The preparations for the coronation ceremony at the palace began right from dawn. Maids carefully skimmed the waterlogged flowers from the surface of the pool using large netted tools and replaced them with baskets full of fresh blossoms from the gardens. Vibrant, tiny and colourful flowers emerged from the cracks on the ancient worn walls of the bathhouse, adding a natural allure to the weathered surface.
Moreover, there was an undeniable shift in power within the palace as the party's symbol, a silver torch against a royal blue backdrop adorned each tomb.
The crowning ceremony of Aadi Masood was set to unfold in the quarters of his late father, Haroon Masood's quarter, a space reserved solely for momentous occasions such as this.
Banners and flags in regal blue and silver hung from every corner, fluttering in anticipation of the upcoming event. Excitement was in the air as residents and staff alike walked around wearing garments of blue and silver, eagerly preparing for the momentous event.
As the clock struck noon, the guests began arriving. Men folk assembled in the court room and took their seats, while ladies gathered on the upper floor, their murmurs of anticipation adding to the growing buzz of excitement.
And then, at last, the star of the evening, Aadi Masood, along with Kamran Masood, entered the room, their presence commanding attention. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, a cacophony of sound filling the air.
"He's grown taller," observed Hiba, her eyes fixed on Aadi as he made his way to the center of the room with his Uncle.
"And hotter," added Zara, grinning mischievously.
Izzah, standing between her two friends by the balustrade, watched the scene unfold below. She couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment as she glanced at Aadi.
"He's also meaner," she remarked, her voice tinged with bitterness. "And thanks to my father and his decision to crown him, more egoistic and narcissistic than before." She huffed.
Hiba and Zara had things to say but their conversation got interrupted when Kamran Masood took center stage and began his speech.
"We, Masoods, come from a line of Kings and Queens. Our ancestors founded Khiyamabad in the aftermath of the war. For ages, we've ruled this city, passing down our legacy through generations. Even after India's transition to democracy, we continued to lead Khiyamabad, preserving our culture," he declared.
Izzah watched her father speaking into the mic, exuding confidence.
"We're likely to win again," he declared.
The crowd cheered in his favor, with the party's flag raised high in the air.
"And we've decided," he continued, "after me, Aadi will be the next heir of our empire." He pointed to his nephew, Aadi, who stood with his friends dressed in a navy blue velvet suit with bronze-colored buttons. His eyes were covered with dark shades, adding an air of mystique as he stood tall before the crowd.
Two little boys wearing white salwar kameez stepped up with a silver platter covered in red velvet, on which lay the infamous crown stuffed with rubies, sapphires and diamonds.
When Kamran Masood called Aadi to the stage, the crowd went wild.
"Today, I pass this crown to Aadi," he lifted the crown for the world to see, "a gift from our ancestors to every heir of our lineage." He then gracefully placed the crown upon his head, symbolizing his ascension to the throne.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, expressing their support and excitement for the new heir.
"By crowning him the next heir, we entrust him with the weight of our history and the responsibility to lead with integrity and compassion," he concluded, hugging his dear nephew.
Aadi's friends lifted him, and he unabashedly allowed them.
"Is he the king now?" Zara asked, reflecting a common misconception.
"No, he's not," Izzah corrected, tearing her eyes away from Aadi and his friends.
"It's merely a silly tradition in our family where they crown the heir and designate him as the successor of the empire."
"Does this coronation hold any significance, or is it just for show?" Hiba queried.
"He is the successor of the empire, meaning he will take my father's place after his...death," she uttered the last word with some hesitation.
"Interesting."
The three turned and glanced down at the boys on the stage, now taking selfies with Aadi, who sat like a king on the throne.
Izzah shook her head at their tactics.
"Let's go," she said, dragging the girls along with her, inside.
The celebration in the palace was on full swing. People chattering, laughing, walking around, eating and drinking everywhere. She took her friends to the terrace, away from all the buzz. She lay on the swing with her book and began reading poetry while her friends clicked pictures to post on their socials.
After some time, they began complaining.
"What are we doing here??" Hiba was saying, "Let's go down. We are missing out all the fun."
"You can go if you want to. I'm good here."
They insisted and when she didn't change her mind, they left.
Alone, she sat up on the swing and took a long breath in silence.
