The Longest Autumn

“Hmm?" She looked up. 

“Ma'am, it's time to close the office. Everyone has already left." Said the watchman and Fayra looked at the clock. Office timing was till 6 in the evening but it was already five past eight.  

“Umm… Tell the driver to take the car out of the parking lot, I'll take only ten minutes.” She muttered, again giving her eyes to the laptop screen which was showing a record of payments due and pending works. For a moment she wondered how Adnaan and Afnaan handled everything so well? She was tired from helping them. 

Shutting down the laptop she walked out from the office holding her expensive bag in left hand and priceless confidence on her face. 

The driver opened the door for her, she smiled while hopping in the car "Thank you." 

“Ma'am I need two days leave." As soon as the drive started, the driver demanded. 

"Again? You were already on leave for the last few days.” Fayra was irked 

“Madam, my daughter is ill, I have to take her to Delhi for treatment.” 

“Fine,” she muttered and started scrolling reels on Instagram. She didn't realise when web surfing and social media became least interesting for her after getting responsibility for business. 

Soon the car entered the home which was not looking like her home because of the silence and emptiness. 

Before she could step out from the car her mobile started ringing, it was Momina's call. Picking up the call she opened the car door and felt a movement on the glass window of Momina's room. It was Danish, hearing the horn of the car he opened the curtain and peeped out from the glass window. A figure, able to beat his heart with uncountable reasons, walked while tucking her curl behind the ear. She wore a simple black tank top tucked into high-waisted, wide-leg pants. The trousers were so loose and flowy they looked like dark water moving around her ankles. Over the all-black outfit, she wore a long, sheer cardigan that went all the way to the floor. It was made of lightweight chiffon with a bold leopard print, drifting behind her like a cape in the slight breeze. Every time she walked, the wide pant legs billowed out, creating a dramatic shape that could make everyone look at her. Around her neck, a thin gold chain caught the light, holding a tiny, delicate pendant that rested against her collarbone. A brown leather handbag, two minimal rings in her fingers and black heels were giving her a bossy look. 

Danish forgot to close the curtains, he hadn't seen Fayra for the first time but she wasn't looking like Fayra who had separated from him, she was a different lady with charm, elegance and sophistication.

Clicking her heels against the marble floor she walked into Momina's room, Danish turned to see her coming. 

“Dadi jaaan." Fayra smiled while placing the bag on the floor and sat beside her grandmother. 

“Why did you take so long?" 

“There was a lot of pending work." Fayra replied and looked at the plate of fruits present in the nightstand. 

"Why aren't you having fruits, Dadi Jaan?” Fayra questioned and Momina grimaced. 

“Can't I get something tasty? I'm tired of this blunt food." Momina didn't want to have that tasteless food but her grandchildren weren't ready to accept this demand. She was discharged from the hospital yesterday morning. Now, she was neither sick nor absolutely fine and healthy. Fayra and Danish were giving their best in looking after Momina, as well as managing the office. From morning to afternoon Danish was going to his office, meanwhile Fayra prepared food and looked after Momina. After Danish returned, it was her turn to go to the office. 

The rest of the family members knew that Momina's ankle was twisted, nothing else, so they were relaxed and not planning to make their vacation shorter. Momina herself instructed Fayra and Danish to hide about her health. 

"Have this silently.” Danish lifted a spoonful of pomegranate seeds from the bowl and took it near Momina's mouth but she looked away. 

"I won't eat this.”

"You don't have any other option, Mrs Momina Asif Rizwi.” Danish raised his left brow which slowly shifted his specs. Fayra placed a hand on the cheek with wrinkles. 

"I'll make something for you, tell me what do you want to eat?” 

"Biryani.” Momina demanded but Fayra smacked her forehead. 

"Dadi Jaan, itni zabardast cheez bhi nhi mangni thi. Aap ko lagta hai main biryani banane layaq hu? Daal chawal bana du?” Fayra laughed at her own joke, this girl was cooking daily it didn't mean that she was as good as her mother in cooking. 

