Their Last Season

In a cosy two-BHK apartment in Delhi, a woman was nervously pacing around the hall.

The hall was of medium size, having a table at the centre with two single sofas and one large sofa.

Near the door, an aesthetic showcase cupboard was placed.

An acrylic-painted vase was on it.

A dining table was placed across the sofa in the corner.

Turquoise blue and white paint complemented the furniture.

"Ya Allah, why is Amma not picking up the call?" Mahira muttered, getting annoyed.

She dialed her Amma's number again, and this time, on the fifth ring, her Amma picked up.

"Assalamualaikum. Where were you, Maa? I have been calling you for four minutes, and you weren't picking up my call." She bombarded her with questions.

The person on the other end smiled.

"Bitiya, you know, in four minutes you have called me ten times. When will you learn to wait? I was in the washroom, bitiya." The old lady on the other end said amusingly.

Mahira huffed.

"You know, Amma, I can't live without talking to you. Well, leave all this. I have something important to tell you."

She said hurriedly, like a child eagerly waiting to tell her mother about her day.

"Okay, tell me, Gudiya." Her Amma spoke with the warmth that always melted her heart.

"Amma, you know today my senior praised me a lot. He said I am the best employee and engineer. You know, Amma, I am getting a promotion." Mahira chirped.

Her Amma shone with pride.

Mahira had always made her proud.

Through Mahira, she was completing her dreams.

"MashaAllah, MashaAllah. My bitiya is talented, and definitely she is the best." Amma added warmly.

They talked for some more minutes before hanging up.

"Love you, Amma." Mahira said in a soft voice.

"Love you too, Gudiya." Amma replied.

Mahira smiled and turned towards the door, where she saw Danish leaning against it, amused.

"Assalamualaikum." Danish greeted with a soft smile.

"Walaikumassalam. When did you come?" Mahira replied warmly.

"I came when you were busy stealing my mother." Danish said, teasing her.

"Are we getting jealous?" Mahira also leaned against the wall, folding her arms and smirking.

"Why would I? The moment I married you, I knew my mother was no longer only mine." Danish said in a resigned tone.

She shook her head.

"She is your mother, but for me she is both a mother-in-law and a mother."

She said it casually, but the way her eyes shone with tears told a different story.

Danish walked towards her and pulled her into a side hug.

A comfort only a spouse can provide.

He knew she was missing her mother.

Mahira had lost her mother when she was a toddler.

Her father had raised her.

He tried becoming both parents for her and her siblings.

But still, a mother's void remained somewhere in her heart.

It was fulfilled when she married Danish.

Her mother-in-law, Silah, gave her the love she had been craving for.

She pulled out of the hug.

"Okay, listen. I know you have work, but I am missing Amma a lot, so I am going to the village. And you have to make the arrangements."

She said with utmost seriousness.

Danish was bewildered.

This girl and her sudden decisions.

Danish shook his head and called his brother to drop her at their hometown.

Mahira packed while singing a song.

Her excitement for the trip could be seen on her face.

Her face was adorned with a smile.

Danish smiled, seeing her enthusiasm.

The sun rose in all its glory.

A new morning arrived, bringing a new day for everyone.

The winds were a little stormy.

The clouds were greyish.

As if it would rain.

It was time for her to go.

Her brother-in-law came to pick her up.

She was about to leave the room when Danish suddenly hugged her.

He didn't know why, but he didn't want her to go.

"Danish, I know you will miss me, but I will be back in three days." Mahira said with a smile.

But he didn't let her go.

"Danish, I am not going forever. Why are you hugging me as if it is the last time?"

She said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Danish pulled away from the hug and looked at her with disapproval.

"You don't get to joke like this, Ira.

Come back soon."

He said while holding her hand and taking her towards the main door.

Her brother-in-law was there.

"Bhabhi, it's time."

She was about to leave when she felt a tug.

She turned back.

Her abaya's sleeve hook had gotten tangled with Danish's shirt sleeve button.

"See, even my shirt doesn't want you to leave."

Danish said, raising his hand.

She shook her head.

She bridged the distance between them and started untangling her abaya.

Danish watched her, smiling, but his heart... oh, his heart was screaming not to let her go.

But he didn't say it to her.

Because he knew how much she wanted to meet Amma.

"I love you..." he whispered.

"Come back soon."

A request.

She nodded.

"Love you too.

Allah Hafiz."

She smiled.

It started raining.

"See, the clouds are shedding tears over our week of separation. Even they are gloomy."

He joked.

But little did he know.

