Above all, don't plant me inside your heart. I'd outgrow you.

— Rainer Maria Rilke

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The feeble rays of early morning sun does nothing to warm her skin, surfing over the texture of the clouds to enhance their brilliance, making their appearance half golden, half silver. Her gaze keeps colliding with them before returning to her, empty and broken, just like her thoughts.

Banafsha sighs and rests her head against the frame of the wall-window overlooking the garden, watching her niece and nephew chase around the peacocks. How carefree, she thinks. Why can't she feel the same?

Her niece, Abeer, falls to the ground. She straightens in concern but smiles when she watches her huff, pushing herself up and rubbing her knees, puffing her cheeks and glaring at the peacock furiously.

"Just like her father," Banafsha mumbles to herself before her nephew comes running to her.

"Afsha!" He reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, kneeling down in front of him.

"Yes, jaan?"

"Help us catch it," he tugs her to go with him, pointing towards the peacock.

"Wali," she gently releases her hand from his grip, "I can't."

"But why?"

"I'm really tired."

The four year old looks up at her with pleading eyes, repeating, "But why?"

"Well," she searches her brain for an excuse, "I've been working," she tells him half a truth. She has been working her mind for the last few days.

"But you've been standing here," Wali points out.

"Yes, because I'm on a break now." She starts fixing his hair. "But you don't have to catch it, zaar. You just play tag with it."

Wali just shakes his head in refusal and she flicks his nose.

"Afsha!" Now Abeer joins in too, rushing towards them. "I'm hungry."

"Me too!" Wali adds.

"Where are both of your parents?" She stands up and turn around only to find Nufail walking towards her. He smiles when their eyes meet.

"The kids are bothering you?" he asks lightly.

She shrugs and crosses her arms. "One is enough. Two are handful."

"Wait till you get your own," he bugs and she rolls her eyes, waving off his statement.

"I still need to get used to my siblings' children around the house, let alone have mine. Why did both Mughis lala and Pari had to get married together, and then coincidently have kids at the same time too?"

Nufail chuckles softly at her remark. "God's will. What can we do?"

"They're lucky I like them, even though their parents definitely aren't on the top of my favorites list."

"Does that list even exist?" Nufail teases. "Who the blessed ones are named there?"

"Me and myself," she jokes back and Nufail laughs now.

"Baba?" Wali holds up his hands for his father to take him. He picks him up in his arms.

"Yes, bachey (my child)?"

"I'm hungry," he whines. "Abeer is hungry too."

Nufail kisses his son on the cheek and calls over to a servant. "Take the kids to their mothers."

The maid tips her head and leaves, taking the children with her.

Banafsha returns to leaning against the window frame and staring outside, absent-mindedly tracing the clouds with her gaze, watching them move.

"You're upset," Nufail simply states, coming to stand beside her, locking his hands behind his back.

"Apparently," she replies without tearing away her eyes from the sky.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't think there's anything to talk about."

"Ain't there?"

"There ain't. Or at least there ain't anyone I wanna talk it out with."

"Not even me? I thought you saw me as your brother."

She finally looks at him and smirks mockingly. "Aren't you Pari's husband before anyone else? Just like Ferozeh is lala's wife before anyone else."

Nufail smiles in amusement. "Just like Mughis and Pari are your blood before anyone else."

She scoffs and turns away. "I don't want to get lectured, lala."

"I'm not here for that, Afsha. I'm here for you."

"You're here to tell me what everyone else has been telling me. But I don't have it in me to hear it anymore."

"I'm here to listen to what you've to say, so just say it."

She crooks her neck to look at him again. He's wrapping an off-white shawl over his black clothes, standing tall and handsome. Nufail has everything a woman can desire, from looks to status to a good heart. She knows he's different, his lack of association with politics unlike her family letting him preserve his humanity. Parisha is lucky to have wedded a man like him, she wonders.

