When Stars Collide

The Mustaphirs

Two weeks before.

"Ya Salman please. Don't leave. Who am I going to play FIFA with if you leave?" Fatima stopped begging her brother and sat down on his bed glumly. All through her pleading session, he had been taking clothes out of his wardrobe, taking new clothes from his closet, packing boxes of shoes and socks as though his sister wasn't pleading for him to stay.

"Ya Salman?" She called out tentatively. Her brother stopped picking the neckties from a drawer and turned to his sister.

"Fatima? I'm sorry I can't stay. Your grandmother thinks she can run my life, my father paid my fees, my mother raised me, not a dime was taken from her. So what makes her think she can force me into marrying someone my heart is not with? I will not accept it, I'm a man of my own words. I will not take it lying low. I'm not running away, I'm going to gain more knowledge so that I can open my own flying school." Fatima walked up to her brother and held his arm, he pulled her closer, hugged her and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be fine. I'll FaceTime you twice a week, I'll call you everyday. You must go visit Hibba and Ummi, see how they're faring and tell me all about it okay?" Fatima nodded against her brother's arm.

Fatima helped him pack some more things to the room and dumped them on the bed, on her way to return to bring some more things, the door to Salman's room opened and Benazir walked in to inform the two siblings that a meeting was about to be held downstairs and their presence was needed.

"Who those there?" Salman asked Benazir in terse tone, Benazir listed everyone in their family leaving out young Amina who was at art school. Then there were three other people who she didn't recognize who arrived with their grandparents. Salman nodded and asked Benazir to sit on the biggest box in his suitcase set so he could zip it up. Benazir plopped down on the case and Salman zipped the bulging thing close.

"Why didn't you tell Mami to pack for you? She will put a house in that thing surely." They all laughed because it was true, Salman's mother could pack anything, pack the most important things and pack them all neatly without anything going missing.

"She's so upset that I'm leaving, how could I even mention it?" Salman answered after laughing so hard, even doubling over. He pulled his sisters over, laying an arm on each person and they joyfully walked down the stairs. Half way down, the girls stopped and whispered that they should go first, since their grandmother was fuming, they didn't want to bear the brunt of her anger.

"Assalamualaikum." Salman greeted the moment he stepped into the room. His mother was sitting on a little stool in a corner of the room and Salman felt his anger surge. He wanted to pluck her away from there and sit her on the chair beside his father but steeled himself, there was too much at stake for him to lose control now.

"Welcome oo, disgraceful boy, wasting all the money the Baazinyes have spent on you all your life." He watched his grandmother hiss and shake her head ruefully. Salman could not describe the rage that nearly blinded him, but seemed to be able to Tamp down on it to say as calmly as possible that it was the job of the Baazinyes to feed and clothe him.

"I warned you didn't I?" She faced Salman's father whose head was bowed, in shame or fear? Salman didn't know, but his father's stance seemed to scratch at his heart, rubbing him in ways he didn't even know how to describe. "I warned you not to marry this foreigner, that's why her son can stand here and say to me that he won't marry a girl he ruined her life by arresting and taking to a court for that tart of a girlfriend of his." Salman's father didn't reply, leaving the room quiet.

"That's not what we're here for, let's speak to Salman. Speak to that friend of yours, let them throw out the case, that poor girl has been in that filthy prison for far too long. Two weeks is too much." His grandfather entreated calmly. He knew rashly spoken words was not going to work with this grandson of his raised different from his father.

"Grandpa, I'd love to. But the judgement is tomorrow. Though I hear the highest time she can get is five to six months. The judge could even give her three months, I'm sure she'll learn from that." The woman who Salman had refused to glance at since he got into the room burst into loud sobs, crying so loudly. Salman's grandfather leaned back into his chair with a sigh. He knew that nothing was to be done, Salman was not like other children that he could order.

"She can't even bathe in a bathroom that isn't clean, that place, she's going to die. Please Salman, that girl is just a child. She was even raised to marry you, how could she suffer?" Salman scoffed, very loudly, effectively shutting Salma's mother up. He lifted his left hand and pointed at Benazir.

"That is a child. My youngest sister, Ammi, is a child too. Your daughter, I refuse to say her name because she disgusts me, planned out an acid attack on a child not even two years old because she has some misplaced innovated thought that I, Salman Baanziye is supposed to marry her." He scoffed and laughed harshly, shaking his head at how audacious they all were. He didn't even address the fact that she said Salma was raised to marry him.

"The poor girl was raised to marry you. She has never seen the outside world, and when she saw a threat to her home, she refused to be like her mother and took matters in her own hands. Her mother heard that your father had fallen in love with a foreigner and decided to marry someone else. Salma is bravely fighting for her love. Release her." Salman's mother, Deena Mustaphir, got up, adjusted her dupatta and asked for everyone's attention.

She called on her husband who laid his bleary eyes on her, he seemed to be begging her. Fatima from her corner of the room, shook her head sadly, she wished that their father was a bit like Salman.

"What grandma just said, is it true?" Deena asked. She had already shed all pretence and anger could be seen blazing in her eyes. Salman's father nodded bonelessly, enraging her more.

"No wonder she calls me a foreigner, no wonder your mother never spares any moment to insult me." Salman turned and seeing his sisters, waved them out of the room. It was about to get messy since his mother had gotten angry.

"Little wonder all my twenty eight years as your wife, she has never given me a moment of peace. Now I understand. But I want to reiterate something here today. My son, will not marry any girl that has murderous tendencies, he will never marry a freak. Never ever. Not while I live and breathe. It will not happen." Salman's grandmother chose this time to shout at her.

"Shut up your mouth. Talking to my son as though he's your houseboy, who is your mate here?" Deena laughed. She clapped her hands and asked her father in law not be annoyed, her mouth was about to spill secrets.

"In two thousand and five, Baanziye enterprises was about to file for bankruptcy when him there," She pointed at her husband, "Begged my father for liquid cash to keep the company afloat. Yes, that's true, all this money you're all talking about today, is as a result of the Mustaphirs so put some respect when you call my name." Salman's grandmother's surprise was not to be described. Imagine that your worst enemy is responsible for all that you eat and wear, you'd feel some kind of embarrassment.

"None of the girls in this house, not Fatima, not Amina nor Benazir was raised to be married to anyone. They were raised to be strong, independent women that can stand on their own regardless of the future. So forgive me if I say, your daughter may need the lesson so that she can learn." She found her way to a good seat beside Salman's father and sat there majestically. It looked like all the years of keeping quiet and refusing to speak up was over and done with.

"If nothing can be done. Then let's end this meeting."  Salman's grandfather stood up, leaned heavily on his cane and walked out of the room as quickly as he could. He could not stomach the embarrassment that he was feeling and wished to leave the oppressive air of the parlor.

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