, but it was weird, because the boys instantly thought it made Zayn sound like my cousin, which, just, ew, no – looked behind me, rolling her eyes. I felt my shoulders tense. She only reserved that equally loving and irritated tone for one person. “Look who’s arrived.”

I knew I shouldn’t have tied my hair away from my face, what shield did I have now?

I turned and saw Zayn standing behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets. I’ll admit it; my heart stuttered a little bit. He’d let his hair grown out even more than from the last time I’d seen him; it wasn’t gelled up, so was a thick, wavy mess. Black trousers, a black V-neck jumper. Of course, his black and purple Air Max trainers.

He didn’t have his studs in, because he knew it irritated my parents. He’d shaved properly, so there was no end-of-day stubble. He was standing slightly awkwardly and I quickly looked away, as I saw his head begin to turn in my direction.

This was utterly pathetic. He was putting the ring on my finger and making our engagement fully public in a couple of weeks. God, when I’d hated him I’d been way more confident, how was it that, having one of the hottest guys on the planet want to marry me made me feel all... Gushy?

Easy. Because I was still trying to pretend that it didn’t bother me that he’d made the first move, how much I truly cared for him and Hell, how I fully planned on jumping him repeatedly on our wedding night.

Ahh, wedding night. How about I didn’t think about that right now??

“Hi Uncle.” Zayn said with a small smile on his face, shaking Dad’s hand. He kissed Mum on the cheek. “Aunty Ruby, you look stunning-” I blocked out, wincing as I heard him high-five Adam. It was so wrong. Zayn and Adam getting along was just so wrong. I mean, Adam felt protective over me when Dad complained about his tea, but the guy I was marrying? No, Adam was cool with that.

This is what I got for brainwashing Adam into a Directioner in my teenage years.

I chewed on my lip, arms folded over my chest as I looked up, feeling Zayn turn to me.

I looked into his stupid, stupid, stupid brown eyes. They looked green in this light.

“Hey.” He said softly, smiling that stupid, horrible, cute, brilliant, sexy little smile he saved just me.

“Hi.” I managed to say, just as quietly, chewing on my bottom lip with a small, forced smile. Oh, God, I felt sick. Oh, God, Zayn was making me feel sick. See, this was a problem. Why couldn’t it be the way it had been when we’d hated each other? I’d had way more confidence then!

There was a flurry of instructions then. Uncle Yaser (FATHER-IN-LAW, SO VERY DYSFUNCTIONAL, PEOPLE) took Dad to sit with the other men, Aunt Patricia took Mum off with a wink, Niall whisked off Adam and then... It was me and Zayn.

“Why are you staring at me like you would the penguin enclosure?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him and feeling slightly more comfortable at how confident I sounded. Not felt, but sounded.

“You look beautiful.” Zayn told me, allowing himself to grin at me goofily. “I think someone made the effort for me.”

“Oh yeah, Mum was out to impress.” I nodded, knowing that was exactly what he hadn’t meant. I went to walk away, agonizing over the fact I’d have to walk past him.

I didn’t get far.

As I went by, Zayn subtly placed his hand over my wrist, our shoulders touching.

Ah, ah, ah, help, help, help, close proximity!

“I think you made an effort.” Zayn murmured to me quietly, looking into my eyes. Oh, God, it was really hard to be in denial when he was pulling out the eyes. I mean, that was unfair. I didn’t have eyes like his. I mean, they were brown, but they didn’t have freaking superpowers like his. “I appreciate it.”

“You know if my parents see you touching me before the wedding, they’re going to butcher you, right?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding slightly shaky, even to my own ears. I could smell his aftershave. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek as he spoke and dear God, I wanted to run away screaming. And not because I hated it. The opposite.

“I don’t see you complaining.” Zayn smirked at me. He shuffled slightly closer, so he was standing half in front of me, obscuring everybody else’s view, his chest not too far away from being pressed against mine. Help. Have mercy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not... Not avoiding.” I managed to stammer. Oh, God, oh GOD, his lips were RIGHT THERE... This had been a bad idea. “Just creating suitable distance.”

Zayn’s smirk widened.

“You’re going to be my wife in a couple of weeks, Soph, we’re going to be close.” Zayn’s eyes fell from mine and travelled slowly up and down my body, giving me tingles. “... Very close.” Okay, that was it. I was going to cry out of pure sexual frustration.

Yes, I said it. Sexual frustration.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I was glad (sort of) that it’d be... Special, when the time came.

But, in case nobody else had noticed, my fiance was ZAYN MALIK, okay? It was torture. Especially when he did... This. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed the guy. Not that I didn’t already know about the absolutely epic sexual chemistry we already had. I mean, come on, last week had been practically nothing to what was going to happen on D-Day (aka, Wedding Night, aka When Soph Stops Being Virginal).

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.” I cleared my throat first, sounding nonchalant. I tried to tell myself I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting me flustered... But I knew that was a lie.

A LIE.

Because I knew the more I acted like he wasn’t bothering me, the more Zayn would try. And honestly, I didn’t want him to stop talking.

“Oh, yeah.” Zayn nodded neutrally, before smirking at me, his eyes smoldering from underneath those killer long eyelashes. Arrgh. I was going to throttle him, I swear to God. I was going to pull a total Lady Macbeth and stab him in his sleep. Was that Macbeth? See?! Zayn was messing with my brain so much, I was getting my literature mixed up! ME! “I should probably warn you, actually, so you’re prepared. I’m going to start with your-”

“Soph!”

I almost passed out with relief as Liam popped his head around the door, beaming at me. Zayn stepped back smoothly, letting go of my wrist, his head down as he hid his giant, triumphant grin. Smug bastard.

“Hey!” I forced a smile and stepped away from Zayn, feeling giddy. Arrgghh, Zayn was making me swoon. How pathetic. Hey, would he catch me? OH GOD, SOPH, NOT HELPING. “Sorry, I was, uh,-”

“Are your parents around? Or can I hug you?” Liam whispered, looking around.

I laughed and hugged him quickly, making sure to inhale deeply. Liam smell. Not Zayn smell. Zayn smell made me feel giddy, Liam smell just smelt good.

“Zayn messing with your head?” Liam asked me quietly, sounding amused.

“Aha, you have no idea.” I whispered back, before pulling away.

. . .

The party was... Great.

The food was great (though I didn’t say it in front of Zayn, because I knew he’d helped and he was charming my parents too much for my liking already), everybody was really friendly (except that one lady who we’d seen when we’d walked in, but Adam and I had mostly avoided her) and even my Dad was having a relatively good time. I mean, I’d seen him laughing.

Shock, horror.

“He’s fitting in well.” Zayn nodded towards where Adam and Louis were battling each other on the X-box, sidling up behind me.

“Too well. He’s adapting better than I am.” I smiled, shaking my head and turning to face Zayn – freezing as I saw how close he was. His face was inches away from mine and the way I could see the teeniest of smirks on his lips – on the lips I was very, very close to – instantly made me know that it was deliberate. “The party’s going well.”

“Yeah, you’ve gone down a hit.” Zayn murmured, smirking again. I stared at him for a moment, about to say something – but unsure of what – before I turned away. “Everybody’s going to be leaving soon.”

“So early?” I asked in surprise, turning back to him, but making sure there was more distance between our faces this time.

Zayn gave me a funny look.

“Soph, it’s nearly midnight.” Zayn blinked. “Countdown to Christmas starts in a couple of minutes and then people will be leaving. Including you. Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“No idea.” I shrugged, stiffening and wincing as, by shrugging, my arm grazed Zayn’s stomach. Okay, so he was wearing a jumper, but still. WHAT IF HE HADN’T BEEN? Oh my God. I was going to find that out soon enough, wasn’t I? What it was like to brush against Zayn, in general, when he wasn’t wearing ANYTHING? Argh.

You see, this was why I had been “avoiding” Zayn. It wasn’t avoiding him as such; it was more the fact that I was kicking myself. I mean, I’d been this super-confident, borderline-co*cky, perfect flirt before. Not before, before, I mean between before before and now before and URGH – you get the point. And with the wedding approaching (by wedding I mean D-DAY), I was expected to still be that sexy motherf*cker (if I do say so myself). And I wasn’t. I was petrified. Not in THAT way, but just, generally...

Argh.

“Oh, God.” I muttered, seeing couples standing up and slow dancing, as a cover of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Michael Buble began to play. Mum was shifting next to Dad, who was probably playing a game, on his iPhone. Zayn followed my eyes. “Way to make her feel like sh*t, Dad.”

“What’s the matter?” Zayn frowned, looking at them. “Your parents?”

“He’s not dancing with her.” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “It’s something small, but it’ll hurt her. And even if she says it – which she probably already has – he’ll brush her off.”

“Does that bother you?” Zayn turned to me, his eyebrows furrowed. Argh. Perfect eyebrows. NO SOPH, STOP IT. “That she’s not dancing, I mean. Do you want her to?”

I snorted.

“Yeah, watching my mother slow-dancing has always been on my bucket-list.” I snorted, before sighing. “But... I don’t know, she doesn’t have memories like that with my Dad. Romantic ones, I mean. That makes me sad, not the fact she’s not dancing.”

Zayn folded his arms across his chest, watching Mum, and I could see the shape of his arms.

I’m going to go and kill myself now.

“I’ll be back in a sec, alright?” Zayn told me, walking off before I could answer.

“Yeah, that’s-” I stopped muttering and felt my eyes widen as I saw him walk over to my parents. OH DEAR GOD, NO. “Zayn!” I hissed, even though he couldn’t hear me. Which was weird, because I saw him incline his head slightly, from the other side of the room. “No, no, no, Zayn, no, you stupid-”

“What’re you spazzing about?” Adam asked, appearing of out nowhere, looking at Zayn. Adam frowned. “Why’s he over there?”

“Come on.” I muttered, edging closer to them with Adam, trying to make it look natural.

“... Married first.” Dad was saying, glowering at Zayn’s head. I winced. Not good. “Then she’ll be your mother-in-law, ask me if you can dance with her then.”

I can safely say both Adam and I gaped at Zayn after hearing that.

“Well, Uncle, I was going to ask you, but it didn’t seem your thing.” Zayn told Dad sweetly, smirking a little. I stifled a gasp over my mouth. Oh my God.

“Nooo.” Adam muttered. “Dude, no way.”

“Shut up, Adam, it’s not funny.” I muttered, trying not to laugh. No. Not funny. “He’s challenging Dad’s authority, that’s not nice, that’s not, uh, what’s that word? Oh yeah, respectful...”

“He’s also standing up to the grumpy old man, I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but I find this bloody hilarious.” Adam snorted.

“Shut up, Adam!” I shoved him gently, covering my mouth as I laughed. Okay, so it was a little funny. Very funny. “Oh my God, look.”

Dad had waved his hand dismissively, standing up and already calling somebody, Zayn taking Mum’s hand, her face full of a mixture of surprise and a blush at what I guessed was Zayn’s flattery.

I smiled to myself, without meaning to. Yeah, Zayn was good at stuff like that.

I watched as Zayn said something to Mum, making her laugh and slap him on the shoulder, telling him to shut up. Zayn was grinning as he danced with her, slowly, to the music.

As the song began to finish, Zayn caught my eye over Mum’s shoulder (not that that’s particularly hard, at exactly five feet, Mum was the family midget) and smiled at me.

I mouthed a thank you, trying not to smile too much. Stupid charmer.

. . .

Ten minutes to midnight.

Dad had to disappear to the hotel; something about an emergency meeting with Pakistan about the new school or something. Mum was having a great time with Aunt Patricia somewhere – she’d cheered up considerably since Zayn’s efforts – and Adam was inside, playing with the boys.

Zayn had asked if he could talk to me in the garden.

It was cold and I was ill-equipped without my coat, so Zayn gave me the jacket he’d (cleverly) brought with him into the garden. It was snowing in Bradford. A real white Christmas. Maybe it was worth missing the Doctor Who special, not that I hadn’t recorded it. In London, all we wouldn’t gotten was slush.

Kudos, Maliks.

“Well, this is cliché.” I said suddenly, laughing. Zayn looked at me. “You know, the whole... Thing. Me and you originally hating each other, becoming friends and now we’re getting married... Cliché, don’t you think?”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Zayn asked with a confused smile.

“Definitely.” I nodded. “Rose and I sob like babies every time we see The Notebook, cliché works.”

Zayn didn’t say anything, walking to the end of the garden. He brushed some snow off the small back wall and sat down, motioning for me to do the same.

“Nu-uh.” I shook my head. “I’ll get your coat wet.”

It was weird. Zayn gave me a strange, small little smile.

“It’s fine, Soph.” He said gently, freaking me out even more. “C’mon, sit down.”

I went to argue again, but – realizing that it sounded like I cared – I shrugged quickly instead and sat down, going to brush away the snow. Zayn got there first, shrugging when I looked at him questioningly.

“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked suddenly, looking at him. It was starry tonight. “I never really thought about it before, what do you want?”

“What?” Zayn laughed in disbelief and I shrugged at him, grinning for some strange, strange reason that was unbeknownst to me. “Bit late, isn’t it?”

“Tell me.” I commanded, grinning still.

“Well, good thing you don’t need to go looking for it.” Zayn smiled at me sweetly and I watched him, questioning. “I just want you.”

Oh.

“Well, I, you, I mean, uh, we, um-”

“I mean, all of you.” Zayn said quickly and I stopped stammering to stare at him in surprise. “I know you’re holding back, Soph. I just don’t know why. If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to get married, I-”

“No!” I burst out, feeling my cheeks turn red as Zayn raised his eyebrows at me. Awkward. “I... I mean...” Damn it. I took a deep breath. Man up, Soph, where’s your metaphorical penis now? “I do... Want to... Get married.” I said awkwardly. “To you.” I added quickly, watching Zayn’s mouth twitch. “”Oh, get lost!” I muttered, laughing as Zayn burst into laughter. “I was clarifying!”

“I noticed.” Zayn grinned, before becoming more subdued. I watched him, feeling... Weird. Happy weird. GOOD weird. “And you’re sure?” I nodded. Stupid question. I wasn’t exactly one to go gushing my feelings but... I... Liked Zayn. A... A lot. “Well, in that case...”

“In that case what?” I smiled, watching him take a nervous breath. “Zayn?”

“Well, my Malikah-”

“Oh, you Asian.” I snorted loudly. “Princess in Arabic? Next you’re going to start praying aloud on a bus.” I pretended to tut at him, watching Zayn’s incredulous expression. “Bloody terrorist.”

Zayn fought it. I watched him. His mouth was twitching and he was biting his lower lip to not laugh, but his shoulders were shaking and before I could even fully start grinning at him, he’d let out a large hoot of laughter and was trying not to fall over.

In fact, he nearly fell face-forward into the snow, so put a hand on my knee to steady himself, still choking.

For a moment, I froze. Anybody could be watching, aka, my parents.

But... I realized I didn’t mind.

So I laughed too.

“That... Is not the point.” Zayn laughed, shaking his head. “Look, I know we’re not meant to do this until February-”

“If you try and rape me, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” I said automatically. Not that it mattered. I mean, what could any guy say to that?

“Yeah, it’s not rape if you like it.” Zayn smirked and I felt myself blush. Yeah. He could say that. I watched as Zayn went into his trouser pocket, pulling out a –

I covered my mouth with my hand, refusing to gasp. A turquoise box with a white ribbon.

A Tiffany’s box.

“Zayn...” I managed to whisper.

“Your favourite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I thought it gave me a bit of a clue.” Zayn smiled at me. “Hand?”

Wordlessly, I let him take my hand as he opened the box.

“I know I can’t give it to you now, but I wanted to see if it fit.” Zayn told me quietly, not looking at me properly. I didn’t see the ring as he took it out of the box and put the box away in his pocket. Silently, he slid it onto my wedding finger and tilted my hand in the light, showing me.

I gasped.

It was stunning.

It was simple. A shining, beautiful plain silver ring, a circular, beautifully cut diamond nested in the middle. As it caught the light from the house, it sparkled brilliantly, making me stare at it, speechless.

It was amazing.

“Soph...” Zayn seemed to struggle with his words. Not that I was listening. Oh my God, this ring was stunning. OH DEAR GOD, THIS WAS MY ENGAGEMENT RING. “I l- I really like you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I love you too.” I murmured, staring at my ring. Oh my God. This must’ve cost a bomb. I couldn’t let him buy me this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was so pretty and it fit perfectly and everything and OH MY GOD, I’D JUST TOLD ZAYN I LOVED HIM.

My words died on my tongue, but I kept my face on the ring. Oh God. I’d just told Zayn how I felt...

... And it hadn’t killed me.

And it felt good to finally say it.

I loved Zayn.

I could feel him staring at me. Slowly, I brought my eyes up to meet his.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Zayn was fighting a smirk, but he lost; he broke into a smirk, then a smile and then such a big grin, he looked at the ground sheepishly and laughed self-consciously.

And instead of pretending I rolled my eyes in my head and thought he was being a girl, I did the same thing. I laughed.

I’d finally admitted my feelings for Zayn. I mean, it was no secret why I hadn’t in the first place; my horrendous commitment issues, maybe, or the fact that we were so different, we were bound to fail?

But... Well, we hadn’t.

Because, yes, we were different and yes, I’d seen people just like us – so opposite – who’d tried and failed to have relationships, even marriages. And I’d seen my own parents stuck in their own, unhappy marriage, despite how crazy they’d been for one another and I’d gone through so much of my life not believing in love, even when it – he, Zayn – had been on my doorstep.

It felt good to allow myself to be happy for once.

And in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of D-Day, or the wedding, or what it would mean to be Mrs Soph Malik after it. The pandemonium that would ensue once we released to the press, the constant battle it was going to be to maintain a relationship when Zayn was away; not that we’d discussed that yet.

The idea of us being and making a family.

I’d always told myself I never wanted kids. Cars were better than kids was what I’d snorted at any girl who told me about their plans for a family in high school (you’d be surprised at how low aspirations were for girls with IQs over 100). But, I had secretly admitted to Rose and a few scarce others, that I didn’t want any children because it was likely that, even if I did end up loving my partner, it wouldn’t be the kind of love that could sustain a child. I wanted to be so happy, so in love, so perfect in my life and the man I was spending it with, that having a baby and sharing that love with him or her was the most brilliant idea in the world. I didn’t want to just have a baby for collateral, or because at four years of marriage, that was what I was supposed to do, before my ovaries got dusty and fell out.

Who would’ve thought that guy would be Zayn? If anybody had told me that, I would have punched them in the face.

I still might.

We heard fireworks go off and a loud cheer from inside the house. It was midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Soph.” Zayn told me quietly.

I didn’t think about what I did next, or who might be watching, or whatever other crap. I just did it. I tangled my hand with Zayn’s, my engagement ring sparkling under the sky.

I turned to him and smiled. I loved Zayn. I was in love... With ZAYN.

“Merry Christmas, Zayn.”

About A Girl: Chapter Four

Lahore FortLahore, Pakistan2044

As Ari stepped out of the car, she took in a deep breath of the warm, fragrant breeze. It smelt just as she remembered it; like jasmine, heat, and the faintest tinge of lingering chai. She’d spent so many evenings with her father on nights just like this one, sitting out in the garden and looking up at the clear, starry sky above them - regardless of which side of the border they sat on - and upon seeing it again, Ari couldn’t help her large, slow intake of breath.

Ari had purposefully stepped out of the car to face only one structure; Alamgiri Gate, the fort’s westernmost gate. The giant heavy-set iron doors, showing only slight scuffles and scratches that seemed more reflective of age than the angry protests gracing the Pakistani news, stood solemnly before her, tall and proud. The high archway, the deep set doors, the towers and turrets lining either side of the entrance… Ari smiled faintly, memories of her childhood overshadowed by what she knew stood waiting behind her.

Memories.

Exhaling carefully and trying to steel herself as much as she could, Ari slowly turned, her nails automatically digging into the flesh of her palms.

On the other side of the road, sat Hazuri Bagh - a square ocean of greenery amongst the clean grey roads. Brightly potted plants lined the gleaming white pavilion in the middle of Hazuri Bagh, which seemed to gleam amidst the gargantuan structure of medieval red stone behind it.

Just breathe, Ari told herself. As her nails dug further, a silly part of Ari’s brain idly wondered whether today was the day that she snapped them into pieces from the strain.

The rest of the brain, however, was already focusing on something else. Something important.

Badshahi Mosque.

It even sounded scary, though Ari wasn’t sure if that was because of her own… Associations, or a genuinely valid statement.

Badshahi Mosque; or, in English, the Imperial Mosque, an architectural icon of both the Mughal era and the modern region. Her grandfather had brought her and Bhaijaan as children, taking them on historical tours and filling their heads with facts, his face warm and proud as they’d stare at him in awe. She smiled to remember it; but it soon faded, as more recent memories took hold instead.

Every time she saw it again since, she expected it to be less imposing and yet every time, she was wrong. Maybe it was the faded red stone, hardened from the centuries; maybe it was the long, imposing walls running on either side of the external entrance, decorated with an array of turrets, outposts, balconies and archways. Behind them, Ari could see the glistening white domes of the inner mosque, even now, built in perfect symmetry with the external entrance - a solid square towering over the long, low walls on either side.

She hadn’t been back for years. Since…

Yes, she wanted to prove she could do more; be more, be her father’s daughter just as much as her mother’s in the cut-throat world of business. But this project had been important to her for other reasons; for those painful memories that she was currently standing there, fighting to ignore. To face her fears on her own terms and in her own way, without show and fanfare, without the unending applause her - sometimes overly, almost suffocatingly - supportive family would provide, if they knew.

It had been one year after the… Incident.

Automatically, Ari’s jaw clenched and she flinched, as she felt her anger surge at her own stupidity. She hated using that phrase. Incident. Like it was some trivial accident, some social faux-pas, not worth mentioning.

Even now, years later but somehow still only seconds away, Ari felt… Angry. Furious. Because what had happened to her wasn’t some silly mistake, better to be ignored. It hadn’t been that; and it hadn’t just been some… Random act of vicious crime, either. It had all been so much more complicated than that.

She’d last been here, in almost that exact spot, looking across Hazuri Bagh, one year after she’d been raped.

No fancy adjectives. No whispers. Ari hated that all, now more than ever. Rape. That was what it had been. Yes, it had been brutal, but what had happened to her didn’t need further… Dressing up, for it to be understood as a living nightmare.

Just that. A year after she had been raped.

That stupid, familiar lump began to rear itself in her throat for even thinking it.

She’d been with her Mamu Adam, joining him last-minute for one of his test match trips. He’d had some business to attend to in Islamabad and Lahore; though by then, Ari had understood that business really meant catching up with the rest of his fellow athletes. In fact, within those first few days, Ari had quickly understood that the only reason her uncle wasn’t travelling with his teammates, was because of her; at that time, Ari was still… Jumpy around most men, let alone strangers - even strangers who regarded her as extended family.

At the memory, Ari scoffed silently to herself. Comfortable around men - whatever that meant. She wasn’t totally convinced she was comfortable about people in general, though yes, men specifically too, even now.

At that time, though, she’d been… Considerably better than she had been so far; she’d also began to accept the gravity of all of the recent, significant events - not just the rape and the consequent fallout, but her trip to India with Raj and the secrets from it too. It had all finally begun to feel more… Comfortable.

Life had begun to move on. Slowly. It wasn’t really and even now, it still hadn’t - but she had began to accept that she was forever changed, no matter how hard she pretended to believe otherwise, and just how acutely aware others were of that, too.

They’d stopped off on the road for some fresh sugar-cane juice, with the very same view Ari was now looking at, when the call to prayer had rang out - and despite her uncle’s happy nattering, something she’d always enjoyed, Ari’s eyes had become fixated on the building before her.

“We can go inside, if you like.” Her uncle had said casually. He had always been more of a friend than an uncle; another big brother, wiser and consequently a different type of gentle to her own - an old man with eternal boyish charm, as her mother often said. “Or you can go on your own and I can wait here. Whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think people like me belong in places like that.” Ari had tried to joke - but the gnawing insecurity and belief in her words had shone through, her voice too flat and… Awkward, really, to be funny.

She’d felt, more than seen, her uncle frown. Almost four days into their journey and they still hadn’t spoken about what had happened to her in any real detail. Her uncle had been supportive, of course, in the immediate aftermath; but since then, they hadn’t spoken about it alone.

Ari had understood then, and even more so now, why. He had been respecting her boundaries, so carefully, too, the same kind and thoughtful person he’d always been. It felt to Ari that the more time passed, the more grateful and thankful she became to her Mamu for it. He’d been there for her in the same way he always had been and that constancy had meant more to her and still did, more than she could articulate.

But, back then, it had still been… Frustrating, too. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault. It was just that, no matter what the behaviour was, any behaviour that was accommodating was a reminder to Ari of how much had changed… And when she was already so acutely aware of it, everything else felt a little bit false and very stupid.

“Zarina, you’re more than what happened to you, even though I understand that you’re the only one who knows just how difficult and… Unlikely that may feel like right now.” He had told her firmly, allowing her to pointedly ignore his gaze. “And perhaps more importantly, what happened to you was… Absolutely not your fault and nor does it have any reflection on your character, aside from your behaviour afterwards just proving just how strong and brilliant you are - which are your actions, not anybody else’s.” Ari had nodded absentmindedly, almost sarcastically, still refusing to look his way. “What happened was… Vile and those-”

“Can I go inside?” She’d interrupted, not sure how she’d feel if she heard the rest of that sentence. She’d just known - or felt that she knew - it probably wasn’t going to be particularly strong or graceful, for that matter. “Sorry.” She’d said, glancing over at him, immediately guilty for how he’d fallen silent. Mamu Adam had just smiled warmly, shaking his head. That’s okay. “Is it okay? If I go inside?”

“Of course.” He’d replied - and some of the tension in Ari’s shoulders had eased as he’d smiled, as if his last few sentences had never been said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Swallowing that stupid lump and acutely aware of the time that had passed since then, Ari remembered how she’d hesitated. How she’d hated that she had, but in that moment, had struggled, not knowing that it would soon become a pattern of hers - constantly teetering on the boundary between responsibility and a desperate show of an independence that she felt had now long since been stolen from her.

“… No.” She’d finally settled on saying, despite the nausea she’d immediately felt. Ari shook her head slightly as, even now, it resurfaced, as if it had never left - the fear, the disgust, the resentment, the shame. “I think I want to do this on my own. Can you wait here? Is that okay? I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be.” Her uncle had said, gentle but firm, before leaning against the car door. “You go and take your time. I’ll be right here and if you change your mind or need anything-” He’d pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “- you call me and I’ll be there in seconds. Deal?”

That was one of the first times the frustration had just… Webbed away, replaced with a surge of pure, engulfing warmth.

Ari rolled her eyes slightly as that, that part of the memory, was what made her eyes begin to prickle.

She’d slowly walked up to the doors of the mosque then, the heat burning through her clothes within a few seconds.

She’d read once, or perhaps heard her mother quote it - that people remembered feelings, not actual memories, not in the traditional sense. In this instance, it felt accurate; Ari could remember the path of damp, hot cloth her feet had burned on slightly, protecting her from the boiling stone beneath. The cloth was periodically drenched in cold water, but the heat meant it was never cold for more than a few seconds. She’d remembered her grandfather explaining it to her once.

She’d walked on her heels at first, to try and avoid the burning - but after a few awkward waddles, something had occurred to her.

What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d walked normally after that, the soft, sensitive skin of the soles of her feet pressed firmly against the cloth. It had felt good - even if she’d found her soles to be slightly red when she’d later retrieved her shoes.

The heat on her feet; the heat burning through her scarf and onto the back of her neck; the sweat, prickling down her scalp. If she closed her eyes, she was physically there. Back in time.

Dangerous, really.

She didn’t remember entering the mosque, either. She just remembered… Colours; the reds and beiges and golds, a haze of faded, regal colour on the floor and walls. She’d become trancelike. She’d felt… The same, somehow; something that had once been so majestic, so perfect and untouched, now faded and old and… Used, but still standing.

Tired and weary of everything and everyone, after seeing so much, but somehow still standing. And probably not for the lofty, optimistic reasons everyone assumed.

She remembered -

Oh, what does it matter? Ari thought to herself crossly, firmly yanking herself back to the present; the cool evening breeze, the whistle of the trees. One by one, she uncurled her tight, cramping fingers. That’s not the important part.

No, the important part had been her receding further into the mosque: away from the tourists, those praying, those whispering amongst themselves and revelling at the architecture; further and further away, through the open plans and into the distant, tucked away corners where the engraved and decorated walls were too damaged for people to focus on.

The important part was how she’d sat in a corner, in one of those few nooks and -

The tears that sprang in Ari’s eyes, thick, heavy and ready to fall, were sudden - but not surprising. As she blinked, Ari opened her eyes just in time to see a solitary floor hit the sand by her feet.

Do it, she told herself angrily. Remember. What can hurt you more than what already has?

She’d sat in a corner, curling herself into a small ball, clasping her hands in front of her and pretending to pray in case anybody walked by… Before hearing the words Allahu Akbar - God is great - loud and… Normal, as the call to prayer.

And then she’d broken.

Up until that moment, Ari’s comforts had been worldly; her home, her parents, her siblings and family, her friends - tangible, worldly things. But in that moment, Ari had become overwhelmed at something else; a realisation, an epiphany, almost - that at least one of the confusing, unidentifiable feelings she still felt about it all, was betrayal by the intangible. By beliefs she had taken for granted her whole life.

She’d felt humiliated and torn and abused by a deity who she’d never really thought about that much before - and that made her feel stupid, because - even more stupidly - she had felt another layer of guilt and failure that didn’t make logical sense.

Ari let her eyes wander - from the floor, to the mosque, to the sky and back again, pressing her lips tightly together as the tears continued to flow. Freely, now; and faster, too, as she remembered. How helpless she’d felt. How distraught as, with the prayer continuing musically around her, she’d felt like a gaping hole had been ripped through her entire body, leaving only the paper-thin edges that felt like they’d fly away in the breeze. How it had felt like she was drowning in the air, how she’d felt… Excruciating pain, all over her, how she’d sobbed so hard that she’d been shaking and pressing her scarf over her open mouth, to hide the wails she was too out of breath to fully create.

Everything, all of it; it had truly hit her then. Not just the… Awe at how one event would mark her, haunt her, forever… No. Not just that.

Everything.

She’d realised she was mourning for a part of herself she’d never noticed enough to appreciate; her innocence, her naivety. She’d thought, before then, that she understood the world. That she was cynical, even. That she… knew. That she at least knew things. Just things, things that she couldn’t describe individually, but that she understood well enough.

As her eyes had squeezed shut and hard, silent cries had wracked through her body and open mouth, she had realised she had known nothing. She had appreciated nothing. She had lost something precious - something mental, something that had been kind and forgiving and protected. Something that had been stolen.

Faith. Faith; in everyone and everything and that, no matter how hard or brutally she tried, she would never be able to get it back. And when faith was absent, so was the ability to hope for better.

Her rage and humiliation from her trip with Raj, the reasons for them, the memories she still sometimes had to pretend to not have in order to place one foot in front of the other. The mourning she felt for herself, for her family, for their lives beforehand. Her guilt and shame and disgust at being the root of it, of having the audacity to live through it and the horrifying realisation of what it meant to think that at all.

Ari bowed her head as her face finally crumpled, closing her eyes and feeling her shoulders tense in a bid not to shake. Behind her, she could hear her bodyguard talking to the young chauffeur - someone barely Kabir’s age, who still daren’t look her in the eye out of respect. She didn’t want them to see her like this. The guard, a man she called Chachu - the term given to an uncle on her father’s side - Abdul, out of respect, was someone her family had known and trusted for years… And, for that very reason, someone Ari couldn’t show weakness in front of. Someone she had to prove to herself she could control herself in front of.

Finally looking up at the mosque again, Ari adjusted her scarf, obscuring her face as more tears fell and dabbing at them softly, so as to not leave tracks on her cheeks.

Now, all Ari felt was… A deep, heavy sadness. A well of sadness where her hopes and faith and optimism had once been, even as a self-certified ‘cynic’; a deep, mournful sorrow, a mourning for the woman, girl she may have been without her traumas. Because it wasn’t just the rape; it was everything after it, everyone associated with it - whether to help her, or not -… Her entire life afterwards.

Taking a deep, slightly shaky breath, Ari subtly shook her head at herself. God, she hated it - how all of those feelings could just… Appear, even when she thought she was fine. How it marked the beginning of a hateful emotional spiral where it flooded her, even if she now knew - somewhat - how to handle it. How to brave the storm.

She was tired of braving them. Of having to.

It sounded petty in comparison, but Pixie’s wedding and the wealth of politics she’d been asked to manage was just that - another storm. Ari just felt too… Tired. She forgot, sometimes, that she was so, so tired…

That was why she had to keep going; to find another project, to push herself when she felt she was too far pushed. It helped her. It was productive now, it was her fuel. She kept busy, used that energy to exhaust herself into sleeping through any nightmares she may still have - nightmares she hadn’t had for a fair amount of time now, for that exact reason.

She made something new, marked another achievement, hit another milestone - something she could be proud of, to justify the poison constantly threatening to eat at her, always simmering beneath the surface.

And it had been working so well, that now she had to do it in places like here. Places that reminded her, not always in a bad way, but… That jarred her, places she’d run from before.

She didn’t want to brave storms anymore. Sometimes that meant standing in the eye of one, rather than constantly struggling to break away on the periphery.

That was the current theory, at least.

And it was just at that moment, as Ari stared up at the old mosque before her and pondered philosophy and the meaning of life… That she was rudely interrupted.

“It’s another Rishi Rich remix.”

Ari paused. What?

“From the club, yeah.”

… No, that was definitely from outside of her head.

Frowning slightly, Ari stared up at the mosque in confusion - which, for obvious reasons, offered no answers - before looking over to the car, finding Chachu Abdul and the driver looking equally lost.

That was when a heavy bass began to play - and when realisation dawned, as Ari turned slowly to the Fort behind her, incredulous. Surely not…

The music abruptly stopped - and, now sure it was coming from the Fort, Ari turned to the staff with fury.

She’d told them check the inside, to see if anyone was in there. Had it needed saying that they should knock?

Ari was just about to let a torrent of fury using only her eyes - something she’d inherited from her father, she was often told -, when as if on cue, Ari heard an engine coming from somewhere behind her.

Now what?

She turned just in time to see it - a dirty but new model Jeep, swinging around the corner from behind the Fort and parking abruptly in front of its doors.

Ari didn’t care that she was staring, or that she obvious. In fairness, she didn’t have to. She was Zarina Zafar. She could stare at whatever she wanted - who was going to tell her not to?

Even so, she couldn’t help how she… Recoiled slightly, her eyes wide from shock as - to her utter disbelief - a heavy dance beat began to play, over a tune that - whilst sounding completely ancient - sounded… Very familiar.

“Girl you got exactly what I need-” Ari’s mouth automatically began to mouth the rest of the sentence, her eyes wide in bewilderment as it did. “I ain’t gonna lie with you it’s where I wanna be-”

Ari knew this song. All of her siblings did. It was one of her mother’s favourite songs, painfully old, except… Remixed. Ari had watcher her mother and Kabir dancing to it in the kitchen the morning before her flight to Pakistan. Whenever Bhaijaan was around and it was playing, he and Kabir would pretend to be rappers from the 90s.

Now completely baffled, Ari shook her head slightly - and clamped here mouth firmly shut -, turning her concentration back to the car, just in time to see the doors opening.

The fingers, which had naturally uncurled, bunched back into fists again… And this time, not because of horrible memories.

No, this time Ari was just annoyed at having been so stupid.

They all headed for the doors without a second glance - all but one. One, wearing navy overalls tied at the waist and a slim-fitting white T-shirt covered in grease.

Oh, she really was thick.

Upon seeing her, a yellow stick of mango kulfi in his mouth, he paused - before raising his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised.

They stared at one another for a few moments. And then…

“Miss Zafar.” He called out loudly across the road.

As much as Ari wanted to storm across the road and scream obscenities, she… Didn’t. Instead, she tried to centre herself, remembering the mosque behind her.

“All of this drama for a sense of mystery? Is this how you do business?” She asked haughtily, deliberately in perfect Urdu - after all, they’d already spoken in English once before.

“You’re the queen of Hindustan, Miss Zafar.” He replied just as fluently - and Ari couldn’t help how her back straightened slightly and her eyebrows raised, at the perfect accent. It could almost rival her fathers - and he was from Lucknow, a city renowned for its elocution in India. Also - he’d said Hindustan. Nobody said that anymore.

He knew about her parents.

Which, yes, wasn’t shocking; everyone did. But to Ari, it confirmed her suspicions; that when they’d first met, the last time they’d seen each other, he’d known exactly who he was talking to.

And another thing… He’d said malika. That was an Urdu word, an Arabic derivative. It didn’t prove anything but… It was most likely he was a Muslim.

A million different alarm bells were going off in Ari’s head.

He shrugged. “I thought I’d stay one step ahead while I had the opportunity. Come in when you’re ready.”

“The last time I checked, queens don’t need permission.” Ari retorted, her voice dripping with disdain.

“As you wish.” He nodded, unfazed by Ari’s arrogance. Why isn’t he fazed? Most men would be trembling in front of her - or her insulted by her, at the very least. That was what always caused her so much trouble. She had tried to curb it since everything that had happened - but when taken by surprise, it became her default. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.” And with that - a lazy salute that Ari had to physically bite the inside of her cheeks to not roll her eyes at - he walked to the fort gates, left open for him by one of the other passengers.

It closed with a loud clunk, the music immediately muffled.

Somebody - she didn’t bother to check who - opened their mouths to speak, but Ari raised up her hand and began to count to ten. Maybe twenty today.

Maybe twenty five.

She’d known something was off. It had bothered her for weeks; the scruffy guy who had been waiting for her in the lobby, who’d stood tall and with his arms behind his back when she’d entered.

Reaching twenty five, Ari stormed back to the car, the door already open for her before she’d reached it.

“We’re going back to Islamabad and by the time we come back, I want to know everything about that man.” Ari told Chachu and the chauffeur sternly. The boy quickly nodded, closing the door after her.

Of course, she already knew something. She’d seen it crumpled in the arms of the overalls he’d had tied at his waist.

A badge. A regimental badge. He was goddamn army - and not Pakistani. Ari had lived in London long enough to recognise a British regiment badge when she saw one.

No wonder there was someone else pretending to be the face of the deal. Someone who was clearly a Pakistani male, but serving in the British army, had just bought one of the most important cultural and historical sites in the country.

The riots they’d been seeing now were nothing in comparison to what they would be if people found out.

And then there was the other thing. Before they were even driving away, the mosque falling into the distance behind them, Ari’s message to her father was already sent.

Really?? Was all it read.

Because on top of everything else? There was no way in Hell her father hadn’t known exactly who she was going to have to be working with.

*

Home of Danyal & Samara ZafarThe Richmond Building, Chelsea, New York

“Pixie, this isn’t some Bollywood movie that’s going to have aerial views!” Samara huffed, trying to bite back her frustration as Pixie simply waved her hand. “Has this choreographer even factored in your stage? Half of the moves are going to be wasted and everyone else is just going to see twirling!”

“Well, you’re fixing it, aren’t you?” Pixie sighed, rolling her eyes. Mara shut her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. She wanted to lob her phone across the floor. “I told you, the choreographer was there as a back up because someone decided not to show up on time, if you have more work that’s a you problem-”

“It’s your wedding.”

“Exactly, so don’t screw it up.” Pixie said sweetly.

Dany - who had been sitting a healthy distance from Mara on the sofa, pretending to read something on his iPad - slowly began to scrunch up the Lindt wrapper next to him, next to the phone.

Mara shook her head. Really? Screwed up reception?

“Tell Danyal that didn’t work when we were five and it doesn’t work now.” Pixie continued. As Dany winced, Mara couldn’t help her look of long suffering. How was he so actually, completely useless? “Now can you sort out this whole performance thing? I will not be embarrassed by you at my own wedding!”

Just as Mara opened her mouth to speak, however, Pixie’s face disappeared - and Mara was met with her own on her screen, of her scrunched up bun, glasses and dark circles.

This time, it was Mara who winced.

Sighing, she dropped the phone beside her and covered her face in her hands.

“You’re meant to be resting.” Dany said quietly, not looking up.

Mara glared at him.

“You’re meant to be my estranged ex-fiancee too and clearly-” Mara motioned with her arms to the apartment. “- that’s working out fantastically!”

Mara’s eyes narrowed as she saw Danyal fight his smirk. What a prick.

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it.” Dany sighed.

“Who else is going to? Me, the one on bedrest? What do you want, a round of applause?” Mara snipped, groaning internally to herself as she watched Dany - or, more specifically, his backside - saunter towards the door.

As much as she didn’t want to know it, he wasn’t wearing underpants underneath those loose-fitting sweats. He wasn’t. They dropped off the curve of his butt too well for him to be wearing any. It also didn’t help that they were silky and smooth looking, much how they made the curve of his butt look.

Mara gave herself a quick slap on the cheek. Get it together. Life wasn’t that dire that she was going to stoop to fantasising about her own husband.

Reaching for a carrot stick - Mara didn’t believe for a second Danyal had cut her fresh fruit and vegetable sticks himself -, Mara picked up her laptop again, looking at the dance routines the choreographer had begun to lay out. Who was this person? How did it even make sense? Did these people not know Pixie at all?

“No, I am not letting you do this again, I want to speak to her!”

Mara paused.

Had someone else noticed he wasn’t wearing underpants?

Before Mara even had time to dip her carrot into some hummus, there was a very small… Young girl? Woman? Honestly, Mara couldn’t tell - standing in front of her, wide eyed and looking a bit like a lost deer.

And with Mara being the truck that was about to kill her.

After a few seconds of blinking at one another - Mara really couldn’t tell if she was a teenager or not -, the girl finally let out a shaky breath.

“You’re here.” She said, swallowing loudly. Mara waved, once - and looked at Danyal as he appeared behind her, also looking like Mara was about to squish him. In all honesty, that was actually pretty likely. So much for all of that crap about being married… No, no no, Mara was going to keep her mouth shut until she knew what was happening.

