The Rich Life

33

"How much will your Mahr be?" Dad asked. 

Mahr was an amount set by the bride for the grooms family. She can ask for whatever she wants and the groom has to pay it to her, no matter what. Gold, land, cash, whatever I wanted.  I was rich anyways. I could buy all this shit for myself, but this was to be my wedding gift.

"Property in good countries. Stocks with high values. And gold. All together I want it to be worth about 2-3 million pounds,"

"You're an expensive bride," Dad pointed out, "Even your brother's wife asked for 75k in cash and gold," 

"Well, I know my worth. I'll negotiate down to 1 million. Plus I want him to buy a house for us to live in together. That's fair. Plus I'm paying for my own wedding dress,"

"I still didn't get that concept. I still have your old, untouched wedding dress,"

"Yeah, Asif's kids use it for dress up in the nursery. I hated that dress,"

"Fine. 1 million Mahr including a house in England. Adding all the other clauses that were included in your previous contract,"

"Except if he cheats, he pays me back the worth of my Mahr in quadruple and I get to use the gun,"

Maribelle's divorce settlement was worth 180 million. She'll be a very rich woman for a long time. As I quote from the hunger games, 'I haven't dealt with anything as common as money in years' so I really don't need it.

"We all know the drill by now Zahra. I'll talk to Halima later," He sighed, leaving the room. 

I sat on Dad's shiny leather chair. The news of my engagement had made its way to my family. Who were disgusted when they found out it was a love marriage. The fact he wasn't Pakistani. In fact, some of them refused to come to the wedding. That was good, I hated half of them. They were all horrid and still stuck in their old ways. 

Esa agreed to come. Waqas agreed to come. Asif was twisted with meanness and sent the most colourfully worded phone call about how much dishonour I was bringing and how I was going to rot in Hell for my sins. 

He's in rehab now. He overdosed and his wife found him passed out with a bunch of needles.  Dad paid for his private treatment at a special clinic. Out of pity and regret. When I saw him through the two-way mirror, he looked like a scarecrow. Life had finally taken its toll on him and he had fallen so far from his golden pedestal. My older brother who I spent my entire life running from, was now drowning in his suffering and unhappiness. 

Esa and Waqas have changed apparently. I won't believe it until I see it. 

There was one person who I wanted to invite to my wedding. It wasn't Tony (I mean I would if God gave him a free pass to come back to life for a week). But this person was impossible to find. I wouldn't even know where to begin to look. 

Meena Khan. Probably Mrs Patel now. My defamed Aunt who was the same age as me. She's been missing now for 6 years now. If anyone was going to be happy about my wedding, it would be her. How do you find a person who doesn't want to be found? 

Easy. You go talk to the expert of exposing people and dragging out the vulnerable parts of a person. 

"Halima!" I followed after her, "I need to talk to you about something!"

"Haven't you done enough? You have performed your revenge on me,"

I blinked, "Are you talking about the fact I told your grandson that you were seriously ill,"

She frowned at me but didn't answer. 

"Halima. What if it hadn't been a pre-malignant tumour but a malignant cancerous lump? Were you going to hide it forever? You of all people taught me that you can never run away from things for long and you did exactly that,"