Always Asad: A Short Story (Ours #9)

Another Affair

The scent of mogra wafted throughout the house, filling every room with its richness. The stick was half burnt now, and its ashes were falling into its attached silver tray. Usually, Komal found the smell of jasmine to boost her mood. Today, it did anything but. For the past week, the house went through intense cleaning; from dusting to cleaning out the kitchen and rearranging furniture to even buying new carpets. Instead of the gray nylon, in its place was a traditional Persian rug, its threads a mixture between browns, maroons, and reds. Finally, it all came together to form intricate, geometrical patterns that seemed all too familiar to those of the carpets back in Pakistan.

Oh Rabba, how she missed Pakistan in its entirety.

If not all, most of her relatives lived there, and the first time she went, when Komal was thirteen, one of the first things she remembered was them having a large family dinner. Everyone lived in separate provinces of the country, but back when hearing the news of her family coming, they had all gathered together in Karachi at her dada's house. She got to meet him for the first time, and although he had passed a few years ago, Komal could remember his warm eyes and smile. Her ammi, maanis, chachis, phupos, and tai ammi took turns in the kitchen and by late afternoon they had finished and rushed into their rooms to get ready. The smell of freshly cooked roti reached her nose, and Komal could remember peeking into the kitchen, wanting to see what they had cooked up.

Haleem, chapli kebab, chole bhature, chicken biryani, zeera, and who knows what else were all placed neatly on the kitchen counters, erasing any trace of the mess it must have taken, making all of this. Her ammi's dishes were delicious all on their own, but the food made by her extended family looked so inviting.

Now, a multitude of those delicacies were sitting in her kitchen, waiting to be served to someone else. Add a box or two of ladoos, and Komal felt all the more bitter. And she'd prefer to be anywhere but here. Even if it was back in Pakistan with her relatives who could never seem to stop bickering, gossipping, or both.

Now, it was her ammi and nani arguing amongst themselves and Komal's baba holding his head and drinking a cup of chai as he watched the two ladies go at it. She only glanced at them before going up the stairs and into her room as she stared out the window. According to her ammi, they were supposed to be here soon. And if desi standard time was any sign, then it meant Komal had some time in her hands to think something out. But if they weren't, then she was in trouble.

The second time Komal visited Pakistan was during her summer break when she was seventeen. The severity of the heat of her first visit was nothing compared to the one then! She got sick and could not, would not, stop throwing up. Her sister, Hina api, stayed behind at their dada's house while their parents went out shopping at the bazaars, and the girls insisted for their parents to bring them something back. Komal was asleep when they returned before sunset, but Hina api had told her they bought her new chudiyan, and excitement rushed through her so fast that she almost forgot that she spent the whole day in bed.

Throughout the food, family gatherings, and long, eventful days, Komal found something, or someone, more captivating. On her first visit, Asad Hussain, one of the neighbor's kids, stole her away during a family dinner, taking her to a bazaar, and Komal, beaming with curiosity, happily went with him.

They slipped between the sea of people to get from one stall to another, and at last, they stood in front of a jewelry stand. Jhumkas, jhanjaras, chudiyan of all kinds were displayed proudly in their stands, and the shopkeeper shuffled around helping people. Komal was in awe; she stared up and down at the displays until her eyes rested on a set of blue-gold chudiyan. "They're so pretty!" she exclaimed. Only when she looked back at Asad did she see his eyes glitter like the jewelry.

"Chacha?" Asad asked the shopkeeper, pointing to the set. "Could we have these?"

The shopkeeper looked to be in his forties with his beard thinning and his hair peppered with a few white strands. His eyes met with Asad and the corners of his mouth lifted. "Of course, beta." He opened the glass case in which they were and gently placed them into a bag before handing them to Komal. "I'm guessing these are for you," he said.