Riyah

It was fun. Slowly, I was blending in with everyone. It was much livelier compared to my life back then. My stay would be as long as I wanted it to be—if I had no job or any commitments. But for these few weeks that I did have off, I decided to enjoy myself to the fullest.

Claps echoed in the hall, and Amna's smile stretched from ear to ear. People mingled, some leaving, while more arrived. I recognized a few; some of them would come over and start small conversations, reminiscing about when I was little and how they remembered me as a quiet child.

"You haven't changed at all! It took me a while to realize you're Farah’s daughter," a woman said, giving me a warm smile.

"Are you married yet? You know, there's this—" She was interrupted by Khala, who whisked me away. I gave the aunt an awkward smile and let myself disappear.

"Don't worry, I would have excused myself," I laughed to Afreen Khala. She glanced back and gave me that little eye gesture that made me laugh even more.

"They’ve got no chill, I swear," she shook her head.

"Amna seems really happy. I'm glad for her!" I said. "I want to see the groom though! Do you have a picture?" I asked excitedly as we walked past dancing girls in yellow clothes. It was a combined Mayun-Mehndi event. They danced to old Bollywood songs, with drums playing along. The noise was overwhelming, numbing out every thought.

"Mhmm, I don’t have a picture of the groom, but we’ve decided that today, after this gathering, we'll welcome the groom's side and do the rituals together. You know how it is—modern days, mixed functions." She turned to look at me. I was in party wear that I had borrowed from her earlier.

"Now, what you need to do is go to the market!"

"You can't be serious," I pouted.

"I am! You need to buy dresses, and I’ll give you some cash. I'm sure you haven’t exchanged currencies yet," she continued. "Let’s go outside and find someone to take you to the market."

We were in the lawn where tables were being set up, white cloths layered over them, different flowers decorating the place. I was sure the function inside was just for fun and the real event would start in the evening. Workers and family members gathered around. She looked around and called out to a guy in a grey hoodie and plaid trousers, whispering something into his ear.

"Son, you need to take her to a few markets around here." I looked up and—it was him!

"Do you know him?" I whispered to Khala. She nodded hurriedly, handed me her debit card and some cash, and gave him the car keys, instructing him to take me to the mall.

I called out to her, but in the packed house, she just waved. Woman, do you know him? I don’t! Come back!

"This is Pakistan. During wedding seasons, no one cares who's in the house as long as the work gets done," he laughed.

I gave him an awkward smile and took a few steps back. Reluctantly, I followed him to the Mazda CX-90 parked in the garage on the lawn's left side.

"You don’t seem like a driver here, though," I mentioned, feeling dumb.

"You’ve forgotten, it seems. I’m not. She asked me for a favor, and I’m more than willing to help," he retorted, turning the car keys. I opened the door to the back seat. He rubbed his temples in frustration.

"What part of 'I’m not a driver' do you not understand?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it. It seemed safer to sit in the back—just in case I needed to stab hi—

"You’re not trusting me, are you?" he snickered.

"I mean, isn’t it obvious? I just arrived, I don’t know you, and you also seem to be here early, considering you’re from the groom’s side—"

He inched closer and glanced around to check if anyone was looking. "This isn’t some book or movie, pretty girl. Get in the car! It’s a wedding of your relatives, stop acting like someone’s out to get you. You’re not some famous celebrity or a detective, for fuck’s sake." He sighed. I nodded timidly, unable to respond.

I could have done so much—slapped him, I swear. I could.

But I sighed and got into the passenger seat, fidgeting with my purse. His words weren’t going to stop me from being suspicious! It’s Pakistan, after all. I took a deep breath.

"Do you always over-analyze things? Like that? A million thoughts per second? Or is it me? Was it the joke about spying that I made?" He looked at me.

"Oh my god," he yelped, throwing his head onto the steering wheel. "You can’t be serious, woman."

"I mean, maybe I read too many thrillers and watched too many movies. Could be part of the thinking... or the fact that I’m always cautious because back home, I lived alone," I said, turning to look out the window. The AC was on, so there was no need to open the window, but the wind in Karachi was calling to me, urging me to feel it. It was warm, but not enough to be hot. The weather was just right.

****

We arrived at Atrium Mall. I got out, and so did he. Was he coming inside with me?

"Wait – I can go inside alone," I started to say, but before I could finish, he grabbed a handful of his hair and just followed me without another word. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it up, and inhaled, which said everything that needed to be said.

I was getting on the poor guy’s nerves.

And I still hadn't apologized for running off the other day. Apologizing would mean telling him a little about how his words affected me, or why I ran off – if he asked. And that would mean he’d know something about me. I was more than willing not to tell him anything, which meant he'd have to stick around without getting an apology.