(Dadi Jaan, you didn't have to ask for such a difficult dish, do you really think I could make it? Should I make daal and rice?)

Danish felt like laughing but he controlled himself, he maintained a flat expression on his face as he looked at Fayra. 

“Daal chawal, khichdi, tahiri… tumhara bawarchikhana bas in teen cheezo par aa ke ruk jata hai.” Momina huffed. 

(Daal chawal, khichdi, tahiri… your menu includes only these things.)

“Dadi Jaan, you forget matar pulao and sambar rice.” Fayra laughed at that friendly scolding. Danish was surprised that Fayra was truly making all these things lately. Otherwise she was good at making nothing other than tea and coffee. 

“Beghairti to dekho is ladki ki… Main to Maizah ko kaam chor kehti thi, lekin is umar me to Maizah ne sara ghar sambhal liya tha,” Momina looked away. Disappointed but Danish laughed this time. Since childhood he had seen Maizah and Momina in a bitter sweet relationship. Maizah didn't let go a single chance to argue with Momina, and in return Momina didn't leave a single chance to remind Maizah that she was the daughter-in-law, so she had to behave like one however this tug of war was never ended.

(Look at the absolute shamelessness of this girl… I used to call Maizah a slacker, but by this age, Maizah had already taken charge of the entire house.)

“Finally— you praised my mother!” Danish banged his fist on the pillow with a huge grin, but Momina rolled her eyes. How could she accept that she truly appreciates Maizah? How could she admit that she loved her just like a daughter? So wearing the mask of strictness and ego was a much better option.

“By the way, Dadi Jaan, you must be a khadoos Saas (dangerous mother-in-law). Weren't you?" Asked Fayra with a great grin. Now she was teasing her grandmother who gave a disappointed look then huffed.

“Khatarnak saas ka to pta nhi lekin khatarnak dadi ban jana chahiye tha mujhe, tum sab ko seedha kar deti. Na sharam hai na lihaaz, dadi se mazakh karte hain. Main tumhari umar ki hu jo mujhse mazakh karte ho?" Covering her head properly with the white chikankari dupatta, Momina threw glare at both of them who were enjoying this scolding session. Danish was sitting near the head rest, just beside a reclining Momina who was tired of resting and having tasteless food. He was still holding the bowl of pomegranate seeds and Fayra was sitting just a few inches away from him. 

(Don't know about being a scary mother-in-law, but I should've been a scary grandma to straighten you all out. No shame, no respect—joking with a grandmother! Am I your age to be fooling around with?)

"Budhe honge aapke dushman, abhi to aap jawan hain.” Danish pinched the cheek of her grandmother, he loves to tease this lady and her irritated reaction. 

(Your enemies might be old, but you are still young.)

"Dur hato… chale jao dono yaha se.” Momina looked away, Danish was still enjoying but Fayra decided to end this debate, she wanted Momina to stay happy not irritated. 

“Offo Dadi Jaan, leave it. Tell me why were you calling me?” Fayra asked just to divert the topic but Momina was still angry. 

"I didn't call you, He asked me to ask why you were late.” Shooting away Fayra, Momina turned her face to the other side. But Danish's breath hitched, it was the last thing he wanted his grandmother to reveal at this moment. Fayra looked at him, he was silent but shrugged. 

“Umm… yeah, because… well, I … I don't care if you come late or not… I thought that… that Dadi Jaan must be missing you." he muttered, trying to explain himself, trying to hide his care but Fayra rolled her eyes. 

“But I didn't even ask you the reason." She stepped down from the bed and looked at her grandmother. "I'm coming after changing my clothes, then we will have dinner together.” 

"I don't want to have anything, leave it. I can't eat khichdi everyday.” 

"Fine, I'll make a yummy sambar with rice or idli, but don't expect me to make roti." Fayra raised her both hands in surrender and Momina pressed her lips together while rolling her eyes. At least she was getting something else to eat. 