Judging by the fact the girl in front of her was wearing more florals than Mara had ever worn in her entire life, including as a toddler, it was going to be an interesting story.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. The only florals she was wearing was some purple flowers stitched into a cream leather jacket. It was cute, actually. So were her black heeled boots. It was the ripped black jeans that were giving Mara mixed vibes.

“… Yeah.” Mara nodded, realising the girl didn’t have anything else to say. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, you can’t.” Dany said quickly - and Mara slowly took a bite of her carrot stick as the girl rounded on Dany like an angry squirrel. If they’d had sex - Mara tried not to bite too hard at thinking that -, how had she not broken? “Noori, come on, you’re leaving-”

“Noori?” Mara repeated gleefully, just as the girl - sorry, Noori - opened her mouth to let out a torrent of what Mara was sure was just super friendly chatter. “That’s a lovely name!”

Mara watched Danyal cringe, just as Noori’s face lit up with happiness.

“Do you really think so?” She beamed. Mara nodded politely, as Noori grinned and sat down beside her. Mara motioned for her to have a carrot stick - which she took happily. “Oh, thank you! You know, I was always super jealous of your name, I always thought it was way more glamorous than mine but when I met this idiot-” Mara bit back her laughter at how Noori’s entire face seemed to change, to glower at Danyal. “- I figured, well, your life has ended up pretty glamorous - I mean, on the outside, not so much the pretend marriage part-”

It was like Mara had been slapped.

From where stood, Danyal tried not to grimace. This… Was what he’d been afraid of.

“Sorry, who did you say were, why are you here?” Mara interrupted, no longer paying attention to Noori’s incessant chatter. How many people? How many people had this idiot gone around telling the truth to, just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut whenever he got his dick wet?

Also, had Noori seen Danyal in the same sweatpants he was wearing now? Because Mara would bet the only kidney she had left that he had been. She could guarantee that was how it had started!

“He didn’t tell you anything?”

Mara was getting bored now.

“If he had, I wouldn’t be asking. Though I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve f*cked.”

Mara raised her eyebrows as Noori made a very loud gasping noise, just as Dany yelled “no” from in front of her.

“Really? Shock, that’s what you’re both going with?” Mara continued, her fists curled much too tight around her carrot stick. “Because if you’re going for cute-”

“Samara-”

“Shut up, this is all of your fault! You don’t say anything when you’re meant to…!” Noori snapped, before grabbing Mara’s knee. It took all of Mara’s restraint not to punch her in the face for it. “I - I would never, never ever, I only found him to find you-”

“I feel like this shouldn’t need saying, seeing as if I’ve said it before, but I haven’t cheated on you.” Danyal interrupted - and although his and Mara’s eyes only met for a second, there was a sincerity and indignation at such an accusation that made Mara immediately feel shamefaced. And then stupid for feeling that way.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t lied before.

“Will you shut up, this is not your moment!” Noori yelled. Watching her from a side profile, it hurt Mara to admit that she was… Pretty. Dark brown eyes, long dark hair. She certainly had nailed the no-makeup makeup look, which Mara still wasn’t totally confident on.

She also… Wasn’t totally dissimilar to Mara. Fair-skinned, dark haired, tall. She had bigger boobs than Mara did. Was that it? Was Mara not curvy enough?

You weren’t here, there’s that too, the irritating, Danyal Zafar cheerleader in her head reminded her.

Noori turned back around to face her.

“I’ve been trying to catch you here for… Months now, it took me forever to just get past the dumbass doorman.” Mara frowned as she realised what sounded… Strange; her accent. A mix of English countryside with an American lilt. It reminded Mara from the girls at boarding school.

Was that how they knew each other?

“Did we go to school together? You’re obviously younger than me-” Obviously. “- but the accent… Benenden’s?”

“Yes! I did, I just transferred to a sister school for a while, which is ironic, you know, because-” Noori laughed slightly as she let out a shaky breath, her grip on Mara’s knee tightening. “- well, because I’m your little sister.”

What?

That was what Mara had meant to say. Instead… Something slightly different came out.

“f*ck off.”

Noori’s face fell. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that, she’s just processing.” Danyal said quickly, taking advantage of Noori’s shock to gently pull her away from Mara by the shoulders. Mara stared at him, torn between being thankful at the gesture and wanting to tear his throat out for whatever connection he had to… Whatever the f*ck was happening right now. “Look, I told you, we’re… Dealing with some family stuff right now, it’s not a great time-”

“No, but - but I’m not lying, it’s the truth! I swear!” Noori batted Danyal away, only to stand in front of Mara again. Was this some kind of scam? Because of the Zafar surname? Mara had… Kind of experienced things similar since the whole wedding mess, but it was more industry favours, not anything like this. This was soap opera bullsh*t. “My Dad is Suhail Abbasi. He works with Madeeha Kayani - or Maddie Kay, or whatever the f*ck it is she calls herself these days - , he’s my Dad, so at the very least we’re half sisters and I’m not totally sold that heartless bitch isn’t my mother, too, which is a whole f*cking thing anyway - which I guess you can relate to-”

Mara suddenly felt very, very dizzy - and as she dropped her carrot stick to grip hold of the sofa beneath her, she couldn’t help but look at Danyal with wide eyes.

Maddie Kay. Noori had known her mother’s new name was Maddie Kay; and Suhail Abbasi was her father’s - or, sperm donor’s - name. She’d seen it enough times on the millions of medical forms she’d signed during the transplant.

“Did he send you here? Does he want something again?” Mara meant to sound tough, but she wasn’t sold that it barely came out above a whisper. She felt sick. She could feel bile rising up in her throat and her head was starting to pound. You’re due your painkillers, that’s all it is. “Because if he has, I have - I have nothing left to give him, as if part of my body isn’t enough-”

“No! God no, he doesn’t even talk to me anymore, ever since he found out I wanted to know about you!” Noori said quickly. “I promise! I found out about you - I found about you just after your wedding, after you went to his office in London-”

Mara looked to Dany again.

Judging by the worry radiating off’ve him… This was legit. And as much as Mara hated herself for it, she knew he would’ve checked before ever even risking a random stranger barging into their home - or, the apartment she was staying it at least. This wasn’t her home…

“And this isn’t about money! I just - once I realised you were real, I - I don’t have any family and I just wanted… I just, I’m not here for a handout! And I know people must say that to you all of the time, but I told my idiot brother in law this already-”

“Noori.” Dany hissed.

“She’s already freaked out, what difference does it make now?!” So they knew each other. Well. Relatively. What if this isn’t all bullsh*t and they’ve still f*cked? Noori fumbled around in her tassled handbag, before pulling out a sleek white box. “Look, I even bought one of those DNA tests, he made me do one before but in case you didn’t read the results-”

“You sent off my DNA without my consent?” Mara laughed, though not because she found anything funny. In fact, she was more relieved to have something to be angry about as a distraction than anything else.

“Well, actually, I did, I stole some of your hair from the bag of stuff you left behind on the morning you left him that you’re not meant to know about - oh whatever -” This was in response to Danyal turning an interesting shade of red - not too far removed from the colour Mara had turned, actually -, upon his secret being outed.

Mara decided not to think about Danyal keeping any of the things she left behind. After all, what was there to think about? It was just… Stuff. She needed her stuff for whenever she was pretending.

What Mara had turned red at, was the fact that Danyal had spoken to someone about the morning she’d left. Nobody knew about that - not really. But Danyal had been sitting here, talking to her… Long lost sister, about it all? If this was even true?

Wait. Age. If this was true (and judging by the sheer stress on Danyal’s face, matched with the immediate belief in it that stemmed from her internal Danyal Cheerleader… This bullsh*t really was true because, really, how could something so messy not be a part of Mara’s life?)… Was Mara a big sister? A little sister?

Was this ripped out of a Disney movie?

“How old are you?” Mara murmured, interrupting again and not particularly caring. Her head really was sore…

“I’m twenty, I’m three years younger than you. If both of our parents are the same, then the bitch fell pregnant when Dad came to see you as a toddler.”

Mara closed her eyes. What was even happening?

“Dad came to see me when I was younger?” She repeated. Noori nodded. “And what about you, if, if-” Mara looked at Dany again, who simply nodded once. sh*t. “- this is true, then how did you end up with Dad?”

“I grew up hearing my Mum didn’t want me and left me at the doorstep, real Bollywood type stuff, but if it is Maddie, then the bitch didn’t want me.” Noori paused. “Sorry. I know she raised you - or says she did - I’m not meaning to offend you-”

“Anything less than bitch would be offensive, you’re fine.” Mara muttered, rubbing her temples. She had a sister. Or a half-sister. She supposed the DNA test results would give her more insight but - f*ck, how was this even happening?

She was meant to be resting up. Relaxing, Dr Kaiser had said. Before falling headfirst into the cyclone that was Pixie’s wedding in Islamabad. Did it ever end?

Maybe this was her punishment, for returning to New York. For being stupid enough…

She and Danyal hadn’t spoken about what they’d said at the hospital. Now, in an odd sort of way, Mara was grateful to meet this brand new, long-lost younger sister, because it meant that they may not have to.

Mara heard a buzz.

“That’s the alarm for your painkillers, I think you should take two.” Dany muttered, immediately going for the box of tablets on the coffee table. As if she’d just noticed them, Noori frowned. “Here.” He crouched down beside her, tablets in one hand and glass in the other.

Under the pretence of pulling the tablets from his hand, Mara let her fingers grip onto Danyal’s slightly - and although she felt dumb at the strange thrill in her chest as his fingers squeezed hers, Mara began to splutter on her water slightly as she noticed Noori smirking at the action.

“I’m good, I’m good.” Mara muttered, waving Danyal away. He hadn’t seen Noori’s expression - and Mara pretended she hadn’t seen as Noori waggled her eyebrows at her. They weren’t on that level yet. Were they?

“What do you even need painkillers for? You’re not sick or anything are you - wait, you’re not dying are you?” Noori gasped loudly, as Mara winced. She really did… Fill up a room. “I have not just found you to find out - if she’s dying, Danyal Zafar-”

“I’m not dying, I’m just recovering from-” For a second, Mara hesitated. But then… What was the point? “… From transplant surgery. I gave Dad a kidney.” Mara tiredly looked to Danyal. “See, you’re not special. She didn’t know that either.”

“Transplant surgery? Why would you give that walking anus a kidney? Watching him drink like a fish as a kid only had its perks in knowing one day he’d die sooner!”

“Okay, Noori, that’s enough, Mara needs rest.” Danyal said firmly - and Mara couldn’t help the sigh of relief inside of her own head. “She needs some time to process and she’s still trying to recover-”

“And where am I meant to go? I told you at the door, I can’t stay at my friend’s any longer and I am not taking your money, or Dad’s-”

“What are you talking about?” Mara asked tiredly.

“Dad! It all makes sense now, why he’s being such a controlling little sh*t, he knows he doesn’t need me to not torture him slowly while he dies of liver cirrhosis anymore!” Noori snapped, before turning back to Danyal. “I’ve just met her, after all of this time and with no help from you, I am not giving that up-”

“Noori, I’m not asking you to-”

“Noori, shut up for a second!” Mara snapped - and although she instantly regretted it, the immediate silence took that away. “What’re you talking about? That you have nowhere to stay?”

“I was burning through the savings account Dad made for me, but he cut me off when he realised I wasn’t joking around. I’m almost out of money and he’s going to lock off my account unless I go back to London.” … That was not promising. “And no, see, I see the look on your face and no! I don’t want your money! Danyal already offered it when we got the DNA tests results back-”

Mara turned to her moron, stupid, softie husband. “You did?”

As if Noorie wasn’t even there, Dany sighed, his shoulders sagging in a sign of resignation that only Mara fully understood.

“She’s your sister.”

His butt really did look good today.

“- and I don’t want your charity, I just want to get to know you! And I know it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go back to London and have that asshole doing everything he can to make sure I never speak to you again and I do not want anybody’s charity, I just wanted to meet you and see you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted-”

But Mara was looking at Dany again.

He tilted his head slightly, his un-styled hair wafting slightly as he did. She’s your sister, Samara.

Mara slightly raised an eyebrow. Something you clearly knew about. She briefly glanced around the living room, before meeting his eyes again. This place? I don’t even feel at home here.

Dany rolled his eyes slightly. That’s your own fault.

“Noori, you can stay here.” Mara muttered. Immediately, Noori’s chatter stopped. Suddenly very interested in fixing her blanket, Mara glanced quickly at Danyal. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay with him! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s your home too, trust me, I know how he feels about it.” Noori laughed, placing a hand on Danyal’s shoulder - before her smile immediately disappeared, at seeing the automatic daggers that seemed to shoot out of her sister’s eyes. “I just mean - are you sure? Because I would… Love to stay and get to know you, but I don’t want to end up walking in as you too finally succumb to the sexual tension and get it on-”

“Noori!” Danyal groaned - and judging by the way his name flowed from his tongue in familiarity, he’d said it multiple times before.

“Yes, sorry! He’s so boring sometimes, I really hope it’s just the lovestruck thing - ow!” Noori stopped and Mara tried very very hard to pretend she hadn’t just seen Danyal elbow her.

They so haven’t f*cked, Dany’s Cheerleader told her happily. He’s treating her like his own sister.

That was both a great and a terrible thing.

“I’m sure.” Mara told her - and, with slight surprise, realising she meant it. Annoyingly… Danyal (once again) knew her well. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped and even if by tomorrow we realise, for whatever reason, that we hate each other or none of this is true… Until then, you should know that whatever family you do have is around.”

It was strange, but - Mara felt… Warmth in her chest as she said, even at seeing the slow smile that began to spread across Noori’s face.

“Really? And we can get to know each other?”

“As long as you turn the volume down.” Mara nodded, watching in realtime as Noori trapped the squeal in her throat. Instead of speaking, she nodded emphatically. “Pack all of your stuff and bring it here-”

“I’ll call one of the drivers to help you.” Dany said, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes, thank you Bhaijaan!”

“Oh, now it’s Bhaijaan?” Dany huffed - and Mara was surprised at how she wanted to smile, knowing from Dany’s expression that only half of him was really grumpy.

“Yes, because now I’m verified family! Though if you want me to do another test, I’ll even leave my bag here and I can do it when we come back, I’m so excited-” Mara watched, eyebrows raised, as Noori dumped her bag empty - including the DNA sample box -, fishing out only a pair of keys and her phone. “I want to hug you, but is it too soon to hug you? I don’t want to hug you too soon and I also might cry if I hug you, but now I’ve said it, I might cry anyway-”

“You can hug me if you want to.” Mara said awkwardly, trying not to notice how Dany was smiling knowingly between them.

“Okay!” Noori said excitedly, before pausing. “But just so you know, I might cry anyway so I’m going to hug you and then leave so you don’t have to see all of it!”

“… Cool, sure.” Mara agreed - but before she’d finished her sentence, Noori was already holding her.

Mara had automatically tensed, worried about her scar and the impact of Noori’s excitement - but although Noori had been fast at the opportunity to hug her, it was surprisingly… Soft.

Soft and… Heartfelt.

For reasons she didn’t understand, Mara found herself blinking back tears as, still standing, Noorie leant down and placed her chin on Mara’s shoulder… And squeezed, gently but tight at the same time, burying her face into Mara’s shoulder. Over her shoulder, Mara watched as Dany’s smile - slightly teasing before - became something gentler, as instinctively, Mara squeezed Noorie tightly back too.

“Okay I need to go, this mascara isn’t waterproof!” Noorie laughed, pulling away - and Mara deliberately avoided eye contact, after catching a glimpse of the happy tears - at least… She thought, hoped, they were happy - that Noorie was avoiding to spill. “I’ll see you later - you will be here when I get back, right?”

Mara felt the tears almost come back again. It had been said so… Lightly. Like it was nothing, like it was a joke.

But Mara knew it wasn’t. If her - their - father was anything like she thought he was, anything like Maddie Kay, it wasn’t a joke at all. It would’ve been Noorie’s entire life, just like Mara’s.

“I’ll be here.” Mara promised solemnly - before remembering herself, remembering that she needed to get a grip, and smiling again. “We both will, go. Make sure you have everything.”

“Okay.” Noorie grinned - and, apart from grabbing Dany’s shoulder and letting out another squeal, disappearing to the front door. “See ya later, sis!” She laughed happily, before Mara heard the front door slam.

For a few seconds, Mara just enjoyed… The silence. You know. Before another long lost family member took the opportunity to knock on her door.

She’d always wanted more family - she thought she’d gotten it, albeit with terms and conditions, from the Zafars. But this…. This…

“I have a sister.” Mara said numbly.

“You have a sister.” Dany echoed.

There was another short pause.

“Wait, I have a sister and you didn’t think to tell me?” Mara’s voice began to shake with anger, as she finally looked up at Danyal again, her hands quivering. “What is your f*cking problem with honesty?”

Dany’s eyes narrowed.

“You see, normally I’d ask you the same thing, except I feel like we had that discussion after you showed up without a kidney, which did kind of steer the conversation, Samara.”

Mara let out a frustrated growl. Maybe he was right.

Maybe.

A sister…

About A Girl: Chapter Three

Kaiser Medical ClinicManhattan, New York

She was awake when he left.

Mara knew she would have woken up beforehand; she knew what she was like on anaesthetic. After Danyal had all but dragged her to the hospital, she’d been diagnosed with a hernia caused by not looking after herself properly after the transplant surgery - and within a few hours, she’d been in theatre. Mara wasn’t even sure what time of the day it was. But she was properly awake now and, hearing a small sigh from the corner beside her before the door closing quietly shut, her eyes flew open and she grimaced slightly as she sat up a little in her bed.

Dany had stayed with her. The whole time. He’d even stayed during her stomach being examined by the doctor - a Doctor Kaiser who, Mara was sure, was exactly the clinic’s namesake - when she’d told him not to, which had led to her clutching onto his hand as she tried not to cry out in pain. Even when she’d first been wheeled out of surgery, she knew he’d been there; she couldn’t remember much, just his voice… And a hand on her forehead.

You know. The exact kind of thing she didn’t want to remember.

Grimacing slightly and placing a hand over where she could only feel a dull ache, Mara leant over to the small table and picked up her phone, collapsing against the pillows as it rang. She purposefully ignored the arm chair beside it, a messy hospital blanket splayed across the seat.

“The fact you’re calling me means you’re not on a flight, which means you’re not coming, which means your drama with my idiot cousin means you’re not attending my wedding-”

“Pixie, please.” Mara groaned, her limbs still feeling heavy. She tapped the loudspeaker and prayed Danyal wouldn’t be back anytime soon. She didn’t think he’d left the hospital - not for a second - but that confidence was confusing, and her brain felt foggy enough already from the anaesthetic. “Have you spoken to Zarina yet? Danyal said he’d call her.”

“Some sh*tty excuse about you being hospitalised?” Pixie asked haughtily - but Mara smiled slightly, at the tiny glimpse of concern she’d heard. “Yes. You’re an idiot.” There was a small pause. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just can’t do much for a few weeks. But I promised I’d show off my badass dancing skills for the wedding and I promise you, it’ll happen. It just means I need to take it easy here first. I’ll still help from here however I can.”

“You’re still coming?” Mara mumbled in agreement, still smiling as she heard the hope in Pixie’s voice. “Well… Then of course you should look after yourself. Be careful.” Mara shook her head slightly, as she practically heard Pixie throw her hair over her shoulder. “Obviously you can’t be ill and like, embarrass me or whatever. What’s even wrong with you?”

“I had a hernia repair.”

“A hernia? Don’t old men get that? Why do you have one?”

“I’m extraordinarily special and I decided I needed to steal some of the limelight away from your Bridezilla routine.” Mara teased, shifting slightly to be more comfortable. Her throat was a little dry and her head was still not great, but she’d be fine. In fact, she didn’t feel any pain at all. “Actually… Pix, do you have a few seconds? To talk?”

On the other side of the phone, sitting in traffic in Pakistan, Pixie hesitated as she looked up at the gigantic Centurion Mall - two towering blocks of every shopaholic’s dream - fast approaching.

“Of course.” Pixie lied, twirling her finger in the rear-view mirror, motioning for the chauffeur to turn around. Pixie guiltily ignored his look of long-suffering. They’d been stuck in traffic heading towards the Centurion for the past forty-five minutes. It didn’t matter. Mara only ever called when something was wrong - and seeing as she was calling from a hospital bed, Pixie was placing bets that there was more going on than usual. “How can I help?”

This time, it was Mara who hesitated.

She’d lost a lot of friends, in becoming Mrs Danyal Zafar. To all of the friends she’d grown up with or made in New York, before meeting Dany… She’d changed. Mara had been bitter about it at first, angry even - and maybe a part of her still was, at the unfairness of it all - but… She understood now why they’d thought that. She and Danyal, for lack of a better term, had been building their brand. Everyone was supposed to fall for it. If they’d done a good enough job to fool the Zafars, even now, was she surprised that her friends had, too?

Not to say it wasn’t… sh*tty. She hadn’t noticed the distance so much when she and Danyal had still been playing their stupid, stupid game, but… Once she’d left, after the wedding, the absence had become… Obvious.

It had been a lonely few years.

It was why she hated being back in New York; hated actually seeing Raj and Pixie, rather than just texting them, even bickering with Ari again. It was so easy to fall into the old routine, but it was just a constant reminder of everything she’d faked and lost to get it - when even that wasn’t as simple as it should have been.

She didn’t have anyone to talk to about any of this. There was TJ, sure, but… After everything that had gone down with Divvy since the wedding, Mara felt like it was almost cruel to keep bringing it up. Not to mention there were some things he just… Couldn’t understand. No therapist would be paid enough, or have the patience, to follow the complications of Mara’s history, let alone understand it. Her family were more in the dark than the majority of the Zafars were. There was nobody to talk to, nobody to ask for guidance, to ask if she’d grown - except the people in it, the people Mara resented for being a part of something that trapped her.

At least, that’s how you felt before, Mara reminded herself. You’ve changed. You’ve grown. You spoke to Danyal.

Mara immediately frowned at herself. Spoke was a push at best.

As much as Mara wanted to be fiercely independent, to not need to talk to anyone… She’d spent the last few years doing that. And it had been fun! It had. It had been good for her and forced her to see things and understand things she hadn’t wanted to, things she would have always found excuses to avoid.

The problem with that was that now she was running out of things to keep her busy. Some things just needed confronting.

And Pixie was as close as she had to a friend.

“Do you remember when you asked me the real reason why I left Danyal when I did? After the wedding?”

“And you fed me some bullsh*t excuse about a moment of clarity between throwing up vodka shots?” Pixie snorted - before pausing and settling comfortably into her seat as her chauffeur headed for the motorway. “…Yes. I take it I’m about to hear the real story? This is exciting…”

Mara frowned, glancing at the closed door of her room again.

“Maybe a bit too much, Pix.”

*

Red Light DistrictSoHo, LondonThree Years Ago

“I cannot believe you just did that.”

“Oh, relax.” Samara giggled, stumbling slightly on her studded red Valentino’s. Immediately, Danyal’s arms went out to steady her - but she avoided them, just about regaining her balance, before standing in the middle of the street and continuing to laugh at herself some more. With a frustrated clench of his jaw, Dany kept walking. “Oh, what is your problem? We were having fun-”

“Fun?” Danyal repeated, whirling around to face her. “You, alongside with everyone else’s significant other, got onto the stage and started dancing with the-”

“With the pole dancers? Strippers? Or are you going to be diplomatic and call them exotic?” Mara snorted, using air quotes above her - before giggling to herself some more. “Get over yourselves! All of you! What, you drag us all to a strip club for drinks-”

“I didn’t know we were going-”

“And all of the significant others, girls and boys alike, are meant to sit there meekly and not have our own fun?” Mara snorted. “I saved the night! You saw how much fun we had up there on stage, everyone loved us-”

Dany clenched his fists and kept walking, trying his best to drown her out.

“Oh, oh, what’re you going to say now, hmm?” Mara called after him. Reluctantly, he pulled to a stop - she was getting louder and with the silence around them, it only seemed worse. “That I embarrassed you? Is that it?”

“I never said that.” Danyal muttered, more to himself than Mara. Unluckily for him, she happened to hear.

“Is that why we had to run out and leave so early? Why you needed me to make excuses for you?” Mara pouted, stopping in the middle of the road again. Thankfully, it was mainly deserted - it was almost 3am and although the rest of SoHo was still buzzing, where they’d parked was a small ocean of silence. Just a few steps in front of them, the car - a deep red Corvette, parked by some greenery - waited and Danyal could have jumped for relief upon seeing it. “Because your ego got bruised that, seeing as we’re not at the turn of the century, you and your Neanderthals couldn’t just ogle at those dancers in peace? At least we all gave you a show, it’s not my fault you’ve got the goods and are now too afraid to touch them - well, me, I mean, obviously -”

“Get in the car.” He muttered, unlocking it as they approached. Not bothering to check on her behind him, he opened the passenger door - but instead, Mara stayed where she stood a few feet away, swaying slightly in her shoes. Dany sighed. “Samara, please, can you just get into the car? Please?”

And then, much to his relief, she slowly began to walk towards him…

… Before slamming the door he’d been holding open shut and snatching the keys from his fingers, twirling them on her own.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous if you think you’re driving in this state.” Danyal told her coolly, trying his very best to not be antagonised. Once he showed he was… It was game over. He knew her when she was like this; she was mischievous and if he didn’t play his cards right, they’d be out here all night, bickering like schoolchildren because Drunk Samara found it funny.

“Is that the real reason?” Samara asked, her eyes glinting in the light. Dany stared down at her impatiently as she stepped closer. “It is, isn’t it? I was right when I gave that crappy excuse when I saw you were on the verge of a tantrum. That’s why you’re pissed.” Mara laughed as Dany’s jaw clenched. He was so easy to irritate. She stepped closer again, closing the distance between them and draping an arm over his shoulder. Dany sighed and stared off at something in the distance - but no, no, that was no fun! Placing her fingers on his cheek, she forced him to face her. “You saw us all goofing around on that stage, saw everyone watching, and you hated it.” She moved closer still, her voice dropping slightly. Underneath her arm, she felt Dany’s shoulders tense. “Because in that moment, all you wanted… Was for me to be doing that with just you watching, in our bedroom.” Samara murmured, so close now that her chest was brushing against his. “That’s the real reason, right?” She tilted her head slightly, triumph radiating from her as soon as Dany looked away again. “Or am I wrong?”

The last few words were whispered, her breath - smelling sweet, with an alcoholic tinge - warm on his neck.

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have.

He showed weakness - he swallowed.

Mara’s smirk grew.

“You know, if you want me so badly,” Mara continued conversationally, balancing on his shoulders now. Automatically, Dany went to steady her as she leaned into him - and cursed himself silently for falling for the trap, when his hands found the bare skin of her sides, warm and with curves that perfectly fit into his hands. “I’m right here.”

Mara raised an eyebrow as Dany’s facade broke - the perfectly blank, almost bored expression making way for pure confusion and wide eyes.

“You’re - you’re drunk.” Dany said uncertainly, careful to keep her at arms distance. Mara only smiled. “Just - just get into the car and you can - sleep it off-”

“You know, I kind of just don’t feel like doing that?” Mara hummed.

He clamped his mouth shut as, eyes on him, Mara sauntered over to the car and sat on the hood.

They said nothing for a few moments, challenging each other silently. Daring the other to make another move, to try and be in control.

She wasn’t wrong. Of course she wasn’t - and they both knew it, the same way they both knew that the way she was sitting on the damned hood of the car was to show off her legs.

She didn’t look beautiful tonight. Well, she did - of course she did, she always did to Dany -, but this was more than that. So… Much more.

They’d had to share the bedroom at the Zafar house while the other members of the family were still there; but they’d barely spoken when not in public and certainly not touched. She needed her space. Danyal understood that. After everything that had happened at the wedding, he was amazed she was still there at all - and he wasn’t some kind of animal, he could control himself. Of course he’d wait.

But he’d been so preoccupied with Mara’s feelings, that he’d forgotten everything else.

Until he’d seen her on that stage.

He’d known, as she’d swayed her hips in time to the music and elicited hoots of approval from customers and dancers alike, that she’d been doing it for him. To piss him off, to get his attention. If he’d doubted the attention part before, he certainly wasn’t now.

He didn’t want to look at her the way he was right then. He didn’t. But he couldn’t help himself.

Because she’d been right.

She was in short black dungarees, a tight-fitting cropped white T-shirt that showed off her dancer’s body and siren red lipstick to match her high heels. Now, Dany watched as she pulled her hair from the messy ponytail she’d kept it in, shaking it slightly at the roots as it fell into natural, tousled waves.

He hated how he couldn’t look away. It was a game. This was all some kind of game.

And yet… A part of him was desperate to keep playing it.

“You’re really pretending to not think about it?” Mara finally asked knowingly.

“You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Dany replied robotically. What did he do? What was happening? What did he do?

Mara smirked again.

“I’m really not as drunk as I’m letting you think I am.”

He wished.

“If you were sober at all, you would not be suggesting…” His confidence faltered as he struggled to find the right words, Mara watched him with raised eyebrows. “You wouldn’t be coming up with this kind of… Plan.” He finished feebly.

“No, if anything, it proves how aware I am. It’s ideal, really.” Mara told him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning on her arms. Danyal pretended to look down the road, rather than acknowledge how long her legs looked in front of him. Supermodel legs. “I mean, we’re both incredibly frustrated at how things have turned out, aren’t we? Me in my gilded cage, you my keeper.”

Danyal rolled his eyes.

“This is a way of… Releasing that frustration.” She shrugged - before walking towards him. Dany crossed his arms over his chest, helpless as he watched the car keys disappear into her back pocket. Maybe it was hope - maybe he was just imagining things - but for a split second, his mind registered that she wasn’t as wobbly on her feet as before. “I think it’s really rather sensible. Well done me.”

Dany shook his head, as Mara stared up at him from underneath those damned eyelashes, chewing on the inside of her lip.

“Whatever point it is you think you’re trying to prove-” Dany clamped his mouth shut as Mara yanked him forward by the belt loop of his jeans.

“I don’t need to prove a point, you already did it for me by manoeuvring that hot mess people are calling a wedding.” Mara said sweetly, biting back further amusem*nt as Dany did everything he could to avoid eye contact. The empty road was so interesting! Or the tree in the corner. f*ck, even the dirt underneath his shoe. It was frustrating because Dany didn’t quite know why he couldn’t look at Samara… And yet he knew the more space between them, the better. “I know you find me attractive and I know the only thing that stopped you before was this knight complex you have going on-”

This time, Dany did look at her - with incredulity. “What? That’s what you think?”

“- but you quite nicely sorted out that little problem for your already questionable conscience by putting a ring on it, so let me reassure you-” She yanked on the belt loop again slightly, jerking Dany forwards so that their faces were inches apart. The street lamps behind them meant half of his face was in shadow and there was a cold breeze that made her shiver against his body - something that didn’t go unnoticed, seeing as Dany’s whole body seemed to tense. “- I am a little drunk, but only enough to know that I would be too proud to say this sober.” No reaction. Mara sighed. “Let me put it this way - I want someone’s hands on me and it’d be in your best interests for those hands to be yours.”

Dany’s face remained the same - that frustrating impassive -, but Mara smirked to herself as she felt his breathing get heavier against her chest.

“Why do I feel like I’ll regret this later?” Dany finally said - and just like that, Mara’s mouth went from a smirk to a full blown, Cheshire cat smile. “So what’s your plan? You won’t get in the car-”

“I mean, we’re standing in the middle of SoHo, if we ever got really desperate, there are at least several street corners we could disappear into and nobody would bat an eyelid.” Mara quipped - and even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do, as their eyes met, Dany couldn’t help but match the smile Mara too was trying to fight, at her own quick humour.

The smiles faded as their eyes stayed on each other.

Mara’s breathing… Stuttered slightly as, as carefully as if she were made of glass, Dany’s hands moved from her hips to her ass, pushing the two of them closer.

Mara’s slapped her hands over his as his fingers spread, ignoring the tingling she suddenly felt from her throat down to her ankles.

“Nice try, but you don’t get those keys until you pick a side.”

Dany’s eyes narrowed as Mara stared up at him in defiance. The tips of his little fingers were brushing against where denim ended and skin began and, unthinkingly, they began to trace small circles.

It could have been seconds. It could have been minutes. Who knew?

“Oh, f*ck this.” Dany finally muttered - and Mara laughed into his mouth as she found it smashed against hers.

Within seconds, she was squashed between Danyal’s body and the cold car, her back automatically arching as she shivered into him from the icy metal.

They were kissing. This was happening.

His stubble was rough and chafed against her cheek as he kissed her, her rings scratching against his scalp as her fingers tangled in his hair; they scrambled against the, their whereabouts forgotten, to push Mara up higher so that her legs could wrap around his waist, making her hum in approval as, once successful, she felt his torso, strong and firm, against the bare inside of her thighs through his thin shirt.

He smelt like the smoke of the strip club and his own aftershave, like a damned warning, every breath of it she took in reminding her that this was a terrible, stupid choice - but that was what somehow made it better, what made her kiss him harder and pull him tighter and press her pelvis up against his chest before she could think better of it.

f*ck who saw them. f*ck what they were doing, f*ck how complicated everything was. For every reason she could think of to stop, the feeling of Danyal’s hot tongue in her mouth and how their bodies writhed against each other with each move of it was a reason to carry on. She was breathless; they both were, kissing furiously and not pausing, because if they did the spell might break and that was the last thing either one of them wanted. No more reality. No more thinking.

His hands were all over her, ass to the bare skin of her waist, to the inside of her thighs and back again. She couldn’t keep her eyes open - but when they did flutter at the feeling of Dany dragging his lips down her neck, his stubble grazing the path, she could only see her wedding ring glinting in the darkness from where it rest against his cheek, keeping him in place as he moved.

He was rough, but not too rough - he pulled her by the roots of her hair to give him more access to her neck, but only hard enough to leave her grinding her hips against his chest again, her hands gripping him by the waist. Every time they moved against each other, he made a small grunt as her heels pressed into his behind and every time he did, Mara couldn’t help a smug smile.

“You’re a - you’re an - an - asshole.” Mara managed to say between silent gasps, gripping the back of his neck with all of the strength she had. He was. He was a f*cking nightmare, this was all of his fault, this whole damned mess was his fault - and she was proven right, right by how he smirked into their next kiss, their kisses so hard that it felt like they were both bruising each other. That’s what it felt like. A million bruises, each one packing its own punch, a sensory overload that took her out of her own head, one that she didn’t want to stop. “Put - put me d- the car -”

Dany nodded - but neither one of them moved, still tangled in each other, their surroundings silent save for the sounds of their lips messily moving against one another and their bodies writhing against the car.

When Dany finally let go, Mara threw him the keys - and seeing one another like that, seeing Dany’s hair sticking up in odd places and with red lipstick smudged all over the both of them, made their eyes sparkle with lust.

*

“So you f*cked him in the red Corvette?” Pixie gasped, scandalised. “That is my favourite car, you tramp-”

Back in New York, Mara began to splutter at the phone in horror.

“Wh - I - no! No!” She said quickly. Why had she decided to tell Pixie this, again?! “No, no, we did not f*ck in the Corvette, oh my God, Pix!”

“Well, then, what happened next? Details, now, I honestly didn’t know my cousin had it in him-”

Mara grimaced at her use of the word cousin.

“No. No more details.” She muttered, the anaesthetic - and the memory - leaving a horrible taste in her mouth. There was something nasty about remembering it in the harsh light of the hospital room. The few times she’d allowed herself to remember were… Were times when she’d been alone, in the dark and in bed, using the memory recreationally and knowing full well the disgust and embarrassment she’d feel for it afterwards.

Except, unfortunately, now it was too late to just stick back into a box in the back of her head.

She remembered it all.

The way their lips had met again within seconds of slamming the car doors shut behind them. How Danyal had almost crashed three times on the drive back, speeding and skipping red lights, as she’d deliberately stared at him, breathing heavy, as her hand had slipped under her dungarees (Mara cringed to think it). They hadn’t even made it up the stairs without her dungarees being left in a puddle behind them.

Mara felt her face go hot underneath her hands. Uuuurgh, she hated herself.

“So is this the real reason why you stopped drinking?”

Peering between her fingers, Mara stared at the phone incredulously.

“Um, yes, is that not enough of a reason?” Mara huffed. “I - I - I woke up the next day, realised what an utter… Moron I’d been and I got the Hell out of there-”

“Why are you telling me this, Sammy? Hmm?” Pixie was the only person to call Samara Sammy, the same way Mara was the only one to call Pixie Pix. She sighed. “What? You want to do it again? Pick up where you left off?”

“Is this not weird for you to even say out loud?” Mara groaned. “How can you be so - so… No, I don’t want a repeat, I just-”

“Oh my God, you so do, I can hear how thirsty you are and I’m a continent away.” Pixie cackled gleefully. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know, Pix, the imminent threat of departure?!”

“Are you planning on leaving him, then? For sure?”

“I- I don’t know, I just-” Mara struggled helplessly. “But we’re meant to talk and after that happened, I just - I just needed someone to understand that - it’s - it’s complicated, how are we meant to talk without actually talking about that-”

“Then don’t talk about it, use your hospital time to do the opposite of talking-”

“No, Pix, I don’t know what to do-”

“What you want! Do what you want, Sammy, you’re married to what used to be one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet who apparently is not living up to the stereotype of his reputation being more impressive than his skillset, enjoy it!”

“You’re not - I told you, it’s more complicated-”

“Maybe more than I thought before, but nothing a quickie in the Corvette can’t fix.”

“You’re the worst, you are being of no help at all, where is the emotional support-”

“Honey, you didn’t become friends with me for emotional support. You became friends with me because I don’t spout bullsh*t.” Pixie told her smugly. “Now, I’m bored of this conversation. Keep me posted and get well soon. Bye.”

“Wait, I-” Mara began - but the call had already ended, leaving Mara alone in the silent hospital room. “That’s… Awesome.” Mara muttered to herself, sighing.

Pixie didn’t understand. Nobody did. That was the whole problem.

Whether she had wanted to or not, Mara had… Opened up a conversation with Danyal, before the surgery. A conversation she couldn’t have, even if they needed to, because she didn’t know where she stood in it.

So far, she’d managed to dodge discussing… Everything, any of it, but now? Now how was she meant to carry it on? When the last time they’d seen each other was… That night? Or even after what Danyal had said? Love you. Present tense.

She was angry, she was. It was… Frustrating! How could he just say that, so easily? Love wasn’t a light word. It was heavy with meaning and commitment and other terrible, horrible things that created an automatic response for Mara to run in the opposite direction when she thought of them. She’d had so many people say they loved her and yet it always amounted to her getting hurt. Being hurt. And Danyal was no different. He’d done the same thing, like everyone else, on their wedding. He’d betrayed her trust.

How was she meant to make him understand that? How, when maybe what he’d done was right?

It was f*cked up. It was so f*cked up and - and wrong! The thought of someone actually knowing what was best for her that wasn’t herself? At a time when she’d been so desperate to find that part of herself? No! It wasn’t - it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right!

… But here she was, sitting in hospital because of Dany. Because of the ties he’d forced her to have. She’d admitted to herself on the way back from the gym that she’d decided, once everything had imploded with her parents after the surgery, to come back to the Zafars, to New York, whether she’d wanted to or not. Of course Dany had been a part of that. She’d known he’d be back in New York for his birthday.

How could both things make sense in her head? Because they did. How could they?

What was she going to say to him? How was she meant to explain?

“I heard you on the phone.” Mara winced slightly, keeping her eyes trained on her hands, at the sound of that voice. A voice that only meant trouble. “You seemed… More awake than before, so I brought you coffee. If you wanted it, obviously.”

Mara nodded - before taking a silent, deep breath and looking up at him - the cause of all of the trouble, Danyal, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

“You look terrible.” She mumbled, offering a half-smile. She wasn’t lying. Underneath Dany’s eyes were deep-set dark circles and he hadn’t shaved, his hair sticking up in odd places. Dany said nothing, standing there in his crumpled jumper and skinny jeans. “Here.” She motioned for the coffee.

Handing it to her carefully, Dany sat in the armchair that Mara just knew he’d slept in, pushing the blanket aside.

“I think we should-”

“Can we talk-”

They both stopped, hesitating awkwardly, for interrupting the other.

“Me first?” Mara asked, smiling politely as Dany nodded. She placed the coffee on the table - it was too hot - wincing slightly, and immediately ignoring how Dany seemed to want to reach out to help her. She sighed.

What was she meant to say? How was she meant to say it? Forget how much he may have heard - she couldn’t be bothered to think about how that was about to impact things. The more she thought, the more confused she’d become.

“It wasn’t some magical moment. Maybe that’s what’s making it so hard.” She finally began, hoping that, what she’d previously found to be Danyal’s annoying tendency to read her mind, would suddenly come in handy. If the way he seemed to tense was any indication, she was in luck. “And I know, I do, I know I should be used to that by now, but-”

“But what?” Dany interrupted, looking confused - and angry, too. Mara chewed on the inside of her lip, feeling like a child. “You thought, after everything that happened, you wouldn’t?”

“Not so soon.” She admitted quietly, ignoring how Dany began to shake his head. “Maybe not ever. Look, I’m - I’m trying here, I’m trying to be honest-”

“Not so soon?” Dany repeated, ignoring her. Mara sighed. “Not so soon? So you thought about it happening, at least?”

“Dan- Danyal, please-”

“You’ve just had corrective surgery for a kidney transplant you didn’t tell anyone about.” Dany told her seriously, clenching his jaw. “And now is when you choose to be honest?”

“That’s what you’re seriously upset about?” Mara asked in disbelief. Dany shook his head again, as if she was somehow the one missing the point. “Now? I’m finally having this conversation with you, one you say you’ve waited to have for so long-”

“I have-”

“Then why does this matter? Why does it matter that this is why we’re having it?!” Mara motioned with her hands to the hospital room.