But what does she have? What can Aurang give her? She doesn't even know how he looks, or how his voice sounds like. His conflict with his father has him hiding in shadows and away from cameras, so much so as not to provide her with photographs of himself even, insisting on meeting her in person instead, the chance of seeing him which she had ruined, neither hiring photographers at the event. But since she isn't interested in him anyways, she doesn't bother protesting.

Their encounter on their nikah night remains a secret only between Aurang and herself which she's guarding with her life, more importantly after how he left without uttering a word to her. Her family might not forgive her for spoiling their reputation in front of her husband and putting in open their objectives, especially after all her insanity over her marriage. Her father can only consider her wishes for so long.

"I didn't want to get married, lala," she complains weakly. "Does everyone think I don't know what's going on?"

Nufail raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Baba and Mughis lala," she explains, "they care more for their elections than my happiness. Their party, their position, their votes-- those are all that matter. They've nothing to do with Aurang Idris; they want Idris Khalil, his father. Because Mr. Khalil is more powerful than them-- because getting me married to his son will pave a way to a bright future for them. I feel used," she rambles in annoyance. "Do they think I don't know why they put up this condition of getting me married before sending me to Dublin? Why didn't they ask Zoraiz to marry before sending him there?"

"Because Zoraiz is younger than you," Nufail interjects with ease and she throws up her hands in exasperation.

"It wouldn't have mattered if there was a girl they could get him married to for political gains too. Besides, didn't Pari and Mughis lala married at the same time even though lala is older? No one pressurized him until he was ready."

"And when were you to be ready, little one? Cause we all know it wasn't coming. You don't really have to doubt your family's intentions for you. This decision was made in your good will too."

"You're only saying that because your wife was also involved in this scheme. Everyone lied to me, and now you're all trying to console me but failing miserably." She narrows her eyes at him skeptically. "You know the truth, don't you? Do they think I can brainwash Aurang to settle his affairs with his father and move back here, to his home? Do they think it's so easy or so petty of a matter? That guy doesn't even want his father to know he's here, for his nikah. Aurang came here only on the morning of that day. If he were nurturing any such thoughts of reconciliation, it wouldn't be so intense."

"But would it still be not fair to bring a father and son closer together?" Nufail reasons. "You can keep your intentions good if no one else is."

"I'm a nobody between them, so why would I bother?" She pushes back her hair, gathering it behind her neck. "I don't even know them. Besides, politics is the last of my interests. Baba and Mughis lala can compel him on their own if they're so desperate. Nobody needs to drag me in this drama. My life is pretty dramatic already. Not to mention your wife too played her part well."

"Pari only wanted the best for you," Nufail defends.

"Of course," she spits the words in sarcasm.

"Banafsha." He turns to her and she does the same, finding the hazel of his irises molten and soft. "Aurang really is a good man. Parisha only agreed with everyone's choice of choosing him for you not because of his father, but because of his own self."

"How well your wife could've known him, huh?" she dares.

"Well enough to know he's the one for you."

"Over a third party telling you he's a good man? Nonsense," she mocks again. "This is my life partner we're talking about."

"You think your family wouldn't have run a background check before agreeing to this?" Nufail argues. "Besides, last I checked, you didn't even bother knowing his name as long as uncle Humayun gave you  permission to practice abroad."

"That's the problem: despite running a check on him they still chose him for me even though he met my standards by no means. My fault? I trusted them. I admit I made a mistake and I regret it already. What do I even do now? Go die?"

"You deal with it like a lady," another voice interrupts and Banafsha scowls upon hearing it, turning to glare at her sister. "And you don't act like a brat misbehaving with others, especially my husband," Parisha adds.

"Pari," Nufail gives her a tender look, "it's okay."

"No it's not," she insists, crossing her arms stubbornly. "She has made an entertainment out of our shames; she needs to behave."

"And what if I don't?" Banafsha huffs. She doesn't wait for her sister to respond and stride past her, nudging her shoulder along the way.

She slows around the corner, hearing Parisha apologize to her husband on her behalf.

"I'm sorry about her."

"Be gentle with her, Pari. She's not used to all this," Nufail advices.