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Besides, it was his fault for taunting me about something that could be triggering. Not everyone has a good childhood anyway. I sighed.

"I agree," he responded, puffing out smoke. I yelped. Did I say that out loud? Stab me, please.

"I need a coffee!" I yelled, trying to avoid any conversation stemming from my last sentence. He nodded. We went up to the food court, and he got me a coffee while he got a cup of tea for himself.

"The smell of tea is disgusting," I said, sipping my coffee.

His cigarette fell from his mouth. He leaned across the table and whisper-yelled, "Do you have issues in general, or just with me? Which is it? How’s tea disgusting, but your whitewashed self sitting there drinking coffee isn’t?"

He seethed.

"You're mental," he smiled, relaxing back into his chair.

"It’s tea. I don’t like it."

"Did I ask?" he said, lighting another cigarette.

"I also don’t like cigarettes," I pointed out.

"Well , sorry princess , but you’re not important enough for me to quit smoking or give up my lovely smokes," he said, dragging deeply.

I rolled my eyes.

****

Here’s the revised version of your text with grammatical errors and punctuation fixed for clarity and flow:

We walked up to the shops. I looked at the traditional jewelry set up on stalls outside and inside the shops. The ease of shopping here was just it. I entered a cosmetics shop and looked for new makeup products—whatever could catch my eye. There was something so relaxing about shopping here.

“Since you’re the only one here at the moment, how about you help me choose?” I wiggled my eyebrows.

“Do I look like a woman to you?” He gave me a side-eye. I ignored him and picked out golden jhumkas adorned with tiny white pearls. I turned around and showed him.

“Look at these! These are earrings,” I explained. “They are worn on—”

“I said I’m not a woman, not that I’m blind, princess.” I shut up.

“What’s gotten into your pants?” I said, sounding pissed.

“You’re acting like you know me from before to say something’s gotten into me,” he drawled. “What if I’m generally an asshole, etc., and just accepted the valor of an elderly?” I had to agree. An asshole, indeed.

“What?”

“What?” I repeated.

“Agreeing with you.” I blinked and moved ahead with the rest of my shopping.

By the time I got myself some casuals, a wedding outfit, and an evening outfit for today, it was lunchtime. Since we were already out, I decided we could grab lunch nearby because malls usually have cold food, and I didn’t want that.

“I’m hungry.” My stomach agreed with a noise.

“So am I,” he said, taking the bags from my hands and putting them in the back. “We can grab something on our way back,” he added.

We got into the car. He shifted into reverse, glancing in the rearview mirror while steering. I turned to look out the window. The moment the car started, a gunshot rang out in the air.

My eyes widened. He sped up, looking straight ahead. A few more shots rang out, but the sounds were getting distant now. My breathing quickened, and the sharp turns of the car made my anxiety spike. His eyes, once soft and playful, were now sharp and scary.

“What the fuck is happening?!” I yelled. My heart felt like it was about to burst. The silence from him only made me panic more. I fumbled with my phone, but the turn made it drop to my foot, and I was too frozen to reach for anything other than the realization that I shouldn’t have trusted this person!

He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, presumably checking if we were being followed or something, but it’s not like I’m famous or have a grudge against anyone. A thought about my dad flickered in my mind, producing bile in my throat, but of course, something like that wasn’t possible.

“It’s Karachi,” he sighed, turning toward my panicked self, but I wasn’t processing anything. I just stared at him, wide-eyed. His relaxation was unsettling, but at that moment, I was entirely focused on controlling my heartbeat and my fear.

His voice started to fade into the background until he parked the car nearby a mini food place and started to lightly tap my face.

“Hey! You’re fine,” he whispered.

“Some firings happen during the daytime, and I had to make sure you’re home safe,” he continued.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t respond to you earlier,” he said. I let out a shaky breath and nodded without a word. My mind was blank.

He got out and opened my door, pulling me out gently like a child.

“Let’s go eat, and then I’ll drop you home. Safe. I promise. You can trust me.” I heard those words after years from a man’s mouth. Was I trusting him? Was that a good idea?

“I don’t even know your name,” I mumbled, not loud enough for him to hear but only for myself. My thoughts were still caught up in the gunfire. I reminded myself how target killings and general firing tussles happen all the time here.

It’s not like it’s related to any of us. We were nowhere near any of that. I needed to stop analyzing things, of course.

He was right.

It’s just a common wedding at a common place—nothing out of a movie. I clasped my hands together and got inside with him. Waiting for trembling to subside along with the need to vomit .

I can trust him.