“Because I’m meant to be looking after you!” Dany snapped - before sighing, as Mara shrunk slightly into the bed, his words… Frightening her. Not his tone. His words. For f*ck’s sake, why did he keep saying things that just… Confused her more?! “I - what did you think? That marrying you and yes, yeah, I did hope that was how it would end and I shouldn’t have done it that way, but when I married you, did you think it was nothing? That I didn’t know what I was promising?”

Mara swallowed, trying to buy herself time.

“I - I don’t know.” She replied weakly, struggling to form coherent sentences when Danyal was looking at her so… Earnestly. “Maybe. I don’t know what went through your head-”

Dany laughed, though not because he found anything particularly funny.

“What went through my head was that I couldn’t lose you and you didn’t want to lose me and that was the only way I knew how to fix things, because you were too scared to understand your feelings.” Dany muttered, his voice laced with irritation. He was even scowling as he said it. Mara didn’t know what to say. “You know that-”

“No, I don’t-” At this point, she was arguing more on reflex than anything else.

“Why would you put yourself through this?” Dany demanded, setting his coffee aside. Mara sighed, collapsing against her pillows and closing her eyes. “Why would you give him a kidney after - after the way he treated you, after everything we did to get rid of him-”

“Everything you did.” Mara muttered to herself… And when there was no answer, she opened her eyes.

Dany was staring at her, temporarily speechless, with round, horrified eyes.

“If I did something wrong - if you changed your mind about your Dad when I told him to leave - Mara, I’m sorry-”

“Urgh, no, don’t do that. Don’t.” Mara groaned. The night of their wedding; when her father had shown up at their hotel and Dany had sent him away. “Don’t - whatever happened between me and him, it’s not something you should be apologising for, Christ-”

“Yes, it is, if I failed you-”

Mara immediately stared at him in disbelief - after staring in incredulity at the sky.

“This isn’t about you, Danyal! Or your pride! This is a decision I made, I’m a grown ass woman, I can handle my own decisions-”

“Urgh, Samara!” Dany groaned. “I’m not saying this is about me or my pride, I’m just - I was trying to help-”

“And in case you hadn’t noticed, Danyal, you trying to help me somehow never ends up the way you want it to.” Mara burst, unable to help the ironic peal of laughter that fell out too.

It was reflexive; at the sound of her laughter, wry and ironic but without the bitterness he’d already heard so many times… Dany managed a sad smile.

Something ached in Mara’s chest. It just felt so… Familiar.

Mara hid her face, pretending to focus on fiddling with the hospital sheets, to try and hide her tears.

“When did everything… Change?” She asked quietly - and immediately closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of Danyal opening his mouth so speak, knowing exactly what he was about to say. “Please… Don’t - say it, don’t repeat yourself. I can’t hear that again, not - not yet, I just-” She shook her head, her eyes still squeezed shut. She cringed even more, remembering how… Similar this conversation was, to one they’d had once before. “I - I genuinely don’t understand. We were nothing-”

“Nothing?” Dany repeated sharply.

Mara’s eyes flew open, only to squeeze in annoyance again - this time, at her own words.

“That’s not what I meant, I just - how can you even know that you mean it?” She tried to sound reasonable; she tried to sound… Fair. Instead, she just came out patronising. “Don’t look at me like that, Danyal!” That currently meant a poker face tinged with silent outrage. It was a look specific to the eldest Zafar sibling’s face. “You said you loved Divya. We went through that whole charade because of you saying that, constantly-”

Dany was already shaking his head before she’d finished talking.

“Samara, please tell me you’re not serious.” He said, setting his coffee cup aside. Mara rolled her eyes. Here we go. Why was it that every conversation they had ended up here? Frustrating and counterproductive?! “I know it’s different with you-”

“No, you don’t know, you don’t and that’s the whole point!” Mara burst - and f*ck it, she was here now, this was happening, so why bother holding back? Where had that gotten her? Oh. Right. In hospital, in New York, struggling to say all the things she needed to with this idiot.

How many times had she gone through this? Imagined this scenario? Created a perfectly crafted script?

Internally, she sighed to herself. When was she just going to accept that her life wasn’t perfect?

“Have you ever just considered,” Samara said through greeted teeth, taking a deep breath and ignoring the slight dull ache she felt coming from her stomach. “That maybe, just maybe, Danyal, your view of love is a little bit skewered?” She continued quickly, seeing the indignation on Danyal’s face, raising her voice. “You grew up hearing about your parents. Your parents, who are not the rest of the world. Who had to deal with difficulties and strain in their relationship, before they were even together-”

“What is your point?” Dany interrupted. Mara took a deep breath as he stared at her, incredulous. “I know about my parents-”

“And you assumed that whatever you had with Divya was real, the first girl you’d ever been with, because it was difficult and you weren’t together yet and you assumed it was l - sh*t!”

Dany immediately stood to attention as Mara winced, the pain in her stomach sharper than before.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She lied, swatting Dany’s awkward, hovering hands away. Too tired to continue shouting, she motioned for him to sit on the bed - but he remained standing, eyeing her with a stern expression that, she knew, was just a mask for concern. “I just… You don’t know, Danyal. You jumped from her to me. That’s not…” The L-word lodged in her throat. “That sounds more like a rebound than anything else.”

“I know what this is.” Dany muttered, shaking his head. “Just because you don’t want to feel like you’re worth that, doesn’t make it any less true.”

Mara’s head jerked up at that. How did he do that? Get inside of her head, ruin everything? She wanted to have an answer! He’d leave the room in ten seconds and a million brilliant, witty scathing ones would enter her head - because ordinarily, they were already there -, but with him, everything was delayed. She wasn’t herself.

How could they have what he thought they did when she was a different person around him? Only him?

For once, pride worked to her strength; instead of looking away as her eyes filled up with tears, of frustration and anger and disappointment - and not just at him, at everything, at her parents, at her life, at being in a hospital bed sitting in front of Danyal Zafar at all - she stared at him belligerently, taking some comfort in the sadness that flitted across his face at her pain.

“I’m sorry, I-” Dany sighed, running a hand through his hair. She kept staring. She didn’t trust herself to stay in… Control, if she opened her mouth. She’d leant on him when she hadn’t wanted to enough times before. “You need rest and this isn’t helping, I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll go.”

Samara pressed her lips together, hard, as with a sigh, Danyal headed for the door.

Hoe, don’t do it, she warned herself. Don’t you f*cking dare, you a strong and independent young woman, don’t you dare - she repeated it over and over, hoping it would sink in.

He was halfway to the door when some of that slipped out.

“Don’t.” Not the part she wanted - and she felt it afresh, like she did every time she thought about their wedding, every time she was honest and it hurt. Disappointment in herself for being so weak. Fear that, just like he’d said, Danyal was right to know her better than she did herself.

A part of him almost wanted him to keep moving, as for a split second, he stilled in the middle of the room. It would make things easier. The lines wouldn’t be so blurred.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, as if he’d been planning on doing it all along, he immediately turned on his heel and sat back down in the armchair next to her bed.

Samara swallowed back her tears, telling herself it was from the anaesthetic that was still working wearing off, as she shuffled in bed, turning her head away from him.

As her shoulders tensed in her efforts to not cry, she felt Danyal’s hand on hers - and as much as she hated herself for it, as confusing and horrible and weak as she felt, she clutched it so hard back that she thought her bones may break.

She took a few minutes to try and compose herself - and if it hadn’t been for the vice-like grip still on his hand, Dany may have thought she’d fallen asleep.

“I miss my friend.” She finally admitted, her voice thick and heavy from emotions she hated on the regular. “I just want my friend back, Dany.”

Silent seconds, ones that felt like minutes, ticked by - and then, in a voice that was sure and strong and so similar to the voice she remembered from simpler, happier times, he replied -

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

It made her feel physically sick to think that maybe, just maybe… Maybe this whole time, he had been right.

*

Conde Nast Headquarters, One World Trade CentreManhattan, New York

“Hello, Esme. Is she busy?”

“Oh, hi, Mr Zafar!” Esme, on of Soph’s many, enthusiastic young assistants, beamed up at him. “The last I checked she was on a call to the board, but there’s nobody in there so go right ahead!”

Aman nodded, already halfway through the door.

“Yes, of course - no, absolutely.” Soph muttered, smiling as Aman, upon entering the office, bent down to kiss her on the forehead. She watched as he collapsed onto the sofa in the corner, throwing his blazer to the side and pulling on his tie. God forbid he would just take a board position and look after himself over the damned company. “No, honestly. Yes. Okay. Okay, bye.”

“Long day?” Aman asked, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the sofa back - and not being at all surprised when, a few seconds later, he felt Soph slip under his arm, her head resting against his chest.

Soph hummed.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Aman’s arm falling from the sofa back to rub circles into Soph’s bare shoulder.

“I should have spoken to you first.” Aman finally said, looking down at her. Soph said nothing, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I just… She was so excited. And I thought if I told her-”

“Aman, don’t pretend you didn’t manipulate Zarina’s interest in the land acquisition.” Soph huffed, shaking her head. Aman sighed as Soph pulled away, forcing him to face her. “What are you doing? She’d hate the idea of being lied to-”

“I don’t want her to feel pressured-”

“So you’re betraying her trust in you instead?”

“No, I’m not, she’s my daughter and I am trying to help her.” Aman said sternly. Soph shook her head. Aman sat up a little straighter. “Look at what happened with Raj! She felt pressured, she said no-”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t think that’s over-”

“She wants it to be and that’s all I need to know.” Aman replied quickly, sighing as Soph got to her feet and began to pace. “What have I done that’s so terrible? This way, she can get to know him and if they like each other-”

“Aman, she is going to feel ambushed! Even if she does end up liking him, taking away anything natural about it will make her run the other way-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Of course I do, she’s our daughter!” Soph laughed, without humour. “Of course she’ll run in the opposite direction! She throws herself into her work, just like we used to and ignores anyone telling her she needs anyone else, because she doesn’t want to believe it, and she shouldn’t-”

“She does not need this boy. Or any other boy. The only people she needs are her family.” Aman said sharply… And although it was in a voice that would have had anybody else quivering, the years had done nothing to Soph’s only response being an unimpressed expression. “But… But she could be happier! She shouldn’t feel like she has to feel alone, what’s wrong with me wanting that for her? You said so yourself, he sounds like a nice boy-”

“It’s not about us finding him nice, Aman.” Soph paused her pacing to stare at her husband in shock. “We didn’t choose each other and we ended up fine! Why can’t you trust her own judgements, her own taste?”

“I never said I didn’t-”

“No, you’re just deciding that this boy may be a good match for her and sending her, unknowingly, to meet him for what she thinks is a business meeting!” Soph scoffed. “Have you thought about what he may say to her? How she may feel like the business?”

“Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” Aman huffed, smoothly reverting from English into Urdu… Which, to anyone else, signalled something serious. “Of course nobody thinks she’s there to… Meet him for that reason! They know she’s representing this company, this family-”

“And since when did people so easily accept a beautiful young girl only being interested in her career?” Soph challenged, matching his bilingualism.

“Other people living in the past isn’t my problem,” Aman said hotly, his temper flaring now, too. “Our daughter is a beautiful, intelligent, fantastic young woman who is an asset to any company she chooses to work for-”

“And if you trust her so much, she should be able to make this decision!”

“I’m not forcing her, Soph! If she likes him, then there’s nothing standing between them and if she doesn’t, so what?”

“How do you know she’ll like him? Just because he’s good for her on paper-”

“- we know our little girl-”

“The way we knew Tara?” Soph challenged, in English again - and Aman stared up at her in surprise, as if he’d been slapped, as her eyes began to take on a new, watery sheen. She slipped into Urdu again. “I’ve already lost one daughter on the assumption we know her, I’m not losing another one!”

“Tara made her own choices. Informed ones.” Aman said grimly, his jaw setting firmly. Ignoring Soph’s immediate head-shaking, he continued, staring at the floor. “No, don’t defend her. She knew what she was doing and Zarina is nothing like that, we can trust her, Tara chose not to be a part of this family-”

“Tara’s a child-”

“And look how much we tried to do for her, how we tried to help her.” The calm in Aman’s voice, after all these years, was no longer intimidating; nor was it comforting, for that matter. It was irritating, because it acted like an off-switch to Soph’s anger, whether she wanted it to or not. “Are you honestly telling me my shehzadi doesn’t deserve more? After what she’s endured? That she doesn’t deserve to have help in finding happiness?”

“Don’t you dare put those words in my mouth, Aman.” Soph warned. Before he could open his mouth to protest, she continued. “Of course I want those things for her! But the moment she knows we had any hand in this, she will feel pressured, to fake her own happiness for our sake-”

“If it works out with this boy, why does she have to know?” Her husband demanded, finally rising to his feet. Soph stared at him in disbelief. “I’m serious, don’t look so shocked! If she finds happiness with someone, why do we need to tell her she received help? Why do we need applause for it?”

“I’m not saying we do, but I’m pointing out how easily this could hurt her - and she’s going in blind, considering someone as a life partner versus a business associate are two very different things-”

“Was it different for us?”

Soph shot her husband a look of long-suffering.

“We weren’t looking to go into business with one another.”

“That’s not the point.” Aman said, half-smiling. Soph shook her head… Immediately fighting her own. “If she likes him, as a business partner or not, she’ll stay. And we know where she is, who she’s around and that she’s safe and that’s something I failed her in before.”

Soph’s shoulders sagged - and, forgetting everything else they’d said, she stepped forwards, cupping Aman’s face in her hands.

“Aman, listen to me.” She sighed, her eyes filling up with tears. “You can’t spend the rest of her life trying to make up for something that isn’t your fault. And if you failed her as a parent, then I did too-”

Aman shook his head, his jaw still clenched, as he fought back tears of his own. Even now, Soph hated seeing him like this; hurting, feeling like he’d failed. Not when she’d seen what real failures in a person looked like, and he’d been the one to pull her away.

“You’re not her father. I am. It was my job to protect her then and I didn’t, but in this way, I can.”

Soph shook her head - but, knowing nothing she could say would ever make any difference, silently pulled his neck downwards and pressed her forehead against his.

“Aman, just because she may stay for the challenge, doesn’t mean she could like him - or love him, or be happy with him-” Soph stopped, seeing the wry smile that began to flicker over Aman’s face, slowly replacing the sadness. “What?”

“She’s our daughter.” He told her quietly - confidently, too, as if she were missing the obvious. “If he’s the challenge to her I think he is, wanting to stay for the challenge and wanting to stay for him won’t be that different.”

Soph raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds as if someone’s talking from experience.” She sighed.

Aman pulled her close, before giving her soft, chaste kiss on the lips - one that, even years and children and life’s nightmares later, made Soph feel like she was in her twenties again, falling uncontrollably with a man she knew she shouldn’t. Free-fall. Even after all of this time, that kiss felt like free-fall.

“That’s how we found each other.”

“Not everyone’s like us.” Soph warned.

“No.” Aman agreed. “But she’ll do better.”

Soph sighed to herself internally as she clutched him close, wishing she could share his faith… But she couldn’t. Because she had a horrible feeling that, at that age, Ari was just like her.

*

New York to Islamabad, En RouteZafar Family Jet

Of their fourteen hour flight, there was only three left… And Ari was hoping to keep up the record so far, of her and Raj’s awkward silence.

She hadn’t wanted it to be awkward, of course. But it was.

The first few hours hadn’t been too bad; she’d been focused on work, prepping for her meeting. Pixie’s future father-in-law was the Minister of Culture; she’d already asked Pixie, who was already his darling favourite, to arrange for a quiet corner for them to discuss the project. After that, Ari could - as if she hadn’t already - set up a visit to Lahore over the next few days, amongst the wedding preparations, to meet the mysterious businessman behind the deal himself.

Ari chewed on the inside of her lip, glancing out of the window. She closed her eyes behind her sunglasses, feeling the warmth of the sun and the brightness of the sky on her face through the plastic-reinforced glass… And recited all of her research again.

A (presumably) filthy-rich businessman of the name Khalid Ahmed - at least, according to the documents on public record - had acquired the land underneath one of Pakistan’s major UNESCO Heritage Sites; the Lahore Fort and its surrounding Shalima Gardens, both of which had began to fall into further disrepair than age, due to the UNESCO financial scandal from almost twenty years prior.

The Pakistani government had offered to donate a significant sum to the renovations, provided UNESCO could provide the rest; but, unable to make such a commitment and under pressure to maintain other sites in Western countries, they had denied, causing a standstill. Without the UNESCO Heritage status, there was little anyone else would be able to do in terms of protecting it; but with a structure that had existed since the sixteenth century, the status meant nothing without the funds to keep it maintained.

Enter Mr Ahmed. He’d approached the Pakistani government and UNESCO as one, she remembered, offering to buy the land deep to the site. This, he’d argued in a written statement also found in public record, would give him a personal incentive to see the property on his land restored, using private funds and investors. His return would be rent paid, partly by UNESCO and the Pakistani government from the funds they’d hoped to spend on repairs, for a lease on the newly-bought land… And one of the most ambitious property deals in business history.

For the government, it worked out cheaper to pay towards a regular lease than the hassle of a full restoration, as well as the unexpected finances any big building project would accumulate. For UNESCO, it helped their PR nightmare in showing that people were still willing to work with them - even if it meant that their access to the project itself was riddled with fine print and where the money was used was beyond their control.

Despite all of this planning, however - and Ari couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought -, nobody had stopped to consider how they would announce this news to the public.

They had not been happy.

To many, even those perhaps not the most… Privileged, when it came to education, saw the Fort as a shining example of what had once been; of a rich and diverse cultural history shared with other parts of the region. In layman’s terms, it seemed as if Khalid Ahmed were buying a piece of history and capitalising on it - and seeing as political reform in Pakistan was still relatively new, it felt to many like a step backwards.

As Ari had mentioned to her father; it was a PR nightmare. An image of bulldozers and cranes heading into the gardens had been used by news outlets everywhere, even internationally; and not even Soph’s influence on trying to create a more balanced view had done much good. It also didn’t help that Mr Ahmed didn’t seem very… Camera-friendly; although it had taken the use of a private investigator, a very short look into his life had found a hedonistic, lavish lifestyle, including a thirteen-second video of Mr Ahmed at a club in Amsterdam, surrounded by sex workers.

Thankfully, nobody else had seen the footage; but his living in the shadows had only made the public more suspicious. As they’d been preparing to board, Ari had been reading a recent piece from the past twelve hours, questioning whether ‘Mr Ahmed’ was just a non-existent crime cover-up, as part of a laundering scheme.

It was made worse by the fact that ‘anonymous sources’ claimed, should Mr Ahmed be satisfied with this venture, he would be next settling his eyes on the Badshahi Mosque, also in Lahore; another centuries old structure known for its architecture and history, as well as still being an active place of worship.

That was what had turned the deal from a PR mess to Hell on Earth. Protestors had been camped outside of the Gardens for weeks, preventing workers from entering and destroying whatever equipment and supplies they could. Mr Ahmed had been forced to hire security teams to watch the site around the clock, which, even when not accounting for the over twenty hectares of land, had been of… Very little help.

Not that any of that mattered.

Ari knew she’d be able to fix all of that.

Zarina Zafar was Pakistan’s darling - and India’s too. She was young and attractive and always camera ready; stylish but not fashionable; modest but not outdated. She balanced her identities as Pakistani, Indian, English and Muslim all at once, with an air of naturalness that left the public breathless. She worked for her parents, had never been snapped or rumoured to be doing anything untoward and her private life was kept secret, despite her wide circle of celebrities and powerful figures being only complimentary.

She was considered the epitome of class, grace and mixed cultural identity in two nations that warred with the overpowering identity of the young Western man or woman. She was everything people wanted their children to be and, by some miracle, everything people her age wanted to be in the press; charming, put together and just the right amount of goofy on her Instagram stories.

Of course, the whole thing was an act - or, at least a large majority of it. Ari was in publishing, for God’s sake. She knew how to present an aesthetic.

And that was exactly what she would do with the Fort project. It would still require careful planning, of course, but it could be done - Ari convincing the public that this was in their interest, all the while supporting the Zafar family name. She could do it. She knew she could. It wasn’t co*ckiness or over-confidence - this was what Ari did every day at Vogue in London.

The only variable was how… Amiable Mr Ahmed would be to work with. Especially seeing as he was allergic to being in the public eye, which was already part of the problem.

Well… Part of the problem. Although it was a minor loophole at best, the Minister of Culture needed to approve the Zafars’ involvement in the project - and that was fine. But seeing as she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to visit Lahore, it would probably take some bluffing…

… That would be easier done if Ari had the safety net of being able to hang up.

She paused - before quickly texting Pixie, seeing if she could arrange the meeting for… Now.

Forget waiting around in Islamabad for a few days. Ari was too excited. Plus, realistically, once she was in Pixie’s sights, she wouldn’t be let out of them - not to mention Sarfaraz pressuring her to babysit Raj… And her brother and Samara could arrive at any moment…

Ari played a game of Tetris 4 - the entire family, save her mother, were locked in a fiercely competitive private league, of which Kabir held the title - as she waited for Pixie’s reply, purposefully not looking in Raj’s direction. A few times, she’d wanted to try and… Talk - the flight seemed like a wasted opportunity otherwise - but thankfully, her most useful trait had given her the wisdom not to.

Stubbornness; it was stubbornness - because if Raj was waiting for her to go back on their agreement of playing nice for Pixie’s wedding, he could wait forever.

Barely a few minutes later, Pixie had text her back, with a video meeting set for the next two minutes.

“Hey!” Ari hissed, throwing a pen - and landing it square in Raj’s temple - at her sleeping jet-mate, making him jump slightly and glare at her. “I’m on a business call, don’t interrupt me.”

With an irritated look that clearly highlighted he had been better off left asleep, Ari turned away and quickly patted down her hair - before pressing on the number Pixie had sent.

It answered on the second ring.

The Minister immediately greeted her in Arabic, to which Ari correctly responded.

“So, Miss Zafar, what can I do for you? Were we not set to meet once you landed?”

“Yes, sir, we were - but actually, I knew that once I landed for the wedding, I wouldn’t want to leave!” Ari immediately said, with her chirpiest voice and trademark smile. She didn’t see Raj glance sleepily over his shoulder at her - before smiling slightly as he fell back asleep. “And ultimately, we’re all in Islamabad for such a happy occasion, the less we have to discuss work the better, surely?”

“Of course.” Minister Bilal said kindly. “So you want to discuss your father’s corporation’s involvement with the Fort project?”

Ari sat a little straighter in her chair.

“Yes.” She said resolutely. “As you know, my family and I are deeply interested in preserving our country’s history and even on an international level, my mother has been recognised as a patron of the arts-”

“Miss Zafar.” Ari paused, quick to hide her confusion, as the Minister suddenly seemed… Awkward. “Your family’s involvement is not at question here. The government’s concern is, rather, about how you may be of service.”

Ari paused.

“Excuse me, but I’m not entirely sure I understand your meaning, Minister…” Ari said calmly, her nails digging into her palms underneath the table. If they were happy to have her involved in the project, why was she being forced to jump through hoops? “Are there any doubts in our integrity?”

Ari fought to not raise an eyebrow as the Minister quickly began to tut away such an accusation. Despite it being implied, Ari thought angrily.

Ari didn’t respond well to being questioned. Ever.

“You’re a very shrewd girl, Miss Zafar - and I would expect no less, given the family you come from.” Ari’s mind began to race, because she didn’t like this one bit. Despite knowing it was… Next to impossible, she began to wonder - was this about what had happened to her, in London? What if she was prepositioned? Or they thought she was weak because it had been kept hidden? She’d known this would come out eventually, she knew she would never be able to bury it deep enough - “But let’s not pretend - we don’t have the time amidst such a busy, happy occasion!”

Ari just about managed a polite smile.

“The bad press is bad for the government. It makes my job more difficult, when at this current time, I’d much rather it felt easy!” The Minister smiled. “At first, this… Khalid Ahmed character was an odd quirk for privacy. But the terrible way this has been handled - which you’ll improve, I’m sure - means that his privacy is no longer our concern. Especially after receiving certain… Intelligence. Bring the real man behind the plans into the light. This is my only condition of your involvement.”

… I’m sorry, what?

Thankfully, she stopped herself from saying that aloud.

Knowing the Minister was watching her much too carefully for her to relax, Ari simply decided on… Nodding, understandingly. If was better that he thought she was confused than totally lost, which was the truth - because the real man behind the plans? What the Hell did that mean?

Though the intelligence part? That must have been the video. Ari hadn’t found it too difficult to get hold of the video. She couldn’t imagine it would have been difficult for the Pakistani government, either.

“You do… Know the arrangement regarding Mr Ahmed’s role in the public eye, don’t you, dear?” Minister Bilal asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Of course.” Ari replied easily… Lying through her teeth. She remembered the mega-watt smile of her father’s lawyer, Harvey and all of the lessons he’d taught her with it. “But we’re in the business of discretion. I don’t think it my place to comment, but now that I know what it is I can to do start-” Ari said shrewdly, making Minister Bilal laugh slightly. “- helping, consider it done.”

“It’s that simple?” He laughed. Ari shrugged, trying to feign her irritation as innocence. “Well, I have no reason to doubt you. And when I see you next, no talk of business - we’ll all be becoming family!”

“If God wills.” Ari replied in Arabic, her nails digging so hard into her palms under the table now that her hand was beginning to feel numb. “I’ll see you soon, Minister.”

“Would you like to talk to Pixie before you go?”

Ari fought not to roll her eyes. How transparent. As if she’d forgotten about the wedding; about how, if she messed this up, it could also affect her cousin.

… Okay, maybe she hadn’t realised the Minister would be so transparent (in an underhand sort of way) about it, but it was still insulting to have it done so obviously.

“No, thank you, Minister. It was a pleasure and we’ll all see each other soon.”

Ari had already hung up before he’d finished saying his goodbye.

Ari stared at her blank phone screen for a few moments, chewing on the inside of her lip. That… It hadn’t gone badly.

It also hadn’t gone particularly well.

She’d had her reservations about working with Khalid Ahmed after seeing the intel, for obvious reasons - and if you didn’t respect your business partner, what kind of foundation was that? - but now… She was frazzled. Secret identity? Who would be stupid enough to do that, let alone someone as dumb as whoever it was in the video - and these were questions that needed answering, only if she’d been right in understanding Minister Bilal.

The only person Ari wanted to ask for advice was her father. But she couldn’t. She had to prove she could do this, by herself…

“Everything okay?”

Ari didn’t bother to hide how she rolled her eyes at Raj’s voice.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Ar - Zarina…” Ari sighed and glanced over to Raj, who was now watching her carefully. “If you need a hand-”

If she wasn’t taking her father’s help, she sure as Hell wasn’t taking her ex-lover’s.

“According to a financial report, two incredibly poor business decisions taken by you cost the Gemini Group almost a quarter of a billion dollars.” Ari interrupted, bored and irritated at having to say it at all. For Raj not knowing better than to keep things between them… Formal. They’d lasted this many hours, hadn’t they? In a compressed metal box in the air? Didn’t he know how to read a room? “I appreciate your offer of help, but I think it needn’t be more conscious than me doing the opposite of what you have recently.”

Yes, she was lashing out - and yes, she felt guilty. But she bit back her urge to apologise and swallowed it, because she and Raj were strictly business. Family business, for now. That was it. There needn’t be any more familiarity than required, thank you very much.

“I was going through a tough time.” Raj told her quietly, his jaw clenched.

Knowing exactly what he meant, Ari raised an eyebrow, turning away towards the window.

“Business is business.” Ari told him, surprised to find that, although she’d said it before… This time, she really meant it. Wasn’t that something? Maybe living in London again hadn’t been such a weak choice after all. “So it sounds pretty pathetic to me.”

Contrary to her last statement, Ari was not a fan of toxic masculinity; she’d suffered at the hands of it before, a thought that automatically made her fingers and toes curl. But she was a fan of Raj’s pride and the distance it would place between them… And judging by the angry stare Ari felt on her shoulder and Raj’s silence, it had worked.

Ari stared down at the brightly coloured fields below, fiddling with her fingers. She’d already made the meetings in Lahore. Who was she meeting with?

Raj would offer to come, if she gave him even the smallest of hints that something was… Sketchy. But she couldn’t be afraid forever. And anyway, who would dare mess with the people’s princess? A Zafar?

They’ve done it before, a solemn voice told her from deep inside of her head.

Ari swallowed. No. Not today.

Picking up her phone, she sent Samara a quick text; asking if she knew enough people in Pakistan to ask around for her. Samara’s nickname on Ari’s phone, the bored-looking emoji, immediately replaced her name upon Ari pressing on it.

Samara replied almost instantly.

> Are you joking? I’m sitting in a hospital bed.

Ari rolled her eyes.

I’m aware. Y/N?

> Probably not, I’m too white to be brown and vice versa. Bonus of being married to your brother. But who?

Ari, ignoring the last comment, typed quickly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Raj was trying to fall back asleep - properly this time.

Business deal stuff.

Thinking for a moment, she quickly added.

Don’t tell my brother. Trying to do this on my own.

sh*t. Had she been stupid to ask? Was Samara going to tell Danyal out of pure spite? Ari had trust issues, of course, but she also had difficulty keeping her mouth shut when she wanted something - but surely Samara would understand independence, surely -

> Sure. Ari breathed a small sigh of relief. Her brother would freak out if she knew anything about what Minister Bilal had just said. Actually, it was probably a good thing that, by the time he and Samara arrived in Pakistan and he did find out, theoretically, Ari would have sorted out the whole mess and would be working on the actual project rather than… Silly little politics between silly little boys. The best person to ask would be Tabby, though and it’ll look more suss if I ask than you in random conversation. Ari frowned. Tabina? Samara’s cousin? You okay with that?

Knowing Samara would know better than to be offended - or had been so many times, that she’d stopped caring, Ari replied - which one’s Tabby? All of Samara’s cousins, the set of sisters she’d lived with in New York - her uncle’s children -, looked the same. Tall, dark haired, elfin.

> The one dating Raj.

Now, Ari was usually very in control of her emotions and expressions. It had taken years of trauma and emotional pain to do so and she was pretty proud of it. But in that moment, reading Samara’s last message, Ari physically jerked back, staring at her phone as if a sign had just flashed over the screen calling her poor and ugly.

What?

Her fingers began to fly over the screen, even faster than before -

What? Since when? I didn’t recognise her!

Back in New York, Mara sighed to herself, before going into her pictures; one of her and her cousins a few years ago, and another of Raj… And the girl, Ari realised, she’d seen him with when Sy had taken her to his apartment when she’d landed in New York.

> Nose job, lip fillers, some other sh*t.

Who is her surgeon?? Ari replied frantically. I didn’t recognise her and I *know* plastic procedures.

Mara shook her head.

> She spent a lot of money on a lot of procedures. Are you going to ask her?

Ari made a face of disgust, again, too preoccupied with Samara’s message to mask it. She didn’t care if Raj saw.

No thank you. And then, after a second thought - I’d rather stick pins in my eyes. She watched curiously as the typing icon appeared, disappeared and then reappeared. Great. Offended?

Finally, she received Samara’s message - and couldn’t help but smile slightly at the crying with laughter and passive-aggressive smile emojis in droves, with no text.

Ari sent the grumpy one back… And, on a whim, wished Samara well soon. She set her phone back down on the table before Samara could reply.

That was enough friendliness for a little while… And anyway. Apparently, they both had more important things to do.

About A Girl: Chapter Two

Happy reading :) I actually am quite looking forward to this, so... Let me know what you think!

- henbee xo

CORE: clubManhattan, New YorkTwo Days Later

Mara watched Ari collapse, her back hitting the mat with a satisfying thud, just as the alarm on her phone signalled the end of their training session.

Mara knew it was petty; it was a compliment, really, for Ari to want to train with her rather than the CORE club’s trainers. It was the most elite gym in the city, open twenty-four hours (hence the two of them being there at almost 3am) and filled with anything a rich drama queen may need; psychologists, personal trainers, personal chefs…

Except, Ari asking for Mara’s help wasn’t about that. And anyway, it had been Mara who had text her; asking Ari if she’d like to train, if she was awake. Mara hadn’t been able to sleep; and she needed to train somewhere that wasn’t the balcony of her and Danyal’s flat, somewhere she could push herself without having to worry about Dany wondering why she looked as if she was in pain.

… Still. After Ari’s blackmail stunt to force Mara into agreeing to play nice with Danyal at Pixie’s wedding, seeing Ari winded - if not only slightly more than Mara - was still a nice edge.

Clearly, Ari had noticed.

“You’re angry at me for blackmailing you.” Ari huffed, still out of breath, as Mara helped hoist her from the floor. Mara said nothing. “It’s like Raj said-”

“Anything Raj says is going to be defending you, that’s not as glowing a recommendation as you seem to think.” Mara muttered, letting her hand go. Ari watched enviously; to her, it looked as if Mara hadn’t even broken a sweat - her cheeks just looked rosy, as if it were cold… Not like they’d been sparring each other for fifteen minutes straight. “You could have asked me first. Before blackmailing me like that. My career is something I’ve worked for is entirely separate from your family’s surname-”

“If that’s what you tell yourself.” Ari shrugged, making Mara shake her head. Of course that was her reaction. “Anyway, would it have made a difference if I’d asked you first? Wouldn’t you have just refused anyway? I gave you… Incentive-”

“You pissed me off.” Mara admitted calmly, shrugging slightly as she picked up her bottle of water from the side - and tossed Ari her own. Ari caught it with ease, the both of them pausing to drink. “But that’s beside the point,” She said breathlessly between sips. “The point is that once again, I’m the outsider who you all just see as a chess piece-”

“I know Pixie’s already told you this, we didn’t know at the wedding.” Ari groaned, leaning against the wall. Mara fell silent. “Do you honestly think, with my history and what happened to me, I’d sit back and watch my brother marry you without your consent? He told me he was going to tell you how he felt, okay? He told me-”

“You must’ve known he was lying-”

“I knew something was wrong at the wedding, but I thought that was because the entire thing had been planned as a farce!” Ari said incredulously. Once again, Mara shut up. She’d spent too long wondering to not just… Let Ari say it now, without being asked. And even if it was bullsh*t… Mara was sick of calling out the Zafar siblings on their crap. It was much too often a fruitless exercise. “I know you think I don’t like you and it’s true I didn’t trust you in the beginning, but you spent so long away that I assumed you didn’t want to be a part of this family and I am not one to beg-”

“You think I don’t want to be a part of this family?” Mara interrupted, aghast, choosing to ignore Ari’s acknowledgement of her frankly ridiculous pride. Ari leant her head against the wall, watching as Mara struggled to find the words - more horrified at herself for saying such a thing, than anything else. Her brain struggled to keep up with her tongue. “That’s not - I blame your brother and maybe, maybe if what you’re saying is true, but -” How did she even begin to explain it? How perfect their family was, how jealous it made Mara feel? How she’d never wanted to be a part of anything more and that was why she hated Danyal so much, because pressurising her the way he had on the day of their wedding had made her feel like an imposter, like she’d always been on the outside looking in? How it all felt like a lie, a sham, a farce for Mara to even be around them?

How did she even begin to try and explain that the Zafars were everything she’d ever wanted, and everything, by proxy of being one of them now, she could never, ever have? Because whatever she was to them was out of deceit?

“But it’s what you want my brother to think.” Ari finally said, as silence filled the room. Mara pressed two fingertips to her forehead and closed her eyes.

“Your brother is an idiot.” Mara mumbled. And so am I. “The fact he’s capable of thinking at all is a minor miracle.”

When Mara opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Ari smiling slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you.” She said sincerely. Mara nodded. She wasn’t sure how much of it she believed, but… It was nice to hear. And honestly, who else did she have to turn to? “And I’m sorry I brought your career into it. I know that you’ve worked hard to get where you are, probably to compensate for the surname and I know what that’s like, too. In fact, I’m working on a new project for that exact reason.” Ari told her, pushing herself from the wall. “And I’d like to say I wouldn’t have used that email if you’d still not agreed to help me help Sarfaraz, but in all honesty, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Mara wanted to disbelieve her. She wanted to hate her, hate another Zafar sibling, find a reason to find fault in them all. They all felt so… Inhuman, sometimes. So above reproach, so untouchable.

But there, at that moment, at a fancy gym in the early hours of the morning… Mara realised something.

They weren’t perfect. They were people. They were just incredibly flawed people, who happened to be really good at hiding it. Money did that.

And she was now one of them, too.

“Thank you for being honest.” Mara sighed. Ari nodded.

More silence.

“It’s… Complicated, with your brother, you know.” She couldn’t look at Ari. She wouldn’t. She didn’t know why she was still talking, why her brain hadn’t caught up and shut down her stupid rambling yet. Was this the effect of endorphins after so long without working out? Was her hardware malfunctioning? “I didn’t know what was going on… Then and its been so long and so now-”

“I don’t think you two are complicated.” Ari sighed, heading for the neat pile of towels in the corner - and just like that, Mara cursed herself, her brain finally alert again. Ari didn’t want to hear this. Ari didn’t care. Ari was bored two seconds in and Mara was just talking again, talking out things she couldn’t fully verbalise, and once again to another person who could only assume to understand… And then becoming frustrated at herself, for it all inevitably being misunderstood. “I think you think it’s complicated.”

Every time she did this. Every time, Mara tried to talk about it - to explain - and every time, the other person got it wrong and didn’t understand and Mara would promise herself to not try again - and then she did and the cycle continued. She knew how this went. Why couldn’t she ever just shut up?

“Maybe.” Mara shrugged, forcing down her frustration. Oh, what difference did it make now? She’d tried. Stupidly, she’d tried, because she and Ari had hugged for five seconds and now Mara was being a goddamned softie. She was tougher than this. She knew better. She should know better. “We should get going, it’s a long day.”

Ari nodded tiredly, the towel pressed to the back of her neck - and they both headed for the door.

Mara quietly let out a deep sigh.

Same sh*t, another day… And another Zafar.

Flawed people, Mara tried to remind herself, her heart stuttering and her stomach already twisting in knots at the thought of returning to the flat - where Dany was, sleeping soundly in his room. Incredibly, incredibly flawed people.

. . .

The two of them said their goodbyes on the street, going into their separate cars.

Mara plugged her earphones in as they drove, the city’s sky looking… Odd, in the early hours of the morning. That special, odd hour colour; too light for it to be daytime, but much too dark to be anything but that exact moment, a weird brown hue to the sky. Pressing play on the first angsty playlist she could find, she pressed her head against the cool window, feeling guilty - but not quite enough to pull away - about the small grease stains she’d likely leave on the glass from her drying sweat.

Was Ari right? Was she overly-complicating things?

TJ thought so. Mara was sure others did, too; maybe even Raj and Pixie, in the rare occasion they all discussed it. But how could Mara trust their opinion? She still didn’t know how to describe her own, which was what they were basing their information on.

She felt like she was going mad. That was another affect Dany’s presence had on her.

It had been so long since she’d been back in New York; as the second Mrs Zafar, at least. She hadn’t expected to… Fall back into it so quickly.

As skyscrapers loomed and lamp posts whizzed past, Mara tried to… Centre herself. She’d be back at the apartment within a few minutes at this rate - and she still needed to remind herself that none of it was real.

Pixie’s wedding meant playing their old game; secret meetings and constant performances. More so than before, because she’d been so absent before now. Mara had basically played herself.

Frowning slightly, Mara pulled up her pictures, swiping and scrolling until she reached the selection under 2041. She already knew what she was looking for.

At first, Mara was frustrated, unable to find it immediately and panicked that she wouldn’t find it before they reached the Richmond Building. She needed to see it before then. She needed to make up her mind.

But then, after some more careful scrolling… There it was.

From their trip to Monte Carlo, during the Christmas holidays before their wedding.

Mara remembered it like it was yesterday; like she was there. Walking down the grand staircase on her own, trying not to throw up at the thought of the crowd below - when she’d seen no sign of Danyal anywhere; how it had taken all of her energy not to trip up on the expensive, baby blue Elie Saab Pixie had picked out for her, as well as to seem calm and collected as her throat and lips had dried up from nerves. It had all felt absurd; even now it did, that she had fooled diplomats and princes, something out of a story or a TV show instead of Mara’s own life.

She’d tried to imagine herself like a princess out of a film, too, to help herself; and Mara closed her eyes as she remembered her hand trailing lightly down the smooth banister, it shaking too much for her to try and properly hold it. She’d kept her eyes trained downward, unable to fully help her self-consciousness, her hand running smoothly down the banister… And right into a waiting, warm hand.

Mara smiled slightly without meaning to, her eyes still closed, as she remembered; the surprise from feeling a hand on hers, the warmth she’d suddenly felt from looking up to find Dany’s eyes trained on hers from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, a few steps below her. The secret smile they’d shared, her own relief, from seeing a friendly face in a crowd that had suddenly become invisible.

She swallowed slightly. That hand had stayed by her for the rest of the night; a reassuring hand on her back whenever she’d been swept away by a group of people, a light cupping of her waist whenever he’d whisper an important fact or tip in her ear, it clasped with hers as he’d gently pulled her away from Gustav so they could dance instead… And other things, too. The secret, proud wink he’d give her from across the room when her eyes nervously searched for a friend’s, the smell of his aftershave as they’d danced and he’d leant down close, whispering stupid stories about the scarier people in the room to put her at ease.

As Mara forced her eyes open and her smile faded, she also remembered how she’d gone back to that memory once before.

The day of their wedding.

Looking at the picture, she steeled herself; and there it was, the two of them smiling at each other as Dany met her at the bottom of the stairs. You couldn’t see Dany’s face. She remembered it anyway.

The car pulled to a stop - and Mara managed a quick smile as the door was held open for her, it being a different chauffeur to the one she remembered. So much had changed.

So much hadn’t.

Three years, Mara thought bitterly to herself as she made her way to the lift. Three years. We’re not the same people we were then. How were they meant to act it, meant to make it seem real, when their relationship should have grown too?

Nervous flutters began at the pit of her stomach as she watched the lift doors close in front of her, her reflection staring back at her. She had that odd sense of tiredness, the fuzziness in the corner of her eyes and the grimace of someone staring at their reflection at too harsh light during ungodly hours.

She knew what she had to do. Of course she did.