Banafsha peeks a glance at them, catching Nufail hugging his wife to his side.

"She's no more a child; she needs to learn."

"Give her some time, she will." He pecks her temple. "Where's Wali?"

"With mama."

Banafsha doesn't wait another moment and leaves, making her way towards her room, storming inside and slamming the door shut. She throws herself to her bed.

"I'm gonna destroy all this dirty politics," she talks into her pillow, digging her nails in it. "Wait till Aurang sends me divorce papers."

After all, how can he not? How can he still let their marriage live after everything she told him? He might not have said something and left, but he belonged to the same land as hers. People here worship their egos. Didn't she hurt his ego by telling him she didn't want to marry him but was forced to? Will he still not give her her freedom after she straightforwardly asked for it?

A knock at the door interrupt her musings.

"Leave me alone!" she yells at whoever is at the other side.

The door clicks open and someone steps in. She swirls around swiftly to glare at whoever it is only to find her mother, Zuleikha, standing at the threshold.

"Mama," she utters quietly, relaxing, and pushes herself up in a sitting position. "I thought you were with Wali."

"Your father took the kids outside," she replies with a smile and comes to sit beside her on the bed. "Banafsha," she lovingly brushes back her hair from her eyes, "my beautiful daughter. Why do you upset yourself like this, darling? Seeing you unhappy hurts me too."

"Does it?" she asks with a hint of sarcasm. "Then why did you let the nikah take place? You knew I didn't want to marry."

"But we had to get you married at some point, right? You were our responsibility and we had to fulfill our duties towards you. You're twenty seven already," her mother reminds her and she squeezes shut her eyes, letting the words slip by.

"So you decided to throw this responsibility off your head?"

Zuleikha looks at her in disbelief. "We chose the best man for you. He's Idris Khalil's only son."

"Disowned son," she reminds her. "And he's not Idris Khalil himself."

"Yet. What is it that he even lacks? He's handsome, kind, and respectful. He'll keep you happy."

"He's poor, second-hand, and with a child," Banafsha scorns, disregarding her mother's words.

Zuleikha shakes her head at her in dismay. "Very rude, darling. You shouldn't use such words for your husband," she scolds. "Firstly, he's not poor. Yes, he may be living an average life in Dublin right now, but at the end of the day he has to come back here; this is his home. Who's going to take charge of everything after Idris? Of course Aurang. And secondly, his first wife passed away long before so what's there to worry about?"

"And his child?" she repeats her last issue.

Zuleikha smiles and pats her cheek. "Not your concern. You give him a child of your own, hopefully a son to carry the legacy of their family, and everything is yours."

Banafsha clenches and unclenches her jaw, curling her fingers in the bedsheet. "That's not up to me, mother. Last I studied, women still weren't producing eggs to be males."

Zuleikha glares at her disapprovingly. "Language, young lady. You don't go doctor on me."

"I'm sorry, but I'm in no position to think of children and whatsoever. I've dreams to achieve first, and they come before Aurang, his family," she leans towards Zuleikha, staring straight into her eyes, "and my own."

Zuleikha stands up abruptly, looking daggers at her daughter now. "We've always given you what you've desired, Afsha. But not now. You're married to Aurang, and the wedding will take place formally too. We've only delayed celebrations for so long only upon your request. Don't forget Banafsha, we're Pashtuns: we can die but we don't back upon our words-- it's a stain upon our honor. And your father and brother has already given Aurang their word, so you better behave now."

Her mother leaves her room and she emptily stares after her.

If they're Pashtuns, Aurang is too. Then how can he take a stain upon his honor after her threat of betraying their relationship?

She falls back to her bed, pondering.

This fire within you might burn us all, Banafsha.

Parisha's words keep echoing in her ears.

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Thoughts?

Fun Fact: The gender of the baby depends upon the chromosome of the sperm (X being female and Y being male) from the father's body that fertilizes the egg in the mother's body (egg always having only X chromosome), producing either an XX (female) or XY (male) combination. So the child's gender is determined by their father and NOT their mother.

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