"The Masood family, who have been leading the renowned political house of Kranti Mukhti Manch(The Revolutionary Liberation Forum) for generations, seemed to be trying to clinch victory in the Khiyamabad elections for the fourth consecutive time. While Kamran Masood, the current leader of the party, has been tirelessly conducting rallies, promoting, canvassing, and seeking public support, their rival political house, Yuva Shakti Sangathan (The Youth Power Organization), appears to be attempting to sway the crowd against them through persuasive tactics. The rivalry between KMM and YSS is at its peak, making it hard to pick a side."
The reporter was speaking into the mic on the TV with the humongous screen behind him displaying a picture of Kamran Masood on one side and Amir Qazi and his son, Hamzah on the other.
The display changed, and cartoon figures of the three appeared on the screen, each wearing boxing gloves. They were depicted facing each other in a boxing ring, with the title 'Showdown: KMM versus YSS'
"What are you doing up there on the TV?" She demanded, swirling her spoon in her coffee, her eyebrows arching questioningly at her boyfriend of eight months.
"Must be my father's doing," He sighed, pushing his empty cup of tea aside.
"I thought you didn't want any part in politics," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes.
"I don't."
"Pray tell me why your father is launching your face alongside his for the upcoming elections?"
"I told him not to."
"Ten points for trying," sarcasm laced her tone.
At a private café, seated at their regular table, with their usual drink of choice, Izzah Kamran Masood, the only daughter of Kamran Masood, covered from head to toe in black abayah and niqab was seated opposite to Hamzah Qazi, son of Amir Qazi.
Of all the times Izzah had defied her father, dating the son of his rival was the most rebellious act she had done up to date.
Hamzah and Izzah barely spoke during their university years until graduation. When Izzah received an award for topping her class, Hamzah congratulated her, and she responded with a simple 'thank you.' Their fathers' rivalry made them feel like enemies too. It felt like they were forbidden to interact, always on opposite sides.
Their paths might have never crossed again if not for the night Kamran Masood betrayed her trust by denying her the chance to study abroad. Fueled by anger and a thirst for revenge against her father, Izzah started something with Hamzah that she knew would lead to trouble. But Izzah had always been drawn to danger like a moth to a flame, unable to resist things that promised destruction.
"You know how overbearing our fathers can be," Hamzah reminded her. "You can't stop them once they have made up their minds about something."
"So you're a politician now?" she folded her hands.
He chuckled and leaned forward. "No, let him party all he wants, but once I go away to pursue my masters abroad, I'm not coming back. Then he won't have any choice but to drop me as a member."
"Masters abroad."
Izzah clenched her teeth and refrained from further argument.
Like her, Hamzah hated politics and his father. That was the sole reason they connected to each other the way they did. They understood each other, and they could relate to each other. They despised the same things and yearned for the same escape-to run far away from their fathers and the daily grind of politics.
Izzah wasn't certain if she loved Hamzah, but she needed him. She needed him to whisk her away wherever he was headed. He was her ticket out, her escape plan, her only hope for freedom.
"Did you get a reply from any university?"
"A few," he said, joining his hands on the table, "But not the one I want from." He frowned.
Her eyes dropped to his hands.
Normally, a girlfriend would have placed a hand on her boyfriend's and might have consoled him, but she wasn't normal.
Izzah threw a napkin at him. "If you keep waiting for better, you will miss the good ones. I'm sure the ones you got replies from aren't that bad."
"Easy for you to say, Miss. Topper," he shook his head, discarding the napkin on the empty seat beside him.
The nickname made the corner of her lips curve up. Izzah rested her chin on her hand and turned her head to her left in an attempt to hide her smile but just as she did that, her smile on her face vanished in an instant.
Izzah felt herself turning into a stone, a wave of terror taking over her form as she saw the man seated on the table at the far corner of the café, watching her.
There are things that you constantly fear might occur, and you live each moment haunted by its possibilities. Nightmares plague your mind with the worst-case scenarios and when one of your worst fears becomes reality, your life turns upside down.
It was one of those moments for Izzah.
She knew it was over for her the second she met his hazel eyes peering into her soul. Her first instinct was to cover her face but he had paralyzed her, robbing her of the ability to move any muscle.
"You okay?" Hamzah dipped his head and queried watching the colours draining from her face.
When Izzah neither spoke nor looked at him, he followed her line of view.
And there he was, Aadi Haroon Masood, nephew of Kamran Masood and cousin of Izzah, leisurely drinking coffee from his cup with his predatory eyes preying on them.
★★★
Five years, three months, fourteen hours and twenty-five minutes.
That's precisely how much time had passed since she had last seen him before he went for military training.
He was 20 years old and she was 18. He had come home from his military school for vacations and had stayed with them for exactly two months and a week. In that course of time, he had made her life a living hell, just like he always did whenever he was home.
Aadi seemed to be a curse upon Izzah, as there was no other explanation for how, whenever she acted without her father's knowledge, she inevitably got caught by him. Not once did he spare her, support her, or keep her secrets; instead, he consistently snitched on her.
Getting her reprimanded by her father and their grandmother was what made him sleep at night. It was what he had told her once, when she had asked him what he gained by snitching on her.
Izzah still remembered the last time he snitched on her(which was just a day before he left for military training).
She had participated in a college dance event without her father and grandmother's knowledge, fearing their disapproval. Aadi received a video of the dance and showed it to them even before she got home. That night, her father and grandmother nearly sent her to Maktab-e-Nisa, a Muslim girls' rehab center where they disciplined girls based on Islamic teachings.
There's always one undesirable place every parent uses as a threat to manipulate and scare their children into obeying them. If you don't do this, you will be sent to boarding school. If you don't do that, you will be sent here or there.
In Izzah's case, it was Maktab-e-Nisa.
Her father and grandmother had used that card on her a million times and it had worked every single time.
It was after pleading, crying and grabbing their feet for days that they had forgiven her.
She might have been forgiven but she was never going to forgive Aadi for what he put her through.
She had spent the last five years cursing him every time someone brought his name up in her presence. His name was taboo for her. A poison for her mental health. Someone could mention him and she would spend the rest of the day in a bad mood.
That morning, Dadi(paternal grandmother) had mentioned him at breakfast and Izzah had lost her appetite.
Memories of the night when she was crying, sobbing and grabbing her father and grandmother's feet flashed before her eyes, making the food taste sour in her mouth.
The Izzah from the morning, had no clue she was going to encounter her very own curse, Aadi Haroon Masood, later that afternoon.
However, getting caught for dancing was one thing but getting caught with a boy, not just any other boy, the son of her father's rival, sounded like the end of times had descended upon her.
★★★
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Assalamualaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh
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