Because - and Mara couldn’t help but aggressively roll her eyes -, Dany was right. They did need to talk - and with the two of them flying out to Pakistan for Pixie’s wedding within a matter of hours, it wasn’t like they had much time left to do it.

Mara was scared - and, standing alone in the harsh light of the lift, Mara took a deep breath and forced back tears.

You’ve cried in front of him enough to last you a lifetime, she reminded herself shortly. Stop.

Mara tried to bargain with herself, as the floors ticked by on the screen above the doors. If he was awake, maybe then she’d have to tell him. Only then. Or if he’d fallen asleep watching a movie on the sofa…

But contrary to the nervous beating of her heart as she stepped out of the lift and into the penthouse, Mara knew it wouldn’t work like that. Dany wouldn’t be awake - and she closed the door of the apartment behind her and proved herself true, she hesitated, unsure as of what to do next.

The first time around, they’d had… Files. Things to learn about each other. It made sense to follow that methodology again, seeing as the result had turned out so well (too well; too convincing). But it felt… Childish, wilfully ignorant, to go back to that. To fall into the same pattern.

The apartment was eerily quiet and as Mara watched Dany’s door in the distance, she wondered what the Hell she was doing.

She’d felt trapped. She’d ended up marrying Danyal, in a way that she didn’t understand and in circ*mstances she didn’t understand, and then had been unable to run away as she’d wanted to because there had been nowhere to go… But the very first opportunity she’d had to separate herself from him, she had - and hadn’t looked back.

But she was here. Again. Exactly where she promised herself she’d never end up, back in London; in New York, almost three years later, playing one half of the happily married couple. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that her distance from the Zafars over the past few years would mean everyone would have questions, that her and Dany’s dynamic would have to overcompensate. She’d dug the very ditch she was now finding herself trapped in.

It was all so wrong. Truly, it was.

… So why was it that coming back to New York had felt like coming home?

Not because of her uncle or her cousins. Not because of NYU. Not even the Zafars themselves; they were all reminders of everything that had gone wrong in London, to varying degrees.

The best bet Mara had was that, the last time she’d been here, she’d been so filled with hope. She and Dany had been a team. She’d been planning her future, filled with adventure and naivety and, most importantly, escape of all of the bullsh*t following her. Not feeling - being - loved. Being other people’s charity. Being a keeper of other people’s secrets, but being able to have none of her own.

Pushing herself off of the door with a sigh, Mara rolled her eyes. That had worked out so well.

“Don’t think about it.” Mara whispered to herself, taking a deep breath… And walking purposefully towards Danyal’s bedroom. Even her whispers sounded oddly loud in the darkness.

For a moment, her fist hovered over the door - and it uncurled, ready to fall by her side as she turned away in defeat.

She knocked lightly on the door three times instead.

. . .

When Dany woke up to find Mara standing over him, flushed and watching him sleep, he thought he was dreaming.

It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d dreamt of her; standing and watching him in the dark, yes, but certainly not in a room with a bed. Usually…

Urgh. The two of them alone, in the dark, usually near a bed. Did it really need further explaining?

“I’m sorry.” Samara muttered, feeling herself flush slightly as Dany blinked up at her, sensing her presence. “I tried knocking, but…” She motioned to where he slept.

Dany quickly sat up, squinting at his clock. Almost half three in the morning.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I wasn’t sure we’d have time before our flight, so…” Mara sighed, feeling… Stupid. She was grateful that there were no lights on; she’d caught enough of a glimpse of Danyal’s bare shoulders in the dark and that was all she wanted to know, thanks. “Look, I only just got back-”

“Got back?” Dany repeated blearily. “From where?”

“The gym.” She replied shortly. “I need to shower, but I, um - I need you - you should probably be awake for this to be an actual conversation, so can you try and wake up while I shower?”

Although Dany wanted to ask - what was wrong? Was it an emergency? Was everything okay? -, seeing the nervousness on Samara’s face… He decided to play it all a bit more carefully.

“Yes, of course I can.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes as he sat upright. “Do you want me to wait here, or -?”

“Here’s fine.” Mara nodded. “I’ll be around ten minutes. Don’t fall back asleep… Please.”

Dany nodded, watching as Mara left. She didn’t shut the door behind her.

. . .

Twenty minutes later and Dany was wide awake, playing Tetris 4 on his phone and wondering whether it had all been some sort of elaborate dream. His only source of light came from his bedside lamp and his phone screen and, propped up on pillows against the headrest, Dany sat with the duvet tucked up to his stomach.

As much as he wished he could hope for something… Positive, Dany wasn’t stupid enough to believe that they’d soon be living out one of his frustrating dreams. In fact, if anything, Dany was concerned; was this Samara telling him that Ari’s blackmail be damned, she wouldn’t pretend for Pixie’s wedding? He’d thought about it a lot since the two days had passed. Why would Samara be so willing to be blackmailed by Ari, when, if she was serious about wanting out of this situation eventually, it shouldn’t matter?

Her career, Dany reminded himself unhappily. That had been the only reason Samara had paid attention, whether he tried to ignore that fact or not.

Nothing positive was going to come out of a random meeting at almost four in the morning.

… At least, that was Dany kept telling himself; until Mara walked in.

Her hair was tied, still wet, in a bun atop her head; and Dany let his phone bleep furiously as he failed his level, seeing she wore nothing but a pair of grey furry slippers… And a short, silk gown of ivory with lace in the sleeves.

“Sorry for the wait.” Samara murmured. She’d told herself the gown was for practicality, but that hadn’t stopped her heart from stuttering upon walking into Dany’s room in it. “Can you sit this way? I need to show you something.”

Dany found himself incapable of words. Instead, hastily shoving his phone on silent and setting it aside, he turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing her.

Mara purposefully wouldn’t look at him - not as he’d moved, not as he’d sat to reveal he was sleeping in (seriously?) grey Moschino sweats with teddy bears all over them and not much else - and certainly not as, to get close enough for the light of the lamp to be of use, she automatically stepped in the space between his legs.

What was she doing? This could have waited. There was something… Supremely dangerous about doing this now, having an actual conversation after so long of dodging now, at an odd hour of the morning with the two of them barely dressed, in Danyal’s bedroom. The bedroom that everyone still assumed was shared - at least, whenever Samara was in the city long enough to need a bed.

But knowing that was… Logical. In reality, there wasn’t much odd about it at all - if anything, Mara and Dany had found themselves in various states of undress around each other before and it was that, the recognition that this was nothing in their long and complex history of pretending, that sat uncomfortably in Mara’s throat as she gently pulled on the knot of her gown.

Danyal didn’t know where to look; at how Mara’s hands gently pulled on the silk gown, fidgeting so that it fell open in smooth lines, or up at her, her face giving nothing away.

This was wrong. He had to stop it. They hadn’t… Talked. They had to talk.

… Didn’t they?

Not talking was still… Communicating. It was something, at least and she was standing in front of him, undressing - Dany gulped as he glanced at her body, in a white set of Calvin Kleins -, her skin smooth and…

Dany stopped, blinking - and then again, when his eyes didn’t correct themselves. Once more, as he peered, unthinkingly putting his hand on Mara’s waist and pulling it close to prove himself wrong.

Mara blanched slightly at the movement, her free hand catching Danyal’s shoulder to steady herself, the other still keeping her dressing gown out of Dany’s view.

“What the-”

“They’re surgical scars. I donated one of my kidneys about a month ago.” Mara mumbled, looking up at the artwork on the wall opposite her. She frowned. It seemed… Familiar. Forgetting to not grip Danyal’s shoulder too tight, she clutched on as Dany continued to peer at her abdomen, apparently speechless. “Is that - is that from the museum? One of the pieces from the gallery where we - at the V&A?” She quickly corrected. Where we had our registration brunch.

Surely not. Surely not. It was a… Museum piece, and whilst it dominated the tall wall that Mara now faced… Maybe it was a trick of the dark.

But the couple twisted in a passionate kiss, ignoring the carved crowd around them… Mara could have sworn she’d recognise it anywhere.

“How many scars are there?”

Dragging her eyes away, Mara tried to refocus. She probably didn’t want to know why Dany possibly had the original art piece in his bedroom. There wasn’t really a right answer.

“Three.” Mara said, grateful for the distraction. Unthinkingly, she rest her knee gently over Danyal’s thigh for balance. She pointed. “One,” she said, motioning to a small, dark line a few centimetres down from the Calvin strap of her bra. “Two-” she motioned to a line of the same length another few centimetres down, underneath her belly button. “- and three, which is still feeling a little bit uncomfortable.” Shifting her balance slightly again, Mara felt herself flush as she pulled down - very carefully - the logo on her panties, showing a longer scar than before, at the bottom of her stomach, right above her pelvis.

Mara went to tie the gown back up - but Dany immediately swatted her away, pulling her closer. Mara stared up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth slightly as she felt Danyal’s warm breath hover over the first two scars.

“You did this under our medical insurance?” Dany asked, staring intently at them. Mara nodded, before realising he was paying her face little attention.

“Yes, I hope that’s okay-”

“Of course it is, what is likely to not be okay is that you would have had to name a next of kin on your medical forms.” Dany said coldly. Here we go. Mara pulled away, tying the gown back up. “Is that why you’re showing me? Because I’m already meant to know? Who the Hell was important enough for you to give a kidney to?”

Mara said nothing, pulling away to tie the gown.

“Samara.” Dany groaned loudly - and this was happening now, really happening, because this was something they both knew. Arguing. Sniping at each other, making sarcastic little comments - and it was scary.

It was! How were they falling back into routine so quickly? How was it even possible?

That was another answer Mara probably didn’t want.

“My dad.” Mara mumbled, ignoring how Danyal immediately made a sound of disgust. “Look, I came in here to fill you in - in - in case anyone asks questions at Pixie’s wedding, which they will-”

“You went to have transplant surgery without telling me, so you could help your absentee father?” Danyal repeated, shaking his head as if to brush off her reply. “And you said one of the scars is feeling uncomfortable - have you had that seen to?”

Mara felt an uncomfortable sense of… Normalcy in her irritation. It was just like the old days. Danyal always knowing better, irrespective of whether or not he had any knowledge on the subject.

A certain wedding came to mind as an example.

“And how would you know if he’s been an absentee father, or are you talking from experience as an absentee husband?” Mara mumbled, not bothering to say it sweetly as she once may have.

“Because you gave me such a choice.” Dany shot back, rising to his feet.

And as much as Mara wanted to have an answer ready… There wasn’t one.

There wasn’t enough distance between them for Mara to do anything but look down at her slippers - and Dany’s stupid pyjama bottoms - in guilt.

He smelt good. Clean. Naturally good and clean, not doused in aftershave. She could smell it from where she stood, and the skin of his shoulder had felt smooth and soft underneath her fingers. These weren’t details Samara wanted to know, not at nearly four am in a dark bedroom, standing in her underwear and with him shirtless.

And holy sh*t, there it was.

She’d felt this feeling before. A million times over - and she’d tried to ignore it, a million times over. Successfully, too. Certainly if only now was she realising how stupid an idea that had been.

She had feelings for Danyal.

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily new. Mara had… Had a hunch for a while now, however uncomfortable it was to admit. It was partly why she’d avoided him for so long. Like he’d said that night - God, that night, Mara’s head hurt even acknowledging it as a moment in time -, the night of their wedding night - she’d wanted it. Or, words to that effect. That’s what he’d meant, okay? That was the part Mara remembered, all of the insufferable little details.

That was what felt like home. Not feeling hopeful the last time she’d been in New York for more than a few days; but being with him, wherever that was. Knowing she could look at him from across a room and he’d know what she was thinking. That… Chemistry, for a lack of a better term, simmering away underneath the surface and lacing every action and every word. Enjoying how, even when they argued, he was always one step ahead and she had to push herself to keep up, when ordinarily, for Samara, it was the other way around.

Knowing, despite that, she was with someone with whom it was safe to make mistakes.

It was wrong. And screwed up. And stupid. Mara didn’t want this. She’d fought it for so long. She’d only come back because… Well, just like before, because she’d run out of places to go and hide.

But also because he’d given her space and she didn’t want anymore space. She didn’t want to be more alone. She’d missed Kabir and the rest of the Zafars, even if it felt like she was pulling herself over hot coals every time she uttered another lie in front of Danyal’s parents. But that was better than what she’d felt with her own parents, stupidly thinking that, with something as extreme as a kidney donation, it would pull them closer together.

She realised now; in the few days it had taken for her family to return to its heightened level of toxicity after the op, somewhere in the back of her evil, scheming subconscious that she already did not trust, she’d made up her mind. To come back.

To come home.

No. None of this was right, none of this was… Acceptable. She didn’t understand these feelings. They were too complicated and so much time had passed since the wedding.

But nothing else made sense.

Because the moment Danyal had pulled her close to stare at those scars like touching her was nothing, the second he’d showed concern, something inside of her had felt warm - for the first time in what felt like… Well. Three years.

She hoped it was loneliness. It was still… Humiliating, but it was better than the alternative; that Mara genuinely had feelings for Danyal, that he’d been right to trap her into that scenario on their wedding day. That her saying she consented to their marriage was less of a mistake than she’d tried to convince herself it was, out of what was probably stubbornness.

No. Nooo! This was… This was so far from what she wanted. It was so… Stupid. There was no happy ending. There was no way this worked out, she wouldn’t let it. She was just… Looking for intimacy, trying to find something to distract herself from yet another rejection. That was pathetic enough in itself! Shouldn’t she be used to it by now?

“I didn’t come in here to fight with you.” Mara said softly, deciding the rest was… Best kept in a box inside of her head, for now. A box inside of her head, tightly sealed. And chained. And then thrown into the depths of an ocean until she got her sh*t together. “I came in here because-”

“Because as much as I’ve tried to have an actual conversation with you since you arrived, it’s only because there’s something wrong and I’m going to find out anyway that you’re bothering.” Danyal interrupted, his eyes narrowing. Mara gulped slightly. She’d forgotten how… Intimidating it could be. Not in a way that made her scared for herself in any way, more scared of the… Feelings he would invoke. And that was without the sh*tty revelations coming in at awkward moments. Danyal sighed, shaking his head. “Even after everything, Mara, I thought you’d still come to me when it was serious.”

She wanted to tell him off. To tell him to not call her Mara again, not when it’d been so long, him saying it when it was just the two of them.

But she didn’t want to.

Christ on a stick, this had been a mistake.

“I didn’t know if you’d come-” She lied - and stopped, as Danyal shrugged past her to stand by the dresser, instead. That was bullsh*t. She’d known he’d have come. She’d somehow known, but convinced herself she didn’t, that after missing one phone call in the lead up to their wedding and missing so much… He’d never do it again. She hadn’t wanted to be right. So she just hadn’t given him the chance. She watched his back as he went through his drawers. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the hospital - and please, cut out the dramatics.” Dany muttered.

Her heart sank - and thank f*ck for her natural defences, because that immediately made her angry. Who was he to make her feel guilty? It was her body, it was her decision to look after it - or put it at risk - as she pleased. And what dramatics?

“You are being so abrasive-”

Dany slammed the drawers shut so hard, the resulting bang made Mara jump.

“What changed?” Dany asked, the muscles in his back rippling as he gripped the furniture. Mara said nothing. “I have spent days trying to get your attention and all of a sudden-”

“I was talking to Ari at the gym-”

“When at the gym-” Mara’s eyes widened as Dany stopped. Oh, no. Oh, no… Dany turned, eyes sparkling, jaw clenched in anger. “You’ve been going to the gym?”

“I’ve been careful.” She said quickly. Why was she doing that? She didn’t need to justify herself. What she needed to do was making a scathing remark about Danyal’s ‘dramatics’. “Just - look, none of that is what I came in here for-”

“Then what did you come in here for?”

“To make a plan.” Mara said resolutely - and she was proud, because it sounded a lot more convincing than it had in her head. “Pixie’s wedding. I am still… So angry at you, but I am willing to put that aside for our flight today-”

“If we fly today.” Danyal immediately corrected. Mara, once again, shut up; which wasn’t exactly in her nature, but, watching silently as Dany stormed past her again to sit on the edge of the bed and put on some socks, she felt like she didn’t have much of a choice. “We’re getting those scars checked and for all we know, because you’re too proud to ask for help when you should, you’ve put yourself at risk-”

“What difference does it make to you if I did?”

Mara couldn’t understand it when Danyal stiffened.

But he did. He understood everything, all at once; and as much as he tried to hide it, (and did, quite successfully, too) even the slightest possibility of it being true had him stunned.

It was the way she’d said it; and although Dany knew Samara would have wanted to sound nonchalant and unaffected, as always, that wasn’t how she’d sounded. She’d sounded insecure and unsure. Curious.

She’d sounded the way he’d felt, when he’d began to understand, before the wedding - the last time they’d spent this much time together -, that he didn’t want to lose her.

Slowly unfreezing to finish putting on his socks, Mara watched with knitted eyebrows as Danyal stood seriously in front of her, his face suddenly cold and detached.

She shifted slightly, unsure of where to go, as he stood… Inches, less, away.

They were in the dark, in a bedroom, in the early hours of the morning during which nothing felt real.

Would I try to stop him if he tried to kiss me?

It terrified her that the resounding no she heard as a reply in her mind… Took so long to hear.

“If this is what you decided we needed to go through for you to hear me tell you I love you again, then maybe you should have listened the first time I tried to say it.”

… Oh sh*t, nothing had prepared her for that.

“I - I - you - I’m sorry, I- that is not-” Words, she needed to say words, she needed to hear words being said back so she’d say more, anything to distract her from what she’d just heard because -

I love you. Present tense.

“Go and get dressed, we’re leaving in the next ten minutes.” Danyal told her quietly, the dark shadow lining the bottom of his jaw making him seem… Rougher, more serious, in the dim light of the lamp. She’d never seen him like this before. Certainly not whilst also shirtless and in teddy bear bottoms.

Any distraction.

I love you.

“Again.” Mara repeated and oh, no, no, no thank you, distractions did not come from confronting the issue and how did this happen to her? Every time? How did, every single bloody damn time, she find herself in the middle of an ongoing sh*tstorm just as she noticed there was actually a storm in the first place? No. No. Three years apart should have been long enough for Danyal to not… Know things about her anymore. Was her epiphany really that obvious? That blatant? No, no, no, she forbade herself - yes, she forbade herself from taking the topic any further, so there - “You said again, but I never heard it a first time.”

She was such an asshole. To herself.

Dark bedrooms with shirtless boys with trouble tattooed across their forehead in her handwriting; note to self. Avoid.

Wow. Wow, she felt sick. Her heart was beating in her throat and her stomach hurt and it was terrifying because two seconds ago, she’d just accepted that being with Danyal - however f*cked up it was - made her feel less rejected so why was she actively seeking rejection now?!

“You would have heard it a million times over by now if you’d have listened. If you hadn’t been too stubborn to admit I was right.”

She didn’t have to ask what he was talking about.

“I never said - I never said you were right -”

He glanced at her over his shoulder - and maybe it was the dim lighting again. Except it wasn’t. But she wanted to believe it was, that the childlike expression suddenly on Dany’s face, the sorrow in his eyes and the sadness in how his shoulders sagged… It wasn’t her doing.

“You should have called me about the operation.” Was his only reply. “Now go and get dressed-”

The entire situation was spiralling massively out of control and honestly, Mara couldn’t quite believe how. Especially so quickly.

“I am not going to the hospital-”

“Samara,” Dany’s voice rang through the silence of the rest of the room, loud with authority. Once again, Mara shut up. This was yet another thing that was new - and once again, she was irritated because a), being irritated was a lot easier than dealing whatever the f*ck else was going on and b), how was it that Dany seemed to have changed so much and she seemed to be exactly the same? He was reading her like a book and she couldn’t even open the damned cover. “You can either get dressed now and walk with me down to the car, or I can carry you downstairs as you are, but you are going to the hospital, whether you waste my time arguing or not.”

Outrage, hot and fast, ran over her - and she was grateful. Because just like that, the rest of their conversation no longer existed.

How dare he? She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t some moron incapable of making her own decisions, just because they were decisions he wouldn’t necessarily make. He wasn’t some kind of… Paternal figure. He was her husband, but realistically a super distant boyfriend at best, how dare he patronise her like that? Him, of all people? With his choices?

“Danyal Zafar, if you think for one second that you can - command me like-”

“I swear to f*cking God-”

Mara yelped as Dany immediately went to grab her legs from under her, his hand automatically wrapping carefully around her stomach so as to avoid the scars.

She’d never seen Dany like this before. So angry, so upset, so… Hurt.

“Danyal, Dany, I’ll - I’ll go, stop, stop!” She shrieked, her stomach fluttering - and not from pain -, her fussing hands automatically falling to rest on Danyal’s bare stomach… And even though Dany just looked frustrated and not much else, Mara didn’t. Mara felt everything shifting between them again, just when she’d finally begun to understand what they’d just had. “I’m… Sorry, I’ll go and get dressed now.”

She wasn’t apologising for being abrasive and she hoped he knew that; she wouldn’t know how to explain it once she left that stupid room. She wouldn’t want to.

Her fingertips, ignoring her brain telling them to back the f*ck off, lingered on the smooth, inverted line in the middle of his chest.

“I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” He muttered gruffly, before pulling away.

sh*t. sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.

About A Girl: Chapter One

You guys wanted Zafar-orientated... So here ya go.

Zafar Family HomeManhattan, New York2044

From over the top of her tablet, Ari eyed her father who, she knew, was pretending not to notice. Out of the corner of her eye, Ari watched one of the kitchen staff begin to pour her breakfast smoothie; and she was sure she’d heard her mother on the stairs, which meant she’d be joining them any second now and Dany had joined their father on his morning jog and he, like a weird Duracell bunny, did everything insanely quickly.

Ari’s window was quickly closing.

Ari jiggled her foot impatiently under the table as she waited for the smoothie knowing that, once delivered, she and her father would have a few, crucial moments alone. Once her mother came downstairs, the conversation would become… Domestic. Her mother strictly forbade business talk at the dinner table - or breakfast bar - and however interesting Ari knew her father found their informal business meetings, she also knew her father knew better than to disregard her mother’s rules. And her brother was a stickler.

“Thank you, Gina, sorry for disturbing your morning routine!” Ari said quickly as the smoothie headed her way, all but snatching the glass from the chef’s hands… And motioning with her eyes for Gina to hastily leave. Sleepily, Gina padded away - much to Ari’s relief. “So. I wake up to have breakfast with you, and you don’t even talk to me.”

Ari watched her father’s face - concentrated on what sounded like a cat video - break into a small smile, pausing his screen. Flecks of grey dotted the black of his stubble, something Ari still found… Disconcerting, but… Nice. Her father was always clean-shaven and in one of his tailored suits, the Wall Street legend and business tycoon, Aman Zafar; but with his morning stubble and in his slightly sweaty jumper and shorts, he was just… Her father. Still the amazing businessman, clearly, but more… Hers.

“The weather is still quite cool for this time of the year-”

“Papa!” Ari huffed impatiently, making her father laugh. “I - that’s not what I meant-”

“Your mother will be downstairs shortly, what have you been reading today?”

Ari grinned; before grabbing her breakfast smoothie and sitting beside him, shuffling her stool so that it was next to his.

“What do you think about this?” She asked, thrusting her tablet at her father’s chest.

Ari tried not to look too… Eager, as her father’s eyebrows raised in surprise. The screen showed an article by The Dawn, Pakistan’s main newspaper… And, not for the first time in recent months, was debating the latest news regarding the controversial acquirement of a UNESCO heritage site in Lahore.

“What part of it?”

“They’re saying that, even with renovations starting, they think people will still boycott the opening of the Gardens.” Ari said excitedly… Possibly coming across… Eager. Oh well. It was too late to hide it now. “Particularly now that the legalities of the deal have been announced. The whole reason people are unhappy is ridiculous, this is just a PR nightmare rather than a bad deal!”

“Hmm.” Aman murmured, pretending to focus on the screen. “And why do you say that?”

“The developers haven’t bought the sites, they’ve bought a lease on the land for the next century and rather than have UNESCO pay rent - which still would have been cheaper than the renovations they said they couldn’t afford and the government’s additional funding -, they’re funding the renovations. It’s essentially economic blackmail.”

“Oh, really?” Aman asked innocently. “How so?”

Ari was too excited to notice.

“The backlash UNESCO received for even considering removing the fort and gardens from the heritage list, based on haphazard economics and political pressure, was ridiculous. Another PR nightmare, something they’re unlikely to recover from in the considerable future.” Ari… Not gushed. Zarina Zafar did not gush. “By buying the land, not only does it highlight UNESCO’s already vulnerable position, but it undermines their authority in other, similar territories. To then not allow the developers to maintain property on their own land, out of charity, would imply the body itself isn’t in the business of charity-”

“Which it isn’t, because it’s a business.” Aman reminded her gently.

“Exactly!” Ari beamed. Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s all legal and binding, UNESCO is just deliberately fanning the flames of the outrage of a heritage site being bought because they have been backed into a corner.” Ari let out a small huff, finally out of breath, watching her father expectantly.

He did not disappoint.

Placing the tablet gently on the breakfast bar, he sighed, shifted in his seat slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

Yes.

“Shehzadi, you’ve taken a very keen interest in this deal in the past few months.” Ari straightened, nodding. This was business. Emotions had to take a backseat. “Why do I feel like your interest in this deal is linked to you having breakfast with me before it’s even six in the morning?”

“I am having breakfast with you before it’s even six in the morning because I am a wonderful, doting daughter who has missed spending time with her father whilst slaving away, working in London.” Ari replied airily, making her father smirk. “But it just so happens that I also had a pressing question to ask you.”

Ari smiled as her father did.

“Ah, of course.” He nodded, leaning forwards. “And what’s that?”

Do it. Do it, do it, do it!

“Do you believe I can do anything?”

“Always.” Aman replied, without hesitation.

For a second, a fleeting second, he saw his little girl again; with chubby cheeks and her mischievous grin, beaming up at him from his lap - but it was quickly gone and replaced with the woman in front of him, young and determined, instead.

“I think I can fix this mess. With the Pakistani government and the press, with UNESCO, allowing renovations to continue and in a way that profits the company.” Ari said, just like she’d practiced in the mirror that morning, her voice coming out strong and sure.

“And your mother? Your position with the magazine in London?”

“I can do both.” Ari promised. “I can, Papa, I promise I can-” Aman didn’t doubt it for a second. “- but I’m bored there now. The rate at which I can climb up the ranks with Conde Nast on my own merit has plateaued after a very steep rise which, whilst only an attest to my quick wit and frankly astounding intellect-”

“Of course.”

“- I want to do something more. Something… Different.” Ari sighed. “I want to-”

But Aman interrupted before she could finish - because she didn’t need to. He’d seen it on her face, the longing.

“You want to come home.”

“Not just home.” She clarified. “I know I can move back whenever I like. But it’s about coming back to the city, and not just as Mum’s daughter-”

Her father scoffed.

“You have never just been your mother’s daughter.”

“- exactly. Zarina Zafar, businesswoman of the new age, following in her father’s legacy but daring to go where others refuse.” Ari said dramatically, staring off into the distance over her father’s shoulder. She could see it now. Right there, in the Features section of The Crimson; Harvard alumni’s daughter creates business history. She’d never made it to Oxford and Harvard, ruined the family tradition… Lost the ability to make a new one. The Zafar men had, since their Ari’s great-grandfather, always attended those top two institutions. With everything that had happened… Ari had lost the chance to make it so that all of the Zafars did. This was a way of remedying that. “Will you let me?”

“As your father, of course I encourage you to challenge yourself.” Aman said practically - and although Ari deflated slightly, she nodded, hoping to hear something more optimistic come from her father’s mouth next. “But in business terms, whilst I appreciate the enthusiasm, there’s information you don’t seem to be privy to that could largely affect any plans you have in place-”

“The company that owns the subsidiary the developers belong to are our competitors, the ones who just hustled Uncle Jai.” Ari finished - and barely bit back her triumph, as her father stared at her in surprise. “I don’t know if you know my father? Wildly shrewd and successful businessman and general money-making legend?”

“Flattery only gets you so far in business.” Aman snorted, smiling as he sat back.

“I’m more than capable of making up the rest of the distance.” Ari said confidently. “So? Can I do it without Uncles Harvey and Mike ruining me before I’ve even started?”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Aman muttered - and Ari knew full well that was because she was so adored. She wasn’t ashamed of it. “And from what it sounds like… I have very little choice.”

Despite Ari having given herself multiple (slightly plagiarised) TED talks in her bathroom mirror, assuring herself of that very moment… Somehow, she still couldn’t quite believe it.

“So that’s a yes?”

“I look forward to hearing the details.” Aman nodded, sticking out his hand - and laughing as Ari shrieked, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tightly instead. “When can I expect to hear them?”

“You can’t! It’s all a surprise, I have a meeting booked for tomorrow!” Ari grinned, clapping her hands. Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!

“I thought you were travelling to Pakistan tomorrow? For Annie’s wedding preparations?”

But Ari was already running out of the kitchen, breakfast smoothie in hand.

“I am, I am, I am!” She shouted - before whizzing past her mother, standing bewildered in the hallway, and running up the stairs. “Got to go, plans to make!”

She was doing it. Really, actually doing it.

… And for a second, Ari paused outside of her bedroom, as pure terror hit her.

Was she crazy? She was about to immerse herself into one of the most controversial business deals in Pakistani history. This was a major project, the type of which she had no experience in, where she’d be… Brandishing her parents’ surname, having it brandished against her will, at every opportunity. She was naive to think people would see it as her own venture. She would always be an extension of her parents’ respective companies and what made her think, for even a second, that her so-called charm (something that, deep down, Ari didn’t even believe existed) would be enough to sway people who worked for it, let alone competitors?

And what about Annie’s wedding? Making sure it ran smoothly, making sure Annie - a much beloved to Ari, but nonetheless, total Bridezilla - was happy, making sure she didn’t offend Annie’s future in-laws, including her father-in-law-to-be, the Minister of Culture… Not to mention her idiot brother’s messy marriage? And Raj, whatever that even was (and by that, of course she meant maintaining it not being anything)?

She couldn’t do this. There was no way. She wasn’t strong enough.

She had to.

Squaring her shoulders, Ari exhaled slowly.

“Sink or swim.” She told herself confidently - even if she didn’t feel it. “Sink or swim. You have phone calls to make.”

Then she confidently strode into her bedroom, with every intention to swim.

the end: a dara drabble

I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve been really iffy about it and the whole broken wrist thing hasn’t helped the drafting process... But here it is.

Enjoy! Give feedback! And more details of the new story (if you’re still interested - let me know!) soon!

Blakes HotelKensington, London2041

Mara was looking for her passport.

She didn’t know where she was going to go, once she found it; but she figured she could stick to what her original plan had been, back when there’d still been a plan (plans. Plans!), no matter how… Depressing. Pathetic. Miserable.

She’d go to a hotel room. She’d get her passport, get it from wherever the idiots who had thought it smart to unpack her suitcase had put it, and then disappear - to another hotel room, far away from this one, and watch the travel channel with room service until she saw somewhere she liked enough to randomly disappear to.

How? What about your husband?

Mara took a deep breath and tried to tell herself that she really didn’t care.

“For f*ck’s sake.” Mara muttered, slamming the drawer shut as, once again… No passport.

She took a shaky breath as she stood from where she’d been crouching, looking around the room for any other place it could be, fighting tears. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. She’d become… If she started, she’d never stop and although Mara had absolutely no intentions of ever looking Danyal Zafar in the eye ever again… Unless she hurried, unless she stayed calm and collected and found the goddamned passport, the exact opposite would happen and -

Mara’s hands curled into fists beside her, her nails digging in so hard that she felt as if her knuckles would break through her skin. No. No. She didn’t even want to think about - she couldn’t. She didn’t even know what would happen, what she’d… Do.

She was ready to go, too. That was what was… Frustrating. The moment they’d (they. Yeah, right) been able to leave… He’d disappeared, saying something about Ari, but Mara hadn’t noticed. She’d gotten into the car and started loosening the catches of her jewellery and the pins in her hair; and once she’d reached the hotel room, it had only taken twenty minutes to rip it all off and leave it in a somewhat neat pile on the dresser. He could keep it. She didn’t want it.

She’d not bothered changing; it would have taken too long. So here she was, still in her bridal outfit, sneakers too; but with a leather jacket on to cover the backless blouse and her hair yanked up into a tight ponytail.

She felt ready to leave. She was ready to leave. She just needed her stupid passport!

She didn’t even know who to call and ask; and even then, could she? She and… She wasn’t meant to be leaving for the honeymoon for another few days and even then, she was supposed to be busy… Now. She couldn’t justify a phone call, to anyone, for help - and anyway, after today, who did she have? No-one. She never had. She was on her own.

Maybe you shouldn’t care.

Maybe. But until she had a plan about… Getting out of this mess - until she could think about it with a clear enough head that she didn’t want to scream and screech and rage at the mere thought… She couldn’t think about that.

“Centre yourself.” Mara told herself, avoiding her reflection in the gold-gilt mirror before her. This whole suite made her feel sick. She’d helped him, helped choose it on the basis of - as she’d joked at the time - the interior design was enough for any girl to drop her panties. Another sick joke. The suite screamed sex; it was all red with gold gilt, romantic, with a wall covered with pictures of roses and fresh bouquets in vases. It was… She didn’t understand how she was standing in it, how everything had gone so wrong. And the red was just making her… Angry. More than she already was, if that were even possible.

Taking a deep breath - and blocking out the different shades of red surrounding her -, Mara slowly looked around the room. She’d checked the drawers beside the four poster, the dresser, too… Maybe in one of the cabinets? Or the trunk at the base of the bed? Maybe everything had been shoved in there, but there was a vase on top, it seemed kind of stupid to put it there -

That was when the door opened.

In the few seconds it took between Mara hearing it begin to open, and it closing softly shut a few seconds later, Mara’s head felt… Foggy. Her heart leapt up into her throat and began to thrum, so hard she thought she was going to be sick, and a small part of her could only worry - what if puke gets caught on the embroidery?

She whirled away just before the door shut.

She couldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t.

“Samara-”

Mara felt her fists clench again - harder than before, her nails digging further into her palms. They shook from how hard she was clenching them.

Without turning around, she shook her head - don’t -, and although she wished she could trust herself to say the words, to tell him that it was in his best interests to shut up and leave her alone, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t speak; she didn’t know, she didn’t know what would happen if she did, she had to ignore it, she had to get out and think clearly and - and just - get her head around it, understand it all -

She heard Danyal sigh quietly. As if he were stressed. Ha! As if he were struggling to wrap his head around it! What did he have to be stressed about, confused about? He’d known. They all had, they must have, she was the one lost and confused and stuck in some kind of alternate universe -

“Just let me explain, Mara, please-”

Mara. That was what did it.

The tentative wall Mara had built in her head, quickly and carefully around every bad emotion she’d felt since saying those goddamned vows… Burst. The anger, the hatred, the… Disgust, all of it began to flow through her, hard and fast; and so it wasn’t just her hands shaking, oh no, it was her entire body, with a rage that, honestly, she didn’t know what to do with.

Hmm. That was a lie. She did - she just didn’t want to.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of punching him in the face. That would involve touching him.

Within a second, she had a plan - she would grab her phone, shove right past him, snarl at him to not follow her and that they were done, and be on her way. f*ck the passport. She could report it lost; and her phone would be enough for a ticket on the Tube. She’d spend the night going back and forth on different lines all night for all she cared, as long as it wasn’t here, with him, about this. It would be fine.

“I’m done.” She muttered - and, happy with the chain of events she’d just seen happen in her head, went to shove past him, the door in sight. Exit clear.

Except the part that she hadn’t banked on, was Dany grabbing her wrist.

Feeling his fingers close around her wrist - Mara almost yelled, yanking it away and staring at him such hatred, such incredulity, that the door suddenly became forgotten. Was he… Insane? Out of his mind?

What if he forces me to do something else?

Although the thought registered in Mara’s mind, she immediately dismissed it; partly out of her own incredulity but also… Fear. He’d never, she’d instantly replied to herself; but she didn’t know that. She didn’t know him.

Hadn’t everything that had just happened proved that to her?

Samara clenched her jaw tightly shut as the rage resurfaced again, as she fought the urge to scream and throw the stupid vase of roses nearby. She didn’t know him. She was staring at a stranger with someone she’d thought was her friend’s face.

Friends. God, she’d been stupid. She’d actually believed, truly believed, that they were friends.

“D- do you have some sort of - some kind of, a - a death wish?” Mara finally managed to splutter, realising Dany was watching her calmly. f*ck your calmness! “Don’t - don’t touch me ever again, I don’t want to see you ever again-”

“I just want to explain.” Dany said gently - and Mara slowly stretched out her fingers to stop herself breaking them from clenching again. Ex - explain? He wanted to explain? Well, that was alright then, that was fine, so long as His Royal Highness got what he wanted -

And she wanted to say it out loud, that and so much worse, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she’d already spoken once and now it was harder to stay quiet but this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t a conversation. The time for talking things through, like a rational f*cking person, like the so-called friends that she, like the pathetic emotional reject she was, had been so f*cking stupid to think they were and now, now he wanted to talk, no, no, pigs would f*cking fly first -

So Mara shook her head, faster and faster, blocking out the noise and focusing on the pounding inside of her head instead as Danyal continued to talk. She squeezed her eyes shut, closed her fists - she wasn’t here, this wasn’t happening, no -

“- just calm down-”

It was the worst snippet she could’ve heard; because, just like that, she realised, with that one sentence… That Danyal didn’t need protecting.

He was an arrogant, smug, audacious bastard - and this time, they had no audience.

There’s nobody to perform for.

Maybe she didn’t know him. Maybe she never had. But he sure as f*ck knew her. If he hadn’t, none of… None of it would have happened.

So why was she hiding it?

“Calm down? You - you want me to calm down?” Mara’s felt the vibrations at the back of her throat as her voice began to rise; and as Dany straightened, as if preparing himself, Mara only wanted to shout more. He was preparing himself? For what? She wasn’t the liar here! She wasn’t the master manipulator, a bored little boy, ruining people’s lives! “You are a - a - liar, you are a lying sack of sh*t, you are a filthy, filthy liar-”

“Mara, please-”

He touched her again - and without thinking, Mara slapped him across the face with every ounce f strength she had.

There was immediately silence, the slap ringing in the air between them and tingling from its force in Mara’s palm.

She didn’t regret it. Not for a second. But it… Surprised her how, as Dany rubbed his jaw slightly, she felt… Guilty.

She had nothing to feel guilty about - except maybe hurting her hand. It felt like pins and needles, she’d hit him so hard, and she’d felt it shoot up her shoulder; there was an angry red mark on his cheek, against his stubble, matching the velvet of his tunic.

She realised then, that Dany was still in his wedding clothes - and, slightly distracted by this new information (what had she been expecting?), Mara’s eyes focused on his scarf, thrown neatly to the side. He must have done it when he’d walked in.

And it… Hit her, seeing him like that. Stubble beginning to line his jaw, the tunic, the smart shoes, the whole… Thing. They were married. Really, truly… Married. It was religiously and legally binding, the were… Actually… Married.

How had this happened?

“I deserved that.” Dany said quietly - but Mara shook her head, trying to focus on her hatred of him in that moment, rather than the confusion and shock of it all that suddenly made her want to cry.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare take this away from me too-”

“I’m not trying to-” Dany replied honestly - and that was it, that was it, because now he was being honest? Now? NOW?

“Shut up!” Mara yelled - and this time, she felt no guilt, she didn’t feel anything because she didn’t have time to, as she slapped him again - and again, and again, shoving him and hitting him as hard as she could, on whatever she could reach. She barely caught a glimpse of Dany’s wide eyes - she only saw her hands, batting at his chest and shoulders and arms instead. “Just shut up, shut up, you’re a liar - a liar, a liar, you’re a f*cking traitor-”

“Mara-” Dany yelled, grabbing her wrists - and that was when Mara knew, truly knew, she was about to lose it. There was no control left anymore.

Because hadn’t she just told this f*cking idiot not to touch her?

Not caring how much it twisted her skin, Mara forced her hands out of his and shoved him away, staggering back slightly from the effort. She couldn’t speak - not because she was incapable, but just because there was so much to f*cking say. Where was she meant to start?

We’re married.

That seemed like a good a starting point as any.

“I have had your back since the beginning!” She finally shouted - and this time, when Dany rolled back his shoulders as if on instinct, Mara was glad. She was. It was good that he was getting ready for a fight, because that meant he understood that this was one. “Me! I agreed to help you get that motherf*cking pervert back into your life, before I even knew she was one, me, I had your back after everything with Tara and Raj-”

“I know that.” Dany muttered, his jaw clenching slightly.

“Oh, you do?” Mara laughed, once and without humour. “Really? Then tell me, please, f*cking well tell me, how you thought, how you seemed to think you know, that treating me like that bitch is okay?!” She screamed the last part; so loudly that her throat hurt, that her shoulders started trembling from the effort. Dany said nothing, training his eyes on the floor. “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice? That you were testing me out there, like she did to you, like you were meant to do to her before your f*cked up selves were meant to run off into the sunset and ruin each other’s lives? Not mine?! How dare you test me? After everything I have done, I have tried to help you-”

“When this all started, you stood to benefit too.” His voice was quiet and sure - and it was pissing her off even more.

“At the beginning. Before I learnt how f*cked up it all was, and even then, from the beginning, I have done all of the heavy lifting and don’t you dare tell me otherwise.” Mara stepped forwards, pointing between them accusingly. “I could have found anyone to help me, but you needed me. And you think that I, I, should be tested? How dare you?! My life isn’t some - some game-”

“Neither is Divya’s!”

Mara’s eyes widened.

“So that’s why we’re here right now? Because she deserves better?” Her voice was shaking. Her body was shaking. f*ck, her entire sense of reality was shaking and somehow, somehow, Divvy f*cking Kapoor remained the one consistent thing! Was her like that much of a joke right now?! “

“No!” It was the first time Dany had raised his voice - and it gave Mara a pang of satisfaction, to see the disgust on his face at the thought. “No, that’s not what I meant-”

“Then why bring it up?”