Indeed, someone's life would soon be filled with shades of gloom.

And just like that, she went away, leaving behind a throbbing heart.

It had been three days since she went there.

Danish received a voice note in the afternoon.

"You know, this time I am bringing the best gift for you, the one you can never give me.

Wait, dear husband...

Meet you tomorrow.

Allah Hafiz."

He replied,

"Okay, are you challenging me?"

But hours passed, and she didn't reply.

Now it was night.

He tried calling her.

Worried, he was pacing around when he got a message.

"Amma and I are at Nani's place. The network is not good here."

He sighed with relief.

He slept, missing her.

He heard the doorbell ring.

He looked at the clock.

It was 4 a.m.

He walked towards the door.

His eyes fell on the window, where the night stood dark without its moon.

When he opened the door, he saw his brother.

Usama was crying, and the very next second, he hugged him.

Danish grew worried.

His heart was throbbing.

Something bad had definitely happened.

"Bachcha, what happened?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Usama didn't speak.

Danish patted his back to calm him down.

Then his hand went still.

He heard something he could never have been prepared for.

"Bhai... Bhabhi fell from the terrace.

She is no more, Bhaiya.

She is no more."

Usama uttered with utmost difficulty.

And Danish

He was frozen.

His Ira was no more.

Indeed, someone's moon had waved goodbye.

******

It had been 15 days since Shanaya had committed suicide.

But for Sumaiya and Hamza, it felt like 15 months.

Days passed.

But the feelings couldn't.

Sumaiya was standing near the window.

Seeing the trees dancing to the tune of the wind.

The clouds drifting across the sky on their own.

Everything was perfect.

But maybe some hearts weren't.

She closed her eyes.

Feeling the wind against her cheeks.

She could never forget the way Hamza had broken down in her arms.

His words still echoed in her ears.

Oh, his words.

"I again lost my sister, Sumi.

I lost her..."

He cried.

She let him.

"Why am I such an unlucky brother, Sumi?

Why...?

Why does Allah take the ones most beloved to us?"

And Sumaiya had no answers.

She just engulfed him in her arms.

He broke down.

She collected his pieces.

Amina Aunty was on holiday.

Sumaiya wanted to meet her, but since she was a new bride, she couldn't go out just like that.

But her heart ached for Aunty.

Why is life so unpredictable?

One moment, the loved one is in our arms.

The next moment, there are just their remnants.

Hamza and Sumaiya were sitting on their room's balcony, sipping tea.

The balcony solely represented nature.

A rug with a grass design.

Small pots of plants near the railing.

And a small table with intricate patterns, with two cosy bean bags placed opposite each other.

She glanced towards him.

Putting her cup on the table, Sumaiya asked the question that had been on her mind for the past 15 days.

"Hamza." She began.

"Hmm." He hummed.

"That day you said you had lost your sister again."

She paused, knowing the topic was tender.

"But you don't have a sister. There are just the two brothers."

She looked at him.

She saw how his hand tightened around the cup.

His breath hitched.

She felt it all.

She knew she was about to witness a new part of Hamza's story.

Hamza put the cup on the table and looked at the moon.

"I am the youngest. You know that."

He looked towards the garden from the balcony.

As if avoiding eye contact.

"Sixteen years younger than Bhai.

But after Bhai, I wasn't born first.

My sister was.

Ayla.

Ayla Appi."

He exhaled.

He paused.

So did his heart.

"She was fourteen years older than me.

Two years younger than Bhai."

He felt a hand slip into his.

Sumaiya tightened her hold, as if saying, I am here. I am with you.

"Bhai and I loved her the most.

But she loved me the most."

He was looking ahead, lost in the remnants of time.

Hamza, where are you, beta?

See, I have made your favourite paratha.

Come out.

Ayla called out as she paced around the hall.

The hall was a big one.

In one corner, a big twelve-seater dining table was placed.

Two single sofas and two double sofas were placed around a glass table.

Near the door stood a table on which a glass vase was placed.

The walls were adorned with a wall clock and a nature painting.

She stood near the dining table.

Ayla knew her baby brother was hiding in some corner of the hall to avoid eating.

Hamza and his eating habits.

Ayla shook her head, smiling.

Then she heard a giggle.

She knew Hamza was under the glass table.

She smiled.

"Hamza," she called, stepping towards the table.

"Okay, don't eat. You know I only make parathas for you. But no worries, I will give them to Bhai today."

Little Hamza giggled, proud of himself for hiding from his Appi.

But the moment he heard Appi was going to give his parathas to Bhaijaan, his possessiveness kicked in.