Izzah had no plans of joining the celebration and wanted the day to end already. She couldn't wait for people to go back to their homes and leave the palace to her.
She possessed an unexplainable hatred towards people; whether it be the members of her khandan (family), people around her, or people in general, she abhorred them all with a burning passion.
In retrospect, most people, in her opinion, were inconsiderate, insensitive, meddlesome, selfish, judgmental, hypocritical, racist, and last but not least—body shamers.
She especially despised social gatherings, where people gather to criticize, judge, and hurt others through their expressions and comments.
She believed that women were the greatest enemies of women.
She hated women more than she hated men. At the end of the day, she hated the lack of humanity and basic decency in people regardless of gender.
Izzah's friends call her a misanthrope: someone who hates humanity as a whole and believes that human behavior is fundamentally flawed or corrupted.
Perhaps it was because she was exposed to the hypocrisy of people from a very young age. Her mother passed away giving birth to her, and when you have no mother, everyone tries to be one. Growing up, she observed how people around her changed their faces and tones according to the status of others. She noticed how they treated the rich and poor differently, women criticizing women, the unfair treatment of sons and daughters, and people giving importance to baseless traditions over humanity. She resented the patriarchy, the hypocrisy, the oppression, injustice, inequality, and the abuse.
Izzah had never hesitated to voice her thoughts or to speak up against what she believed was wrong. Perhaps that was why people disliked her, and she was okay with it because she wasn't a fan of anyone either. She didn't care what anyone thought of her. She didn't try impressing or pleasing people. Until and unless, it benefited her.
Coming from a family line of rulers and politicians, Izzah saw life as nothing less than a game of chess, with people as its pieces. When she was young, she didn't know how to play the game. She was reckless, impulsive, and lacked any strategy. She lost every time. But every loss taught her a lesson, and she learned from her mistakes. Over the years, she got better at playing the game. Although she wasn't as bad as she used to be, she was nowhere close to her father and Aadi. She knew she couldn't beat them at their game, so she began playing a different one.
Aadi finding out about her relationship with Hamzah was the first dent in her plan, but she believed she still had a chance. That was, if she succeeded in keeping him from telling on her. If she failed, she would be in huge trouble. And this time, her father won't spare her.
Izzah was aware of the risk and the consequences but she couldn't sit back and allow her father to dictate her life. She refused to be a puppet. She was going to take charge of her life and she was going to get the freedom she deserved.
No matter what it takes.
Izzah came down sometime around ten to join the feast. Looking around, she found her friends, Hiba and Zara, flirting with Aadi's friends. She rolled her eyes at them, filled her plate with food, and was on her way back to the terrace when she spotted Aadi with his fiancée, Misbah, in a secluded corner.
She would have minded her own business and walked past them if Aadi hadn't glanced up and locked his gaze with hers.
Izzah didn't break eye contact with him as she passed, matching his intense stare. He stood there, unaffected, his eyes glued to her while his fiancée placed the crown back on his head, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek.
Tumne dekha he faqat ankhon ko,
Tumne ankhon mein kahan dekha he?
(You have only seen the eyes,
Where have you looked into the eyes?)
Izzah tore her eyes from them, looked ahead, and kept walking.
"Hypocrite," she muttered under her breath, replaying the image of Misbah clinging to him.
So what if they were engaged? They still weren't allowed to touch each other, but no one was going to say anything because they were 'engaged.' If Izzah had done something like that, she would have been slapped and called shameless. If Aadi did it, it was acceptable. The double standards were intolerable.
Izzah wondered who was better: Aadi, who let his fiancée touch him, or Izzah, who, despite being in a haram relationship, had never let Hamzah touch her.
They were both wrong, but she would be called out for her wrongdoing while his would be justified.
In a desi Muslim household, if the daughter is caught having an affair, it's considered her fault. If the son is caught having an affair, he is seen as having been trapped by the girl.
Izzah's grip on the plate tightened, trying to control the urge to go back and throw its contents on Aadi and his fiancée.
Seething, she was climbing the stairs when she bumped into her grandmother.
"Where have you been? Everyone was asking for you." Her grandmother complained.
"Are Aadi and Misbah exclusively allowed to touch each other?" She snapped without thinking twice.