“None of this should have been a game. None of it should have happened, none of it-”

Mara let out a small screech. Was he that - was he seriously that blind? That actually stupid?

“Then how do you explain,” This was no longer screaming. It was a high-pitched shriek. “If you’re so enlightened, that I just had my nikah read?!”

“I thought it was what you wanted!” Dany yelled - and Mara felt herself just…

Still. Become still.

“Explain that to me.” Mara muttered, her voice almost eerie after being so loud. “Tell me how you can even - how - I… Explain that to me.”

Dany exhaled - and Mara could see it, she could see how he thought… How he thought this was his chance. He actually thought that.

How could one person be… So… Delusional?

Mara waited. She almost wanted to hear the confirmation of his stupidity out loud.

… Except, she couldn’t do that when he wasn’t speaking.

“What are you waiting for exactly? Do you think I have this much time to waste on you?” Mara snapped, as Dany began to pace.

“According to the ceremony we just came from, you have a lifetime.” Dany sniped back.

Words weren’t enough. This time, they didn’t have to be.

Mara grabbed the nearest thing - the vase of roses - and threw, aiming for his head.

It missed, of course. Hand-eye coordination had never been her thing. Mara wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not; not that she had the time to consider it. Dany had barely flinched as it smashed against the mahogany of the wardrobe beside him - in fact, he’d even looked mildly disinterested -, and Mara’s irritation took over instead.

She just… She wanted a reaction. Something. How dare he be so cool?

“What is wrong with you?” Dany asked - but it sounded too casual to be an actual question. Mara just rolled her eyes. “You - you have to promise to listen-”

“I don’t have to promise you anything.” She interrupted. Dany sighed, leaning against one of the bed’s pillars. “Just say it.”

Dany shook his head slightly - but he seemed to steady himself and this time, Mara knew he’d speak.

In fairness, he thought about how to word it; how to say something so simple, when there was still so much to say. Communicating had never been so… Difficult before.

So he settled on trying to keep it simple.

“You said you couldn’t lose anyone else.” He began carefully - and although he didn’t want to, not yet, he couldn’t help how his eyes immediately met hers… And just like that, he was in a vacuum. “And I… Didn’t want to lose you.”

He’d barely finished when Mara spoke again.

“What are you talking about?”

Dany fought the urge to roll his eyes. The worst part was that he knew she wasn’t even being… Deliberately naive.

And she looked beautiful, even all red from anger. It was… Off-putting.

“I tried to tell you.” He continued, his voice almost warning. “You wouldn’t - you’re so stubborn, you just wouldn’t listen-”

“So this is all of my fault?” Mara snorted - and her voice began to rise again. “This is all of my fault, how, how, for not listening to what-”

Funnily enough, it was that sentence - that one, simple sentence - that made Dany crack the way Mara had wanted him to, earlier. If only she’d known it could be so simple.

“You know what, Samara!” Dany groaned… As every muscle in Mara’s body tensed, without knowing why; and at seeing it, Dany softened. “You… You know why. I thought that it was what you wanted, but you’re so - so stubborn-”

“Go f*ck yourself, it’s what I wanted!” Mara’s voice wasn’t just loud now; it was incredulous, genuinely lost, and as the… Fury she’d been holding inside of her lapped away against the tide of utter hopelessness, madness of it all instead, her fingers loosened, allowing her to feel the ache from keeping them curled for so long. “And go f*ck yourself with this - these bullsh*t excuses! Not once did you think about what I wanted, today was about control, pure and simple, because of the number that crazy bitch has done on you-”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe it’s a little bit weird, how much you hate Divya?” Dany snapped, pushing himself from the pillar. “That maybe it’s more than just friendly?”

“There’s nothing weird about hating a pedophile.” Mara retorted just as quickly back, her eyes shining with triumph as Dany shook his head, jaw clenched… But fell back into silence. “And anyway - you don’t get to talk to me about friendship.”

Dany looked heavenward for support, unhooking the collar of his tunic.

“And why’s that?” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mara felt her mouth actually fall open. Was he serious? Actually serious?

And apparently, she’d said that out loud.

“Yes, I’m serious-”

“No, no, you’re not serious, you were never serious about our friendship.” She spat, stepping forwards… But then, something weird happened. Something weird in the form of… Tears.

Hot, sudden tears, too heavy, Mara knew, for her to blink away. Dany saw them, too - and whilst Mara hated herself for them, tried to keep her eyes wide and unblinking as if that would cause them to magically evaporate… Dany’s lips parted, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly, at the sight.

“Did you think I was lying? When I said I hadn’t told anyone… All of the stuff I told you, that I don’t trust people? I told you everything. I meant it when I said you were the one person I trusted and you…” She turned away, trying to get a damned hold of herself, as the tears spilled. She immediately brushed them away.

She didn’t want to say any of it. It was… Pathetic again, weak, stupid. But as stupid and destructive as it was… With every word, Danyal looked more and more grey, sick almost, and selfishly, seeing that was what Mara knew would make her feel better.

“Samara.” She closed her eyes. Stop saying my name like it means something. “Please, listen to me-”

“Why?” Mara groaned, whirling around to face him again. Dany said nothing. Because of course he would! “So you can lie to me again? Again? Stop bullsh*tting me-”

“I’m - I promise you, I’m not-”

“Your promises don’t mean anything!” Mara shouted - and she cursed as the tears began to fall freely and her face began to crumple. “Don’t you get that? None of what you say matters anymore! You betrayed m - my trust, completely, you used me for your - your sick little game with Divya, like I’m some kind of pawn-”

“No.” Dany shook his head, reaching out to her - but Mara stepped back, shaking her head, trying to hide her tears. “No, Mara, please listen to me-”

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore.” Mara sniffled, angrily swiping away her tears again. Dany stepped forwards again, but Mara too took another step back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t even look in my direction, you - you have no idea, you traitorous piece of sh*t-”

Three things happened at once.

Firstly, Dany went to touch Mara’s arm, still attempting to explain; secondly, at his touch, Mara tried to pull away; and finally, as she did, Dany yanked her close instead, holding her by the shoulders, inches away from his face.

Mara felt the velvet of his tunic brush against the bare strip of skin between her skirt and her blouse… And she saw him then; the sharp, square cut of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the long, straight nose… The dark brown eyes framed with thick black lashes, the stubble, all as he towered over her in his outfit of red velvet, his expression stern.

He wasn’t the person she’d thought she’d known. In that moment, she saw him, truly, for who he was - who she should have reminded herself he’d always be; Danyal Zafar, future businessman, heir to an empire.

“Listen to me, please, listen-” Dany shook her slightly as she continued to struggle. “No, I don’t know what I’ve done.” Mara’s wriggling slowed slightly as Dany stared down at her seriously, his eyes boring into hers. “But if anything I’ve done, ever, has upset you, then…” Mara’s eyes filled with a fresh set of tears as Dany’s… Glinted slightly, his eyebrows knotting together. “I’m sorry, Mara.”

“Sorry? Don’t know what you’ve done?” Mara repeated, pulling him closer. She had to. She could barely manage her voice above a whisper and he… He needed to hear this. “Dany, you’ve-” She squeezed her eyes shut as her voice began to wobble; as her shoulders began to tremble; as an overwhelming sadness crushed over her, the thing she’d been trying so hard to avoid. “You’ve proved that I’m - I’m-”

Mara’s breath began to stutter with her words, suddenly at a loss for air. She was gulping - sobbing - uncontrollably, the tears flowing freely as she began to shake so hard, that for a few moments, that was all she could do; shake and cry, her face crumpling as she struggled to form words.

Dany swallowed loudly, his arms moving from her shoulders to her waist as she struggled to control herself.

It was another few minutes before she could say it. Even thinking it hurt.

“You’ve proved that I’m alone.” There it was - and now it was out there, it suddenly felt so much more real. Mara began to gasp again, almost hysterical, as she accepted her truth; her parents; her uncle and aunt and cousins; and now her closest friend, all gone. “God, I’m - I’m alone, Danyal, I’m - I’m so - I’m so alone-”

“No.” Dany insisted - and Mara couldn’t look, crying silently now, as Dany pressed his forehead against hers, his thumb against her cheek. “No, you’re not, you’re - I’m here, you’re not alone-”

“I’m alone.” Mara continued, shaking her head - and feebly hitting him again, watching as splashes of tears fell against her jacket. “I am, I am, you ruined it, you ruined all of it-”

“I don’t - how-” He felt helpless. Completely and utterly, as Mara continued to shake, clutching onto him now. “Mara, I’m - I’m still your friend-”

“No, because you’re not mine anymore!” Mara shouted - and as she stared at him with her red-rimmed eyes, pieces of mascara beginning to track down her face, Dany felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Don’t you get that? I’m alone, because you’re something else now-” The hysteria began to worm its way back. “I could have handled it, I was handling it, but I want my friend, Danyal, and you’ve taken away my friend and now I’m - now I’m - now I’m alone-”

Mara’s tears took over her tongue - and Dany could only stand there, guilty and horrified, as her body shook violently against his.

Mara wasn’t sure when she felt her knees go weak under her; or when she found herself sobbing on the floor, Dany’s arm still holding her tightly as he sat them both carefully against the bottom of the bed. She wasn’t even sure of how she ended up between his legs; crying into his chest, his tunic in her tightly curled fists again, her hair undone as he stroked it to comfort her.

She wasn’t sure of any of that. The only thing she knew, surely, was that Dany was there.

. . .

Mara felt sore.

She’d cried, for so long and so hard, that now it felt like there was nothing left. She just felt… Hollow. Hollow and… Cold; from the sweat drying all over her from the uncontrollable shaking as she’d sobbed, mixed with dried tears - and probably some snot - all over her face. In fact, she was even shivering slightly, still curled up against Danyal, avoiding her embarrassment by keeping her face hidden in his neck.

Her whole body… Ached from it all. Across her shoulder blades, in the joints of her fingers from staying curled up for so long - even the sides of her stomach felt sore and her breathing still… Hiccuped slightly, from the occasional spasms in her chest. Her eyes felt heavy and swollen.

It was uncomfortable to stay sitting like that, too; her neck hurt from being tucked under and her hips were resting at an awkward angle.

And, you know. Dany.

But… Mara had sat there uncomfortably, avoiding… Whatever happened next, for too long.

She just wanted it to be… Over.

So she straightened, despite how her body protested; and she wiped the leftover damp from her face carefully, with the back of her hand and fingertips… Before taking a deep, silent breath and facing Danyal.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.” Mara said evenly, though her voice sounded thick and wet still. She sniffled slightly. Great. She was entering the post-hysterical dribble phrase. Just wonderful. “And now I’m apologising to you of all people, that’s even more fantastic.” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Dany frowned - and Mara wanted to roll her eyes again, because he looked… Childish again. Innocent. Confused and with his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly from his concentrating.

Stop it, Mara warned herself. You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him anymore - or have you already forgotten what he’s done?

No, another voice replied childishly. I remember. He just held me while I leaked out a lifetime’s worth of snot all over his clothes.

Gross.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.” Dany frowned… Before, unthinkingly, stroking Mara’s hair.

Mara couldn’t help the quick but silent intake of breath at the action; how gentle it was, how confusing that made it, how he leant forwards - bending the legs around her - to stare at her in a way she knew she was meant to find sincere.

But then they were looking at each other and it was about more than sincerity; except, was it? Because although Mara felt like they were having a whole silent conversation, one with their eyes, one that would feel like a mistake or an accident later… Maybe that’s what it really was. Sincerity. With the irony of ironies being that the two of them were silently arguing about Danyal’s sincerity in being sincere.

Dany’s fingers stayed tangled in her hair, as they reached the base of her neck.

She was watching him over her shoulder; and although her neck grumbled, her soreness from her crying not helped, she couldn’t help but freeze as she realised how close they were.

It was… Confusing. She wasn’t unaware; she knew that it would be easy to forget everything that had happened, even just in the room they were in. How it looked from the outside: the two of them sitting together on the floor, her skirt fanned out around her and Dany’s fingers in her hair.

How it would be so easy for them, in that moment, to make everything change again.

And she couldn’t help it; she considered it for a moment, thought about how easy it’d be… Closing the space of a few inches - and how, in doing so, so many things would just become… Simpler. She wouldn’t be so scared, she wouldn’t feel so alone.

It was such an… Awful feeling. It wasn’t a great way of describing things, but it was true; to her, that feeling, like something heavy and murky was pressing down on her head and forcing her to knees… That was loneliness. That was loneliness and it was horrible.

He made it easy, too. He looked enough like the person she knew, but… Different, too. Not so much, not so wholly the person who’d betrayed her; even though that was exactly who he was. But he was handsome and he’d felt so… Strong as she’d cried - not just his body, his warmth and leanness underneath the velvet of his tunic, but comforting. Supportive, the way his arms had wrapped around her and held her tight, helped her contain all of her sadness and stupidity in its own little bottle.

… But Mara also knew her brain was foggy, fuzzy from the pain and betrayal and loneliness; and so although she felt the air change around them - how Dany’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion again, his eyes dropping to her lips, and hers up at his - … Although she felt the two of them hesitate as their eyes met again…

… She also knew it was complete bullsh*t.

This was all bullsh*t.

Mara felt the anger come back, though her body felt tired and sick of it, as she realised just how true that was. Their marriage, their friendship, this whole situation; bullsh*t. Her plans? Before now, after now, currently? Bullsh*t. Anything that happened after realising this was all bullsh*t, anything she tried to justify to herself as the right thing to do?

… Bullsh*t.

She could leave. She could see it in her head; I have to go. Tripping over her skirt, not looking Danyal in the eye, being desperate to leave.

But it was all bullsh*t, complete bullsh*t, because where would she go? Who could she tell? Everyone in Dany’s family knew, that much was obvious. And Mara, stupidly thinking she could manage everything and control it all and mastermind the whole operation… Had let them be the only people she’d relied on.

She’d done this to herself. It was all bullsh*t.

So what was the point of hiding it?

Slowly, Mara rose to her feet, careful to not trip over her skirt.

“I need a shower.” She muttered, grimacing as she removed more snot from her face. Dany furrowed his eyebrows and - although, unbeknownst to Mara, he opened his mouth to speak - chewed his lip, staring at the part of the floor Mara had just vacated.

Dany was almost scared to ask… But he had to.

“You’re not leaving?”

Neither one of them wanted to admit how loaded the question was; and Mara paused, trying not to think about the question too much, her jacket hanging off of her arms.

“And where am I meant to go?” She finally asked tiredly, pulling the rest of the jacket off. Folding it in her arms, Mara looked down at Dany, simply… Tired.

“No.” He said quickly - and there it was again, that little furrow of his eyebrows again, his confusion. “I didn’t mean-”

“I’m staying.” She interrupted. She didn’t want to hear anymore. That’s enough bullsh*t for one day. “… For now, anyway.” She mumbled. Forcing the cordiality through her teeth, she motioned to the bathroom. “Do you mind if I-”

“No, absolutely not, go ahead.” Dany replied - and although he wanted to tell her he wanted her to feel comfortable, that this was theirs… Somehow, he didn’t think it would be well-received.

That was when it happened. Again. Their eyes meeting.

And then Mara rolled her eyes and walked away.

. . .

After twenty minutes of sitting on the edge of the bath, avoiding her reflection and trying to understand - trying to wrap her head around everything that had just happened, all at once -, Mara heard a knock coming from the suite’s door.

A few seconds later, Dany was knocking on the bathroom one.

It was probably a blessing. Mara had stepped inside without anything - clothes, makeup wipes, a gun to shoot herself in the head with. She needed supplies. Not to mention that it looked like she’d be sleeping in the soon-to-be damp bathtub - because sleeping in what was meant to be Dany and Divya’s marital bed was not something she planned on doing.

“M - Samara,” Mara sighed, loudly, at Dany’s correction. At least he was learning. A shame he hadn’t done it sooner. The shock of it all was gone now - all that was left was hollowness, an emptiness, an exhaustion and a level of disbelief at how real… Well, reality, felt. “There’s a member of staff outside of the door. He’s saying…” Behind the door, Mara’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Dany hesitated. “He’s saying your father’s waiting downstairs and is demanding to see you. He says it’s an emergency. The staff are saying they need you to ID him before they call security.”

She should have wanted to cry. She knew that.

Instead, she just felt a really bad headache coming on.

“Do they have a picture?” She called out - before, with a small grimace at how much her shoulders still hurt, pushing herself from the bath and walking over to the door. “I can’t see him like… This.” Just because she hadn’t checked her reflection, didn’t know Mara was unaware of what she looked like - red-faced, puffy-eyed, and probably with mascara running down her face.

“Yes.” Mara heard footsteps - some murmurs of conversation - and then Dany at the door again. “It’s just me, I have it.”

Mara frowned. If she didn’t want to look at her reflection, she didn’t want anybody else to see what she looked like earlier.

God. Just a few hours ago, the last time she’d looked in a mirror, she’d been so… Confident. Ready.

How did everything change so quickly?

Sighing, Mara opened the door.

As it happened, she was puffy-eyed and red-faced; but she just looked warm underneath her blush and, aside from the dried tears on her face, any other traces of rogue makeup had been wiped away too quickly to leave marks on her face.

She just looked… Warm. Warm and sad and tired.

“Holy sh*t, that’s him.” Mara shook her head, taking the phone in Dany’s hand. “I - I can’t see him like this, I don’t even know what he’s doing here, right now I don’t know if I even care-”

“Then we’ll deal with it in the morning.” Danyal shrugged, taking the phone back.

Mara held onto it, staring at him.

“Not we.”

Dany said nothing - but then again, he didn’t have to.

The pointed, almost awkward look that he gave the wedding bands on Mara’s finger, on the hand still clutching the phone between them… Well, it said it all.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” He repeated quietly, taking the phone.

Mara shut the bathroom door.

… And hours later, when her butt felt sore from sitting on such hard surfaces and her eyes felt heavy from the tears and the promise of a fitful sleep wherein the could hide from her problems… Mara opened it again and silently got her things.

And as much as she wanted to run… She changed into her PJs and, ignoring Danyal’s offers of sleeping on the floor and awkward attempts to appease her, slipped into bed and turned her back to him, her rings glinting in the light feeling like bands around her neck instead.

She’d thought about it. We.

A few hours ago, that was all she’d wanted. But now… The fake promise, the facade of it, was all she had. Everyone thought she really was a Zafar now. That was how they’d treat her. She didn’t really have much else. Really, she didn’t even have that.

Really… Mara wasn’t sure she had anything.

It was odd, to fall asleep with so much less than what she’d woken up with. Not that there’d been much. But her eyes were so swollen, and her body so sore, that soon, she was asleep; dreaming, having nightmares of weddings and laughing tapestries and black holes of the unknown.

... looks a lot like a tragedy now: a dara drabble

So I know I said this would be the final drabble, but I couldn’t sit on it with so much done, so I shall update the (actual) last one very shortly!

Also... Urgh, I hate myself, because basically, this entire series has made me want to continue a final version/part of the MODosphere, but different to what I wrote before (more Zafar-focused), so if anyone would be interested in that, please let me know! I play myself sometimes, I swear...

Happy reading guys!! I hope you enjoy it :)

The Sunken Gardens, Kensington PalaceKensington, London20411 Day to Go

Dany couldn’t move.

He didn’t… Understand. Not in an angry, frustrated way, but in a genuine, confused sort of way. For the first time in his life, Dany couldn’t… He couldn’t see the bigger picture, he couldn’t recognise the pattern. The way Samara was acting…

A few moments ago, Mara had stood in front of him and spoken and Dany had thought he’d understood what she was talking about. He’d thought they both had. But now that she was gone, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know.

All he knew, was that he didn’t want to lose her - and she couldn’t take losing anyone else. Not right now.

… But she hadn’t wanted him to say - whatever it was, that he’d wanted to say.

It didn’t… Make sense. Surely it should have been simpler? That was the most confusing part. Wasn’t this meant to be… Simpler?

His parents made it sound so simple. Like everything had just… Eventually fallen into place, that they’d been able to place their trust in the universe and all else had managed on its own.

Was he wrong? If that wasn’t happening, were these not the feelings he thought they were?

Could he be wrong? After spending so much time… Avoiding it?

“Please tell me you’ve told her.”

Dany closed his eyes in defeat - before turning around to face Ari, who stood before him with her arms crossed over her chest, looking… Less than impressed.

“Ari, listen to me-” Dany began tiredly - but Ari shook her head, and Dany, knowing better than to argue, sighed and waited for the onslaught.

“How much longer can you put it off? You’re meant to be getting married tomorrow. You’ve promised, over and over again, that you’ll tell her-”

“Ari.” Dany tried again. “It’s… Complicated-”

“You’re here! At her mehndi! When you’re not meant to be, have you thought about how everyone’s going to react if they see you? How it’ll look tomorrow, if you ditch her at the altar-”

“If-” Dany repeated incredulously - though he didn’t quite know why. After all, logically speaking, Ari was right. It was still a possibility.

The kiss Mara had given him had felt like enough of a goodbye for it to be true.

Dany’s head hurt.

“Have you thought about what you’re doing? Really thought about it?” Ari continued. She looked very pretty this evening; her hair was tied into a ponytail, being led into by a complicated set of plaits, and she wore an outfit of burnt orange that suited her nicely. “Bhaijaan, you are about to throw away someone who really loves you for someone who-”

Dany’s head jerked up sharply as Ari suddenly stopped.

“Someone who what?” He immediately asked, sounding… Sterner than he’d anticipated. Ari said nothing, chewing on the inside of her lip. It was like he’d been slapped - and Dany remembered Mara’s words in the car, about what Ari thought, about what she really knew. “What were you about to say?”

Realisation crept on him, slowly but surely, as Ari refused to speak.

“You promised me you’d tell her before the ceremony. Even if not for you, or her, don’t break your winning streak of never breaking a promise to me now, please, for God’s sake.” Ari finally muttered - before groaning. “Look, just - go, please, okay? Obviously Raj knows you’re here, but if Pixie sees you and finds out you still haven’t spoken to Samara-”

“I’m going.” Dany mumbled quickly. Ari didn’t need to finish that sentence, and Dany didn’t want her to. “I’ll… I’ll see you at home.”

Ari pulled a face that clearly expressed how dumb a plan she thought that was.

“Get some sleep. Please.” She huffed, squeezing her brother’s arm. “Just… Think about what you’re choosing to do tomorrow. Or not choosing, by not saying anything. Bye.”

Danyal didn’t bother to correct her. In fairness, the part of his brain that was still fairly reasonable, could accept that there wasn’t much to correct.

“Bye.” He managed to mumble - and just like that, within seconds, he was alone again in the dark… Wondering what the Hell he was going to do next.

. . .

Everything else was a blur.

Time didn’t exactly whiz by. In fact, it felt strangely long, like it was being stretched - and it felt like Danyal was being stretched with it, and so was this entire process, but that it was all happening so slowly that only those on the inside could see the gradual change at all.

He was awake when his family arrived, late from the festivities - but, upon hearing their excited chatter and relaxed laughter, knocked back a few sleeping pills to drown them out. As a result, his sleep was deep, but not restful - and even though Danyal felt an exhaustion that ran so much deeper than just one night’s sleep, he accepted his newfound aches, knowing he wouldn’t have slept fitfully anyway.

He was up before sunrise. He heard the sounds of the London traffic outside of his window steadily increase; he saw the sky change hues through the slit of a gap between his heavy navy curtains; he heard the quiet chatter of his parents as they went showered and went downstairs, already preparing for the day.

By the time he’d heard the beginning sounds of Zarina and Kabir getting out of bed, though, something had finally changed.

This wasn’t him. The feelings and the self-doubt and the confusion, like he was some sort of lost little boy. It didn’t matter what Samara said, or Zarina, or Divya, about who he was or what he was. He knew himself. He was Danyal Zafar. He didn’t sit on his ass and panic, he got things done.

So that was what Danyal decided to do, before he’d even gotten out of bed that morning. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know how, or when - but by the end of the day, he vowed to get things done.

*

The Kensington HotelSouth Kensington, LondonThe Day of…

Surprisingly, Mara woke up… Refreshed.

It was a weird feeling - to wake up in another plush hotel bed, to hear the distant sounds of the London traffic through the soundproof windows, to feel the sun shining in through the heavy, drawn curtains - another one of many, another reminder of the past few days where she’d woken up with swollen eyes and what had felt like a hole in her chest… But not feel that. Samara awoke relaxed and calm - almost excited, for what the rest of the day would bring.

This was the end of the beginning. This was where the real story started.

Taking a deep breath, and resting her arm somewhere above her head, Mara snuggled under the duvet and closed her eyes, thinking. Anything worth thinking about had to be thought about now. She wouldn’t have time later - and some things… She didn’t want to think about anyway. Once her eyes were open, that was it. The day was beginning.

Don’t, Danyal. Please, don’t, I can’t.

She’d blurted it out, but not because she’d been scared. She hadn’t sounded desperate (or, liked to think so. Her eyebrows furrowed as she considered this). It had just been… Honest. Tired.

Mara wasn’t going to waste any of the day’s precious energy on trying to understand something that would no longer exist (even on the fake-as-f*ck plane it currently existed on) by the end of the day. But Mara did feel… Okay, about it.

You’re not not wanted it.

With her eyes still closed, Mara felt the corners of her mouth lift in a small, sad small. It was a naive comment. Nobody wanted her. Mara felt like she’d been kicked around enough in the past week to know that.

… But it was nice for someone whose opinion she trusted, at least when it came to serious things (or anything not involving Divvy Kapoor), to say otherwise.

Samara reluctantly opened her eyes. Divvy Kapoor.

“He knows what he wants.” She murmured to herself, her voice sounding oddly loud, but weirdly… Hidden, too. It sounded bizarre, but in a weird way, it was nice. Like her words were locked in this room, as long as she was only speaking to herself, just in this moment. “You’re helping him.” She hesitated. “You’re helping your friend.” She clarified, frowning slightly at the ceiling.

Mara sighed. Even to herself, she sounded unconvincing.

Then she threw back the covers and got on with her day.

*

The day didn’t just disappear the way the evening before had. Mara was… Present.

Even though everyone had made a great big show of telling her not to go the gym, after rubbing off the dried henna to reveal the dark red patterns underneath, Mara snuck down to the gym; and, after that, headed back to her room… Now transformed.

Her cousins’ outfits were hanging from anywhere they could throughout the room, the makeup artists’ cases strewn in the remaining floor space not already taken by furniture and boxes of shoes and jewellery.

After being rushed into the shower, with instructions and lewd jokes being shouted through the door, Mara was shoved - towels and all - into a chair, as preparations began.

Romantic Asian music played loudly from someone’s wireless speakers, and the room was filled with a cool breeze, wafting away the otherwise overbearing traces of different types of perfumes and makeup. Her aunt was there too, and even though Mara felt her resentment, she wasn’t exposed to it, which made for a nice change… In fact, she wasn’t really exposed to any of it.

Mara sat there, smiling at the relevant jokes, rolling her eyes at the others - but there, at the makeup table with a stoic expression, Mara felt… Separate. She was separate.

Brides always were, of course - but this was more. As much as Mara and the rest of them said it, her cousins weren’t her sisters; and they, really, weren’t her family. They never had been.

Mara felt a heaviness in her chest as she watched the four of them, giggling and joking behind her, in her reflection. They didn’t know, of course. As far as they were concerned, they were all family. They didn’t understand that Mara wasn’t, and never had been and never would be, one of them.

Mara did as she was told and lifted her chin slightly, as the makeup artist applied corrector underneath her eyes. One of Samara’s eyes caught her reflection again, just past the woman’s arm.

You’re not not wanted.

Mara inhaled deeply, fighting a small smile. The heaviness was gone - and although something else began to… Chew at her chest, in that moment, Mara was too adamant to enjoy what she could to think anything of it.

. . .

She looked super hot.

… “Samara!” Her uncle called through the door. Mara’s heart did an odd skip at the sound and, for a split second, all she wanted to do was lock the room and hide - and stay hidden, in this hotel room, until someone she knew, someone she trusted, could come and get her. Someone who made her feel wanted. In that split second, Mara nothing wanted more than to stop everything - everything - and just… Hide and think. “It’s time to go!”

“Coming!” She shouted back - before staring, wide-eyed and terrified, at her reflection one last time. The split second of fear disappeared, and confusion and further fear at even wanting it, took its place instead. She tried to shake it off. The next time she’d be in this room… It would be all over. “sh*t. Yes. Okay.”

She was about to enter an art gallery full of important, influential, powerful people… And lie to them. Lie to them about who she was, about being in love with her fiancee, about wanting to get married - and then lie some more, by saying she was heartbroken to not be marrying her fiancee, after his ex stormed the stage, demanding his love and affection.

It was fine. Cool. No problemo.

… Except, it was. Because some of those people in that room, as powerful and important as they were, were also people Mara respected. People she liked. People she didn’t want to lie to, people she would be sad to leave.

You’re not not wanted.

Mara glanced sharply up at her reflection, breathing deeply to try and calm her stuttering pulse. No. No. She had to do this. Of course she did. What other choice was there? Mara dared her reflection to answer. It didn’t.

“Samara!” Her uncle called, knocking again.

Mara exhaled deeply, nodding at herself - before tossing back her head, and calming herself, rearranging her features so that it were as if she were the calmest, serenest person in the world.

But on the inside?

… sh*t.

. . .

Everybody was already seated by the time Mara arrived; it was tradition. To have everyone waiting for her, to have everyone watching her big entrance on what was meant to be one of the biggest days of her life.

Mara swallowed, keeping her head down and allowing her uncle to lead her forward through the sea of tables, as she realised something - it was. As much as Samara had never found weddings that interesting, or considered it stupid to place so much importance on one event… That’s what this was.

It was going to be her proudest moment. The moment where she’d have fooled everyone, outsmarted the world…

… And nobody would know about it.

She frowned, trying to focus on holding her skirt slightly so as to not trip. She’d never thought about it like that before. She’d been… Proving something. Letting herself out of a box.

But now, as Mara felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on her as she walked towards the platform where Mara knew Dany, Kabir and their parents were waiting, Mara realised… All of these people would never look at her the same way. They’d pity her. Even if she told, even if she broke the promise she and Dany had made… It wouldn’t matter.

Of course, that didn’t matter either, she reminded herself hastily, as another slow, romantic Bollywood song began to play in the background. It was making her irritable. If the couple in question, at any wedding, needed romantic background music to remind themselves that they were in love (or supposed to be), didn’t that indicate something was a little bit wrong?

None of it mattered. None of it. This wasn’t her life, her wedding, her world. So what if nobody knew? She knew. Danyal knew.

Mara stopped, the force of what she’d just thought punching her in the gut.

Why did it matter if Dany knew?

He’s a good contact, the sensible voice in her head reasoned; the same part that noticed the crowd glancing, seeing her hesitate just before reaching the stage. They all seemed to find it cute, endearing almost. He’s someone whose intelligence you respect. It’s just… Nice to have someone like that’s acknowledgement.

Something felt wrong.

You’re fine. Brush it off. You’re fine, Mara told herself. She glanced up - and caught how Danyal’s parents, noticing her sneakers underneath her skirt, smiled secretively to each other. Mara flushed.

Her eyes wandered. To Kabir, giving her a small thumbs up - Mara smiled, her chest warming at his innocent smile. She was going to miss him - and then finally, Danyal, in all of his wedding finery; an outfit matching her own, at the insistence of Annie upon first seeing Mara’s dress was part of a bridal set. His tunic was of red velvet, with white flowers creeping along it, and beige tapered trousers to match. He even had a matching set of pearls; ones pinned to his tunic, keeping his scarf pinned over his shoulder.

She thought she would’ve laughed; that she’d have to hold back giggles, seeing him so dressed up. She thought he may have worn a turban, as was traditional, like he had at that shambles of an attempted wedding with Divvy - Mara could remember him telling her how it had itched.

You’re no better. This wedding is attempted, isn’t it?

But - anyway - she wasn’t giggling. If she had thought she looked like some sort of badass princess, Dany looked like some sort of… Haughty prince and, with his hair quaffed gently back, Mara had to admit that it… Suited him.

He looked… Scared, though, too - and somehow, that made Mara feel better. She was just nervous, and so was he. That’s all that was happening.

“Samara?” Her uncle asked quietly, glancing at the crowd.

Mara shook her head slightly - before going back to her performance, smiling slightly, being sure to come across shy.

“Sorry, I just - I’m ready now.” She replied, knowing full well everyone was watching her. She could feel their knowing stares, the way they rolled their eyes slightly, as if to say - how cute. Look at how nervous she is.

Mara stepped up onto the stage.

All of a sudden, things got very… Strange. Difficult.

Mara felt her uncle step aside as Dany’s family greeted her; as Kabir stepped forward and gave her a tight squeeze, grinning - and for a moment, Mara was confused, because wasn’t he sad? But no, of course he wasn’t. And she didn’t want Kabir to ever be sad. He was just… Trusting what they’d spoken about before.

Mara squeezed him tightly back, all the same.

Mara hesitated at Danyal’s mother - but, to Mara’s surprise, she simply smiled warmly at her.

“We like the shoes.” She whispered, as she hugged her in welcome. Mara stared at her in surprise when she pulled away. “You look lovely.” Soph told her sincerely - and for a minute, Mara’s eyes welled up with tears and, maybe she was imagining things, but… For a moment, Sophia Zafar’s did too.

But this is his family. Not yours.

Samara glanced over to her seat, on the other side of the stage, as she stepped forwards in front of Danyal’s father; and it hurt, to see it so empty. It was her mother who should have been telling her she looked pretty. It was her father who was meant to be greeting Danyal’s father, all serious and sombre, because it was such a huge moment and anything could go wrong - which was right, it was true. It was all about to go wrong.

“Welcome to the family.” Dany’s Dad grinned; and as he pulled her in for a tight hug, Mara had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. They’re not your family. She didn’t have a family. She didn’t belong to anyone, there was no-one here, on her side, that weren’t only there because they had to be, out of some fake sense of duty.

Why couldn’t this be her family? How did one person get so lucky, how could someone as stupid and blind as Danyal spit in the face of it, for someone like Divya? He deserved better. His family deserved better. Mara wanted better for them.

“She’s not your family yet.” Mara’s uncle joked, though Mara knew he was being serious. If only he knew. Reluctantly, Mara pulled away from Aman’s embrace - and her breath caught in her throat, as she realised Danyal had seen. He’d seen how tightly she’d held onto his father, how for a moment, her face had crumpled and her lip had begun to tremble.

“Formalities.” Aman muttered, winking in Mara’s direction - and Mara actually laughed, fighting back more tears as she wished that were true.

Mara tried to keep her head down as she walked past Danyal, towards her seat, trying to hide how much it hurt. How it felt like she was saying goodbye. How she was saying goodbye, to good people, kind people, people who had cared for her when nobody else did.

And for what? To get away from people who weren’t like that? But that was the point. People weren’t like the Zafars. The Zafars didn’t exist in the real world, where people were cruel and selfish and vindictive. Mara lived in that world, not theirs. That was all she knew.

But she couldn’t help it - as her uncle led her to her seat, ignoring all pretence of an awkward, formal interaction between bride and groom (though at this point, Dany and Mara had played their roles a little bit too well for anyone to believe that - and it was something they both knew) -, her eyes met Dany’s as she walked by, blinking back her tears before her mascara ran.

She steeled herself in that. He was focused. They had a job to do, a plan to execute. He was right. She had to be focused too.

She sat down, her uncle between them.

Mara took a deep breath, keeping her head bowed and her eyes trained on the hem of her skirt as she tried to calm herself.

She closed her eyes, holding her breath for a minute, as she felt the ripple of movement through the crowd - as the women covered their heads with their scarves and the men bowed theirs, all of their hands clasped in prayer as the imam, the priest, began.

There was a roaring in Mara’s ears. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but her eyes were blurry from all of the unshed tears, and she had to be careful when attempting to blink them away - there were so many the they threatened to spill and she had to be careful with her emotions, especially when they were so close to the end. As the prayer continued, her heart felt more like it was beating in her throat than her chest - but Mara was still sure she could see it, pounding through her blouse, for everyone to see. They could. She could feel it. It felt like she was a cartoon, like something on display in a museum.

But she had to look up.

She had to find Divya.

Slowly, as if her eyes were struggling to even follow the order, her eyes flickered upwards from the floor - and Mara felt confused again, like she was on display and everything else was in a bubble outside of her own, as she saw Pixie and Raj and Ari smiling up at her; Ari with tears in her eyes, Pixie looking proud.

Mara felt her eyebrows furrow. Why did they look so happy? So… Pleased? The plan hadn’t worked yet. Were they thankful? Was that what it was? It had been the look Kabir had given her - had Kabir shared what Mara had said to him the night before? She wasn’t sure if that extended to the others. Kabir was different - younger, more separate from the mess that this entire plan had caused.

Something felt… Wrong. All of it. Somehow, all of it - and as soon as she felt that, Mara felt her heart speed up again (if that were even possible) because this was wrong, all wrong! She was lying to people, good people and she felt as if she were suffocating - her head hurt and her legs were trembling and her hands, clasped in prayer, were resting on her knees to hide how violently they were shaking.

And then she saw Divya in the doorway, by the entrance.

It went away. All of it just… Went away.

The pounding heart, the trembling in her limbs, the way her throat had felt dry and scratchy, her watery eyes. It just… Stopped. Like the clouds had parted.

But there wasn’t any sunshine. Instead, Mara just felt… Empty.

The imam turned to Danyal.

“Do you, Danyal Aman Raja Zafar…”

Mara’s fingers curled slightly.

Any second now. Any second, and it’d be all over.

“I consent.”

Mara closed her eyes, finding them suddenly bone-dry. Here it came…

“Do you, Samara Eliza Kayani…”

Milliseconds felt like eons as the imam turned to her, reciting her list of vows and duties, just as he had to Danyal. Any second now. If Divvy maybe had two brain cells to rub together, maybe she would have realised it would’ve been more sensible to interrupt -

Mara’s breath hitched in her throat.

Wasn’t Divvy meant to interrupt before Dany…?

She glanced up, her eyes immediately finding Divya at the back of the crowd… And Mara felt her heart plummet into her stomach, nausea balling at the back of her throat, as she saw Divvy’s face.

Horrified. Sad. Filled with tears.

Still trying to be subtle, still trying to play her part of the quiet, nervous bride - Mara glanced at Dany from the corner of her eye - and she felt her entire body begin to tremble, ever so slightly, as she noticed how he stared at the ground somewhere by the hem of Mara’s skirt, his jaw slightly clenched with the effort of looking neutral.

What was happening? Why wasn’t - why was Divya crying? Wasn’t Dany meant to… Signal her? Mara knew everything had been going to plan. Mara had overheard Tabby mentioning how cute it was, that Divya had visited Danyal before the ceremony. How sweet it was, that her family and Dany’s were so close.

“Samara?” Her uncle said gently.

Samara started slightly, staring at him with wide eyes. Danyal’s mother looked slightly confused, and the room was staring at her, watching, waiting for baited breath - because she was the bride. It was her turn to say she consented. To get married.

They all thought she was nervous.

Mara opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth was dry and she wasn’t sure words could come out if she wanted them to. She turned slightly - to the rest of the hall, to her friends - Dany’s friends, his friends and family, Raj and Pixie and Ari - but they… They all looked fine, they all looked happy, encouraging almost.

What was happening? Didn’t they realise? They knew the plan. They knew what was meant to be happening, what wasn’t - why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Why couldn’t they see something was wrong? Divya was meant to be saying something! Why wasn’t anyone confused, or stressed, or surprised like she was - why weren’t they doing anything, when everything was going wrong?!

“Samara.” Her uncle murmured, a playful expression on his face that Samara immediately knew was for the rest of the crowd. She tried to tune them out. To focus on him instead, on his concern. But her mind was going a million miles per minute and she - she just - she couldn’t focus. She had something to do. She was meant to be doing something - something else - acting aghast, horrified, heartbroken even, as Divvy executed the plan she and Danyal had had all along -

But now she didn’t have to act.

Because she really didn’t know what to do next.

“Samara, the imam asked you if you consent.” Her uncle pushed. He placed his hand on her wrist - and Mara winced, almost jumped, because it felt like a handcuff, not a hand. Even if it was all in her head… That was what it felt like. “Do you?”

She was back in Pakistan.

In Islamabad, back in her and Danyal’s old office - arguing, struggling to even talk to each other without frustration pouring out, Mara - Mara’s hands curled into fists - Mara being scared of this very thing happening - but that wasn’t the memory sticking out.

Are you worried you're going to have to marry me out of pity?

No, of course not!

Mara looked at him again, but not confused this time. Beseeching. What was happening? Why didn’t she understand, why wasn’t she being allowed to understand?!

They were friends. They were meant to have, at least once, been friends - why was he hiding things from her? Why wasn’t she prepared?!

… And then he looked at her.

Everything stopped. It was like something… Something out a movie, as stupid as it sounded. But that’s what it felt like. Everything, despite already being quiet, fell silent; everyone else fell away, and it was just them, the two of them, looking at each other with their fathers between them.

That was when she realised it wasn’t a mistake.

What had he said? About the ultimatum he’d give Divya? About how she needed to stand up in front of everyone and admit to her feelings, like she’d wanted him, like she’d tried to force him to do? How he’d seemed bitter and angry and Mara had been shocked, because that wasn’t how he was with his precious Divya, oh no, she could usually do no wrong -

He was doing it to her.

He was making her choose.

No. No. This was not a part of their plan. Mara nails dug into her palms, so hard it felt as if her knuckles would burst out of the skin - but she couldn’t feel it.

He wasn’t doing this. He was not allowed to do this!

Dany’s expression gave nothing away - he just watched her, just once, for a few seconds - but it was too careful. It wasn’t real, that wasn’t him being real. There was something - something wrong…

He knew. He had to know. Right?

Or was he just confused? Just like she was? Dany went into neutral mode, robot mode - but this was more than that, usually she could see that, usually she could understand that -

What if it was more?

You’re not not wanted.

No. No, no, NO. That wasn’t a good enough reason. Not even to herself, not even in that moment, in her own head. That wasn’t a good enough reason! They’d had a plan. No matter what, no matter what else happened and whatever else she had been forced to get her head around, they’d had a plan.

