In Lahore, a terrace overlooking the square great mosque grounds, set for supper. Easy, by the light of dusk.
And, as it got darker, neon signs flashed Urdu names in blue.
All kinds of names, of grandfathers. Of great great grandfathers. Of restaurants, passed down for generations. Preserved recipes. Where couples and families would come by weekly, and eat at night.
The terraces lit up, in gold spotlights by dark. Smoke, and conversation blanketed the terraces.
And just outside the blue and gold of Lahore, in a quieter part of town, a boy and girl laid in bed, illegitimately.
A nineteen year old couple, Humayun and Zahra, rested after sex. They had fucked since eighteen, a little after school.
And now and then snuck in a fuck, between their parents being out. Their parents, familiar with each other. Trusting of the two, but never imagining sex. Their parents lived in a progressive vagueness, common vogue ness, that their children could have a friend in and out of each other's homes, but turned any assumptions of their youth, completely off.
Humayun was a trustworthy looking boy, captain of the high school cricket team, and a Haafidh. A community boy, present at all functions, and helpful. And Zahra was the since primary school girl constant in life, and they had graduated together swapping homework.
Zahra was a petite, dark haired girl. Slightly curly. She wore ordinary clothes, kurti tops and the three quarter pants, unassumingly. She didn't know what she preferred, in fashion. And it didn't bother her. Humayun was a little taller, and carried a usual footballer fan's aesthetic. And messy hair.
They grew closer after school, sharply in the two years since. Almost twenty, there was reason, by all accounts, that they would marry someday.
The curiosity came early, one night, one and a half years ago, behind a Madressah event's wall. She gave him a handjob. And that was it, until he later, floppily returned the favour, in a different corner of the city. It bled only a little.
Since then, they had casual sex on weekends, when their parents went out for the afternoon, thinking not much about it.
Until tonight. Mere Mehboob Qayamat Hogi played on the radio, and Humayun listened to it, with a different ear. It was always an old uncle song, but approaching twenty, he was approaching relativity.
"What do I do, then? asked Zahra.
"Don't go." said Humay.
Zahra got up, frustrated. It became darker.
"How do I not go?" Zahra tied her hair.
"It's your third cousin."
Zahra tied a scarf, picked up her bag and stopped at the door.
"Come! They're coming at ten."
Humayun lazily got up, and they went to go get the biscuits from Aunty Saimah, leaving Zahra's house. Her parents were away. Humayun was her chaperone for the night, and her little brother the supposed guard.
However, Sahil was on his own trip to a friend's, to play videogames. And Humayun, only meant to walk her to get the biscuits, had his cum in her. Zahra walked normally, and the night was cold, and they returned with the tester plastic tray, just as Zahra's parents pulled in to the driveway.
"How are you, Humayun?" Zahra's father asked heartily.
"Will you have some tea?" asked Zahra's mother.
Humayun stole a chance to be in Zahra's company longer, she looked past him as he sat in the kitchen, where Firoza poured Nisar tea. Humayun could text Zahra later, but he sat at the untidy late night kitchen table, an inner court and upper echelon of intimacy, reserved for close family.
"Where's Sahil? It's getting late." asked Uncle Nisar.
"He'll be home now, Abba." said Zahra.
Humayun was casually questioned, of his future plans, not in a way to infer marriage, but just like that. Lack of other topics. He charmed an answer or two, and cornered himself into accepting taking Zahra, to get her dress the next day.
Uncle Nisar was busy, time was short. Zahra had a wedding that weekend to attend, with her parents. Some third cousin in a farm away town. Aunty Firoza didn't want to trouble Humayun, but he persuaded her he was free and had the car to himself.
In a moment, they agreed.
Humayun texted Zahra later that night, a few memes, and slept. He returned next day in the afternoon, and waited in the car. Zahra got in, and they drove across town, to an up and coming IG tailor, who conjured up imagination by, and for, needy aunties. For Zahra, a modest draped dress in cobalt blue.
She showed it to Humayun later, in the afternoon, after he returned home.
He saw the dress, running up the stairs of the mosque.
"Pretty."
After Esha, Humayun texted her further, and for the rest of the week, as she planned. And he constantly spoke of wanting something chocolatey.
They schemed reasons to avoid the wedding, which became mostly jokes.
On Friday, near the Lahore gate, in the late afternoon, Humayun and Zahra planned to meet at her house after Maghrib, for conversation. Zarah offered him some of the new biscuits they bought. The green tree outside the window, pulled against it in a restless noisy wind. It was just conversation, that led to it.
On a high kitchen chair, Humayun getting a blowjob from Zahra, when her parents had walked in, early. Humayun and Zahra didn't hear a thing. It was done, seen. Humayun panicked and pulled up, Zahra got up slowly.
"Get out." his mind said, but he paused, just to see the disappointment in Zahra's parents eyes. He got out.
During the wedding, Zahra didn't respond.
And, after.
A few weeks of lumpy throat, heavy chest and unreturned texts, Zahra was engaged.
Humayun, after a good few weeks of endless nights of planning how to meet, for the last time, found they could only, at a mosque program. They met behind a hall, in quiet, that promised not to tell. For a few minutes, that passed like eternity.