"What?" Her grandmother didn't seem to catch it.
Izzah was disappointed at her rather clueless grandmother, "Forget it," she shook her head and brushed past her.
"Wait! Izzah! Where are you going?" Her grandmother called out to her.
Izzah didn't stop.
"Ya Allah, when will this girl grow up?" The old woman muttered to herself, descending the stairs, one step at a time.
★★★
"What do you have to say about the coronation ceremony of Aadi Masood at the palace today?" the reporter questioned Aamir Qazi, who was seated on the opposite couch.
"Khiyamabad is no kingdom. Kamran Masood is no king, and his nephew with his pretty boy looks isn't a prince. They are making fools out of an entire city, and our people are unfortunately buying into their nonsense. Yes, their ancestors founded this city, but that doesn't mean we let them rule us forever. I want our people to understand the difference between ruling and governing. Our country is an independent, democratic country, yet the Masoods have been ruling Khiyamabad under the guise of a namesake party symbol for years. His party is nothing but a formality."
Aamir Qazi was surrounded by cameramen, reporters, and journalists from various media houses. They intently listened, some noting down points in their notepads.
"Everything they do benefits them more than the people of this city. Take a moment and compare your lives with the lives of the Masoods. They live in the palace while you reside in your battered houses. They have numerous guards to protect them from a non-existent threat. They drive luxurious cars while you ride carriages. They are draped in silks and satin while you wear cheap fabrics. The treasures the Masoods own can buy houses and cars for every person in this city. They can feed you and your family three times a day for the next five years and still be as rich as they are today."
Among the people, standing behind the monitors, Hamzah felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished the device out and glanced at the ID.
It was Izzah.
He stared at her name while his father continued speaking against her family right before him.
"Do you have any idea how much gold, diamonds, and precious stones the people of the palace own? And here you can't afford to get your daughters married. The problem is... our people. It is us who have put them on a pedestal and glamorized their lives. They are no celebrities; they are public servants. They are supposed to serve you, not the other way around. When will our people understand—"
Hamzah sighed when his cellphone began vibrating again. He knew she wasn't going to stop until he answered, so he moved to a corner and swiped right.
"Where are you?" she asked when he pressed the device to his ear.
"I'm..." He looked around, "...out." He settled with a vague answer, hoping it would suffice.
"You didn't text me today."
"I thought you'd be busy with Aadi's coronation."
"Coronation? I can't believe my father had thousands of people believe in this nonsense." She scoffed.
Hamzah chuckled, "Believe me or not, my father called it exactly that just a while ago."
"Because unlike the people of this city, your father is not a fool."
"Can your family's wealth really feed the city for the next five years?"
She snorted, "That's pushing it. Perhaps three."
"Are you for real?"
"Old money. Generational wealth," she said carelessly.
"And you want to leave it all for a masters degree from another country?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation in her voice.
"And you want to do it with me?" He questioned.
"Yes."
Hamzah slowly bobbed his head even though she couldn't see it, "Alright. Can I expect to see you tomorrow?" He asked.
She stuttered.
"I understand if you can't-" he began but she cut him off.
"No, I can."
"Text me." He said.
"Okay."
"I love you." He whispered into the phone.
She hung up on him.
Hamzah glanced sideways at his cellphone screen and let out a shaky laugh.
This girl was apparently using him and was not even being discreet about it. Perhaps, her honesty and straightforwardness was what he liked the most about her. At least she didn't fake her feelings for him. Anyone in her shoes would have but she didn't.
Izzah had everything to gain and he had nothing to lose from their relationship.
★★★
Retiring to her room, Izzah took off her dupatta and laid it on the bed before taking a seat on the edge. She removed her sandals and fell back on the mattress, her long black hair falling in thick curls above her head as she stared at the ceiling, one hand on her chest, fidgeting with her necklace. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness consume her.
Izzah almost dozed off when her cellphone began ringing, waking her with a start. Annoyed at being disturbed in her sleep, she begrudgingly checked her cellphone. When she saw the caller ID, her annoyance knew no bounds.
It was one-past-five.
Why was he calling her at this hour?
Why was he calling her at all?
The ringing stopped, replaced by a text on the screen.
A: I hope you haven't forgotten our deal.
A: I want you to do something for me.