No. The answer was no. No!

“Samara-”

No. Absolutely not. This wasn’t her mess. She’d said it from the beginning, she - this was Dany’s mess, his problem to fix, not hers. She’d played her part. She’d performed her role. Enough was enough!

… But she felt like she was falling down the rabbit-hole and zooming in, closer and closer, to wonderland. Everything else was a bubble. Everyone else was in a bubble, cartoons, in bright colours and happy, encouraging smiles and she was going to be sick. She was going to be sick. She was going to puke, just throw out the words and it would be chaos, but she had to, what choice did she have - but she could feel them, Dany's family, his friends, her friends, Danyal, Dany, her family, everyone in that room -

No. No.

I don’t consent.

“I consent.” Mara’s eyes widened - horrified, terrified, totally lost - as her mouth continued to move, to say words like she wanted them to, except something crucial was missing. “I consent, I - I consent.”

It was like she was stuck. Stuck as everything moved around her in a weird slow-motion that felt sped up at the same time, shapes and sounds around her, as she sat there, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe - as everyone around her breathed a collective sigh of relief, and they moved, the silence broken now the vows had been said.

She couldn’t move. She wasn’t there anymore.

What had she just done?

She had to tell them - had to stop them - tell them it was all a mistake, she didn’t consent, she didn’t consent -

You’re married to him now, a cruel, smug voice coming from her own head, told her. What can you do? You’re married to him.

Slowly, forcing the movement of every inch, her chest gently heaving, Mara turned to look at the rest of the stage.

She felt a hand on arm - and just like that, there was noise again. Noise and people - music in the background - the chatter of the room - Aman Zafar’s hand on her arm as he smiled down at her.

“I’m sorry.” Mara managed to say - or, she thought she was saying it, but she couldn’t be sure. Her words weren’t coming out right. It sounded like she was shouting, but really, she wasn’t sure if it came out even as a whisper. “I - I’m sorry-” I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but there's been a mistake, this is all a mistake, I’m sorry -

“It’s absolutely fine. We’re not that old, that we can't remember how scary it all is.” Aman smiled - and Mara wanted to yank her arm away, tell him no, no, listen - but then his wife was beside him, the woman Mara had always wanted to be, and she was smiling, nodding, happy even.

“Welcome to the family.” Soph told her sincerely - before gently taking hold of Mara’s face and gently pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Mara’s eyes closed as she fought back tears - this time not the sad, still manageable ones of before, but large, loud tears that got caught in the back of her still-dry throat, hysterical tears that Mara had to squeeze her lips together for to avoid letting out a scream.

“Officially.” Aman grinned at her uncle - and Mara could only nod and force a smile, one that took all of her strength to conjure, as Soph looked at her; her face questioning, questioning and kind - and there was more kindness there, in this woman's face, this woman who had been suspicious of her all along, her hero, than her own family had ever shown her in years.

Mara moved aside as her uncle and Aman Zafar shook hands, moving to sit beside one another. She clutched onto her skirt, wrinkling it, but she didn't care, she didn't care about the beads pressing into her palm, she didn’t care -

She turned - and there stood Danyal.

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know what she even wanted to.

“S- Samara-” Dany tried to begin resolutely… But he stopped, as Mara blinked.

Just once. But it was so… Defeated.

Mara watched as Dany’s neutral expression fell away, as it became something else. Something… Surprised, something sad.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care one f*cking bit.

They sat down - next to each other now, their legs brushing slightly until Mara moved hers away. Opposite them, she could see the rest of them - Pixie and Raj and Ari, Kabir with them now too, looking happy, looking pleased.

How could they? How dare they? How dare they be so… Callous, so audacious, to watch and smile? And laugh? Like it was a game they’d all win?

That was what they’d done. Reduced her life to a game.

Mara hid her hands in her lap as the evening continued, her nails dug into the flesh of her palm the entire time.

She focused on that. On the ache in her fingers, on the tension in her knuckles, of her arm shaking from the strength she couldn’t keep up for much longer.

But she did.

She had to.

Prince and Princess, that smug voice mocked. It didn’t even surprise Mara to think it sounded like her mother.

In an odd way, it helped. Mara sat there, perfectly still, perfectly perfect. Like a puppet on a string.

Like the perfect little doll she’d been pretending to be all of this time.

and the story of us...: a dara drabble

The third (and penultimate) of the Dara wedding drabbles! Apologies for the delay, but I really didn’t want to cut this up further and I wanted to do it justice... Hopefully the ending will make up for it :)

Let me know what you think! Remember, I’m like Tinkerbell. I need applause to live.

- hen_bee xo

PS. riddled with errors, as I didn’t have time to proof read. I’m sorry!!

Dorothy & Michael Hintze Sculpture GalleryThe Victoria & Albert Museum, London20413 Days to Go

“You’re late.”

“I broke my phone.” Danyal murmured, shrugging on his blazer. If he noticed the outrage on Mara’s face, he didn’t show it… And as Mara continued to stare at him, she realised he wasn’t going to.

“And it didn’t occur to you to use any other device to let me know-”

“I’m here now.” Dany interrupted - and although he glanced up at her, it was only for a second, and paired with a brief, polite smile that let Mara know the conversation was over… If it had ever been one. “Shouldn’t we be outside?”

Before Mara had even opened her mouth to respond, Dany was already gone; through the smart, black double doors of the gallery, and beyond; into the square surrounded by beautiful, red-brick buildings with arches and carvings, the gallery pool in the middle.

The garden had been transformed for this; their registration-party-cum-brunch, the event marking the beginning of their wedding week. All of Danyal’s parents’ important business associates were in attendance and, as Mara had been reminded a million times (deliberately and not), acted as an introduction for Dany into the business life. He would start working with his father soon and, well, the Zafars’ business was a family affair, in every sense - and every one of the guests present were being reminded of that, notified of Danyal and Samara Zafar’s arrival onto the scene.

Samara Zafar. Mara’s stomach curled, nausea twisting and slithering its way up her throat in disgust.

Dany’s stag had overrun. He had been due to leave Vegas two days ago, at leisure, without cause for stress - and instead, for some dumbass reason or another, hadn’t left until the late hours of last night. Mara had been making excuses for him all morning - when she hadn’t even been given the courtesy of being told by Danyal what was going on in the first place.

“Dany-” Mara called out quietly - and though there was no way he couldn’t have heard her, he walked on, as if she’d never spoken.

Mara stood as still as she could for a moment, centring herself. She held her breath in her throat and, pretending she was looking idly at the pleasant scene before her, complete with classical music and the tinkling of glasses and polite conversation, rooted herself to the tiny spots on the floor where her heels connected to the ground.

That was the first time she and Danyal had spoken since… Everything. Since before he’d even left Pakistan.

Mara felt stupid for expecting anything different, for thinking he’d do anything but look right through her - and it hit her, then, that as much as she thought she’d accepted it, maybe she hadn’t. Maybe Danyal had heard her message and just… Not really cared.

She felt hollow.

Three more days and he won’t be allowed to make you feel like this anymore, Mara tried to tell herself.

Except feeling it wasn’t the problem. It was the fact Danyal had somehow snatched that opportunity from her in the first place, under the guise of friendship.

But so what? Right now, Mara had a role to play - and she was in too deep to back out now, and they both knew it.

So with a subtle shrug of her shoulders, Mara made sure her pleasantly neutral mask was fixed - and went back out to the crowd guests.

. . .

It was suffocating.

She felt like she was living in a dream; as time wore on, everything felt cartoonish. The smiles of the guests, the forced laughs, the… Excess of it all. The walls of the museum, enclosing the garden, felt like a wall - not to keep them in, but to keep everyone out, and Mara wondered whether, if people who wondered what kind of people hired a museum garden and gallery, who wore fancy designer clothes at brunches, would actually be able to stomach it at all.

Mara had never thought about it like that before. But she couldn’t unsee it - and now, she felt… Glad, to know that she wouldn’t be exposed to it for much longer. In fact, as Mara continued to talk so another faceless banker and her wife about honeymoon destinations and the stock exchange, Mara felt a surge of… Disgust at those around her.

It was a blessing, really. She just wanted to be… Away. And it was good to remember that, remember why she’d come up with this (admittedly) stupid plan in the first place - to find a way to be free. Because - and it as a whole concept, as a fully-formed sentence in her mind - hit her like a ton of bricks; this was her mother’s world. Maddie Kay’s world, filled with fake people and lies and clouds of perfume.

And yes, Mara didn’t think the Zafars were like that. But they were the exception, the strange exception, to an overwhelming rule; and they still belonged in this world. It was theirs, truly theirs, moulded how they wanted and that was… Too much, Mara realised. It was too uncomfortable, to know one family could do so much.

As Mara watched Dany from across the garden, speaking quietly in the corner with his father… She realised that he didn’t even know. Danyal Zafar existed in a world totally separate to 99.9% of the population, and Mara was on the other side of that fence. Her uncle wasn’t in this league. And even if he was close to it, Mara was his… Charity.

Maybe… Maybe if things were different. Maybe if they were both away from this all, things would be easier - Mara bit back a small smirk -, maybe they’d be doing as Dany’s family wanted, maybe they’d fall in love and everything would fall into place. But they wouldn’t. They… Couldn’t. Even when they were standing side by side, like they had been back inside the gallery, Mara realised that the hollowness she’d felt was a world still standing between them.

Mara felt a pang of satisfaction, though, as a small voice reminded her - Divya doesn’t belong here either.

A pang of satisfaction immediately followed by a fresh surge of resentment and then… Surprisingly… Hurt. Because Divvy Kapoor, a girl whose mere name had Mara instinctively rolling her eyes, that was who she was losing to -

Mara blinked, her mask slipping for a moment. Losing to? Losing what, exactly…?

She was tired. She was losing her goddamn mind. And so she made her excuses and, pretending to continue to talk to those on the peripherals of the red-bricked square, made her way to the doors; before slipping into one of the double doors leading back into the gallery.

Mara felt an overwhelming urge to run as she did - but, giving one of the wait-staff a quick, polite smile as they made eye-contact through the glass, Mara figured it wasn’t exactly subtle. She needed a breather. She wasn’t going to get that if the entire garden thought she was getting cold feet.

There it was again - that surge of… Negativity, the overwhelming feeling of being trapped.

Mara took a deep breath - before looking at her surroundings. The chequered floor, the beautiful mix of sculptures, the well-lit museum shop, filled with books on design and art and fashion, tucked away at the top of the small set of stairs in the corner.

There are worse places to be trapped, she reasoned.

Glancing out to the party again, Mara realised that the tents acting as a stock for the canapés and drinks obscured some of the gallery from view - and, with a quick sigh of relief, Mara quickly moved further down the gallery… Until the tents were all but obscuring her from view.

Sighing in relief, Mara leant back and closed her eyes, her bare shoulders brushing the pillar behind her.

She enjoyed that solitude for a few moments. The sudden quiet of the gallery, the peace of only seeing the darkness of her eyelids.

When she finally opened her eyes, looking straight ahead, Mara found herself raising her eyebrows at the sculpture in front of her.

Well, if it could be called that. It was more like some sort of… Carving, but clearly more than that, set up on the wall above a fake fireplace. On the edges, crowds of people watched, aghast, at the figures in the middle; a naked couple, kissing passionately.

Intrigued, Mara pulled her earphones and phone out of her pocket (which she’d had the good sense to keep on her) and slowly walked over, already drowning out the sound of her heels by the time she had reached it.

The first song to start playing had immediately been loud and upbeat - and, irritated at the disruption, Mara quickly chose another song from her playlist; slow, based on the piano and a duet.

She looked back up at the sculpture, before glancing over at the plaque beside it.

‘Harry Bates - 1850-99War1887’

She didn’t bother reading anymore. Although it wasn’t exactly cool to admit at dance practice or during business classes, Mara loved art. She loved the subjectivity of it, how you could feel the raw emotion put into something real that you could see and touch and still feel. An annoying plaque telling her about technique or historical context just ruined the initial magic.

They were both barefoot, the couple - and hopelessly entwined, almost desperately so, in a way that had Mara tilting her head and feeling slightly… Sad. One of his hands cupped her neck, the other under her arm, keeping her twisted to face him; and as one of her hands motioned for the crowd behind them to go away, to be ignored, the other clutched onto the arm holding his neck, keeping them locked together.

There was something… Brutal about it. Desperate. Angry.

I hate you, I love you, I hate that I want you, you want her, you need her, but I’ll never be her…

Mara flinched slightly at the song in her ears - and she quickly blinked away the embarrassing tears that suddenly threatened to spill down her face for no reason, as Mara realised that she was… Jealous of the woman in the sculpture. A figment of someone’s imagination. Someone not even real.

But the woman in the sculpture was wanted. It didn’t matter about the crowds jeering, how she was motioning for them to keep away - because there was also something nonchalant about it, like she didn’t care, because she was too caught up in that kiss. Because that man was her anchor, and she was his, and they were constant and Mara didn’t have anyone, not anyone, in her life who felt like that to her. Or, who felt that… Right.

And yes, her daddy issues were not the same as the issues of the couple in the sculpture in front of her, but it was… Resonating, somehow. Changing the song, Mara stepped closer, looking up at the couple; and it was truly beautiful, the detail - she could feel it, feel how much they needed each other, how it was about survival and love and feeling the need to be safe, more than two naked people engulfed in lust.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds - but to Mara, it felt like hours, and she stared so long and so hard at it, something aching inside of her at the scene before her, that by the time she turned away, it felt like if she hadn’t, she’d have burned.

Mara swayed slightly as soul began to play in her ears, and she looked at the two options before her - the part of the gallery she’d already glimpsed, by the doors, or this other side - slightly darker from the tents covering the window and with less traffic. When she’d stood with Dany she’d caught busts and marble casket coverings, as well as large, impressive sculptures of struggling men and beautiful women… But looking to the other side, Mara felt her eyebrows raise at the fewer, scattered sculptures in front of her… Including a naked male torso, caught in the corner of Mara’s vision.

Intrigued, Mara walked over.

She smirked to herself once it was in front of her. It was a torso, a very nice, male torso, lacking a head and forearms and cutting off suggestively a few centimetres down from the top of the thighs - just enough to see the beginning of an, erm, important anatomical feature.

The torso was lean, and muscular, and ripped in a way that boasted a six pack of abs without being vulgar; and as Mara’s fingertips traced the bumps on the severed neck, along the shoulders and down the bicep (there weren’t any signs saying she couldn’t), and Mara genuinely applauded the smoothness of the stone (yes, just that! Artistic appreciation!), she couldn’t help but find it… Familiar.

It hit her, as her fingertips reached the jagged edge of where the arm cut off - it was familiar.

The morning after the night they’d spent at Sean’s party at the water-park; when they’d woken up, half asleep, in Samara’s bath-tub with her uncle knocking at the door. Once Mara had managed to convince him everything was fine - and there definitely wasn’t a boy, let alone the likes of Danyal Zafar, in her room -, Mara, too lazy to do much else, had turned on the taps despite where they still sat. Mara had still been wearing a neon bikini underneath her denim shorts and the baggy white tank top; so she’d sleepily fumbled out of them. Dany, on the other hand, had still been fully dressed - and, dozing until it was too late, had stayed that way in resignation. His white T-shirt had clung to his chest, sticking to the hollows that seemed to follow… A very similar outline to the chest Mara was currently looking at.

Of course, she’d pretended she hadn’t noticed. To him, or to herself.

Her fingers curling slightly in… Discomfort at the thought, Mara pulled her fingers back. Before she could help it (and as much as she didn’t want to see it), a flurry of mental images launched themselves into her mind. Confusing mental images, ones she didn’t want to see.

Ones that made her feel sick. Ones of Divvy caressing Dany’s naked chest - and then of the two of them, entwined back in New York, Dany falling in love while Divvy screwed with his mind… Amongst other things.

Mara glanced around, her eyes desperately looking for something else to focus on. She didn’t have to look for long; because slightly further down, near to the sweeping staircase at the bottom gallery, was another sculpture.

“Someone was feeling frustrated.” Mara muttered to herself, smirking slightly - before walking over.

It was a butt, a nice butt, and seemingly a woman’s butt, judging by the curves of the rest of her body. Like the previous one, it was headless, and only showed a small part of one arm; but it was less… Raw than the other. More seamless, more perfect.

It was one of the larger sculptures and, unlike the other, left little to the imagination - it showed from midway down the thighs, and everything that included, up to the neck. Mara smirked slightly as she saw the male torso, its muscled back and the beginning of a very cute butt of its own, now facing her - before shaking her head and glancing up at the other. Mara was genuinely impressed. The curves were so smooth.

The model must have also been super hot.

… Both of them.

But her smirk faded as she began to appreciate the art for what it was; for the adoration she could feel behind it, the love she could feel for this woman from the sculptor, even if just her body.

This time, she wasn’t sad, or overwhelmed by it. She liked it. This sculptor probably hadn’t even loved the model in that way. Maybe there hadn’t been a model at all. But the magic had worked, the lie had worked, and in a weird kind of way, Mara took comfort from everyone’s lies feeling like a universal truth.

That was how Dany found her. Looking pensively up at the sculpture, a small smirk playing on her lips and her hips swaying slightly as she listened to music from her old-fashioned wired earphones.

Dany hadn’t wanted to look at her.

Vegas had meant blissful ignorance; Vegas had meant peace of mind in the form of distraction; Vegas had included millions of excuses to not face it all, including Danyal’s phone being lost during a nasty paint-balling accident. And yes, he could have called anyway - through a million different channels. But he hadn’t wanted to.

He’d thought that the two of them not speaking would provide him with clarity. Less worrying about her feelings, less taking on responsibilities that weren’t his.

But as each day had gone on without hearing from Samara, without any further bids from her to contact him… Dany had found it… Harder. And all of a sudden, as he watched her look up at the sculpture - looking… Beautiful in the muted daylight of the gallery -, Dany realised it wasn’t Mara who was the problem. It wasn’t her emotions that were forcing him to feel guilty.

He was doing that all on his own.

He hadn’t wanted to see her when he’d walked in, late. He’d wanted her to be angry at him, to ignore him, because, Dany realised, deep down he knew he couldn’t ignore her on his own. But the moment his plan had worked… Dany had found himself at a loss, seeking her out in the crowd at every opportunity.

Maybe he was just starved of female attention, after Vegas. Maybe…

When he’d seen her in the gallery, quickly slipping out of sight of the windows and behind the tents, Dany had found his feet moving before he could stop himself. He wanted to talk to her. Be around her.

It’s what you’re used to. That’s all, Dany tried to tell himself - but even privately, it didn’t sound convincing.

Although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, to Dany, it felt like longer, and, enjoying Mara’s obliviousness at her audience, he enjoyed the view. She really did look beautiful - and even to Dany, it was shocking, to hear the… Sincerity, in his own thoughts.

Mara was in a white, tapered jumpsuit that, aside from the off-shoulder detail and knot-type pattern on the front, was plain white and lacked sleeves. Her dark hair fell past her bare shoulders in loose waves and to a layman, her face looked almost natural - but Dany knew her eyebrows didn’t really look that dark, and that her lips - her mouth, a small part of Dany’s brain fell to the gutter again - weren’t such a dark, neutral pink. In silver strappy heels, showing black nails on display, she was practically the same height as Dany.

I want to kiss her, Dany thought suddenly - and he swallowed loudly, his eyes widening, as he heard it inside of his head. I want her to want me to kiss her.

That was when Mara’s eyes met his own.

For a second, Dany actually felt… Terrified, because, for a moment, it was like she’d read his mind.

But then it was gone, and she couldn’t have, and the quickly neutral expression only confirmed it - because Dany knew Mara too well by now to think that expression was truly neutral.

“We should be outside.” Dany suddenly blurted.

… What?

Mara wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion, before yanking one of the earphones away. Even from the distance between them, Dany could hear a distant rhythm.

“I’m sorry?”

“We should be outside.” Dany repeated, swallowing and deciding to stick to his convictions - even if they were completely random and stupid. Mara shook her head slightly - why?

Dany simply stared blankly at her.

“I’m looking at the art.” Mara finally said simply, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned away from him - and paused, before walking over to a small sculpture in the corner.

Dany walked forwards slightly to take a look, still a fair distance away; but his eyes immediately zoned in on how Mara seemed to stiffen as she reached it - a small, nondescript sculpture of what looked like a mother and her baby, the mother holding the baby close.

Dany watched, confused, as Mara’s eyes seemed to… Glisten, for a moment - but then she was turning angrily on her heel and about to walk straight past him, her eyes trained on the ground - and it was at that moment that, again, on impulse when impulse wasn’t something Dany really understood, he grabbed her wrist before she could.

“Let go of me.”

Dany frowned. “What’s wr-”

“I said let go.” Mara hissed - but Dany didn’t. He didn’t and, even though his grip wasn’t very tight - it was gentle and loose and easily broken - Mara glared up at him, unmoving, his fingertips grazing against the inside of her wrist.

What happened next was… Odd. For both of them.

It was… It was something neither one of them had felt before or, if they had, it was the first time they knew it. They were pulled towards one another and even though there was an entire gap of space between them, it felt as if they were only millimetres away - and although Mara’s wrist writhed, it was all an act, and, unable to help himself, Dany’s fingers only tightened; but his grip was still soft, as were his eyes, as the two stared at each other.

Something… Unnameable flickered across Danyal’s expression.

Mara tried to hide her fear.

Quickly, in the hopes it would be too quick for Danyal to notice, her eyes dropped to her wrist; and then to her surroundings, for something else to look at other than Dany’s dark eyes and thick, black eyelashes.

So her eyes followed the chequered floor to the wall; and then up the wall, to the nearest piece of artwork she could find… The couple. The couple twisted towards one another, their limbs entwined.

She felt like a statue. Like one of the pieces of art on display.

You’re that vulnerable, a horrified voice inside of her head told her. She thought of the naked busts behind her, too, the ones she’d admired. You made yourself that vulnerable with one phone call and it’s all your own fault.

How could she blame her parents for not wanting her? For not wanting to even give her a chance? Every time she thought she had a situation under control… She screwed up.

Mara began to feel that familiar tingle in the tip of her nose, felt the slow build of pressure behind her eyelids. No. She would not cry in front of him. She would not give him the satisfaction of appearing… Weak. Desperate for attention, like every other girl who threw themselves at him. That’s probably what he thought. That the phone call had been some lame attempt to - to -…

Because he didn’t see them as friends. Dany had made that abundantly clear before leaving for Vegas. She was just… A means to an end, a cog in his grand machine to own the entire world and everything in it, to put everything in his perfect little bubble of life - a perfect bubble Mara didn’t belong in because she wasn’t perfect, she was some sort of defect in that little world, broken and messy and wrong whereas Divvy Kapoor got a pass because she’d been the first inside his pants.

… And just as Mara’s face began to redden slightly from anger, mixed in with other feelings that were too tangled for her to try and understand, Dany swallowed loudly.

Mara in heels meant that her mouth was… Closer, than usual.

I want her to want me to kiss her. That’s what he’d thought. Was that wrong? Was that just him being… Danyal Zafar, in the way everyone expected him to be? Dany didn’t know. He’d never had to before.

“We should be outside.” Mara finally murmured, after what felt like a lifetime - and as she gently pulled her wrist away, Dany opened his mouth to speak, only to find that he didn’t have the words.

He had no choice but to let her go.

Danyal almost cursed out loud as he felt that horrible knot in his stomach and chest again as he watched her go; and it stopped him from speaking, from forming coherent thoughts, even as he saw Mara hesitate by the doors… Before squaring her shoulders, and walking out without a second glance.

For a moment, Dany just stood there. Completely gormless, just… Standing there, not sure what to do or say or think.

He slowly turned, sighing to himself - before pausing, upon his eyes falling on a sculpture on the wall.

A couple, kissing amidst a crowd.

Dany rolled his eyes slightly - before following Mara back to the crowd.

. . .

The rest of the day passed Mara in a blur.

She just wanted it to be over. She wanted it all to be over - this stupid facade, the lies, the ones she told herself. That Dany was her friend. That somehow, they’d become close enough for him to really care about how she was.

At least, she kept trying to tell herself that. Over and over; as she sat in her brightly coloured finery, her makeup as suitably black as her mood; as she glumly placed her chin on her knees between forced, polite smiles at all of the guests who were important enough to be a part of the wedding, but not really important enough to gain an invite to the main event; as she and Danyal managed to play the perfect, in love couple from across the room without looking at each other at all.

*

The Ham Yard HotelSoHo, London2 Days to Go

Mara grit her teeth, using all of her strength to pull herself upwards towards her knees - and then again, as the beat of an old techno-pop song played obnoxiously loudly in her ears.

She kept going, not caring how she’d wince and grunt with each push. Sweat trickled from the base of her thick hair, down her neck and past her collar bone, into the valley in her sports bra. She was red and sweaty and out of breath; but still, she kept moving, even as her body ached.

Good. She wanted it to ache; to make her wince every time she moved by tomorrow. She wanted to be so sore that it was all she could think about - that the days after the wedding would no longer be related to this whole, stupid charade, but just be another random day that just so happened to mean her muscles would stop working… And she wouldn’t be around the Zafars any longer.

One of them in particular.

Scowling at her reflection, seen between her legs with each push-up, Mara scowled.

Today was her day off; no more couple-y bullsh*t, for at least another twelve hours… Because Danyal had a fancy dinner with his friends this evening - his Oxford friends, the oh-so-important and busy ones that hadn’t made it out to his stag. A Goodbye Dany dinner, Raj had called it.

Mara rolled her eyes, hissing, as she completed another push-up.

Technically, she too was having some sort of… Event. Honestly, it was becoming… Suffocating. Ari was being so nice and even if she’d explained why, it made Mara feel uncomfortable.

They’d done so much… Nice stuff. Cool stuff. Stuff Mara enjoyed. Baking classes at Cordon Bleu, movie nights at rooftop cinemas that came with gourmet meals, late-night exhibitions. Pixie had managed to get them backstage tickets to the Royal Ballet, the one type of dance Mara had always wished she could master but had never had the guts to try. It had been great. A secret tour of London at night, a retro-themed party atop a capsule on the London Eye, in homage to Mara’s love of all things vintage.

It was suffocating.

Whether Ari was grateful or not about Mara helping her brother, it was too much. Too much. In a few days, Mara was going to walk away from Ari and her entire family and, according to Dany, never to be seen or spoken to again. How was Mara meant to pay them back?

Of course, Ari’s argument was probably that it was all a gift. But Mara had never exactly been around giving people - and so it just felt like a debt, hanging over her head.

Mara was just shaking her head at the amount of money she probably owed the Zafars - the use of their jet, their trip to Monte Carlo, Ari’s lavish bridal party - when she paused, puzzled, to find a pair of expensive blue Nikes between her black workout ones.

Mara jerked her head back in surprise as, following the trainers - ones she recognised -, Ari yanked out her earphones.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ari huffed - before, much to Mara’s confusion, she proceeded to hoist Mara up from the floor. Too stunned to do anything else, Mara automatically steeled her legs to take some off some of her weight.

“It’s not even six in the morning.” Mara muttered, glancing at the clock… And shaking her head again, as she registered Ari’s outfit. Sports leggings, a T-shirt sporting the inspired slogan of coffee not toffee and no makeup, her hair scraped back into a bun.

“Exactly! We still have time to get dressed and I brought you fresh clothes, in case you were in the pool.” Ari said happily, thrusting a pink duffel bag in Mara’s direction. Mara simply stared at her blankly. “Come on! At least you’re all warmed up, any longer and we’ll be late!”

“For what?” Mara demanded. “It’s not even six-”

“I heard you the first time, would you just please get changed and we’ll discuss it later?”

The two girls stared at each other.

“You’re so like your brother sometimes.” Mara sighed, rolling her eyes - and taking the bag.

“Thank you!” Ari told her cheerfully.

Turning away, Mara sighed.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” She muttered to herself.

. . .

An hour later, and Mara found herself at… A rave.

A very specific type of rave.

It was called a morning rave; consisting of clean, green breakfasts and a smoothie bar, wherein one would start their day with a yoga class and following dance party. It was insane. Mara had walked into a nondescript city building during the dim daylight of the morning… And found a room stuffed with bright colours, large balloons, too much confetti and pounding dance music.

It wasn’t fancy, or expensive, or a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But it was completely mad.

And that was exactly what Mara needed… Especially when the DJ announced it was a 2010’s music throwback.

“How did you know?” Mara tried to shout over the music, as the beat began to kick up.

Ari shook her head, motioning to her ear.

“How-” Mara shook her head, before pulling out her phone and tapping out the message - How did you know?, before showing Ari the screen.

Pixie snatched it before Ari could reply.

Because we’re not as stupid as Dany, her reply read.

Mara knew Pixie meant that in a million ways - and possibly Ari, too. But in that moment, she didn’t care. She allowed herself to not have to worry about what anyone thought, or what anyone was thinking - and that was when she realised that that was their little morning trip’s whole point.

*

Dany was just finishing his run, when he saw Raj exiting from the front door. He seemed to be watching something with grave concentration - a video, Dany could hear loud music even with the distance between them - and did not at all seem amused.

“You look happy.” Dany commented as a way of greeting. Raj grunted. “What’re you looking at?”

“You haven’t seen it?” Raj mumbled, not looking up. Dany shook his head - but realising Raj wasn’t looking, quickly explained.

“My phone’s meant to arrive this morning.”

The prospect of being without technology somehow managed to steal away Raj’s attention.

“You’ve been without it for this long?” He muttered, aghast. Dany shrugged - before Raj handed him his own phone. “Here.”

Dany’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at what he saw.

Pixie, Ari and Mara; the three of them only, Mara’s cousins nowhere in sight. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily the surprising part.

Pixie held the camera as they danced; Pixie in yoga pants and a jumper, Ari in leggings and a T-shirt and Mara in leggings and a white-tank top, one where Dany could still clearly make out her black sports bra underneath, even under the flashing, bright lights. Mara’s face was red, as was the others’ - and aside from neon markings dotted across their faces (light splashes on Ari’s face, bright lips on Pixie and neon stripes on Mara’s cheeks), they wore no makeup, and were red and slightly sweaty. They were dancing - the camera shook as Pixie’s hand did - and singing loudly. The music was so loud that Dany could see Raj’s phone vibrating slightly as it played.

There were three clips - the first of the three of them dancing goofily at the camera, laughing, as the song began to play; another as Pixie and Mara downed what looked like shot glasses, captioned ginger shots and Mara gagging as Pixie laughed, unfazed by the burn; and a third that, once over, Dany immediately replayed.

It was Ari and Mara; Ari dancing and singing with her eyes closed, looking somewhat melancholic, and Mara, raving hard - trying to follow the movements of her high ponytail made Dany slightly dizzy -, with what looked like a… Smoothie cup in her hand.

The music started slow, before picking up to a loud, angry beat.

Where were you? ‘Cause I can’t see, but I feel you watching me… Dilated, falling free, in a modern ecstasy…

Pixie appeared at the bottom of the screen, laughing and singing along as Ari and Mara began to yell the lyrics at each other - Mara almost angrily, Ari almost sadly, but both of them full of energy and screaming.

I’m over the show, at least now I know - it wasn’t love, it was a perfect illusion…

Dany snorted, snatching Raj’s phone - and immediately texting Mara’s phone, paying no mind to the conversation clearly shared between Raj and Mara above the typing section.

If I were more insecure a fiance, I’d be worried - D x. He hit send.

Dany continued to smirk slightly as Raj hit replay, frowning beside him - but it quickly disappeared as Dany noticed something at the end and, before Raj could open his mouth to comment, hit replay again.

“Yeah.” Raj muttered absently, as they both leant in, concentrating on the screen. “Exactly.”

Dany was about to ask what Raj was talking about - until his words stopped in his throat, as he realised Mara wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.

Up until that moment, Dany had been fine. Amused, even. Mara was having fun, he knew Ari was safe. Ginger shots were not the most dangerous thing the girls could’ve been drinking. Even seeing the two of them dance; Dany knew Mara would get more attention, simply because of that… Energy (and the form-fitting, yet somehow effortless effect of the tank top) that she had, and that didn’t matter because… Well, it hit him in that moment. It hadn’t mattered, because Mara would’ve been wearing her engagement ring.

At first, Dany quickly became annoyed. This video was available to anyone who knew the three of them on social media. It was reckless. Why would a happy bride-to-be go out two days before her wedding, without a wedding ring? Although a small part of Dany’s mind had immediately reasoned that there were a plethora of sensible reasons for Mara to not wear it to… Wherever she was (sweat, the dark, etc), he quickly ignored it. He didn’t like it.

… And then Dany realised why.

And then Dany realised why Mara would be so reckless - even if she’d thought he’d not see it, with his lack of phone - and, as if struck by lightning, remembered the voice message he’d tried so hard to forget in Vegas. Apparently, he’d been a bit too successful.

“I’ll catch you later.” Dany muttered, all but running into the house - and ignoring Raj’s protests behind him.

Meanwhile, in the middle of a song called Bad Romance - that Mara head-banged to with a particular enthusiasm - her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pausing to glance at the screen, Mara’s eyes rolled so far back into her head at the message, that for a moment, she almost saw her brain.

She turned off her phone after that - and returned to the song with particular gusto.

. . .

By the time the rave was over - and, for the rest of the city, when their days began - Mara’s phone was dead, from the stupid amount of evidence she’d taken of herself actually… Having fun.

It had probably been a good thing her phone had ran out of battery; she was likely to just stare forlornly at it, thinking of all she was going to lose in a few days. A family. Friends. People who understood it.

Except, that wasn’t strictly true. And whilst Mara didn’t blame Ari, or Pixie, or anyone else associated with or part of the Zafar clan, for the actions she’d chosen to take (… with the exception of maybe Danyal) she couldn’t help but feel… Cheated. Angry. Perhaps even a bit jealous; and those were all things Mara didn’t want to think.

Mara had been dreading it, hoping that, when the time came, she’d be able to wish it away; that inevitable moment, when she relaxed and stopped thinking for long enough… That all of a sudden, she was living in fast-forward.

*

The Sunken Gardens, Kensington PalaceKensington, London1 Day to Go

It was happening before Mara even had time to blink.

She purposefully avoided her phone - even when it was fully charged and flashing at her, filled with messages and notifications and alerts about her upcoming nuptials. She didn’t even flick through the many files she’d sent of herself yesterday of her, Pixie and Ari having fun the day before. It was… Too much. All of it. And being constantly reminded of that wasn’t going to do her any good.

Mara was in a pensive mood as the day went on; a day where she was largely left to her own devices, as the Zafars and her own family - if she could even call it that - prepared for the evening ahead. The last event before the wedding - the mehndi, the proper one, the one for family and fun. Dany wouldn’t be there - and he would be the only one.

For that, Mara was supremely grateful. In (yet again) a super pathetic kind of way, it felt… Good. Final. Like a nice parting before everyone went to sh*t and either had to pretend to hate her, for the sake of Dany and Divvy, or actually hate her.

So by the time early evening rolled around, and the sun was warm and lazy in the sky, Mara felt… Okay.

And then she saw it.

The Sunken Gardens of Kensington Palace; a giant rectangle of greenery, filled with other rectangles of brightly coloured flowers, with a fountain in the middle… And giant, bright umbrellas and cushions by the fountain for shade, with petals in the pool. Fairy lights were already strung in all of the bushes, ready to be lit, as well as rainbow-coloured lanterns hanging above them - and at the head of the fountain, a small canopy with its orange curtains tied back by pink and orange bouquets; and a comfy set of armchairs, of which one was hers.

Mara couldn’t help how her eyes immediately swelled with tears. She didn’t have the incentive of ruining her eyeliner or whatever - she was bare-faced, in preparation for the stupid amount of oil and weird creams about to be smeared on her face in the name of beauty (and the amusem*nt of her guests).

“I’m going to miss this.” Mara mumbled, smiling slightly, and more so to herself than her aunt and Danyal’s mother beside her.

“What, the excitement of getting married?” Her aunt asked, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Mara hid her smile as she saw Pixie and Ari share an agitated look.

“No.” She told her aunt coolly. “Being pleasantly surprised.” Because God knew, she’d had enough unpleasant ones lately.

That was the real moment. The proper one. The one where Mara realised just how much she was leaving behind - and, as she stepped towards the bright orange armchair calling her name, Mara really, sincerely hoped that Dany thought Divya Kapoor was worth it.

. . .

By the time the sun was setting, it were as if the rest of Mara’s week had been a bad dream. The lies. The isolation. The loneliness. The helplessness, of knowing so much of it was her fault, simply because of who she was, of how she existed.

The music was obscenely loud and Mara had been impressed to find a stage of sorts had been set up, at the top of the small set of stairs leading down into the garden from the main palace entrance; and it was like a dream, as Mara laughed and cheered and made stupid jokes as her friends and family made her smile.

Even the infamously moody Tara Zafar managed to have fun; and Mara yelled so loudly in approval at her final surprise, of a small performance by Ari, Raj and Pixie in front of everyone, that her throat felt hoarse.

She also waggled her eyebrows in a very obvious way, at how Ari and Raj shared a secret smile after Raj, between both girls and loosely holding their hands, took a bow… And knew there was nothing Ari could do but subtly glower, seeing as they were both in public.

Mara ate too much, too. She didn’t think about how her clothes were white, or how she was probably burning a bit too pink from the heat, or how greasy her hair was probably going to become with everyone wanting to chuck oil into it so it’d be shiny for tomorrow - or even why she was there. She just enjoyed it. The breeze, the lights of the palace glittering up in front of them… The smell of flowers and jasmine candles mixed with samosas and mango yoghurt milkshakes and henna drying on her hands.

All of her cousins danced; some goofily, some theatrically. Even Kabir joined in; he and Ari did a small comedy skit together, where Ari pretended to be their brother and Kabir was a very convincing Samara.

Divya had meant to be doing something, a proper performance from her and TJ’s new movie - but halfway through the night, she saw Raj and TJ talking urgently with each other, where they thought they were out of sight. Even that didn’t bother her. If anything, she was more than happy to cheer her old friend on his own.

Mara loved every moment; but each one was gone too soon, until the sky was dark above them and the doors to the palace’s main hall were open, ready for everyone to move.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Mara glanced up and smiled, as she saw Kabir grinning down at her.

“I am.” She promised - before motioning with her still-wet hands for Kabir to come over. “Help me up. I just want to clear my head for a few minutes before everyone goes for my hair again.”

Kabir cackled to himself, helping Mara to stand by the elbows so as to not smudge her henna.

“You sure you won’t be long?” Kabir asked, beginning to move goofily to the loud, Punjabi party music playing from inside.

Swaying in time with him, making them both grin, Mara nodded. Kabir snorted.

“You look like a puppet.” He muttered, motioning to how Mara had to keep her hands straight, so as to avoid smudging.

Mara raised an eyebrow. “That’s because I am one.” She pointed out dryly - and although it didn’t bother her to say it, not in the slightest, Kabir frowned.

She didn’t understand why. It had just been a joke - a funny one, she’d thought - but just as she opened her mouth to somehow try and take it back, Kabir spoke again.

“Can’t you guys just get married?” Kabir pouted - and Mara felt her chest freeze, her throat closing off before she could breathe. “You know, just - ignore the fact you’d be married to him. We’d hang out all of the time!”

It hit her like a f*cking double decker bus. Literally. Every bone in her body ached and her eyes filled up with too many tears for her to blink away, out of nowhere - because this person, this one person actually wanted her to stay. Wanted to be around her, for everything she already was. This… Boy. When nobody else did.

And it felt so good to just be wanted and cared for for once - but it was such a new feeling, that all of the horrible thoughts and doubts that had been plaguing her, the ones she’d managed to forget, suddenly felt like they were crushing her and Mara felt her knees physically begin to wobble. Because she just wanted to drop to the floor and cry.

One person. One person, of all of the people in her life, of the stupid, long list of contacts in her phone and the people who posted fire emojis under her selfies; out of all of those people, there was one person, one kid, who actually gave a sh*t.

And even that was probably wrong! He was Danyal’s brother. He was probably just being charming and a bit sentimental. But Mara allowed herself to fall for it, because - well, who else did she have to help her kid herself?

Kabir’s face dropped - and quickly became horrified - as he watched Mara wipe away a tear with her forearm.

“I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“You didn’t, you idiot!” Mara admonished, shaking her head - and beaming at him, this little idiot, who was now staring at her as if she’d just landed off’ve a flying saucer. “Listen. Forget your idiot brother - whatever happens, you call me, okay?”

It had meant to come out lighthearted.

It didn’t.

It made Mara smile through the tears, though - to see as Kabir nodded seriously.

“You’re not going to start crying hysterically or anything if I leave you out here, right?” He asked dubiously, making Mara laugh again as she sniffled. “Because I don’t feel so good about leaving you here now-”

“If you don’t live,” Mara said sweetly. “I’m going to tell everyone you made me cry. Leave me in peace.”

Kabir sighed, rolling his eyes - but Mara laughed slightly as he smiled, and nodded once, before heading back inside. A boy. A literal kid understood her sense of humour more than… Anyone in her life currently did.

With a gusty sigh, Mara squatted, until comfortably low enough to drop her butt to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, Mara let the tips of her shoes hover over the water, her chin tucked into her knees and her arms resting out by her sides.

She watched the petals floating in the dim water, nodding her head slightly to the song playing from inside. A duet, a party song and, of course - a love song.

It was an old song, a very old song, and Mara shook her head to herself at the cheesy lyrics - the guy was telling the girl of his affections to stare deeply into his eyes -, but nonetheless, she couldn’t help but sing along as she replied - do something to make me yours.

Mara’s smile faded again as the song continued cheerily, so mismatched to the pensive, troubled expression of her reflection.

She shuddered slightly to herself, though not quite from the cold, as the breeze wafted by.

Kabir had broken the spell. It wasn’t his fault. He’d just been… Being honest. It was not his fault that Mara was such a steaming mess.

Mara blinked slowly. Such a steaming, horrible, messy mess.

The song continued behind her and Mara just… Sat there, smelling the jasmine. She wanted to go back inside, she did. She didn’t want the evening to end.

