Chapter 3_"Her Way, Not His"
Salaar was snug in his cozy bed, enjoying a deep sleep when he was suddenly stirred by the sound of giggling coming from downstairs. Still half-asleep, he lazily picked up his nightgown from the side of the bed and draped it over his broad shoulders. His messy hair only added to his rugged charm. Slipping his feet into his slippers, he strolled leisurely toward the source of the noise.
Downstairs, his entire family had gathered around his parents, who had just returned from abroad after his father’s medical check-up.
“Oh, my son Salaar, I missed you so much,” his mother exclaimed, looking elegant in a chic western outfit that complemented her shoulder-length hair and soft, neutral makeup. Despite her age, she looked far younger—time had clearly been kind to her. She opened her arms for an embrace.
“Welcome, Mom. I missed you too,” Salaar replied, managing a small smile as he hugged her. It was the first time he'd shown such emotion since returning from Cambridge.
“Sons are usually like this ... always biased towards their mothers,” his father remarked, sounding protective yet frail. Salaar, pained by his father's vulnerability, wrapped his arms around him as well.
“Dad, I missed you a lot,” he said, holding on tightly. Only a few had ever witnessed this softer, more affectionate side of Salaar.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked, still hugging his father.
“Wow, my parents are always ready to shower affection on the younger one and forget the eldest,” Taimur said with mock offense as he entered the room, placing his briefcase on a side table. He hugged both parents warmly.
Salaar and Taimur looked almost identical, but subtle differences set them apart. Taimur had black eyes like their father, while Salaar had inherited their mother’s hazel eyes.
“We have nothing left for you now, son. Your place has been taken,” their mother teased after hugging Taimur. Mrs. Warda Malik, though modern in appearance, was a typical mother—deeply loving and endlessly concerned for her children.
“And may I know, Your Highness, who dared to take my place?” Taimur asked, playing along.
“Son, this is the curse of nature ... the old are always replaced by the new,” Faizan declared grandly.
“He’s talking about Musa ... your son,” Warda clarified.
“What did you think they meant? You’re a father now, and your son has outranked both of us. His status is way above ours,” Salaar added dramatically, flopping down beside his brother.
“Stop teasing, everyone has their own place,” Warda concluded the banter with a smile, then turned to her daughter-in-law. “Nazli, how have you been all these days?” she asked politely.
“Fine, Aunty. Everything’s the same as before,” Nazli replied indifferently, barely engaging.
Warda, though a loving wife and mother, often remained distant from her daughters-in-law. Nazli had never made an effort to bridge that gap either. A striking woman slightly older than Salaar, Nazli had smooth, silk-like skin and long black hair cascading over her shoulders. Dressed in jeans, a sporty shirt, and a bandana, she looked youthful despite being the mother of a thirteen-year-old.
“Okay, children, I’m exhausted now. You all carry on. I’m going to rest,” Faizan said lightly, getting up. Warda accompanied him.
“I’ll take my leave too ... I’m running late for campus,” Salaar announced, heading out. Nazli remained engrossed in her new branded cell phone.
“Zarmeena, please go through my assignment and check for errors.”
“Zarmeena, Salim is stalking me. Only you can handle him .... with your gang.”
“Zarmeena, can you help me prepare for my presentation?”
“Zarmeena, my grades are very low. The teacher’s threatening to call my parents. What should I do?”
Everyone seemed to need something from Zarmeena .... but did anyone care what she needed?
“I want... PEACE!” Zarmeena suddenly screamed in frustration. Her outburst startled both her brother and mother.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you howling like a mad woman? Do you want me to smack you with my slipper?” Zareena asked, already holding one threateningly.
“Amma, my assessments are coming up and I can’t even concentrate! I’m losing focus. If this keeps up, I’ll fail!” Zarmeena said, her voice trembling with near-tears. Zareena’s motherly instincts took over instantly.
“Oh, my child, I’m sorry. You’re right. But you know this boy is a money sucker,” she said, glancing at Ahmed.