Izzah grimaced at the text and decided to ignore him, hoping he would get the message that she was asleep and let her be.
Whatever it was that he wanted her to do, she was sure it could wait until morning.
But it was Aadi. He would never let her be.
"What does he want?" she angrily demanded from the maid he had sent to wake her up.
"He wants you in his room urgently," the maid replied, taking a step back out of fear.
"Is he out of his mind?" she snapped, losing her temper.
The girl swallowed and shook her head, intimidated by her outburst.
Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, Izzah grabbed her dupatta and stomped out of her chamber, cursing under her breath all the way to Aadi's room.
★★★
Aadi was making himself comfortable in the chaise lounge, propping one leg on the other when Izzah threw open the double doors of his bedroom with a loud thud. His awaiting soft gaze met her blazing ones in anticipation.
Seething from head to toe, she stomped up to where he was seated, her jaw clenched.
Aadi lazily let his eyes roam over her, noticing how she was still dressed in an anarkali suit, her curls peeking out of her dupatta and framing her heart-shaped face. She had discarded the jewelry she had been wearing for the day but hadn't taken her makeup off her face. For someone as fragile-looking as her, she sure was a cracker.
"You go to bed looking like this?" he teased, giving her a once-over.
"Looking like what?" She squared her eyes at him.
"A clown." He couldn't hold back a chuckle.
Izzah closed her eyes, trying to contain the anger bubbling inside her.
Izzah was too exhausted to take off her makeup or change into night clothes, but did he have to comment on it?
"You have a death wish or what?" she gritted, opening her eyes just to glare at him.
"Easy," Aadi said. "You are forgetting the predicament you are in." He reminded her just how fragile her situation was with him.
She inhaled and exhaled, composing herself as she asked, "What do you want, Aadi? I was sleeping for god's sake," she hissed, wanting nothing but to get away from him as soon as she could.
"I would say I'm sorry to wake you up, but I'm not even a bit sorry." He gave her a cunning smile as he continued, "Let me remind you that we had a deal. If you want me to keep such important information from my uncle, you'd better come running whenever I call you, regardless of the time of day or night."
Izzah expected the worst from him, yet the way he was treating her infuriated her.
She realized no amount of mental preparation would prepare her when it came to Aadi. Anything he does or says, always, forever, until her last breath, would enrage her.
For now and for the sake of her own benefit, she had no choice but to put up with him.
"I'm here, aren't I? Tell me what it is that you need me for." She folded her arms over her chest and waited.
Aadi waved a hand in front of him as he said, "For starters, get me a glass of water."
Izzah dropped her hands with a huff, walked to the bedside table, poured some water into a glass, and handed it to him.
Accepting it, Aadi took it to his mouth, pressed his lips to the rim of the glass, and watched her from under his eyelashes. Blinking, she looked away. Not knowing what to do, she surveyed his room while he drank.
Under minimal warm lighting, his room, which was as large as hers, looked just the same as the last time she was there. The gigantic round bed with drapes hanging from the ceiling, the tinted windows, the wardrobes, the study table, the painting, and a cozy living area within the room where she was now with him. The royal couches and tables, a fireplace, a bookshelf with untouched and unread books, and a television that hadn't been turned on for years.
"Do you miss this room?" he asked, extending the empty glass toward her.
"You mean, 'my' room?" she snatched the glass from his hand and placed it on the table nearby.
When Aadi had newly moved into their quarters after his parents' death, he had a difficult time sleeping. He would spend nights by the pool, staring at the sky, silent tears running down his cheeks. Izzah had been there, watching him from a distance until one day she braved up and approached him. She was eight. She didn't know what she was doing. She felt sorry for the boy who had lost his parents and wanted to help him, to make him feel better.
And so that night was the night Izzah made the mistake of letting Aadi into her room. She showed him all her sketches, her jewelry, her favorite toys, and shared with him her favorite snacks and stories from the books on the shelf.
Aadi fell asleep halfway through the story, and she let him sleep on her bed because it was the first time she saw him peacefully sleep after his parents' demise.
The next day, he thanked her, saying that it was her "boring" story that put him to sleep.
And that very afternoon, he declared he liked her room better than the one given to him.
And just like that, it was his.