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From a boss lady to a househelp, she transformed herself magically within ten minutes. An oversized badge coloured t-shirt which was left with a few traces of flower print with a pair of red coloured loose trousers, a big clutcher was holding her hair together on the back of the head and the headband was stopping some stubborn hair from falling in her face. 

She looked at the screen one more time and grimaced, “I can't do all these things." Another cry while rewatching the last few seconds of the video and she struggled to understand the ingredients she needed to make sambar. 

Now, she couldn't even turn back from her commitment, otherwise Momina would stay hungry. Before she could give up, footsteps came toward the kitchen. Fayra turned to see Danish coming inside the kitchen, he didn't look at Fayra, just opened the fridge, put the pomegranate seeds back and closed it before turning to go back when a small scream stopped him. 

Fayda was hissing and jerking hand, the hot water in the steamer spiller and a few drops burned her skin. Danish was surprised when she didn't cry, just washed her hand under the running water. He stepped out from the kitchen but his heart felt the urge to look back just one time. And he did so. She was placing all the vegetables on the chopping board and picking her mobile phone by ear, maybe calling someone. 

“Need some help?" He couldn't help but ask and Fayra looked at him with requesting eyes. 

"No, thanks.” she muttered but Danish grabbed another knife. 

“Give me chopping work." 

“Umm… not needed, but…" Fayra took a pause and “Shift this on the other burner." Pointing towards the steamer she requested, it was the culprit to burn her hand. Danish noticed some small red spots in her fair skin but decided to control the urge to ask or say anything. 

"Anything else?” He asked after completing the first work but found Fayra washing daal. 

“Where is idli batter?" He asked, at the same time heard a voice from the door. It was the watchman bringing the parcel ordered by Fayra. 

“Right here." She grabbed the bag and Danish focused on the vegetables. “I am chopping them," he announced but Fayra mocked. 

"We need to chop them, not your fingers.” Pointed toward the carrots, beans and pumpkin she smirked. 

"I know.” He didn't look up just started peeling and chopping. Fayra was standing near him with a slightly open mouth. Dicing the veggies he passed them to Fayra who was now doing something with spices and cooked daal. 

“I'll make idli." Danish stepped towards the bag they received Just a few minutes ago but Fayra looked at him with wide eyes. He was pouring out the idli batter into a bowl and mixing salt in it.

“Do you even know how to make it?" A teasing tone and questioning smile never leave her face. She was sure Danish didn't know anything about cooking, just like all the male members of this family except Adnaan, who cooks sometimes but she forgot that things have changed now. 

Danish didn't reply, just filled the idli moulds and looked at her over his shoulder. 

"Maine akele rehna bhi seekh liya hai, khana bana ke khana bhi aur bhuke soo jana bhi. Abhi tumhe pta nhi hai ki zindagi ne mujhe kya se kya bana diya hai." Placing the mold in the steamer he left. Fayra's heart sank, the smile present on her lips suddenly disappeared.

(I have already learned the art of surviving alone, cooking and feeding myself and sometimes sleeping on an empty stomach too. You don't even know what life has carved me into.)

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Momina was satisfied after having something better, Fayra was unable to forget the words said by Danish. After cooking when she came to Momina, Danish was already gone to his room. Nothing new, he hadn't tasted the food cooked by Fayra, he had maintained a good distance from her, if they crossed paths he still behaved like a stranger however, he never left to show his careful behaviour too. 

“Dadi Jaan." 

“Hmm?" Momina paid a quick glance at her face then took the spoonful of sambar to her mouth. 

“Summon Danish too, he is making Maggi again." Fayra muttered in a small voice, Momina suddenly looked up, suddenly she forgot to have dinner. 

"Do you really care about him?” 

"I do Dadi Jaan, I do." Defeated. She admitted nth time, she was tired of explaining herself. Momina kept watching Fayra's eyes, she wasn't lying. The old lady was about to criticize Fayra one more time but she decided to take a soft step. 

