We Run for Love

Chapter 7

Afaaf Zaryaab Khan

The large brown gates were opened. The haveli revealing in our view. I curled my fingers in a fist as the guards guided us inside. Stepping in just behind Zaryaab, I looked at the figure that quickly approached us.

Dressed in a blue kurta shalwar, a chubby man in his late fifties stepped before us, a white turban tied on his head. With a big smile on his wrinkled face, he greeted us.

" I am Chaudhary Mushtaq." He introduced making the green eyed man to step forward and shake the older man's hand.

" I am Zaryaab, and this is my wife." The man introduced back making me snap my eyes at the back of his head.

I smiled at Chaudhary Mushtaq as he turned to me.

" Welcome to my haveli. And feel yourself at home." He smiled again politely before calling out for someone. A boy of young age came running out from behind the pillars.

" Take your brother inside to the guest room and take sister to the ladies area. Tell Ameena that we have a guest." He instructed to the boy , the Punjabi accent overlying. The boy nodded.

" Come, bhayya bhabi" He beckoned us to follow him.

Bhabi (sister in law) - the word felt so foreign to me.

As we crossed the large open garage area, I roamed my eyes to the plants that were placed alongside the lush green garden. The climbers going all the way up to the red brick haveli. The haveli itself was beautiful, a grand place with the unlightened fairy lights wired all over possibly because of the wedding. The front of the red brick house showcased the balconies and a large terrace on the second floor.

I was quickly distracted with the buzzing of voices. As we nearest the brown door, it was opened from the other side and the breath knocked out of me as a crowd of women dispersed out. Zaryaab tensed besides me.

" Calm down." The boy who was being called chotu said over the women's Punjabi voices.

The fancily dressed women went silent as they looked at us with big smiles on their faces.

" Take a side." A feminine voice said making the ladies make way for her. Dressed in an embroidered shalwar kameez, a women probably in her mid forties emerged with a tray of sweetmeats in her hand. Her long hair wrapped in a braid with a multicolored parandha.

I greeted her first as she smiled warmly at us. Nodding at me she spoke.

"MashALLAH."

Taking a piece of the sweetmeat in her hand she forwarded it towards my mouth, almost forcing me to open my mouth. Taking a small bite of the sweet, I turned to Zaryaab. Seeing he was being fed with the same sweet.