But whether that was because she was just having fun, or because she just didn’t want to face tomorrow… She didn’t know. And even though she was enjoying the silence, even though it was refreshing to just sit uninterrupted and think without having to fake a million expressions, she didn’t want to think about what she was.

She just felt so… Unsettled! And she didn’t understand. This was what she wanted. And Danyal definitely wanted it - so why was she sitting here, feeling bad? Feeling… Lost? It was the same plan it had always been. Beneficial to them both, so why, why now, was she doubting all of it? Yeah, it seemed more stupid than it had before, but nothing had changed. How could anything have changed…?

Because now, if she was being serious, if she was being honest - and sitting there, amongst the flowers and the trees and the colourful lights, it felt like the perfect place to be - her heart didn’t skip into a million beats whenever Danyal walked into the room. Not ever. Not once.

But she felt… Something.

Mara exhaled slowly, shaking her head - and closing her eyes.

Monte Carlo, when she’d joined the Zafars on their annual trip. It had been perfect timing to introduce her to everyone in a nondescript, but still entirely… There, kind of way. But then there had been some fancy event, a dinner, and at the last minute, Mara and Dany had managed to lose each other before their big entrance.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be a big entrance; but it involved a staircase, a fancy staircase leading to a room full of fancy people, a staircase Mara had felt stupid and self-conscious to be walking down on her own. But she hadn’t seen him anywhere and she couldn’t just… Loiter by herself, so she’d walked down the stupid damned staircase.

It had been horrifying. Like a fairytale gone wrong, because even though she’d looked like a princess - in a flowing, light blue gown that sparkled under the light, with shimmering sleeves that joined between her fingers and thumbs and her hair tied into a neat bun -, she’d felt like she was walking into a horror movie, cluelessly walking towards her slaughter, like all of the girls Mara yelled at whilst watching them.

But she’d had to do it. So Mara had kept her head down, her hand sliding down the bannister - until she’d seen Dany waiting for her at the bottom; and when her hand reached the end of the bannister, it effortlessly slipped into his, outstretched and waiting for her.

She’d felt such a rush of… Warmth. She’d thought it was relief. And he’d looked good, too, so effortlessly dapper - Mara could still remember it, still remembering how the Hell he was pulling it off - jeans, a casual polo shirt, a blazer and a silk scarf hanging loosely from his neck, all in varying shades of grey, no less -, so she’d thought it was smugness, too. At being the one to be standing next to him.

She knew better now.

She’d kept feeling it. When, after losing him in the crowd to other guests, he’d appeared behind her - even though she’d been fine, enjoying herself, actually -, his hand on the small of her back and his shoulder brushing the back of hers as he murmured updates into her ear. How he’d stayed with her for most of the night, his breath hot and minty on the back of her neck, his hand loosely cupping the curve of her waist.

Except - and Mara’s eyes flashed open - she couldn’t trust that feeling. How could she?! She’d been along for so long. She’d been looking for validation for so long - her eyes misted over slightly as she stared grimly at her reflection -, that just… Having someone around, having someone even faking being interested in her for a crowd… And it had felt good. To be touched. Not in a sexual way, to just be touched, and touched gently, like she was soft and gentle, like she could afford to be, like life hadn’t made her the way she was and ruined all of that stuff for her before she’d ever had a chance.

Companionship and trust and gratitude were not feelings Samara could trust. She’d had them all a million times before, with the same few people who kept screwing her over. Christ on a stick, her own mother still didn’t want her! And her father never had! Was she honestly that stupid, that insecure and out of her f*cking mind, that she was going to let that ruin everything? Have her desperately begging for attention from random guys, stupid and annoying guys like Danyal Zafar, entitled guys because her self-esteem was so below sea level?

Mara turned away from her reflection, shaking her head again. No. No, she wasn’t. She had the rest of her life on a platter in front of her, her freedom, and she was sitting her, doubting that? No. No. She still wanted it. No, in fact, now, she needed it. More than ever.

Everything just felt wrong.

“Samara.”

Mara groaned quietly.

“Wonderful.” She muttered to herself, tossing her hair out of her face and squeezing her eyes shut. “Now you’re hearing his f*cking voice everywhere, you lo-”

The words fell apart in her mouth as, opening her eyes again, Mara saw Danyal in the water - and when she whipped around to check she wasn’t losing her mind (but hoping she was), she couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath she took when she realised he was actually standing there.

“What-” Really? Now? Underneath the pretty lights and with the breeze wafting through his fluffy, un-styled hair and with him looking all tense and worried? No. No! She didn’t want to do this now, she didn’t have the energy, or the inclination, to fight him now. As if a giant camera crew were going to hop out of one of the bushes and tell her it was all a big joke, Mara glanced wildly around. “What’re you even doing here, you’re not supposed to be here tonight-”

“Raj helped me sneak in.” Dany said impatiently. “I heard your message.”

Even though Mara knew exactly what he was talking about… She shrugged.

“If you got the message I wanted to be ignored, I don’t understand why we’re talking to each other right now.” Mara said tiredly, unaware that it made sense; she didn’t know Danyal had tried calling her what felt like a million times, how he’d text and messaged too. She just knew of the message he’d sent after seeing the video of her and the girls at the Daybreaker rave. “Everyone is inside, including your parents-”

“I’m so sorry about your father.”

Her words jammed in her throat - but Mara swallowed them back. No. She was fine. She was fine.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Mara shrugged, staring at the reflection of the bottom of her shoes in the water. Not him, standing over her behind her. Not even her own face. No, thank you. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault they’re assholes, but it’s my fault I wasn’t there-”

“No.” Mara said sharply, shaking her head slowly. “No, no, you - don’t do that. You don’t owe me anything. You made it clear we weren’t to speak and I called you and I shouldn’t have-”

“Mara.” Dany sighed helplessly - and, sneaking a peek at his reflection, Mara fought the lump in her throat as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked… Good. Handsome. He wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a velvet, mustard blazer - and even though she couldn’t see his face and his hair was sticking up in several places, she knew he looked good. Surprisingly, mustard suited him. “Please don’t do that-”

His voice. He sounded so… Sincere.

Grow a pair.

“I mean it, Dany.” She told him - and mustering up every ounce of strength she had (which… really wasn’t much at this point), she looked up at him seriously. “I’m not being passive aggressive or anything. You told me we weren’t to talk to each other. You had a point, a valid point-” Mara faltered slightly as Dany shook his head, looking vaguely disgusted - before dropping to the floor, cross-legged, in front of her. Immediately, she began to shrink away. “It’s not your job to look after me. Don’t… Beat yourself up about it, I didn’t need you, I just-”

“Wanted me?” Dany finished, his voice dangerously… No. Mara felt sick. She couldn’t even think it. No.

Hopeful?

It was paranoia. Plain and simple. For a moment, Mara thought he’d meant… Something else, something deeper. That’s why she looked at him with such wide eyes, why she felt like a deer in headlights - but it was that, not the poor choice behind Dany’s words, that made the air between them seem heavier.

Because she saw it. She saw recognition first, then shock, then disbelief, cross over Dany’s face as he realised what she’d thought he was asking - and Mara had to look away, because what she’d just seen had been in one micro-expression, in one twitch of his eyebrow and that…

That wasn’t normal.

It was. But it wasn’t supposed to be. They were meant to know each other well, be able to read each other, but it was too much now. So much so, that Mara was worried it was never going to go away.

Mara held her breath as neither one of them moved. She didn’t mean to. She just… Couldn’t help it.

“Your parents are assholes.” Dany said suddenly - and he sounded angry now, and for some reason, that scared her. He scooted closer and Mara almost flinched away from him as she leant away slightly, feeling her heart beat sickeningly hard inside of her throat. Dany’s eyes searched her face and she felt… Exposed, because he wasn’t just looking at her, and his eyes weren’t just angry, they were more and she didn’t want to know why. “You deserve better.”

“I-” Mara tried to joke, to say she thought so too, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, because Dany’s jaw was clenching as if he were… Emotional and maybe she was just overthinking things? Right? Maybe she was just being a total… Moron, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Samara, I-”

“Don’t, Danyal, please don’t, I can’t.” She blurted - before gasping sharply, as she realised what she’d just done.

Dany’s eyes widened slightly - and now they both knew, they knew that she’d just broken their vow of silence and she’d just acknowledged that he’d been about to.

Mara didn’t know how long they stared at each other like that for. She didn’t want to. It couldn’t get any worse.

… And then it did, because understanding flashed through Dany’s eyes and he carried on talking.

“It’s not your fault.” He said, like he’d read her mind, and Mara wanted to roll her eyes because, holy sh*t, whatever conversation with herself she’d been trying to ease herself into, Dany was now forcing her into a whole damn… Bog of it. “Samara,” Mara squeezed her eyes shut and moved her face in the other direction, at how Dany grabbed her forearm. “It isn’t your fault that they’re the most useless-”

“No, it’s not their fault they made me me, it’s mine!” She burst - and it was all tumbling out now, and there were tears in her eyes and holy f*cking sh*t, this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. “I am not enough for them, there is something wrong with me-”

“That’s not true-”

“Maybe, but Dany, that’s how it feels.” Her eyes welled again - and Dany could only watch helplessly as tears began to fall down her face. Her voice had cracked on that last word and somehow, as stupid as it was, that suddenly felt like the dumbest thing in the world. But that was what she was crying about. At least, she was telling herself that. She wasn’t wasting more tears on… Anyone, ever again. And unfortunately, every person in the world had the capability to try and force it out of her.

Frustrated with herself, Mara brushed her tears away. God, could she be any more ridiculous?

“What can I do?” Dany demanded. For some reason it made Mara laugh - though just the once. “Samara-”

“Honestly?” She interrupted - and Dany nodded. Mara shook her head again, trying to convince herself not to say it. “I could use a hug right now.”

For a minute, she actually thought he wouldn’t do it - but then the next thing she knew, he’d moved, and before she’d even turned around to see what he was doing properly, she felt Dany lifting her arms gently out of the way… And his back was pressed against hers.

Just like that, she was warm. Just like that, without giving it another thought, Mara was sighing in relief and leaning back against his chest, letting his arms wrap around her waist and hold her pressed tightly against him, her arms, still damp from the henna, resting over his jeans.

“People change.” Dany told her - and Mara closed her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder, enjoying the smell of the jasmine and the water and his aftershave all mixed into one. “Your parents-”

“That… Woman has always had a plan to keep me out of sight, out of mind.” Mara muttered, shaking her head. She looked out to the water.

Dany’s arms held her closer.

“Plans change.” He murmured - and although a statement, it came out like a silent question.

She wanted to look behind her. She knew his face was just over her shoulder, and she wanted to see him, to prove to herself later that she hadn’t imagined the hidden meaning.

But she didn’t.

“Not all of them.” Mara said quietly… Before sighing and staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to see what they looked like, like this. “Thank you, though, if I don’t get to-” Mara let out a gusty breath. If I don’t get to say it tomorrow. “I mean, you know, for-”

Words. Words, use your words!

“For?” She hated it. How calm he sounded. How collected.

It was even more annoying when it felt like he’d be able to feel her heart beating against his chest.

Mara pressed her lips together. She - if words weren’t coming out, if her mind was blank, then it was a good thing. Sometimes words were just more trouble.

… In Mara’s silence, Dany understood.

“It’s not you.” He told her. Mara fought back a fresh wave of tears - but, in a weird way, his words helped, too. She felt… Stronger for it. “It’s not… You’re not… Not wanted.”

So much stronger.

Taking a deep breath, Mara leant her head back on his shoulder - and held her breath as tightly as she could, when she saw Dany up close.

The stubble growing on his jaw. The snugness of his teeth - crooked, but in a cute way, in a young sort of way, and his gorgeous brown eyes and his long eyelashes and his mouth, parting slightly, and those eyes were on her lips too and…

Mara moved forwards.

Away from him.

She let out her breath - before balancing herself, somehow without her arms, so that she was squatting in her loose-fitting white tunic and matching trousers again. She pivoted slightly, facing him.

She looked at that stupid face.

“Bye, Dany.” She said - and it sounded wrong, for her voice to no longer be hushed. It sounded loud - and just like that, she was back in the real world. The loud music continued to play in the background, she could hear everyone laughing and singing and the wind whistling through the flowers.

Before she could stop herself, Mara leant forwards - and kissed him on the forehead.

She didn’t check his expression. She didn’t look back. She kept walking.

You’re not not wanted.

She repeated those words in her head with each step. And it… Made it easier, actually. To keep walking. To push down the sad stuff and remember that the whole evening was acting like some sort of goodbye.

She didn’t see how Dany opened and closed his mouth, how he looked for words to say in a moment that was gone. To ask why he couldn’t say what it felt like they’d already said.

That he was in love with her. That he’d known it the moment he’d heard her message, heard the pain in her voice and wanted nothing more than to be with her. That he’d known when he’d moved, he’d been moving, to kiss her just now because he couldn’t stop himself anymore, because even though they’d kissed before, he wanted this time to be different.

But he knew why he couldn’t. He knew who was the reason he couldn’t.

Watching as Mara went inside without another glance, her arms out in front of her like some sort of offering, Dany felt his mind whirl at a million miles per minute.

… But that had just happened. Right? That had been a clue, they hadn’t said it, but by not saying it, didn’t that mean -?

Dany slowly climbed to his feet, frowning at the floor.

Didn’t that mean she felt it too?

Is It Killing You?: A Dara Drabble

The second instalment of the Dara wedding drabbles! Sorry it took so long, but the next one will be out veeeerryyy soon :) enjoy! And please let me know what you think!

*

Centurion MallIslamabad, Pakistan204111 Days to Go

“So you just… Missed your final fitting last night?” Pixie asked, narrowing her eyes. Samara nodded, continuing to stare up at the Cinnabon menu in front of her. “For no reason? Even though it was booked and going to be all private, like you like, and you flew down for it specifically? You just... Decided not to turn up?”

“Yep.” Samara sighed, sounding bored. “… Pretty much.”

“And you made this completely sensible decision after you and my idiot cousin decided that not speaking between now and the wedding was a good idea? And it’s apparently totally unrelated to an argument you said you both had over Divya Kapoor?”

“That’s what I told you.” Mara muttered, hiding her sigh. “Does Ari want anything from here? Is she already at the shop?”

“Samara.” Mara suppressed her irritation as Pixie forced her to face her, the guy at the register being completely ignored. “What happened? Did you tell him how you feel? Because if he’s ignoring it, well, let me tell you-”

But by then, Mara had already begun to roll her eyes.

“You don’t need to tell me anything!” She groaned, rolling her eyes. God. Talk about obsessed. “Dany and I fought, like we always do, no big deal, there were no feelings to tell him about and I decided to spend my night drinking shakes and watching documentaries on white collar criminals instead of turning up to an empty, scary shopping mall after hours for a tailoring appointment!”

… And whilst none of that was a lie, it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either. Not that Mara even knew what the full truth was so, really, it was inconsequential.

Samara almost regretted telling Pixie that she’d join her and Ari for their final fittings that morning. But it needed to be done, and Pixie had arranged for them to all meet for lunch at the exclusive Islamabad Club - of which, of course the Zafars and Awans were members -, after which, Mara knew, they’d spend the day together. Samara had figured it would be… Nice to have company at the fitting. And the outfit needed to be ready for tomorrow, and Pixie and Ari were leaving for London to prepare her bridal shower that afternoon and -

She just wanted to order her breakfast Cinnabon.

“Everyone will be staring. Wondering why we’ve got a security guard stopping people from entering the couture section with the named designer acting as our tailor, people will be, as you put it, gawping, but you put that aside to watch some lame documentary and bloat before your fitting?” Pixie huffed, her voice dangerously soft. Mara’s facade cracked slightly. Well, of course it sounded bad when Pixie put it like that. Pixie could be talking about the births of unicorns and she could make it sound like the news alert for a military blast. “Have your lost your mind?”

Mara tried to blink away her guilt.

She didn’t even know why she was feeling guilty! She was fine. She’d just… Fancied lying face-down on the sofa last night, yelling stupid comments at the screen as the criminals on it made it too damn easy for them to get caught.

And honestly, for the record, not talking to Danyal for the next week and a half or whatever was a blessing. He was irritating. Sometimes, it felt like she was more his parole officer than his fake fiancee. She hadn’t had any messages to say he’d landed in Mumbai safely, nothing alerting her to the fact he and Raj were on their seventeen hour flight to Las Vegas. No irritating, reassuring messages that, despite Dany’s guilt at the secret bride waiting for him on the other side of the stag Raj had so generously curated for him, Dany was not going to blurt out the secret of Divya being the preferred bride and consequently ruin their entire plan and, oh, possibly have Raj throw him out of a plane.

It was great. Mara hadn’t heard from him since his sh*tty, silent, rude as f*ck exit this morning. Woohoo.

“I…” Mara struggled to find words. Good words, anyway. “Am waiting to be served.” She finished lamely, motioning to the slightly terrified Cinnabon employee, watching them with wide eyes from behind the register.

“And bloat more? Are you kidding?” Pixie hissed, tossing back her perfect black hair.

“No, and neither is he about marrying that asshole, so I can bloat as much as I want - but thank you for caring about the aesthetic.” Mara told Pixie calmly - before turning to the register. “Can I get a normal Cinnabon for now, and have one pecan and two chocolate on standby for our driver to bring it upstairs in a little while?” Before the guy could respond, Mara turned to Pixie - whose mouth was open in outrage. “Am I getting anything for you and Zarina or not?”

Pixie narrowed her eyes.

“Right.” She said sarcastically. “You and Dany definitely didn’t fight. You’re not missing him at all.”

Mara pretended she hadn’t heard, and turned back to the register.

“And give me a couple of tubs of extra frosting, too.” She muttered quietly, chewing on her lip as she took out her wallet.

. . .

Pixie had been right. She had been right. Having so many of the other shoppers gawping at her was… Suffocating.

She hated it. The way people watched and whispered and smiled. There was nothing to smile about. She’d stared at her reflection, that stupid reflection surrounding her on all sides while she stood on that ridiculous little podium, of her hair being a mess and bags under her eyes and a lot of bloating… Looking like a mess. Eating her Cinnabon, with frosting on the corners of her mouth.

Mara had almost thrown up, it was so suffocating. She’d claimed she needed a second and then thrown herself into the very last couture lounge, away from everyone’s prying eyes, while Pixie had sampled tiaras out of boredom and Ari’s sleeves had been getting fixed.

And she’d had to force herself to breathe. And calm the Hell down, because she was panicking over nothing.

It was fine. It was all just great. After the wedding, she’d be free of Dany’s stupid, ridiculous, assholish ways and she wouldn't have to listen to Pixie, or Ari, for that matter. It’d all be over.

As Mara had slid against the wall and to the floor, wearing a baggy T-shirt and her heavily decorated skirt, somehow… She hadn’t felt better.

"Five minutes.” She’d whispered to herself, fighting to keep the water in her eyes from spilling and staring up at the intricately carved wooden ceiling. “You get five minutes to do your drama.”

And five minutes later, Mara was back on the stupid podium surrounded by mirrors, smiling politely at the tailors and thanking her on-looking fans with appropriately self-deprecating laughter. She arranged her face into whatever it needed to be, grinning and bearing it all.

Only those who knew her - really knew her - would ever have been able to tell that she’d cried.

*

Bellagio Las VegasLas Vegas, Nevada

“Have you told the Mrs that you’ve arrived safely?” Raj sighed, slinging an arm over Dany’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Dany lied, avoiding eye contact. They were leaning against the wall of the lift, exhausted - Dany perhaps more so than Raj. After all, Dany had been the one struggling to keep in his secret for the past seventeen hours. He’d almost kissed the tarmac when they’d landed. “

“Good.” Raj said happily, squeezing Dany’s shoulders. “Now, you’re all mine.”

At that, Dany gave him a funny look - but then the elevator doors opened and Dany grinned, as, in the sprawling penthouse that laid out Vegas beneath them, he saw some of his closest friends - including Ed Styles, Hughie Horan, the Princes Stefan and Gustav of Monaco and…

Dany’s smile faded slightly as he spotted TJ - Divya’s supposed boyfriend, and somehow one of Mara’s old friends - and Rafi, Mara’s cousin, amongst the others.

It barely lasted a second, Dany meeting their eyes - but then he was engulfed in the crowd, laughing as he was put on the shoulders of his friends.

“Ladies, gentleman, philanderers, assholes and whor*s!” Raj shouted loudly, jumping onto the table. A waitress in a scanty maid’s outfit supplied Raj with a drink. “Now, as we know, our whipped boy over here has requested this be a dry stag-”

“You’re all raging alcoholics.” Dany snorted good-naturedly over the booing crowd.

“- but I solemnly swear that, in the name of this stag party…” Raj paused dramatically, as the rest of them quietened. “We will act drunk, we will look drunk, and, for all intents and purposes, over the course of these next few days, we will be drunk for the greatest stag party the world has ever seen - because, as of a few moments ago, the text has been sent, the Mrs knows he has arrived safely and he is all ours!”

Dany pretended to bow as the group cheered.

It helped him to hide his expression of guilt.

Dany could feel TJ’s eyes more than Rafi’s, boring into the back of his head. But it wasn’t because of Divya that Dany felt… Uncomfortable.

You could just text her when you get a m-

No, you can’t.

Dany didn’t look in TJ’s direction again.

. . .

Merkenwell & Kay LLPBank, London9 Days to Go

She’d decided during her… Drama queen moment (one which she did not begrudge herself, because letting out feelings was a positive, healthy thing to do), at the fitting yesterday. The idea had struck her like lightning and without Danyal to talk her out of it, and with nobody else knowing the truth…

So she’d seen Ari and Pixie off at the airport that evening, knowing they’d be in London by the morning. And by the time they’d landed… Samara was already packed, waiting for the Zafar jet to return.

She wasn’t meant to be here! Not in London, not in Fleet Street. Not outside of this office. Her bridal shower was due to start on Saturday - two whole days away, and the jet wasn’t meant to be flying until Friday because of it. What if they found out she was here? How was she going to explain herself?

Normally, Mara would’ve asked Danyal for help. But seeing as the most Mara had heard from him since his leaving were SnapChat stories on his friends’ feeds… She wasn’t counting on it.

“What are you doing?” Samara whispered to herself - and her face began to crumple as she stared up at the towering glass building in front of her, innocuous and unmarked. Exhaling slowly, Mara began to pace, blinking away the blur in her vision. “What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?”

She was going to be sick. That was what she was doing. Preparing herself to projectile vomit all over the pavement. It would be gross and disgusting and it’d make tears stream down her face, she’d be throwing up so badly, and because she’d be crouching over it’d come out of her nose, too, it’d be disgusting -

Samara forced herself to stop outside of the entrance.

“Stop being a puss*.” She told herself - before taking a deep breath and storming inside.

. . .

“I’m here to see Madeleine Kay.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t need one. I’m her d-” Samara stopped herself. For a moment, she couldn’t speak - her heart was hammering in her throat and she felt dizzy, and sick, and she wanted to cry. But the neatly polished receptionist before her saw none of that - she saw a well-groomed and stylish young, dressed impeccably in cigarette pants and high heels. “Just tell her it’s Samara. She’ll want to see me.”

. . .

She’d found out when she was sixteen.

By eleven, Samara already knew she was adopted. It was almost a relief. It didn’t even bother her that, seemingly overnight, her adoptive mother - Madeeha Kayani, her ‘uncle’s’ sister - changed overnight. If anything, it made sense to the precocious young girl. Mara wasn’t hers. It explained the sudden swings between a… Calculated coolness, and random bursts of affection. It made her feel happy, smug even, at not being crazy for seeing them.

So the problem wasn’t that Samara was adopted. The problem was that nobody was willing to help her find her adoptive parents.

Mara could barely remember all of it. It had happened… So quickly. One day, everything had been fine, and the next, Mara was a rebellious child, lashing out at her fancy school and throwing tantrums. It didn’t help that she could read moods - and more often than not, Madeeha seemed disinterested in Samara’s need to find where she’d come from. Not hurt, not scared of losing her. Just increasingly bored of Mara’s interest and, as time wore on, bored of Samara herself.

Samara had been relieved when she’d been sent to a top girls’ boarding school in Kent. Things had only gotten worse and, with the promise of rough terrain in the form of her teenage years on the horizon… Mara wanted to be far away.

And then, during her first year at Benenden - her secondary school, the boarding one - she’d been hit by a cyclist on campus.

It had been… Not great. A broken wrist, bruised ribs - and worst of all, she’d needed pins placed in her hip while it healed. Nobody had been able to contact Madeeha. The hospital and the school had ended up doing most of the heavy lifting, while she was hospitalised. And they’d been great, they really had. Mara still kept in contact with the school - her old teachers, the nurses who had looked after her in the infirmary -… But they hadn’t been family.

She’d gotten the idea when she’d had her blood transfusion, before the surgery. Before then, she’d toyed with being a vet - but by the time the surgery rolled around, in just a few, short days, Mara had felt enough like a piece of meat on the table that the thought made her want to hit something. She didn’t want to look after people. The only person she ever wanted to be able to look after, was herself.

It had taken three weeks of waiting patiently in that infirmary and one incredibly awkward, painful struggle to reach the cabinet and steal her medical file. So what if Madeeha couldn’t be found? Who cared if she hadn’t come down to see Samara, since she’d arrived back in London? After all, she wasn’t real family. And they’d argued before Samara had left for boarding school, and hadn’t communicated since. They didn’t owe each other anything.

Samara always smirked wryly when she thought back to what she’d found in that stupid file. The kind of plot twist that not even Samara, with her love of fiction and desperate hope that one day she’d be worthy of affection, could have imagined.

Surprise! She wasn’t adopted. Samara was a very specific, rare blood type… That she’d inherited from Madeeha Kayani. Her father’s name hadn’t been listed.

When confronted, Madeeha didn’t have anything to say - not anything that made sense, at least. It had taken her such a long time to confront her adoptive and biological mother - and boy, was that f*cked up to think -, that Samara’d had the time to do her own digging. She’d become obsessed. Madeeha had known about her accident, but she just hadn’t cared. Everything else Samara found out after that, was… Nothing.

It had all been bullsh*t. Such utter, complete f*cking bullsh*t. Madeeha had gotten pregnant. She hadn’t wanted a baby. Her brother had found out and convinced her she could keep it, that they could hide it somehow. Adoption had somehow seemed like a smart idea.

And as soon as Samara knew the truth, well, Madeeha didn’t have to pretend to care anymore.

Before Samara had even turned seventeen, she’d decided to move away. To her uncle. He’d lied, too, but at least he’d kept her around - and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She’d moved to attend NYU, after a blistering argument with Madeeha - now going by Madeleine - or Maddie to her friends - Kay, completely shedding herself of Samara’s existence at her fancy new law firm - when she was seventeen. She’d celebrated her birthday on a sunny morning in Central Park, eating ice cream and wondering whether she’d ever truly be loved. Her aunt had made it clear upon arrival that she wasn’t wanted… But it paid to be friends with Maddie, the fancy, impressive lawyer in London. So Samara had been allowed to stay.

Not that it had been all bad. Her cousins had become her sisters and her uncle… Cared. More than Maddie did. In fact, upon reaching New York, Samara began to tell anyone who asked that her adoptive mother was dead.

It wasn’t a lie. The mother Samara had thought she’d had as a child had stopped being present when she was eleven, and the mother she had by birthright had ceased to exist the moment her… Human incubator had decided to make Samara’s entire life a lie.

That had been almost three years ago. She and Madeleine Kay hadn’t spoken since.

Nobody knew. Mara’s uncle didn’t even know she knew the truth. She’d thought about telling him, a few times, but… What good would it do? So the secret stayed hidden.

… Until Samara had met Danyal Zafar.

They’d been memorising each other’s life histories one night, holed up in a hipster coffee place in Brooklyn. Mara had corrected something he’d said - something stupid, she couldn’t even remember what now - and Danyal had… Known she was lying. Apparently, in all of his memorising, Danyal had been able to tell that the fake tell Mara had made for herself was actually the real one.

So she’d told him.

It had surprised her, how much it had… Hurt, to say out loud. But somehow, it had made New York feel like… Home. To admit it.

Mara had confessed, over her coconut latte served in a goblet made out of wafers, that her experiences with Madeleine Kay was why she was so obsessed with Sophia Zafar.

Soph Zafar had gone through hardship, but she’d stayed true to who she was. She hadn’t blamed her culture, or her religion, or her family, for her mistakes - for her marriage to Zayn Malik. She owned that sh*t. And despite it, despite however difficult or f*cked up her life had gotten, she’d kept moving. She’d made a new life for herself, away from the Malik brand. She’d become a ridiculously successful editor, and businesswoman, as well as a fashion industry legend. She’d married someone who adored her and had lived her happily ever after, was a great mother - and Samara knew that was true more than ever, after seeing the way Dany was with his mum - and had just… Done better. Been better than what she’d started off with. And then she’d fought off cancer!

She wasn’t just her career idol, Samara had explained. She was the super-Mum Mara wished she’d had. And although lying to Super-Mum sucked, knowing she was exactly what Samara had imagined, even if Mara would only ever be this close for a short while… It made Mara feel a little bit better about the rest of the world.

Mara smiled whenever she remembered what had happened next. She’d looked away from her coffee, up at Danyal - and found him watching her, eyebrows raised, and clearly overwhelmed by all she’d told him. They hadn’t exactly been friends at that point.

But then he’d sighed, and leant back in his chair and said, super sarcastically -

“Your Mum sounds awesome.”

Mara had blinked. And then she’d thought Dany was emotionless. And then she’d laughed, struck by how much… Lighter she felt, having said it all out loud - and having someone acknowledge it, even if it had been with one sentence and a vaguely hidden grimace of disgust - … And then she’d smiled to herself, as Dany told her he was going to buy her a cookie.

. . .

Samara felt oddly… Calm, as she waited.

Maybe calm was the wrong word. Agitated. Offended. Anxious. But it wasn't the same stomach churning fear as before, and for that, she was grateful. She supposed that once you were in the belly of the beast, it was a little bit too late to be scared of the beast as a whole.

After the receptionist - the law offices of Merkenwell & Kay were too fancy for name badges, apparently - had managed a clipped phone call, Mara had been instructed to go up to the reception on the thirty-first floor. So far, she'd been waiting for twenty nine minutes.

Surprisingly, it wasn't bothering her as much as it could have. She didn't have anywhere better to be. Jesus, after next week… She wouldn't have anywhere to be, full stop.

Feeling a flutter in her stomach as she a woman walking past her, much further down the corridor, Samara twisted the engagement ring on her finger.

“Can I help you with something?”

Mara glanced up, surprised to find a middle-aged businessman in a smart suit smiling down at her.

She blinked. In twenty eight of the twenty nine minutes she'd been on the thirty-first floor… She'd been ignored by even the guy who sold sandwiches from a noisy IKEA cart.

“I’m here to see Ms Kay.” Samara said, pairing it with a polite smile - one of her more charming ones. The way this guy was looking at her was… Odd. He had a kind face, and grey streaks in the sides of his hair. Samara’s stomach squirmed. “I was told to wait here, she's meant to be in a meeting…”

“We just finished.” This man was easily closer to Dany’s dad’s age than Samara’s - and although he didn't have the immediately calming, if not slightly imposing, demeanour of Samara’s almost-father-in-law… He didn't seem creepy. “I can walk you over?” He offered.

Samara hesitated, glancing at the thin leather watch on her wrist. Thirty two minutes.

“Um…” She looked back at reception. There were three receptionists and each one of them was still pretending like she didn’t exist. “…Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble.”

“It's not.” The man said happily, motioning for her to follow him. Mara quickly rose to her feet. “It's nice to see Maddie have visitors, she never usually has-”

Mara nodded, barely listening - though she had noticed one thing. Maddie.

They were walking through a corridor now, filled with offices with large, glass panelling instead of doors. Clearly, this was a senior floor - so why the lack of privacy? Did they feel the need to show how hard they were working, so justify being part of some kind of tax evasion club? Was it a size thing? It seemed like a size thing…

They stopped abruptly, so abruptly that Mara almost ran into her guide’s back. Realising he was staring at her as if expecting to speak, Samara somehow managed to scramble the words to thank him… Whilst struggling to not look through the glass.

She didn’t want to ugly-puke on this guy’s shoes. They were brogues, and Mara wasn’t sure whether or not the decorative holes were permeable.

“Want me to see you in?” He offered pleasantly. Mara shook her head.

Before she knocked on the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection - a tall, thin young girl, in chic black trousers, black heels, a grey cable-knit jumper and a long black waistcoat, her hair tied into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She almost didn't recognise herself, she looked so slick.

And then, past her reflection… A tall, thin woman, in a smart white dress, tapping away at her desk.

Unfortunately, she recognised her.

She knocked before she had the time to reconsider - and walked in, without invitation.

When the woman at the desk looked up, Mara slowed, letting her hand fall gently from the door’s handle.

Samara wasn't sure how long they stared at each other for. How, all of a sudden, she felt sick again. What was she doing here? What did she want, what did she expect? There'd been a reason that Samara had never taken the thought of doing this seriously before. So why now? Why was she doing this?!

“I'm sure you have better things to do the week before your wedding, than turn up at my office uninvited.” Madeleine - no, screw that, Madeeha - sighed, after what felt like an eternity.

Just like that, Samara wasn't scared anymore. She was just angry.

“So you did get the invitation.” She murmured, raising her eyebrows - and, sitting opposite Madeeha, smiled falsely at Madeeha’s raised eyebrows as she did. “And there I was, assuming your Internet was down. Or your electricity. Or you'd suddenly lost the ability to use your thumbs…”

“I didn't think it was necessary to respond.” Maddie said coolly. She folded her hands elegantly in front of her on the desk - and Samara rest her chin in her hand and tried her hardest to look attentive.

“That’s weird, because I’m sure there was an RSVP on the bottom of the invitation.” Samara tutted.

“A waste of ink.”

Samara exhaled slowly, as they watched each other.

“Why are you here?” Maddie finally asked, rubbing her temples. Mara straightened in her chair, feeling… Stupid. She wished she knew. “You have everything you could want in New York, I’ve made sure of that-”

“It’s weird, because it’s like you think you’ve spent enough time with me to know what I want-”

“Don’t be juvenile, Samara.” Madeeha snapped. Mara raised her eyebrows. The Ice Bitch was getting sarky! A human really did exist in there! What next? Acknowledgement of human feelings? Or, the unthinkable - a pulse? “You chose to leave London-”

“I chose myself.” Samara corrected softly. This had been a stupid, stupid, stupid idea… And yet, her feet were refusing to carry her out of there. Instead, she actually leant forward. What did she have, a death wish? “And I did that, because even as a stupid little kid, I knew that you never would.”

Madeeha’s eyes narrowed for a second - and stupidly, Samara actually felt a spring of hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what it would take for her to burst, for them to just… Be honest -

“Well, clearly my parenting, whether you agree with it or not, did you well.” Madeeha smirked, tossing back her hair. It was short now, in a choppy bob cut. It suited her. Samara hated it. “I mean, your pathological need for attention managed to help you trap one of the richest heirs on Forbes.”

Underneath the table, out of Madeeha’s line of sight, Mara dug her nails into the flesh of her hand.

“Did all of your years in inheritance law give you that little nugget, or a petty Google search?” Mara asked, struggling to hide her gritted teeth. God, she was an idiot. She was an idiot, to want to be in the same room as this horrible woman, to acknowledge that this was the witch with which she shared significant DNA. “And anyway, he’s more than just a faceless heir on a list.”

“You’d be sensible to sign a pre-nup. For his sake, of course.” Madeeha continued coolly. Samara's face hardened - though if it did any more, her face would turn into marble. “As you know, it’s not my area of expertise, but I could refer you-”

“I want to know who my dad is.”

Whoa. Mara hadn’t seen that coming. That was almost as much of a shock as the whole mother thing.

… But it was better than actually being there solely for approval.

It also gave Samara a pleasant little kick of joy, at seeing Madeeha’s expression actually flash human for a second. Just a second, of course - anything longer and time itself may have split in half and cause a black hole or something -, but it was still than Mara had ever managed before.

“That’s none of your business.” Madeeha said tightly. Samara let out one, disbelieving laugh before she could stop herself. “What do you want from him that you don’t already have? Money? A roof over your head-”

“Try genuine parental affection, a lack of self-loathing from sharing a significant amount of DNA with someone who seems to have the symptoms of a sociopath-”

“Maybe if you’d actually gone to medical school, I would pay attention to your opinion-”

“He’s my father. Whoever he is. And I’m getting married, and I’m guessing he’d like to know.” Samara said seriously, not quite knowing… Where her sudden maturity was coming from, but deciding to run with it. Just to stand by her convictions, if nothing else. Maybe this is what people meant when they said she was stubborn. “Also, it kind of is my business.” Mara tilted her head slightly. “Kinda became my business when you dropped your panties and fall pregnant, ruining both of our lives.”

The small, fake smile that Samara sent Madeeha’s way made Madeeha’s lips purse in fury; and consequently caused that fake smile to quickly become genuine, at scoring another hit.

There were a few, tense seconds of silence. Mara relished in them.

“You didn't come all of this way to embarrass yourself.” Madeeha finally said. Mara frowned, pretending to think about it. “And we are carrying on as we’ve always been - we're not discussing your father.”

It wasn't what she said - it was the way she said it.

Of course her witch of an incubator wasn't going to readily admit who Samara’s father was. Mara knew Madeeha was proud, and the guy who had been smart enough to run in the opposite direction at creating offspring with possibly the Devil incarnate? Understandable, even if it not… Jealousy-inducing. If Mara had been able to escape from the womb… She would have.

Before Mara had even seen said it, she'd known it couldn't happen. It wasn't going to be something that a couple of quick snipes was going to achieve. Then again, Mara hadn't exactly determined a goal for her visit beyond not being sick out of her nose, so… Maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

One thing Samara definitely hadn't expected, though? Was the look of fear on Madeeha’s face as she'd spoken.

It was well-hidden. In fact, if Mara hadn't been attending AP Deduction with Danyal Zafar (Case Study Divvy Kapoor), maybe she would have hesitated. After all, it wasn't like she knew the psycho-bitch from across the table well enough to be sure - and that applied to all of her personalities. Madeeha Kayani, Madeleine Kay…

But she saw it. The subtle gulp, the tension in her fingers - and the way her eyes had darted away from Samara’s and behind the -

Maddie.

It hit Samara like she'd just been back-handed into a goddamn wall. Just like that. Out of nowhere. Like she'd been sitting there, in movie freeze-frame, and all of a sudden - boom! Music, lights, camera, action!

“… No.” Mara muttered, following Madeeha’s gaze… To the man in the business suit, Samara’s guide, hovering on the other side of the glass door.

And just in case Samara was unsure? Just in case that little part of her that wanted to be proven wrong, t have a proper mother, was clouding her judgement? Samara looked back to Madeeha.

And Maddie, as that… Stranger, that random stranger Samara had just met, by chance, by accident, had called her - her eyes widened, as she realised Samara had followed her unconscious, guilty as f*ck gaze.

“You're messing, right?” Samara breathed, staring at Madeeha… Incredulously. No. No. This was not - this was not how this was happening. No! How was it that this… Nightmare of a planet was consistently ruining every important benchmark she was meant to have? How?

Okay… Maybe not every benchmark (Samara figured she had the whole marriage thing covered), but seriously? This was it? She was actually going to find out who her father was, after actually asking… Like this? By recognising a look? This was her big moment, this?!

And, also, just, by the way - what kind of self-respecting lawyer, with their name on the firm they worked for’s fancy paper, had such a bad poker face? How was that even possible? Or did Madeleine Kay not work for her money, just sit around and deliver pneumonia in the form of ice glares whenever someone dared to oppose her? How the f*ck did that work?

She shouldn’t have come. She should not have come.

As Samara looked up at the… Vile woman in front of her, she almost flinched. She could see it, she could feel it - all of Madeeha’s superiority, her arrogance, her power, draining from her in front of Samara’s very eyes… And being pulled to her, like some kind of magnetic force. For the first time ever, it was Madeeha who looked wary and scared and uncertain.

… And maybe if Samara had been a better person, maybe if she’d been taught compassion and a little bit of empathy, the pity she felt for Madeeha would have been enough for her to let it go. To just… Silently, humbly accept Madeeha’s first defeat and let it be. She could have been the better person.

But her mother had taught her better than that. Or, well, you know, worse.

You didn’t help someone up when they fell. You kicked them while they were down, just to prove you were a stone-cold bitch.

And Madeeha, knowing the hard expression that suddenly graced Samara’s otherwise soft, open one, could only watch on in panic.

“Samara, don’t you dare-” Madeeha tried to warn - but it was too late. She wasn’t in control anymore.

With a cool, calm twist of her head, Mara turned to face the… Dude standing outside of the door - and, upon making eye contact, motioned with two fingers for him to step inside. Happily, he did.

“Yes, ladies?”

As soon as he spoke, the glass door shutting softly behind him, Samara’s heart suddenly began to stutter, loudly and obnoxiously inside of her throat. Was this it? Was this honestly it? She thought she would have… Known. That’s what she’d always imagined. That finally, after meeting the father that Madeeha had always tried to keep secret from her, when Samara finally saw him… She’d know.

Could it be him? What if she was wrong? Could she afford to be? Could she afford to not trust herself now?

Although Madeeha opened her mouth to speak, no words came out - instead, it was Samara’s cool, pleasant voice that filled the room. It was only Madeeha who knew it was dripping with malice.

“So, how long have you and my mother been working together?”

Stunned silence.

At first, in that initial split second after having spoken, Samara felt an almost overwhelming sense of satisfaction. It felt warm and smug and triumphant. Madeeha, Madeleine, whatever, wanted to keep secrets? Well, f*ck that, thank you very much. Samara was here to blow them the f*ck up.

But that split second passed and, torn in a whirlwind of emotion, Samara suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed - a feeling that intensified as she saw… Dude’s expression, stunned and wide-eyed.