“Agar uski fikar karti ho to jao, use khud khana de ke aao." Fayra didn't take a single moment to obey the instruction as if she was already waiting for this. 

(If you truly care then go and give him food.)

After only a few minutes she was standing on the doorway of Danish's room, he was lifting the first bite of maggi. 

“Have it," Fayra walked inside the room and placed the tray of idli sambar in front of him. 

"Thanks, but I already have made Maggi.” He avoided looking at her face.

"Umm… Dadi Jaan asked me to give you this.” Again a lie, but he was unaffected. 

"Thank you to Dadi Jaan, but I'm fine.” He faked a smile. 

"Having noodles and fast food is not good for health.” 

"I know what is good for me and what's not. Please leave me alone.” his hand politely pointing towards the door. 

"You're behaving as if I've mixed poison in this.”

"Fayra.” Danish looked up, eyes hard towards her. Tone impolite this time. “Meri ek baat dhyan se sun lo, tumne wo kra jo tumhe theek lagta tha, aur maine tumhara feysla maan liye kyuki main tumhe kisi rishte me qaid nhi karna chahta tha. Ab tum mujhe azaad rehne do, main bhi to apni zindagi ko apni marzi se jeene ka haq rakhta hu. Jo faasle tumne banaye hain ab mujhe unki aadat hone do. Behtar hoga mujhse baat karne se ya over-friendly hone se gureez kro. Jab raaste alag alag kar liye hain to ye is tarha rishte nibhane se ka kya fayda? Main junk food khau, healthy khau ya bina kuch khaye bhuka mar jau, mujhe mere haal par chhod do.” Danish radiates a chilling sense of finality. His anger didn't burn like fire; it felt like ice. The lack of shouting makes it clear that he already past the point of arguing, negotiating, or begging. He was simply delivering a verdict, but Fayra was deeply hurt. She wanted her Danish back at any cost. Danish wasn't her husband on papers but the Danish who was her supporter, her mentor, but friend and everything. 

(Please listen to me closely. You made the choice you thought was best, and I respected it because I had no desire to hold you back forcefully. Now, please allow me my freedom. I deserve to live my life on my own terms. Let me adapt to the distance you've put between us. It is best if you refrain from reaching out or being overly friendly. Since we have parted ways, there is no purpose in maintaining this kind of dynamic. Whether I eat poorly, eat well, or do not eat at all, please just leave me to myself.)

Fayra forgot to blink after hearing such a harsh tone for herself from this guy. Her lips trembled, urged to say something in defence but “I… I'm sorry.” Picking up the tray of food she muttered and walked away. Danish was shocked. Her eyes were shining with a hint of wetness but she didn't let them overcome her calm face. He was surprised, she didn't argue, she didn't justify her action, just simply left? Could she be so mature? No! Never! But…

Was she crying? The only question was enough to make him restless. Forgetting his dinner he walked towards the terrace, most of the time she went there, so somehow he had an idea of her presence but after pushing open the door he found no one. Following his heart he came near the railing. The hard metal felt cold against his hands. The moon wasn't shining in the sky, some clouds were there, it was about to rain. The air was holding some kind of mysterious and mild floral fragrance, filling himself with it he rested his head on the railing, and the very next moment his gaze travelled to the one sitting on the swing of the lawn, crying with hiccups while her face was hidden in her palms. 

His heart sank. 

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“Afnaan" a hand reached his shoulder, he closed his eyes while sighing and hid the black folder under the clothes before locking the cupboard again. "For how long will you hide the truth?” Fiza asked and Afnaan rested his forehead on the closed cupboard door. 

“I don't know, Fiza." He muttered and turned towards her. They both were stressed.

"Afnaan, you shouldn't do that.” She said with disappointment. “Or even if you did, you shouldn't hide this from everyone." 

“Fiza, they love each other. I couldn't let this happen." 

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