Appi's special parathas were only Hamza's.

Hamza came out from under the table and grabbed Ayla's kurti.

Ayla smiled knowingly.

"No, Appi. Mine," Hamza declared.

Ayla turned and scooped five-year-old Hamza into her arms.

"But you didn't want to eat, so I thought, why waste food? Let me give it to Bhai." Ayla said, suppressing her smile.

Hamza looked at her with a betrayed expression.

She was dressed in a white and green chikankari suit.

She was tall.

Her green bangles jingled softly.

Her eyes were adorned with kajal.

Her hair was braided.

She looked a lot like her grandmother.

But her smile was the same as this little one's.

He had inherited her smile.

"No, mine," Hamza protested.

Ayla laughed.

Hamza huffed.

Here he was, so worried, and his Appi was laughing.

"Put me down," Hamza demanded.

Ayla put him down.

He took his plate from the table and sat at the dining table.

Ayla sat down, then scooped Hamza up again and made him sit in her lap.

She lovingly fed him.

"Appi, when will I grow up like Bhai and Abbu?" Hamza enquired, furrowing his brows as he ate another bite of paratha.

"Why do you want to grow up like them?" Ayla asked, amused.

"Because then I will earn money," little Hamza said, as if stating the obvious.

Ayla was perplexed.

"And why does my baby need to earn money? If you need anything, just ask me," Ayla said while stroking his hair.

"Oh, Appi, you are not as intelligent as me," the little boy stated matter-of-factly.

Then he leaned towards her ear and whispered,

"I want to buy bangles for you the way Bhaiya buys them for you with his own money."

Ayla's heart swelled.

A smile reached her eyes.

"But I have bangles, baby," Ayla replied.

"No, I want to buy pink and white bangles for you because you have every colour except those.

So your Hamza will bring them for you."

Ayla felt warmth spread through her heart.

How much her baby brother loved her.

She kissed Hamza's forehead and hugged him.

Hamza hugged her back.

A pair of siblings smiled.

So did the winds.

"I have a dozen white and pink bangles in my locker. But now I don't have her to give them to."

Hamza said, looking at the bangles as a sob escaped his lips.

Sumaiya's own eyes welled up.

Then Hamza stood up and held out his hand to her.

She took it.

He led her into their room.

Sumaiya followed.

He stopped near the cupboard.

Sumaiya watched him keenly.

He opened the cupboard, and then the locker inside it.

There was a large wooden box.

He took it out and sat on the floor.

Sumaiya sat in front of him.

He looked at the box as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Then he opened it.

Sumaiya gasped.

She understood.

It was Ayla's bangle box.

Bangles of every colour except pink and white.

Sumaiya looked at Hamza.

He looked at her.

Sorrow marred his expressions.

Her heart ached for him.

"It's hers.

See, she kept her promise.

But I couldn't."

Then he took out another small box from the locker and opened it.

"I bought them for her.

But now it's too late."

He hiccupped.

Sumaiya gulped, a lump forming in her throat.

She patted his thigh.

"It's just me and her remnants."

He whispered, brokenly.

Sumaiya saw a grieving brother, treasuring his sister's last belongings.

Some minutes passed.

"How did she die, Hamza?" She couldn't stop herself from asking.

Hamza looked at her.

"She was nineteen when her appendix burst.

And just like that..."

He couldn't complete the sentence.

He turned his face away, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

"You know, Sumi, Abba and Bhai couldn't even cry.

They don't even take her name because it hurts them too much."

Hamza whispered.

"She went, but she took a part of us with her.

Leaving us broken in a way we can never heal.

And now Shanaya has left me.

She wasn't my sister by blood, but my heart was joined with hers the way a mother's placenta is connected to her baby.

She could have talked to me...

She could..."

He whispered.

She took his hands in hers.

He cried, resting his head on their joined hands.

They mourned his sisters together.

Later, Sumaiya helped Hamza to bed.

Then she slept too.

******

In a room, a woman was sitting near a box.

Looking at a bridal veil.

She stared at it for some time.

Then she took it in her hands, caressing it.

"You know, Mahi, she was looking just like you.

The same innocence.

The same curiosity.

But I am afraid, Mahi.

What if she has ambitions like yours?"

Silah whispered.

Silah remembered the bride in the red veil.

The decorated courtyard.

The smiling bride in a garara.

Sumaiya.

The woman who, like Mahira, had once become a bride in red.

But died while bleeding red.

Silah whispered while looking at Mahira's red veil.

Her remnants.