With Love

prologue: woman

Aunt Jannat came in with an outwardly concerned flare, her wide shawl wrapped all around her and held on tight to protect against the biting wind. Israh stepped aside, holding the door wide open and smiled politely, even as aunt's blessing hand brushed her own dupatta back, to fall around her shoulders and off her head.

Outside, the neighbour Abdul, with his narrow gaze and a corkscrew smile, rounded his lips and whistled, as if her bare head was too sexual to go past a man's tempted heart. Israh rolled her eyes, and slammed the door shut at his face, adjusting the scarf back on her head.

Coming back to her home country after she had spent most of her life abroad, was something that'd require quite some adjustment and compromise. Of course, she wasn't here to stay, but even to visit, she needed to remain alert and closed off, in case she ended up like her sister too.

Father Sikander stood up from his seat and greeted his sister grandly, a wide smile never reaching his eyes and lines folding on his forehead. Israh smiled too, a little sadly, knowing ever since Aneesa had left, her parents hadn't remained the same. Everything from their patient personality to their youthful physique had changed in the span of six months, for the worst, a complete opposite of their strong and bright energy.

"Haaye my dear brother, you've gone all skinny and weak. That marjaani Aneesa has trampled all over you and cursed you. May Allah never give her any joy and peace."

Israh winced at the name, knowing very well father Sikander had been hurt enough and never wanted to hear it spoken again, but aunts and uncles and the rest of their extended family knew little than to pour salt over still-fresh wounds.

Sikander and his wife, Sidra, exchanged conflicted glances then nodded mournfully, sitting back down on their seat and preparing themselves to keep on hearing aunt Jannat's plastic monologue of how angry and devastated she was at their ruin.

Did she not know she was one of the people who threw fuel into the fire burning at their house? They'd been scarred quite a bit already, and her actions had only strengthened the flames and spread them away to the rest of the world. Sikander and Sidra had barely met eyes with their relatives in case they'd call them shameless.

"Israh, go get something for your phupho." Sidra urged her.

Israh obeyed and left for the tiny kitchen she hadn't yet been used to, trying to find something worthy enough, so that Jannat auntie could stop focusing on how depressed her parents were, and instead comfort them with some good news, or compliments about the good food at least.

There were still some samosas left in the freezer, that hadn't been appetizingly melted off yet, since electricity had been gone for the past six hours. The water in the water tank was gone too, and the motor wouldn't run to fill it back because again, the electricity was gone.

Israh let the oil heat up a little. Meanwhile, she made the dough for pakoras and set the bowl aside. She managed to get some juice and fruit cut up to present in front of Jannat auntie before the latter started snickering about daughters who live abroad not knowing anything about their culture. Then, she quickly fried the samosas and pakoras, made tea with extra sugar because if there was one thing that aunties noticed when she came to visit, was how much sugar she put in her chai. That could make or break an entire relationship.

Outside, she could still hear Aunt Jannat going on and on about some other girl in their family who also lived abroad and had disappointed her parents. She recounted the tale of that man who had killed his daughter and buried her off in America, in the name of honour, and came back to Pakistan forever so that even if the police did start an investigation, they couldn't really do anything about it.

The bell rang again, and Israh exhaled frustratedly. She wasn't used to serving people when they came home. That was Aneesa's job, and without her, Israh was most of the time, very clueless and clumsy. And that was fine, if she was still back in England, but embarrassing herself here? She'd never hear the end of it.

Uncle Jamshed came in this time, followed by his older son, Mohsin, someone Israh knew more than she'd wanted to. Her hands shook as she poured tea in the cups, quickly making her way out to the living room to greet her uncle.

He might have been the only one who didn't look at Israh like she was going to be a disappointment too, like she was about to do something they wouldn't like, like they had to tip toe around her and be strict and suspicious at every action of hers. He embraced her tightly, blessed her, smiled at her and, "Growing up so beautifully, Ma Sha Allah, meri beti!"

Israh chuckled, glanced quickly at Mohsin who was already staring at her, then quickly averted her gaze and went back to the kitchen. He was probably pissed and hated her with everything in him. After all, she had kind of led him on and then suddenly broke all contact without even a small warning. She deserved it, and she wanted it to continue on like that, because if he didn't hate her, and if he still liked her, then things were going to escalate and make it harder for her.

After Aneesa's departure, she had too much on her plate, so she didn't need more trouble to add onto it. Besides, it was just a measly crush, and Mohsin wasn't someone she had actually ever wanted to be with. He was too much like the rest of the men in her family: short-tempered, overly possessive and jealous, and one to always look at just one side of the story. He was not patient at all, and after the past few months, the only things Israh wished for was one, that nobody found out Mohsin and her used to talk, and two, that her future partner would be someone who'd understand her and be patient with her.

"My brother, whatever has happened has been bad, we know that. But it's a learning lesson for everyone. Every woman should know her character is the only thing that she has, that is permanent and fragile. Once something taints it, or breaks it, this society will not let her live."

Uncle Jamshed had a monologue to give too, but he was less fake. He was genuinely worried and disheartened, and maybe that derived from the fact that he had three daughters too, so he understood a parent's pain. Aunt Jannat on the other hand was a whole different story.

Israh entered, holding a big tray of chai and the two plates of samosas and pakoras. Such festive food for such a grievous occasion, she thought. Smiling politely again, putting on a persona, she handed everyone their cup, including Mohsin who just found it okay to brush his fingers against hers.

Her heart squeezed painfully, and she looked at everyone, making sure no one doubted her. Mohsin should know that her situation right now was very delicate, but he only cared about himself. That became very clear, very quickly.

"Good girl. This one will never disappoint you, will you my dear?" Uncle asked.

Israh stepped back and sat down next to Sidra, glancing down at her lap before responding with a quiet, I'll always try my best. She would. She had been trying for the past seven years, and though she had swayed a little and made a mistake when it came to Mohsin, she quickly redeemed herself. She'd always try her best, to not be another Aneesa, no matter how much it hurt her. Because, if one day, she let go of all that she had been ignoring and avoiding and retreating from, the world would come crashing down on her. And, she'd never forgive herself.

She'd been trying to forget Aneesa, to forget how much she loved her, and wanted her back. She'd been trying to not defend her sister, because it was unfair that the man in the relationship had escaped so cleanly. She'd never looked another man in the eyes, in case someone doubted her character, never went out with friends much because what if someone thought she was 'wilding'? At every upcoming angry outburst, she'd swallow the tears and the fury, and remain silent against her family's unjust treatment, the way they wouldn't trust her when she went out to a damn library even.

And at some point, the anger was targeted at Aneesa, because after everything she did, Israh was the one suffering the consequences.

It hurt to be so quiet, but words had only ever brought damage into their lives. So, Israh would be the good girl everyone wanted her to be. She'd burn up her life and let it float away into ashes, and she'd sacrifice every ounce of desire she'd ever felt. She would stop holding onto the expectation that one day she'd be happy, fully, unconditionally, but some hope always lingered behind. Maybe one day, someone would come into her life and make her chaotic world peaceful again.