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.
There was not much to say, it was done. Aunties passed, and they had to part.
Humayun texted her on her new number, trying to light up familiarity again.
Kis Tarah Mai Tumse Bewafa Ho Gaya. In which way was I disloyal to you.
Singing ly. Zahrah texted back.
"It's not funny."
Humayun was free, still. Zahra was given, to a family far related.
II -
And in the evening after the walimah, he was fucking her, as she looked out through the window. In a strange and foreign land. Still in Pakistan, but far away. In a family house, in a fully lit bedroom. He was her husband.
It was not even at the end of the day, yet. Still last light. A depressing Sunday eve, when not even all guests had left yet. Walking past the room, possibly. On the bed, and, with him not bothered why she didn't bleed, she took it kneeling.
He was pious, and fucking her, rightfully. On the white quilt, she was slight and bare. The 'he' was bellied, bearded and hairy. And after she was done taking it, and they had laid formally, she got off the bed and wore sandals with a patter.
She was reluctant, to show feet. Even at home, but for random nights. Fluffy slippers, worn to the kitchen, when only her family and little brother would see it, unbothered. And in Madressah, they hid in socks. From the curious boys. And except for holidays, and funerals, and maybe times when only aunties would see. Now, a faraway place, like a closed circuit safe space, Zahra didn't mind... because at some point, all of you will belong to a farmtown family home anyway.
She had round toes, and Zahra was petite. Her feet were perfectly proportioned, even in flats, as she walked to help dinner. The table was set, and all the table knew her husband had used her a half hour earlier, and she took it like a champ blanking any embarrassment. She ate, conversation departed the shame.
She was to go to the shops, tomorrow, in the family Fortuner, for an early morning air. A breath. Before returning, charioted, to be chauffeured to the airport in the night. Because they needed time away, to bond. For her husband to fall in love with her. And to satisfy himself with her, in privacy.
Away from his family, who could never imagine such a thing to happen, or honeymoon, they call it.
She was packed, lingerie for the pervert. Or for her husband.
And soon, she was taking him again, on a resort bed. In the early night, atop the covers. She was doggystyled again, with the lights on, in lingerie. Black lingerie her parents had bought, sanctioned, of little consequence. Her husband was filling in and out of her, just her crack enough for him. Content. Her round bum, cushioning.
He cummed, she had to take pills.
But he came, filling her hot. After she was sure he was done, she got up. Removed her lingerie to go bath, and apply makeup. For dinner at the resort cafe, she dressed. He ate paratha and Karahi, and she watched, while thinking of dessert.
They strolled all along the pool area, it was a cool night. It was private, and the wind kept their thoughts. Hidden.
Back in the room, Reza took his fill in missionary, in a dark room. Before they slept.
In the later morning, Zahrah got dressed in day one's outfit of her trousseau. One she had only briefly planned. She wondered if it was as useless as the lingerie, a dress and wedgey heels. He didn't fuck her that day, they went adventuring.
Not at night, either. But, the next few...
