Protection

Oscar worthy performance

ZAYAN'S POV

I wore my best black tux and sprayed my go-to cologne. I was already an hour late, but it was a desi wedding, so it was nothing to stress about.

I only need to impress Mr. Shabir, make him trust me, and make him agree on the deal. It will make my business flourish and to have a business partner as strong as him will give my company a good reputation. The fact that I was invited to his son's wedding is already a good sign.

I hate social gatherings, but to give a fake smile and pretend to be a good person who cares about people was one of my talents.

My limousine was parked outside my gate. I jumped in and attended to a few important phone calls in the car while I waited to arrive the wedding hall.

When I walked into the hall the instant smell of roses and Yasmine flowers hit my senses. Loud Bollywood songs mixed with small talk and people laughing at every corner were all I could hear. The wedding hall was decorated with baby pink and white decorations. The floor that made a clicking sound from every step people took was made from marble that reflected the big glittery chandelier on the ceiling. Men were dressed in their best suits and the women were caked with makeup and wearing all kinds of colorful desi clothing.

Constantly being with all the white people at my job and my stepfamily made me forget what a desi event looked like. It was a refreshing moment.

I spotted my cousin who was my only real friend since we wore diapers. He was also my partner in the business world, but I saw him as a brother. As usual, he was talking to some girl having her dupatta on his sleeve button. I chose to not disturb him and let him have his Bollywood moment because if I ruined it now, he wouldn't stop crying about it for days and weeks blaming me for ruining his night. Talk about crying a storm of little children ran behind me. Small girls with puffy dresses they could barely walk with and even smaller boys with either black tuxes or golden sherwanis looked all happy laughing mischievously while holding a bunch of wedding souvenirs. Their faces were smudged with brown chocolate and their teeth were painted with brown liquid, disgusting children.

I looked through the hall trying to find my target. Then I saw Mr. Shabir behind the table full of food and the chocolate fountain. I walked up to him and gave him the most respectful greetings I have ever given to someone in a long time that too in Urdu. The things you do for money.

He was quite traditional, but he still thankfully allowed alcohol at this wedding. I could never deal with this night without a drink. I took the glass of champagne from the waiter who was walking around with a big plate full of them. I occasionally sipped the champagne while doing boring small talk with Mr. Shabir.

He was an easy man to impress, old, wrinkly, bubbly, and just happy to talk to anyone in general. He talked about cricket, politics, and all the things a typical Pakistani uncle would talk about. It was pure torture to listen to, but money talks and I perfectly pretended to be interested in all of it.

Then Hassan finally came joining our conversation giving me some small listening breaks as he loved to socialize with every living thing. I noticed him occasionally grinning with his slightly red-painted lips at something or rather someone when a woman in a lehnga walked across us too many times to count. He cannot keep it in his pants anywhere.

When Mr. Shabir finally talked about business, he had my full attention without my inner actor's help for once.

He was talking about how much money he would invest in the deal and how much Pakistan needs people like us to invest in the country. I just waited for him to shake my hand so we could close the deal and go home.

When he finally put his hand out to shake it, my heart was jumping in happiness. I put my hands in his palm ready to close the deal I worked so hard to get. Finally, a good powerful deal from Asia. This would help my business start in Asia too, and not just in Europe and the US. That too without the help of my father is a big accomplishment.

Suddenly I felt a push on my back making all the champagne I was sipping fall on my shirt. My white Armani shirt was all yellow now. The room felt like it was closing in around me. In my mind, I was growing larger and larger, expanding with rage. I clenched my fist trying my best not to explode and punch the person responsible for this. I turned around ready to see the disgusting face of the person who did this and a small little woman who barely reached my chest was looking up at me with one blue and one brown eye. Grown men pass out by my punches, this little woman will quite literally die of one single punch of mine.

"Sir I am so sorry, I didn't mean to, please forgive me", she said in her thick British accent. she looked stressed and anxious. She was saying sorry again and again shaking her head repeatedly in disbelief. She looked so familiar I could swear I have seen her before. Those eyes, blue and brown, I know I have seen them before.

"It's okay, don't worry about it"

"No, no I am so sorry I can pay for the shirt sir" She definitely does not belong in this world she is a mere peasant. Her oversized clothes and the she talked gave it away. She is clearly from the middle class maybe lower, but she is indeed very pretty. Those blue, brown eyes who else had these? I knew I have seen them before, but I am not entirely sure where.

"No, you don't need to worry about the shirt,"

"Are you sure? I can pay fo"

"Yes, I am" my tone getting strict, Is she deaf? I have said it's okay many times already, annoying bitch. She finally walked away making me turn my back to what mattered.

"I apologize for this inconvenience. Where were we? Oh yeah, the deal? Shall we continue"

"The deal is sealed," He finally shook my hand.

"I look forward to working with you." I flashed him a real smile for once.

"Beta don't you think it's time for you to get married?" Not this topic again. That's why I hate Pakistani events and never come to these.

"You know I can put in a few good words about you to the girl with those weird  eyes. She is a friend of the bride and a sharif girl. I am sure you two will be a good pair." He winked at me with his one wrinkly eye.

"I agree with you uncle. I think he is already in love with the weird-eyed girl. Didn't you see how he looked at her?" Hassan said covering his mouth with his palm like aunties do when they hear any form of scandal. This guy starts planning my wedding with every woman who even breathes in the same oxygen as me.

"So Zayan when are you going to make me an uncle and give me small children I can endlessly spoil. You are getting old and grumpy already" He is going to taste my fist the moment we are out of here.

"Hassan, when are you going to get married? I am afraid you will die of a serious kind of STD before you get the chance to" Hassan's smile instantly faltered. Now it was my time to laugh.

"What Hassan am I hearing right?"

"No, no uncle it's all jokes. Zayan is a big jokester," Hassan said trying to defend the little respect he had left while clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, it's all jokes between friends am I right" It was not, he probably has an STD already not knowing it yet.

"Oh, yeah I got worried for a second there," the old man said before laughing, a laugh a dying smoker makes before he gets admitted to the hospital and lives by a ventilator for the next years. His big bear-filled stomach jumped up and down. This man was a walking don't do drugs sign, the thought making my lip slightly twitch.