Why she felt embarrassed and ashamed was the dumbest part. Why was she berating herself for not being the better person? She was sick of it. Sick of going quiet, sick of hiding, sick of pretending it was all of her choice when it wasn’t, when she’d never agreed to being Madeeha’s dirty little secret. It wasn’t her own fault that she existed. It was Madeeha’s, and possibly this man’s -

Oh no. Was this it? The first thing she’d ever say, ever do, in front of her father?

… Be a total asshole, just like her mother?

Great. Awesome. Another reason for Samara to feel completely sh*tty.

It was Dude who broke the silence.

“… Mother?” He repeated faintly… Before looking to Madeeha, with wide eyes.

It was like Samara had been slapped. Because the way he’d spoken… She didn’t need to doubt her suspicions anymore.

For the first time in her life, she was standing in a room with both of her parents.

… This has been a mistake. Oh, Jesus, this had been such a huge, mind-altering, apocalyptic, colossal mistake.

This was real. This was… Happening, this was real, and this was not the perfect, cinematic picture Samara had imagined in her head as a kid. This was messy and brutal and f*cking random and… And this man, this stranger’s face, was stunned and horrified and bewildered in comparison to the expression of guilt and fury on Madeeha’s.

She shouldn't have come. Whatever she thought she'd been trying to do, whatever demons she thought she'd been chasing down… Samara had been more than wrong, she had been downright stupid.

In a way, Mara almost blamed herself for the origami-level bullsh*t unfolding before her. What had she come for? Not to really find out who her father was, she hadn't prepared herself for that. She'd said it almost… Tongue in cheek, to get under Madeeha’s skin, to remind herself of why she couldn't expect anything from Madeeha in the first place.

What had she been thinking, to just… Turn up? What was she trying to prove? Trying to say? Goodbye, before her plan with Danyal meant she silently disappeared into a future of her own making, off’ve everybody's radar? Well, in that case, Samara had really f*cked herself over. All she'd done was tie herself to Madeeha more, rely on Madeeha more… Make any relationship Samara decided to have - if, if she wanted to have one - with this stranger, entirely dependent on the Satanic offering that was Madeleine Kay.

Samara had thought about this moment so many times. Imagined it, because, deep down, she’d never really expected to find out. Life didn’t work that way. People didn’t always find answers. People did live their lives alone, no matter how much they hoped for otherwise. She wasn’t exempt from that just because she wanted to be.

But the moment was here. And it was sudden and random and - and that was all Samara could think about, how random it all was. Unexpected. How many times had she considered coming to see Madeeha’s new offices? Heard her talk about work, even before leaving for New York - or rather, being run out of London?

What if Madeeha was right? What if this guy didn’t have any interest in Samara? What, he’d been working with Madeeha for all of these years, knew her well enough to call her Maddie (then again… If he was her father, Mara supposed he knew Madeeha very well. Biblically well)… And not once had he worked out that she had a child?

Either Madeeha really hated her that much, or this guy was wilfully naive.

She just felt… Numb. Empty. Unaffected, which was… Pretty insane, given what was happening.

The only comprehensible thought in Samara’s mind, however, only made it worse - because she hadn't expected this. Mara had not expected this! Even if a part of her had dared to hope, that part of her that somehow had magically asked… Not once had she ever entertained the thought, the possibility, not once, that she'd have an answer. That this would be happening. Even a few seconds ago, antagonising Madeeha - that was all it had been! Antagonising her! Mara had never expected…

Okay, that fear of being sick? Not such a fear anymore.

More of an expectation.

Mara wasn't sure how long they all sat (or stood, in the case of her… of Dude) there for, staring at one another. Stunned at Mara’s brazenness. Christ on a stick, she was stunned, and she'd said it.

“I have to go.” She breathed, rising to her feet - but three things happened at once.

Both Madeeha and… Dude spoke at the same time, and, accidentally in stepping towards Madeeha’s desk, Samara found her exit obstructed by this stranger, this random stranger, who, somehow… Might be her father.

“Samara, you are not going anywhere-” Madeeha said through gritted teeth, as, with wide, bewildered eyes… Business Suit (at this rate, Samara was going to run out of tag names) asked the question that immediately commanded a heavy silence.

“Who’s the father?”

Mara squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as reality hit her. This was happening. This was happening - even though it didn’t feel like it was, it didn’t feel real at all, she felt like she’d fallen into the goddamn Twilight zone - and it was real. She was visiting her mother - and probably for validation, and probably because she felt alone and scared about next week. It was pathetic. She’d come to Madeeha’s office, for the first time… Ever and just like that - she was going to get an answer?

She didn’t even know where to start. How could it be this easy? How was this not a special moment - did special moments not exist?

Realising Madeeha didn’t plan on replying anytime soon, Samara cleared her throat.

“That would be you.” She managed to say, her voice coming out... Hoarser than she’d expected. Dude just kept looking at her like a deer in headlights. “If you slept with her twenty or so years ago, which, judging by your expression… You did.”

It took every ounce of her self-control to try and control the sudden, super embarrassing and overwhelming urge to cry.

And then Dude turned to Madeeha and said something that broke whatever little part Samara thought she had left of her heart.

“I thought you got rid of it?”

Samara’s eyes closed in defeat.

She took that one second; that one, brief second, to feel the rejection, to feel all of her hopes dashed once again. To feel like a lost little kid, pathetic and vulnerable and unable to protect herself, desperate for a stupid f*cking dream of a happy little family to come true.

One second. One.

And then, before Madeeha could say whatever smug comment her expression clearly showed was coming, Samara stared them both down and straightened her shoulders.

“I’m sensing you both have a lot of catching up to do.” She said calmly - and Samara was so proud of herself for keeping her voice even and cold, that she almost burst into tears right there. “I’ll leave you both to it.” She rose to her feet, hoping that nobody could see how her legs were shaking, and headed for the door.

“So that’s what you came for?” Madeeha scoffed, glaring holes into her head. Samara paused at the door, her face turned away from them both - her parents, Jesus Christ -, and sighed silently to herself. “Are you happy now? Convinced?”

Samara ground her teeth together so hard, her jaw hurt.

“No.” She finally replied, turning to face her with a fake, sunny smile. “No, I came to make sure that I wasn’t doing the wrong thing by not having labelled seats for the bride’s parents. Mission accomplished.”

Samara tried not to shake her head as Dude stared at her, open-mouthed, apparently lost at the word bride.

“Have a nice life.” Samara told them both seriously - before exiting from Madeeha’s office.

Every step was a struggle.

Samara refused to cry where she could be seen - not in this stupid corridor, with its rows and rows of glass offices. But her hands began to shake violently as soon as she was out of Madeeha’s sight, and she had to blink back tears.

This was what she’d waited for. Her whole life, this is what she’d hinged on - the possibility that she had a father out there, one who didn’t know her, but would love her and care and give a sh*t when nobody else had.

And for what? She’d waited almost her entire life for this moment, and for what?

As the lift doors closed in front of her, Mara watched her reflection - and, seeing her eyes begin to glisten slightly and her bottom lip begin to tremble, Mara forced herself to become composed.

“No.” She said shakily, staring down her own reflection. She placed a finger carefully under each eye. She wasn’t going to cry. She was not going to cry. Madeeha could watch the CCTV later and eat her heart out and how completely careless Mara was going to seem on that stupid camera. “Grow the f*ck up. People suck. You’re fine. Grow the f*ck up.”

As the lift slowly began to fill with each floor, she kept repeating that mantra - grow the f*ck up, people suck, grow the f*ck up -, digging her nails into the back of her leg to keep herself focused.

She made it through the ride down to reception. Past the receptionist, with a polite smile. Out of the building, and then down an easily ignored turning that led into an alleyway filled with bins, a man in a neon vest on the far end emptying one out.

Mara hovered awkwardly, waiting for him to leave. He can't have taken more than a few minutes - but to Mara, it felt like centuries, her feelings swarming in an uncomfortable mess in her throat that was beginning to make her feel nauseous.

The man left.

At first, Mara was stupid enough to think the feeling had passed - she was calm, uncaring almost. Maybe she’d been… Dramatising, just caught up in the shock of it all, and now it had passed. She’d been silly to think she needed a moment to hide. She was fine.

But then she heard it in her head again - I thought you got rid of it?

It had been so… Callous. Cruel. Incredulous, like Mara growing up to be a person was the f*cked option. Like she was some kind of office printing error, that Dude couldn’t understand happening so easily, because it was so stupid.

Mara leant against the building behind her - and, sighing in defeat, felt her face crumple.

At first, it was… Difficult, almost. Allowing herself to let go. She was so good at keeping her emotions in check - and she finally felt months’ worth of pretending take its toll, as she instinctively fought the emotional release she needed.

“You’re such a child.” She muttered to herself - and then stopped, her hand halfway up to her face, as she realised what she’d just said.

Mara took deep breaths, bracing herself so that her hands were on her knees. Her eyes felt… Wet and as much as Mara tried to blink the tears away, they were too heavy to ignore - and before she could help it, as much as she didn’t want to, Mara felt her face crumple.

It was not graceful and it was not quiet. The more Mara tried to hold it all in, hold it together, the less it worked; she was crying freely now, and loudly, gasping for air and barely able to stand as her body shook - alternating between loud gasps for breath and silent, violent sobs.

"Grow the f*ck up, grow the f*ck - up-” She tried to tell herself - but she couldn’t stop, her mind angry at her own stupidity. He didn’t want you. They never wanted you. How could you be so stupid to think anyone would? You’re meant to know better. You should have known better…

Mara shook her head, cupping her hand over her mouth as her body ached, still convulsing. Her hands trembled - and it took three tries to remove her phone from her pocket, and another two before she heard the dialling tone.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the familiar sound, and tried to even out her breathing. With every deep breath, she seemed to… Hiccup - her breath being caught in her tears, her chest heaving and stuttering as she hastily tried to dry her already-swelling eyes.

It went to voicemail. Mara tried to sound as normal as possible - or, at least, not so totally pathetic.

“Uhm, hi, sorry, I know we said we weren’t going to talk, but I just wanted to see how you-” Mara stopped, closing her eyes. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? She shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Certainly not him.

But he was the only one she could tell - and, considering the amount of work she’d put into what was essentially going to be his relationship with someone else, she decided she was allowed… His time. What she had left of it, anyway.

“Actually, I’m lying.” Mara confessed - squeezing her eyes shut as her voice began to wobble slightly. “I… I'm in London, in secret, because I came to visit my total bitch of a mother-” Mara shook her head, sniffling and rolling her eyes heavenward. What a stupid mistake that had been. “- and I don’t know why I did, I guess it was something to do with the wedding-” Mara cringed. Shut up. “- anyway, I, um, I just-” Breathe. Speak. It’s not that hard. “… I think I just met my father. And it wasn’t good.”

It felt awful to say. Real.

Humiliating. That this was her life, that the kind of next-level bullsh*t she was trying to describe, was where she came from.

“I know I’m not supposed to be calling, but, well, I didn’t have anybody else to call and honestly, I don’t think I trust anyone else - to talk about this with, I mean.” She added quickly, chewing on her lip. She kept sniffling, and Mara had a horrible feeling her mascara had run… Everywhere. “I'm sorry, I guess I just wanted to hear a friendly voice." Mara stopped - again - as she tried to compose herself, feeling… Truly alone. "I just can’t believe that he doesn’t want me either.” She said quietly - and for a second, she actually had to remind herself that there was silence on the other end, because she was leaving a message. “Anyway,” Mara said quickly, realising she sounded ridiculous. “Just… Call me back, okay? I don’t know if I’m going to want to talk about it, or even be able to later, seeing as I’m going to look like an escaped panda the moment I walk down the road with running makeup, but - I hope you’re having fun and if you can call for five minutes… Please do.”

She hung up before she could change her mind.

Sighing, and beginning to try and salvage what little makeup she’d had on in the first place, Mara tried to calm herself down. It was fine. It was all… Okay.

Mara knew Dany would call. There was a possibility he’d moan about it, or making a stupid comment about Mara having the reigns on him for the sake of whoever was nearby (… and to irritate her), but… He’d call. There was no way he wouldn’t. Even if he was a total douchebag sometimes… He had her back. He’d had to, after the past few months.

Anyway, she had things to do. Any second now, Mara expected Madeeha’s stupid PA to let her know that the house she’d grown up in - the one Ari and Pixie were planning on using for the shower - was no longer at her disposable. A petty punishment, for wanting to find out the truth… And sure enough, within moments of Mara ordering her Uber, she received a message.

Don’t even think about the house - but it was text, directly from the wonderful Maddie Kay herself.

“It’s fine.” Mara told herself, taking a deep breath… Before ducking her head down, and heading back out onto the main road to wait for her taxi. You’re fine.

*

Cypress Lounge, BellagioLas Vegas, Nevada

Dany squinted, grimacing as he sat upright, to the sound of his phone ringing obnoxiously from somewhere beside him. He groped around blindly in the sunshine and frowned, upon seeing Samara’s name flash across the screen.

He sighed, leaning back in the deck chair he’d fallen asleep in. Surrounding him, were the remains of last night’s late night kick-off party; random bits of confetti, half-eaten trays of junk food and some of Dany’s closest friends splayed out around him, in varying degrees of mess.

Hughie was the closest - asleep and snoring softly, his face teetering on the pool’s edge; all it would take was one slight turn, and Hughie would wake up with his head underwater.

Dany turned his phone to silent as Hughie murmured, though not quite moving his head.

The screen had automatically filled with pictures of the caller, and Dany inhaled deeply as the screen transitioned to show one of his favourite pictures.

It was of the first time they’d hung out together; at a party thrown by one of Samara’s friends, thrown at a water-park. There had been a photographer, the kind Dany would have ordinarily expected at parties or clubs; and had taken a picture of the two of them in the crowd, looking ridiculous. Dany was wearing oversized pink sunglasses that took over his entire face, in a damp white T-shirt and a pair of shorts; and falling off’ve Dany’s back, her mouth round in surprise, was Samara. Her hair was loose and wet and she had round (normal-sized) sunglasses on her nose. Dany was looking up at her, amused, as he tried to catch her leg to stop her from falling - and the Dany in real-time grimaced slightly, as he saw his hand just underneath where her denim shorts stopped, his fingers clutching into the firm muscle as he tried.

We’re not meant to be talking.

A part of Dany told him to answer now, quickly, before anyone could stop him and the phone ceased to ring. She’d called first. She’d broken the rules…

But why, Dany asked himself. He was doing it so that it would help them both. So unless it was an emergency… There was no reason for Dany to answer.

They’d made a deal. They’d all but given their word.

… But what if it was an emergency?

Dany chewed on his lip as the image on the screen suddenly died - and was replaced with a small notification of a voicemail, instead.

Surely if it was such an emergency, she wouldn’t have the time to leave a voicemail…?

Dany’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his entire body feeling uneasy at so blatantly ignoring Samara’s call; and then, he felt irritated, and began to berate himself.

They’d agreed. If it was anything serious, he would know - not have a notification for a voicemail. It was probably Mara updating him about some random detail regarding the wedding, or… Or even an accidental call! After all, what did they really have to say to each other?

They weren’t in a… Formal relationship. After the wedding, they’d have nothing to say to each other.

That decided it.

Taking a deep breath, Dany switched off his phone, slipping it into the back-pocket of his shorts before he could stop himself. He was compromising. He wouldn’t return her call - not unless she messaged him, or called him again, which would indicate it was something serious - and keep to his word… And, he thought irritably as curiosity coursed through him, I’ll check my messages at the end of the trip. Even if they hadn’t agreed to try and get into good habits for after the… Ceremony, Mara wasn’t supposed to be calling him on his stag. Especially when they both knew it was a stag for a wedding different to the ones they’d sent out invitations for.

Although a small voice in Danyal’s mind told him he was being a prat, and to pick up the phone immediately, just to know what was going on (… and maybe, maybe, just to hear her voice)… Dany was resolute. They’d agreed. And anyway, he was going to have to get used to ignoring her calls, if he… Ended up with Divya.

Dany shook his head slightly, rubbing his eyes. He felt… Gross, and immediately tried to blame the relatively comfortable poolside nap he’d just woken from.

He lay back again, staring up at the beams of light wood holding up the umbrella.

What am I doing here?

It was both stupid and useless a question, simply because Dany had an answer to both. He was at his stag. And he was there, because he had orchestrated a fake wedding to make room for a real one.

Exactly. That annoying voice told him. What am I doing here?

. . .

As the hours ticked by, Dany’s day continued; one quickly filled with shenanigans and laughter, after Raj had announced that they were set to partake in some sort of survival course out in the desert. Much to Dany’s relief… That meant leaving their phones inside. Without such a constant reminder, it was easy for Dany to no longer feel so guilty.

And in London, after curiously switching her phone on and off again to make sure her signal wasn’t being funny, Samara realised that Danyal wasn’t going to call her back.

It’s fine, she told herself. She’d already called Ari, telling her that the original venue of the bridal shower was no longer available - no further explanation than that -, but had left out the little detail of already being in the city herself. Realising there was nobody to comfort her, Mara had thought it best to give herself some… Alone time. Though so far, all she’d felt was empty. I’m fine.

Mara thought about texting Danyal; but she told herself that he was probably busy, that he probably wasn’t checking his phone, and that whenever he turned it back on, he’d call her back.

But by the time Mara was in bed in a nondescript Premier Inn, tucked away in one of the city’s many red-bricked back alleys… She wasn’t so sure.

*

The days blurred into each other.

Despite the slight mishap regarding the venue, Pixie and Ari managed to pull off a perfect bridal shower - one Mara had felt privileged to find out, was Ari’s means of thanks, for helping her “totally ridiculous, completely stupid” older brother.

And it was… Lovely, a series of events spread out over the course of four days, for Mara’s cousins and friends to join as their schedule allowed. It was almost like a holiday; one filled with all of Samara’s favourite things and the illusion of company that actually cared about Mara - as a person, for who she was.

The illusion was addictive.

It was the same for Dany, in Vegas; he was caught in a whirlwind of partying, extreme sports and paint-balling, sometimes all at once - much to the chagrin of the hotel, Mara was sure. Of course, she didn’t hear it from Dany himself. TJ and Rafi kept her posted, more TJ than anyone else, and even though Mara couldn’t blame Dany… It stung, every time she thought of how Dany had ignored her call.

It was more humiliating than anything. She’d been so desperate. It was her own fault. And anyway, she’d… Served her purpose. Created a fake relationship. What reason did they have to stay in touch? Maybe Danyal had been onto something, about not being friends after the wedding. Maybe they’d never been friends in the first place.

It wouldn’t have been the first time Mara had desperately sought out affection and imagined something that wasn’t there, would it?

It was okay, though - it was fine, really, to think that her friendship with Danyal was all… In her head. It was nothing new. And Mara didn’t have any more tears to spill - she’d done that on that first, terrible day in London, quietly crying to herself under the covers until she’d fallen asleep with swollen eyes, still occasionally checking her phone just in case Dany had called, or messaged, but she’d missed it.

It was fine. She was fine. And Dany in Vegas, with his friends and exciting activities capturing his attention, clearly was fine without her, too.

Another World: A Zoph Drabble

To be read between Chapters 10 & 11 of Turn Right

Warning: contains mature content

Taking out pins and breathing.

That was my focus. For now, anyway.

My head hurt from how tightly my hair had been pulled back; but, I guess that was some of its magic. After all, my hairdresser had promised me that not only would the intricacy of her work make me look good during the ceremony, but also have my hair ready for my post-formal activities.

I kid you not.

God. My hairdresser. What had my life become? Since when did I have hairdressers? The last time I’d checked, I hadn’t even brushed my hair properly.

It still hadn’t hit home. And it kind of felt like it never would. I mean, I was marrying –

No. Wait. Pause.

Married.

I was married.

Argh.

Pins, Soph. Pins.

I slowly pulled one out from the bottom roots of my hair, wincing as it pulled. My reflection winced too. Ha. My reflection. The person in the mirror couldn’t be me. Please.

Everything felt... So... Surreal. Just... Everything. I’d had the Conde Nast photographers take pictures of me getting ready; wasn’t that strange enough? And then marrying Zayn. Zayn Malik. Of One Direction.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was... Me.

I looked so... Different. Or, the girl in the mirror did. She looked so calm and collected and... Well, hot. Flushed cheeks, red lips, big brown eyes. Awake brown eyes. Hadn’t I been exhausted a few hours ago? To the point where I’d thought I was going to pass out halfway during a picture?

Oh, right, sorry; that was before Zayn had kissed me.

Oh God, Zayn kissing me.

And there it was. The nausea.

I pulled out a couple more pins, focusing on pulling them out without taking out chunks of my hair. Not that it was budging. It would take me hours to get my hair undone.

But Zayn kissing me.

I – he – a part of me wanted to freak out and demand who the Hell randomly kissed people like that, against walls. Then again, really, my defensive side should have seen it coming. I mean, now Zayn had the power of my hormones at his disposal, I was in a constant warzone.

But the rest of me...

Was this the Mrs Malik part? Because it felt that way. Sure, I guess, having never been kissed before, I didn’t have much to compare it to – but Mrs Malik... Well, when her husband had kissed her...

I couldn’t even think about it without my heart hammering and my mouth going dry. My knees had gone weak, my heart had started thrumming so quickly in my chest it had felt like it wasn’t even beating anymore and my useless arms had finally managed to hold onto Zayn’s biceps (his biceps, though) for support, as I’d finally realized what was happening.

But dear God, that kiss.

There hadn’t been anymore. The wedding portraits had been excruciatingly painful to pose for; I’d had to stand so close and every five seconds, Zayn would look at me with that goddamn smirk that had me knowing he was looking forward to one certain thing.

The sex.

Even thinking it – was it normal to feel this kind of queasiness? I’d left the windows open, deliberately. I didn’t want any sweating.

You’ll be sweating later anyway.

Pins, pins, pins!

We were in the Harlequin Suite of the Dorchester; we hadn’t actually left when everybody had seen us off, just detoured around the block until they managed to empty out the guests. Saying goodbye to everyone hadn’t been as painful as I’d thought, but not as easy, either; I’d held onto Adam for a little too long.

But then he’d told me he’d already had his first few Sex Ed lessons at school and that he would prefer if he was allowed to ignore that general part of my anatomy and what I’d be doing tonight.

It had been easier to not cry, after that. In fact, the struggle had been to not slap him upside his head and beg him to take me with him.

After the pictures, we’d had to go back inside and eat dessert and listen to everybody congratulate us and deal with more traditions. Well, Zayn had to and even though it was pretty funny at times, I think Zahra and the girls were having a little bit too much fun with getting money out of him. And flirting as much as they could before the marriage was consummated, despite the rolling cameras.

Consummated was such an ugly word.

Then again, there were worse.

He’d traced patterns on my palm, under the table, the entire way through dessert. I knew it was deliberate. To keep me... Frazzled.

But I couldn’t believe it worked; and that I was letting him.

Was this what being a couple meant? Handsies under the table, stolen kisses in dark rooms?

Because although good old Soph was freaking out, Mrs Malik was loving it.

Why did I feel like two different people?! This wasn’t normal!

I pulled out more pins, strands of hair falling past my shoulders. I’d taken off my gold; I’d unpinned my heavy scarf. I still had the dark red henna marks on my hands – they’d last a good few weeks – and the deep red nails, but other than that, the only thing standing between me and me dying of cardiac arrest, was a very heavy skirt and low-cut blouse. Not too low-cut, though. Obviously. But it showed my neck bare and it felt... Vulnerable, for some reason.

I mean, your jugular is a part of your body that exposes your entire living. And there mine was. Exposed. Open.

To Zayn.

This was all much too metaphorical for my liking. Ah, the pains of an honorary degree in English Literature from Cambridge University; I found poetry in everything, whether I wanted to or not. That and Rose’s psychology degree.

My face looked so calm in the mirror – or rather, Mrs Malik did. How could I look so calm on the outside, when on the inside, I was having a heart attack?

Was Christmas really so long ago? It didn’t feel that way. I’d been freaking out so much about tonight, even then, and now it was here, I felt... Well, nervous and scared and I guess sort of excited (or more than, for Mrs Malik), but... Different. Was it weird to feel this different?

When would I stop asking myself rhetorical questions that nobody had the answer to, certainly not myself?

Zayn was talking to the boys and Rose downstairs, and I’d be downright stupid if I didn’t acknowledge they were probably discussing me. Giving pointers, that sort of thing. I wondered how much Rose was telling/threatening him.

He’d be here soon.

As it happened, here was the top floor of the hotel, and the largest suite. We could move in here, for the space (and probably feed a country, for the price we were probably paying. Though I guess, I wasn’t really paying for anything. Hadn’t I once, long ago, been taught to ponder whether women felt obligatory to have sex with men after they spent money on them? And consider whether that was prostitution? Why was I thinking about this now?). We had our own living room, dining room, balcony and bar – not that it would be of much use.

Not to mention, the master bedroom.

The one master bedroom.

Though you probably guessed that from the word “master”.

Why wasn’t he back yet?

Why did I want him to be back yet?

A part of me just seriously wanted this over and done with, quickly, preferably with as little pain involved as possible. It... I mean, the build-up was killing me.

Rose had given me one Hell of a pep-talk, in my last appearance check before take off aka leaving. About... Tonight and people and... Stuff.

One thing she’d mentioned was how it would be over much too quickly. I tried to disagree and point out that it was going to be humiliatingly long and awkward (on my novice part), despite Rose laughing at me and shaking her head. But those were her experiences. I mean, she was no slu*t, but compared to me Rose may as well be a sex god – not that it’d be hard, compared to my absolutely zero experience. Not even little experience. Zero experience.

Oh my God, what if Zayn was secretly some kinky freak who liked to tie people up and suspend them from the ceiling and beat them as a way of getting off?

Why hadn’t I considered this problem before?

I was not being suspended from the ceiling, that was to be said right now. No way. No f*cking way. I’d been having a coronary all evening in the heels I’d been wearing, scaring me from being too high off the ground, let alone some creeper who I’d just married swinging me from the chandelier.

I let out a shaky breath and my reflection turned back to Soph for a minute; freaking out, stressed and panicky, as I should be.

But then Mrs Malik had to make an appearance, of course, and square my shoulders.

Pins. Jesus, whose idea was it to make bobby pins so nifty, anyway?

Another deep breath, inhaling this time, and back to gently pulling hair pins out. God, of course only now would I remember my hatred for these things.

Most of them were out now. It was just the sneaky invisible ones that I needed to find.

So, just as I tilted my head to the side and tried to gently pull one out without my eyes watering from the sting as it pulled at my hair, the door opened.

And there he was.

And as our eyes met through my reflection, we both froze.

No, froze doesn’t sound right. We both just... Stopped. I know my heart did.

His stubble was coming back – he’d shaved for the nikah ceremony. And he was all tanned – well, not really, but you know what I mean. And he was slowly biting on his bottom lip as he watched me through my reflection.

“Hey.” Zayn gave me a small, tentative smile and I think I died.

“Hey.” I tried to give him one back, but it came across just as false and nervous as it truly was. Insert awkward cough and turning away here.

When he shut the door and quietly locked it, it sounded really, really loud.

I winced, tugging on that pin. My hair felt too smooth and silky to be mine.

I was also having what felt like a very nauseating experience right now, but never mind.

Why was he watching me like that?

“Want a hand?” Zayn offered, his face giving nothing away. Why was his expression so blank? Was it meant to be that blank? And why was he staring? “With the pins.”

“Oh.” My heart was beating too fast. Much too fast. “Oh – I, um – I mean, ye- yes, no, I’m fi-” The words died on my tongue as Zayn straddled the stool I was sitting on, behind me, my back pressed against his chest.

I closed my eyes. Breathing, Soph. Breathing is good.

I felt my chest rise, but not fall, holding my breath as Zayn pushed all of my hair to one side. Silently, he started gently pulling out the lost pins, setting them on the growing pile on the dresser.

It was so quiet. All I could hear was my quiet breathing.

I glanced up, and my gaze caught Zayn’s in the mirror. And my breath caught again.

Maybe I should have, I don’t know, done yoga or something before tonight.

He just... Watched me. And it was so dimly lit in the room – I’d only put the side lamp on, because that had been all I needed. But now, it wasn’t just practical anymore, the shaded light. It was... Something else.

I looked away first, Zayn pausing for a few moments, before going back to helping me. I held my hand out for the pins he was holding, his arm skimming up my naked arm once I’d taken them. I gripped the stool edge. He was – oh, he was being so – urgh!

I don’t know how long we kept doing that, Zayn just helping me pull out my hair, his fingers softly brushing the skin of my neck as he did. I’d say it was accidental, but... Well, I don’t think it was. And I was getting serious goosebumps. And it wasn’t helping that he just kept... Watching me.

It was just as I was starting to feel my pulse finally calm down, that I felt his lips on the back of my neck.

I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t.

I breathed out slowly, my eyes closing as I tipped my head back, Zayn cradling my neck as he kissed it. I closed my eyes, my back straightening against his chest. His lips felt so warm and soft and...

Screw Mrs Malik, this had to be all me.

Screw Mrs Malik? That’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Oh.” I breathed, as his lips started slowly moving up my neck to just under my earlobe. That felt... That felt... Good. “Oh.” His arm was winding around my waist, keeping me firmly pressed against him, my head resting on his shoulder as he kissed – sucked! – on my neck, his fingers twisting with mine.

I couldn’t – breathe...

Zayn stopped as his lips reached my cheekbone, his breath on my face.

“Soph.” Zayn murmured.

I turned my face from his shoulder to look up at him. This was it. The... Moment, the pivotal point. The catalyst for how the rest of the evening was about to go.

His lips looked so soft.

And gently, he pressed them against mine.

It was the same as earlier, all over again. My body just... I was a puddle, a mess. I felt so warm; like my blood was on fire – and I wanted to put my hand to his neck, but hesitated – but he pressed my palm softly against him and... He felt warm, too. Soft and smooth and warm.

I felt his hands gently tug away from mine in my lap, slowly moving up the sides of my body. Oh, oh, oh – his fingers grazed the skin of my stomach for a moment, before moving up, stopping at the curve of my breasts.

I gasped, breathlessly. Oh. He wasn’t even touching me and my head was spinning. My head was spinning.

“Stand up.” He murmured, his forehead pressing against mine.

Really, my legs were in no position to keep me upright. They were shaking.

But somehow Zayn seemed to know this, from the small smirk he gave me. Gently, he pushed my waist up and I somehow managed to stand, Zayn moving me so I was standing with my back to him.

I couldn’t stop my shoulders from silently heaving. My lips were tingling. I wanted his mouth back on mine. I wanted his mouth back on mine, now.

Oh wait, he was unzipping my blouse.

No. No, no, no, everything needed to stop for a minute. Wait. Just wait.

“Freeze.” I muttered, almost panting I was so out of breath, reaching back and putting my hand over his. My hand felt on fire now, too. Oh, wow. Wow. I was feeling light-headed. “Just... Freeze.”

His fingertips were graving just under my shoulder blade. If he pulled the zipper down any further, he’d – see.

Slowly, Zayn moved me to face him, guiding me by the hips. I had to swallow done my nerves as he looked up at me, my waist – his hands – level with his serious face, hesitantly resting my hands on his shoulders and almost screaming for it. They felt so – so strong! How hadn’t I noticed before?!

“I’m not going to hurt you, babe.” Zayn told me sincerely. My fingers tightened on the fabric of his gold-threaded outfit slightly.

I shook my head. I was scared. Oh, I was so scared.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” I managed to say through a shallow breath. I was trying to breathe right and it wasn’t – it wasn’t working – and now he was just looking up at me, his eyebrows furrowed slightly...

And as he stood up, I just watched him, my eyes not leaving his.

I was scared.

Gently, he pressed his lips to mine again: and I felt my body tense as I felt his hands move from my cheek... Then to my neck... Then to my shoulders and moving down, taking my blouse down with it.

It was so quiet, I could hear my zip as Zayn pulled gently, the only other sound being his lips against mine.

I was holding onto his arms, my hands falling to my sides and fisting in embarrassment as he stepped back, pulling my blouse off of my sleeves with him.

I closed my eyes, waiting for some kind of... Something. But when it didn’t come, I peeked up at him and saw him with scarily dark eyes.

Wordlessly, Zayn unbuttoned and pulled his kameez over his head, throwing it carelessly to the floor. Hey, he shouldn’t do that. Dress shirts as nice as that were hard to come by.

I chewed on the inside of my lip, sure he could see how my heart was beating through my chest. My cheeks were burning.

I’d gone for something simple. A black, lacy bra that hid everything but boasted my shape at the same time. Modest, but sexy. Simple, but effective.

Zayn was standing in front of me with three large steps and this time, when he pressed his lips against mine, more fervently this time, his hand tangled with the curling tendrils of my hair, the other falling to my naked waist.

Here we go.

And then things were moving quickly.

Zayn suddenly was carrying me over to the bedroom, hovering on top of me as he lay me down on the bed, his mouth moving gently against mine. His tongue... I’d never understood why wouldn’t want somebody else’s tongue in your mouth before. But he was so warm and – well, tasty – and I felt myself wrap my arms around his neck as his thumb massaged my waist.

I could feel my underwear becoming damp.

Oh, Jesus.

“Off.” Zayn mumbled against my lips, fumbling with the side zip of my skirt. “Now.”

My heart was in my throat as his hand pulled down my thigh, moving my skirt with him, his body sliding down mine as he did.

Oh, oh, I couldn’t breathe, I could feel his breath moving between my chest, down my stomach and oh, he was kissing the inside of my thigh, rubbing my legs open, his lips between my lace and silk shorts and skin.

“Lovely, but they’ll have to go, too.” Zayn murmured softly, before yanking them down.

I gasped loudly, my cheeks heating red. Oh my God. Oh my God! No! Rose was wrong, this was mortifying, oh, no, he couldn’t be – he couldn’t see –

“Zayn!” I shrieked, feeling something warm and wet slowly slide up my sensitive skin. Oh my God, this wasn’t happening.

Heat shot up and down my spine.

“Shhh, babe.” Zayn hushed. “I haven’t even started yet.”

I gasped, my back arching off of the bed, as I felt it again; his tongue moving up my slit, his hands gripping my waist.

No words.

After that, there were no words.

I was breathing loudly, too loudly, as he flicked his tongue back and forth. Oh no. No. No. My arm was covering my face, the other hand gripping the bedsheets, making my knuckles turn white. There was just... Pleasure. Rolls of it. Waves of it. From the top of my head to – well. My legs were shaking. My entire body was squirming.

And then the hand he was using to try and calm my clenched thighs was moving upward.

“Good practice.” I heard him smirk, before I felt his fingers.

“Zayn!”

The feeling!

I was – moaning, gasping – as he started to move his tongue faster, his finger being joined by another, both of them massaging me from the inside. My legs were propped on his shoulders and my hips were moving out of time to his movements.

No thoughts. Just feelings.

I stopped short as I felt him press against something – skin.

Skin. Inside.

My hymen.

My virginity.

Without another word, Zayn was lying on top of me, his face by mine. I knew where his mouth had just been. His mouth had been in places I’d never even seen properly before.

I was face to face with his Walter tattoo and I remembered it; seeing him sitting there, shirtless in the dark, consoling his little sister.

Between my legs was aching now and his removed fingers meant that every time I tried to unclench my thighs, I felt more wet.

At the back of my head, the real Soph had passed out from all of this debauchery. It was too much for her virgin mind.

“We don’t have to do this.” Zayn whispered, his voice too seductive to be convincing. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt his hands lightly graze over the skin of my breast, my bra still entirely – functional.

“You’re a – a really – a really sh*t liar.” I managed to gasp, feeling his fingers carelessly slide my bra strap down my shoulder.

Zayn just smirked at me, his hand moving underneath my back...

Instinctively, I closed the distance between us, our bodies holding the lacy garment in its place. I stared up at him in shock. No. No. A small part of my brain registered that his trousers were missing and I vaguely remembered the feeling of silk against his hips as he’d lay me down, but I couldn’t remember anything else.

“Do you trust me?” Zayn smirked quietly, his nose touching mine.

I shook my head quickly.

“Not right now, no.”

Zayn smiled – a boyish, happy smile that temporarily had Mrs Malik banished, and the real Soph staring at him in incredulity.

“You know me so well, Mrs Malik.”

And that was when he yanked my bra out of the way and pressed his chest against mine, making me gasp into his mouth as he kissed me and placed my hands on his boxers.

I stopped, temporarily forgetting everything, except the fine line of black hair leading down from his stomach. In awe, I traced it with my finger, gulping as I felt its softness against how hard the V of his pelvis felt underneath my fingers.

“Soph, don’t.” Zayn growled, clenching his jaw above me.

Hearing him say my name had shivers going down my body and reflexively, my body was pushing itself against his again.

He felt so strong and lean and muscular and... Sexy, against my skin, which was too soft, too warm, too untouched. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this.

“Can’t you just listen to your husband?” Zayn demanded, as my finger paused at the hem of his shorts, which were lower-slung than they’d been a few moments before.

My eyes shot up to his.

“I never said I was going to.” I snapped back, forgetting what was happening – and temporarily, the fog cleared. “How is that I’m here with absolutely nothing, trussed up like some sort of – of – thing, and you get to lie there and – um!” Zayn’s thumb was tracing the wet fold of my entrance, his hand over my mouth with a smirk, as I wriggled helplessly. The waves were back. My legs were trembling. My back was arching against the bedsheets, pushing my body further and further against his.

“You’re unbelievable.” Zayn laughed in disbelief.

And then his boxers had joined my underwear on the floor and suddenly, he was inside of me.

The first thing was the pain. Reflexively, I let out a small cry, clinging onto Zayn’s shoulders as my body rocketed forward, away from the point of impact. It hurt. I could feel my eyes watering at the sting of breaking skin, everything below my legs frozen into shock at the brutality of the break, the pain radiating in waves.

I was trying to breathe, but I was screaming with my mouth closed, pressing my forehead against Zayn’s shoulder as he held me quietly, kissing my forehead. It hurt, the bastard!

But then, as my breathing slowed down, I felt it; the other feeling- the one of skin against skin, underneath and against more. How tightly the walls of my insides were squeezing against – wait, against him.

And how, the more I focused on it, the better it felt.

“Oh.” I breathed, looking up at him accusingly. “Oh, you just took my virginity.” Zayn’s face flooded with relief, from the previous anxiety of my pain. I squeezed his bicep, my nails digging into his arm, as he grinned down at me sexily. “Oh, you bastard!” I yelled, punching his chest feebly with my other hand.

“Ready, Soph?” Zayn grinned, propped up on his elbows as he pushed my body back down on the bed, the bedsheets suddenly soft. Maybe I was only just registering.

“For what?” I asked nervously, squirming at the dull ache, still resonating from where I’d... Well, broken. Ripped.

Ripped, for f*ck’s sake.

Quirking one eyebrow and watching me carefully, Zayn rolled his hips, moving out halfway and then slowly back inside of me, my eyes closing and my mouth opening at the sensation.

Pain. But also, another feeling. Like earlier, but... More.

Earlier.

I could feel how damp I was against him. And it was strange to think he didn’t mind.

“Promise me something.” Zayn muttered, his voice sounding thicker than usual. I jerked my head, showing I was listening, as I tried to ascertain in the dim light which body parts were his and which were mine. “Hold on.”

“Hold onto wh- Zayn!” I gasped, again, as his hips moved again; this time, mine meeting them halfway. I heard Zayn groan quietly, propped on one elbow, the other sliding up and down from my neck to my stomach, shamelessly catching everything else on the way.

And then, there were no words anymore. Nothing but our names.

His lips were on mine.

One hand was tangled in my hair, entwined with my fingers too, the other stroking the core light switch of my entire body with each movement.

I was desperately trying to not scream, but my breaths were coming out with sounds – like I was struggling, but in a good way? This didn’t make sense! – with my hands clasped behind his neck, my body limp against his as he tilted my hips up.

“How long have you been taking the pill?”

“Long enough.” I managed to say through tightly pressed lips. “And I think we need to talk about laser surgery.” I muttered, glimpsing a solitaire card etched on his chest, before squeezing my eyes shut again.

Zayn laughed evilly, responding by slamming his hips against mine again. Only my hips were meeting his with just as much, antagonizing, challenging force.

This was us, all over, every pun intended.

“Hold it.” Zayn demanded through gritted teeth, as my voice got louder. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. “Soph, trust me, hold it.”

His hand was entwined with mine, squeezing tightly. I nodded, knowing I was agreeing to something over which I had absolutely no control.

Tightening limbs.

Moans, thrusts and grunts mixed in one.

Breathing.

Breathing is good.

The overwhelming sensation of his skin inside of me, my body helpless and wanton against him and then.

“Love you, Mrs Malik.” Zayn managed to laugh, pulling almost entirely out and then - !

I love you, Zayn, Zayn, ZAYN!

I don’t know how long it lasted. Hours, days, weeks.

But I was gasping for breath, Zayn rolled beside me. And he was holding me, laughing quietly as I caught my breath, my hair messily covering my face and splayed across his chest as I curled myself to hide, but holding onto his shoulders like it was an anchor as a ship went down.

Carefully, Zayn brushed my hair out of my face. I felt happy and tired and relaxed; and more than mortified. What had that been? What had just happened?

“Soph.” Zayn said breathlessly, as my eyes widened at the red indents my nails had left on his skin. “Soph, I’m only just getting started.”

My eyes snapped up to his.

“What do you – Jesus, Zayn!”

Because he was laughing and rolling on top of me and, when he pressed his lips against mine again, my body was just as resistless as it had been before; and it melted against him.

Absently, as I let his mouth consume mine, I felt my wedding rings press against the skin of his tanned back as I held him.

What do you want for Christmas?

You... All of you.

“Zayn.” I whispered, playing with my engagement ring – now under my wedding band – with my hands laced behind his back.

“Mm?” He murmured, trailing kisses down my throat as I talked.

“Merry Christmas.” I smiled, Zayn pausing and then laughing quietly as he understood the joke.

I was... His. Not half. Not waiting to be. His. In every way.

Mr and Mrs Malik.

And in that moment, I remembered Rose and Google and the pre-craziness of 1D.

Zayn and I would be a f*cking power couple

Me, the hotshot journalist and him, the prince of pop.

Mr and Mrs Malik.