"Grow up, Izzah. It's just a room," he said in a mocking manner.
"Is that all? Can I go now?" she redirected, ignoring his jab at her.
"Grab me my phone." He gestured toward the device which was on his bed.
Sighing, she got it for him.
"Anything else?"
He handed her a handkerchief. "Polish my crown and place it back in the casket in my wardrobe," he ordered.
Offended, Izzah narrowed her eyes at him as he held the handkerchief suspended in the air. Restraining the urge to throw her flip-flop at him, she snatched the piece of cloth and took a seat on the sofa by the fireplace. Muttering profanities under her breath, she began cleaning the crown on her lap while he leisurely lounged, scrolling on his phone.
After completing the task, she went and asked him if she could go, but Aadi had other plans.
"I have to make a public appearance tomorrow. Help me choose my outfit."
He made Izzah bring out clothes from his wardrobe and display them before him.
"This is outdated."
"I don't like the collar."
"This looks like something a waiter would wear."
"Bring me more."
"No."
"Not my style."
She knew he was doing it on purpose. It was entertainment for him; breaking her self-esteem and making her do things against her dignity. That was all it was. Anything to break her.
After a hundred trips from his wardrobe to the living space, he finally selected an outfit, but he still wasn't ready to let her go.
"Press them," came his next command.
"It's already pressed," she argued.
"Just do as I say," he said.
Izzah wanted to throw a chair at him, but she was too tired and sleepy to do or say anything, so she just did what he asked her to.
"It's done. Let me go now. I'll pass out otherwise." She pleaded, her head spinning.
He lowered his cellphone and stared at her tired and sleepy face.
"Please," she added, knowing all that the bastard wanted was to see her submit, to surrender before him.
Aadi continued staring at her in silence while she shifted impatiently in her place.
Just when she thought of adding another 'please' to satisfy his stupid ego, he spoke up.
"Fine," he exhaled, "You can go."
Izzah had already turned on her heels when he spoke up again.
"But," he waited for her to face him before propping his legs on the table, "Not before you press my legs." He said casually, gesturing to his outstretched legs.
Izzah was stunned, "Excuse me?" She widened her eyes.
"Press my legs and you are excused," he shrugged.
Now he was taking it too far.
"You are joking."
"Why would you think that?"
"You really can't be making me press your legs."
"Why not? You said you'd do anything," he reminded her.
She gritted her teeth and balled her fists, fuming from head to toe.
He continued, "You can always walk away. I'm not forcing you to do 'anything' you didn't willingly sign up for."
Izzah did not sign up to be humiliated or degraded like that. Aadi was targeting her ego, her dignity, and her self-esteem.
"Choose, Izzah," he urged, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and fingers supporting his face between them.
Get on her knees or her secret was out.
Izzah felt the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger, tears brimming her eyes. She was so angry, she was about to cry and she hated it. She hated herself right then but most importantly, she hated the man before her.
She hated him so much she wanted to kill him.
"Are you planning on standing here all night, Izzah?" He asked with a straight face.
At that moment, Izzah felt the embarrassment, resentment, powerlessness, helplessness, and anger all at once.
She couldn't walk away even if she wanted to. She couldn't afford to keep her self-respect. She couldn't save her dignity. It wasn't going to save her if her father got to know about her relationship with his rival's son.
He would kill her, but she deserved to be alive and free. If anyone was going to give her what she deserved, it would be her.
Aadi watched the colors of contemplation playing on her face intently. His gaze darkened when she faced him, her head hanging low.
She was doing it.
Swallowing her pride, she lowered herself before his legs. She felt his eyes pinned on her and she didn't dare look at him.
Holding her breath, Izzah brought her shaky hands over his legs and was about to touch them when he swept them off the table and rose to his feet.
The silence stretched between them.
He looked down at her, "It disgusts me how there's no line you wouldn't cross in order to keep your secret safe," he said, his words and tone laced with disdain and repugnance.
Izzah pressed her lips firmly, suppressing the sobs. She was so ashamed, so ashamed of herself...she wanted to throw up.
"Get out of my sight, Izzah," he walked past her kneeling form.
Izzah gathered the remnants of her self-respect and hurried out of there. Hands pressed to her mouth, she ran to her room, sobbing uncontrollably.
★★★
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