"Kisi kay baap sai nahi darti mein! Aj abba aajain sahi, tum sab ki shikayat na ki tou mera naam bhi—"
[I am not afraid of anyone's father! Let dad come home, if I don't lodge a complain against you all then my name is also not —]
"Zaara!"
"Kia dadi abhi tou climax ana tha meri acting ka!"
[What grandmother the climax of my acting was yet to come!]
"Tumhara tou roz ka hai meri jaan, neechay ajao, iftari ka waqt honay wala hai".
[This is you every day activity my life, come downstairs, it's almost time for breaking fast.]
Saying so, her paternal grandmother, Saleema exited her lavishly decorated bedroom, leaving a huffing Zaara behind her. Pivoting, she looked at herself in the mirror once more, her brown hair was glossy under the tube lights, the choppy ends of her long bob brushed her delicate shoulders that were currently hidden under the starchy material of her cotton candy pink shirt, a sky blue chiffon veil thrown in her neck with a delicate gold lace around the edges. Her khussas smacked the marble floors of the large mansion she lived in, the thin anklet in her ankle on display as the capris style trousers raised a few inches above.
Zaara Khubaib stood at an average height of five foot five inches, with a slender build and cheekbones that could cut for days. Her chocolate brown eyes were always swimming in the warm waters of happiness, a winged eyeliner always covered her almond shaped eyes. She was the true joy of her family, being the youngest of course called for that. Zaara's mother, Alina Khubaib had passed away when she was two years old leaving the girl with barely any memories of her. To her, her entire world was her father and dado. Not to forget the tiny puppy she had just bought a week ago after years of convincing her family. Chuck Zaara Khubaib was the newest addition to the large family.
In the heart of Lahore's old streets where life still continued to thrive stood an age old home. The jharoka's, with their outward caving red bricks had continued to stand true to the test of time. The home was built in the forties, soon after partition and generation after generation, the wealthy Khawar family had continued to reside in it. It boasted of eighteen bedrooms — most added by the grandsons of Aleem Khawar, for their ever growing family.
Now, Aleem Khawar's grand daughter-in-law, Saleema resided behind the four walls of the home with her four sons, and one daughter. Her eldest son, Khurram had married a woman with the most gentlest of spirits, Haya. Their union had been blessed with two sons, Aurangzeb and Humayun — both of whom lived out of their native country for work purposes. The second son, Kaleem, had refused to marry and his only companion in his old age was his youngest brother's daughter Zaara who was a burst of sunlight in his dim life. Son number three, Husham married his cousin, Humeria and they had one daughter, Areej and two sons, Aman and Rafay.
Khubaib, Zaraa's father had only one child, the apple of his eye. He had raised her painstakingly, never had he refused any of her wishes — saying no to her was impossible for him. All he had was hers, even his life, which he would give with a wide grin for her joy any given day. Lastly, their sister, Anya was a widow with two daughters, Zainab and Zuneirah, with a son Zafar. They were of course famously referred to as the devils by Zaara, whose every action was under their constant scrutiny.
At the age of twenty one, Zaraa was in her second last year of university. Her father had given her free reign to study anything her heart desired, and her family had placed bets that whatever she ended up choosing would be nothing but cause of shame — however, her father had smiled, with pride when she of her own accord decided to enroll for a degree in finance. Even with her cheery and loud personality, Zaara preferred to stay inside the four walls of her palatial home, reading in the large library that was brimming with books, or strolling in the large garden at the back of their home.
