Khizer’s POV:
“Hey.” Me and Mansha both turn at the same time.
“Sara!” Mansha exclaims. “You look beautiful.”
She smiles. “I hope I’m not disturbing you two. You guys seemed to be having a serious discussion.”
“She was trying to convince me to smuggle her some salad.” For context the buffet hasn’t opened yet. “You just saved me from committing a crime.”
Mansha rolls her eyes. “He’s just a scaredy cat. Anyway, what’s up?” She looks at Sara expectantly.
I resist the urge to chide her for being so straightforward about wanting her cousin to get to the point and be done with it. It’s as if she only cares about the feelings of salads.
“Did you get your pictures taken?” I ask, making up for the lack of politeness in my wife.
She nods. “Yes. The camera man is a ball of nerves though. He’s so irritable.”
“Cheeky more like.” Mansha scoffs. “Anyway, did you need something?”
Inside my head, I’m facepalming myself. “No, I just wanted to congratulate you two. I didn’t get to before, what with mom not wanting to attend any of your pre-wedding events.”
Ah yes. Mansha’s Aunty Sugra is quite a handful. She puts the d in drama wherever she goes. I remember Mansha telling me she’s not attending any of the events because she feels insulted by our audacity.
“Mom and Father worked very hard convincing her to attend our wedding.” Mansha’s eyes gleam with amusement.
“We’re very grateful that she did.” I quickly add.
Sara blinks up at me with big, doe eyes, and Mansha snatches that chance to roll hers. “Indeed we are.”
Sara slowly shakes her head, fidgeting with the rings on her finger. “Yes I’m sure. But I’m glad I got to attend the wedding.” She looks up, first smiling at Mansha, then casting a quick glance my way. “Whatever she might say, I’m glad you guys ended up with each other.”
Mansha sighs, her eyes softening. “Thank you. I’m glad you didn’t marry him as well.”
The look of surprise on my face is mirrored on Sara’s. “What? He’s old enough to be your father.”
Oh god. “I get I’m older then her, but not THAT old.” I say defensively.
“That’s what old people say.” Mansha dead pans.
Sara laughs nervously. “You guys look good together. Congratulations!”
By now I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard this compliment. And every time I’m surprised by how much I like receiving it. It’s my guilty pleasure.
Before I can thank her, her mother shows up besides us.
“Aunty Sugra! We were just talking about you.” Mansha exclaims.
Sara gives her a look. “I was just congratulating them mom. Don’t they look beautiful together?”
There’s the butterflies again, jumbling up my intestines. They started when I kissed Mansha’s hand, and haven’t stopped since. When she held my hand, I was expecting anxiety to creep in, but instead I found myself kissing her hand simply because I wanted to. That was a fucked up decision as I’m beginning to find out. The headaches and nausea are bad, but butterflies are worse. It’s a new reaction, and what it means is just scary.
I’m brought out of my thoughts by Mansha grabbing my hand. “I’m sorry Aunty, but I have to go. The buffets about to open.”
Sara laughs. “Are you kidding me? Go back to the stage. The bride and groom get their own table, have you forgotten?”
Mansha shakes her head. “I haven’t. But we’ll be eating later then everyone else, and there’ll be no salad by then.”
“Brides don’t go to their own buffets Mansha! Hasn’t your mother taught you anything?” Her aunt exclaims.
Mansha frowns. “It’s my wedding, I can-”
I cut over her quickly, if only to prevent her from giving a speech. “I’ll get it for you. It’s crowded back their anyway, you won’t be able to walk in that gown of yours.”
She glares at me. “I’ll ignore how misogynistic your comment was simply because you’re getting me salad. I want two spoonfuls of each type.”
I leave her there with her aunt, walking across the Hall to the buffet table, my insides itching. A ton of emotions have taken over me in this one day, and none of them are helping me feel better. It’s as if part of me wants to run away, and the other one wants to stay put right where I am, besides my wife.
The very thought is enough for me to want to throw up. My commitment issues seem to be on peak right now.
“Khizer!” I stop in my tracks, one leg in front of another, my blood freezing.
I’m probably imagining it. I turn around, and in that one millisecond, my heart beats and stops ten times over.
It’s him, standing in a black formal suit, a flower bouquet in hand and a soft smile on his face, skin void of the wrinkles of old age and eyes gleaming with unknown thoughts.