“Does money grow on trees that I can pluck some for you?” she continued, now aiming the slipper at Ahmed. It flew before he could react.
“Amma!” Ahmed shouted, ducking.
“Honestly, Amma, you talk like a farmer. Always mentioning things growing on trees! And stop worrying about her ... she’ll top her exams even if she takes them in her sleep. Now please, just give me the money. The teacher will yell again if I don’t bring the register this time,” Ahmed pleaded.
“Oh, Ahmed, I’ll give you the money. Just stop bothering me. You’re giving me a headache,” Zarmeena said, holding her head in frustration.
“I'm just fed up with your unnecessary kindness. Save your money for your semester fees. I’ll deal with this money monster,” Zareena muttered, annoyed. Suddenly, she sniffed the air.
“Where is this burning smell coming from?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Oh no, I forgot the food on the stove!” she cried out, dashing to the kitchen. Ahmed and Zarmeena followed, secretly hoping the food was too burnt to eat.
“You two fighting like guinea pigs distracted me,” she grumbled while checking the pot.
“Amma, please… I’m not eating this,” Zarmeena declared.
“Same here. Last time I ate burnt food, I had indigestion all night,” Ahmed added.
“Are you two my children or a complaint hotline? Do I look like a feedback form to you? Always whining! I’ve spent my whole life cooking for you, and now you can’t handle a little burnt aroma?”
Now fully transformed into the ultimate Desi mother, she made her final threat.
“This is final: If you leave your food this time, I will never cook again!”
Zarmeena and Ahmed exchanged looks of pure despair ... they were trapped.
The Next Day at University
The university campus buzzed with activity. Some students sat on railings with books in hand, others munched on snacks, while many ran around chasing teachers for approvals and signatures.
Salaar stood in a long queue, clearly exasperated.
“Ugh, I’ve never ever been in such a long queue before,” he muttered, when he heard a familiar voice...
“What are you doing here, Mr. Cambridge-return?”
She was standing there with all her tomboyish self, mischief in her eyes. Maybe she had overheard him talking to himself.
“Are you applying for a student card?”
“Yes, but the staff is taking forever to accept applications.” He couldn’t hide the anxiety in his voice.
“Oh, I see... Give me your application,” came a familiar voice.
Before he could even respond, Zarmeena snatched the form from his hand and disappeared behind the office building.
Stunned, Salaar stepped out of the line and stood to one side..
unwillingly waiting for her.
In just a few minutes, she returned and casually handed him a receipt.
“Here’s your receipt. Tomorrow, collect your card from the back office....
ask for Uncle Sohail,” she said, turning to leave.
“Tomorrow? But they told me it would take over a week,” Salaar asked in disbelief.
“Don’t worry about them. Just go to Uncle Sohail....not from the front, from the back door. Got it?” she said over her shoulder and walked away.
Salaar stood frozen, completely flabbergasted by what had just happened.
There was something about her… He always found himself drawn toward that mysterious girl. She wasn’t like the others. There was something unique about her aura....unexplainable yet magnetic.
“Salaar!” Fahad’s voice broke his thoughts. In an instant, all that wonder vanished, and Salaar frowned. He always shows up at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
“Okay, Salaar, let’s go apply for your student card,” Fahad said cheerfully. But his jaw dropped when Salaar casually held up the receipt in front of him.
“That’s impossible! How did you get through that giant line?” Fahad asked, shocked.
“Not me… that girl,” Salaar replied.
“Which girl?”
“Zarmeena Khan.”
“Ohhh, that explains it! I was wondering how you could manage something like that,” Fahad said with a laugh. “Stuff like this is a piece of cake for her....easy peasy. She does it for everyone. Teachers, staff… even the Dean can’t say no to her.”
Fahad laughed it off, but Salaar felt the weight of his words sink in.
He reminded himself: If I don’t control myself… I might fall even deeper for her.
