"You're going to be my present and my future. You're going to hold all my babies because I'm going to be the lucky man to marry you. You're going to love me again, Maryam Khan. Slowly and then all together. And I will watch you as you do."
Imran and...
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"Bhaiya! Why do you have to leave me alone with your brother?!" Maryam whines for the umpteenth time since the sitting arrangement was agreed upon, nearly turning me deaf.
"You still have a choice, Maryam. Go sit in the parent's car if you want." Bhaiya coos in a tone that is generally used for toddlers.
It was Tuesday, officially D Day, the day of our mini vacation to a nearby farmhouse where our three families would be spending the next 48 hours. We were standing outside the walls of Barkat Villa, currently loading our vehicles with duffel bags, utensils, a handy gas stove, BBQ supplies, water coolers, sodas, marinated proteins, tea bags, milk, sugar, unnecessary spices and kitchen supplies, a bag of rice, hookah, mosquito net, blankets, throw pillows, extra bedsheets and extra jackets among many other things. Even after all this, a pit stop at the gas station was still due.
"Why can't I go with Emad on the motorbike?" She tries again.
"'Cuz you can't." Saira baji states simply.
"Kyuuuu?" She groaned, clamping her eyes shut and throwing her head backward.
"Kyuki main bola isliyea, Mona darling." I smirk, clearly enjoying riling her up.
"How do you know that nickname?" Maryam turns, narrowing her eyes at me.
"Baji says it all the time."
"Yes, and it's reserved for me only." I shrug, leaning against the door frame of daddy's white sedan which was handed to me after much debate. 'Only for the trip.' He had warned
"This is so unfair!" Maryam grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Fahad bhaiya, Saira, Wajih bhaiya, and Rehana baji get to travel together along with little Muaz. Ammi, baba, and uncle, aunty are coming in their car. Even Emad is riding his bike. It's only me, who's not going to have fun."
"Whyyyy, I am offended," I say, faking a hurt expression.
"You should be." She snarls.
"Are you implying that I am not a fun person?"
"Exactly my point!" Saira baji moves to stand beside me. "My dewar can sometimes be more fun than my shohar."
"Most of the time," I mumble under my breath. "All your Hitler does is complain and groan," I say keeping my voice down so only we could hear.
"Nahi bolte is tarha!" Baji chuckles in agreement but swats my forearm anyway. "He's your older brother."
"Agar aap dono ki argument khatam hogayi ho, to let's hit the road now. We also have to grab breakfast." Wajeeh bhaiya calls from behind us, clapping his hands to get our attention.