I’m still processing him standing in front of me, when my eyes fall on something behind him. Or someone.
Mansha. Standing on the stage, eyes trained on me, a thoughtful frown on her face. It’s funny how quickly a person’s perspective about someone can change. Moments ago I thought this woman looked like a goddess, and now she’s anything but. Nonetheless, all my emotions vanish, replaced by a cold void.
I smile. “Ah. Uncle.”
His smile falters for just a second, before widening again. “You don’t look surprised.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Why would I be?” If my wife wants a show, I’ll give it to her. I gesture over at Mansha, who’s still staring at us shamelessly, to come over.
His gaze follows my extended arm, and he nods appreciatively.
“You chose well son.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets, trying very hard not to gauge his eyes out for staring at her. “I didn’t realise I asked for your opinion.”
Ahmed sighs, finally looking away from Mansha. “I thought I would get a pass on your own wedding. You did consent to having me invited didn’t you?”
“Ah there you are Mansha!” I exclaim happily, arm extending to usher her to my side. She has a carefully expressionless face, and falls into line besides me, allowing me to wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Our most awaited guest is finally here.”
Mansha nods. “I’m happy you were able to come Mr. Ahmed.”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He casts a quick glance over at me, his grin made of elastic. “Your nephew doesn’t get married every day now does he?” The only sign that the girl besides me is surprised is a sharp intake of breath and the tightening of her muscles beneath my hand. I tighten my hand on her arm in return.
Clueless, Ahmed extends the bouquet of white roses towards her. “It’s nothing much, but it’s all I could arrange at such short notice.” He tilts his head good naturedly. “Maybe I can treat you two to a dinner later. After all, we’re related now aren’t we?”
I raise a perplexed eyebrow. “It seems everyone wants to have us over for dinner recently. First Mr. Zafar, now you. Isn’t that weird…. Uncle?”
Mansha shifts besides me, and I feel her eyes on me, contemplating, thinking. I don’t look at her.
“Now what did you do to warrant a dinner invitation from the mayor?”
I smile softly. “You tell me.”
Ahmed pins me with a challenging stare, the smile plastered to his face. I mirror his expression. But my mind is focused on the blur of white dress and grey hair at the edge of my vision.
Granny. I can’t have her spotting him. No matter what happens, she can’t see him.
“You know what’s weird?” Mansha finally speaks up, arms full of white roses. Our stare breaks, both turning to look at her. “Khizer never told me you two were related.”
Ahmed laughs, and his hand rises as if to pat my shoulder. I shift away. He raises an eye brow as if to make a point. “He doesn’t like me much, as you can see.”
Where is Ahsan and Saleem when you need them? Probably at the buffet enjoying themselves, I answer myself. “Then I don’t see why you’re still standing here so shamelessly.” I hiss, the smile disappearing from my face.
I’m all up for drama and games, but not when granny is at the center of it all. She doesn’t deserve to suffer anymore, and if this man stays here any longer, she’ll find out her dearest son is back from abroad. He has to leave. Now.
Ignoring Mansha’s hard gaze on me, and Ahmed’s surprised expression, I turn towards the buffet table, searching for Saleem.
He’s standing just a few feet away, with Ahsan and Saeed. All three of them looking at me, waiting. They know.
All it takes is a nod.
Saeed walks over to Granny, who’s walking towards the buffet. Ahsan and Saleem walk towards us, towards Ahmed, ready to kick him out. I grab Mansha’s wrist, tugging her away from the buffet tables, away from Ahmed, and make my way through the crowd, ignoring anyone who approaches us to talk.
We walk to the far end of the Hall, where the exit is in clear view. Then we watch Saleem and Ahsan take Ahmed outside. We don’t look away until they come back, without him. Then I turn to the girl besides me, the one who I’ve been oggling all night, the very same one who never ceases to surprise me.
She didn’t fail to this time either.
She gazes up at me, eyes shadowed and thoughtful. The eyeliner makes her eyes look big and gorgeous, and makes her hot red lips stand out even more. She’s still beautiful, but I don’t feel anything. I don’t like looking at her.
“You can’t just kick out a guest like that. He was my guest. You had no right.” She finally breaks the silence.
“I think it’s time we reviewed the contract we made Mansha.” Is all I say.