"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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I thank Saira baji while grabbing the styrofoam cup of chai from the tray. Looking away from the screen of my phone for a split second, I take a close look of the tea. My mind already coming up with how awful it's going to taste. Because, let's face it. Once you start to like tea that you make for yourself, you can't ever like anybody else's tea. It's a fact. And I am the living example of it.
With that thought in mind, I lean in, taking a whiff of the steam coming from the cup. And, surprisingly let out an internal moan at how good it smelled.
Despite being a Gen Z, there is one thing I'd kill myself or others when they call it old school. And that was chai. I could drink tea every morning, every evening, every night, or perhaps every second of my life.
People call chai overrated, but it's anything but that. I am a chai sexual and have taken an oath in my mind to keep drinking tea till I die.
Putting it to my lips, I take a sip letting the beverage roll on my tongue on the chilled Ooty day.
"Who made this tea?"
The four men seated in the garden, ready to take off right after the desi goodness, asked in unision. Our voices resonated around the empty area and caused Saira baji to jump in her place.
"Dara diyea aap log!" She exclaims, claiming herself down. "Maryam made today's tea."
"Aysi chai to humare begum bhi 31 years mein aaj tak nahi banaye." Daddy says, taking another gulp. "Mashallah, bachi ke haath me maza hai."
I find myself nod my head at his words in agreement along with Fahad bhaiya.
"Every Sunday Khan Manzil me chai ka program banana pardta ab. Maryam nazar me aagayi mere," He continued causing Baji to chuckle on her way back into the cottage.
Without wasting another second, we shut up and relish the beverage as long as it lasted. Soon after, I was done loading my trunk with a last duffel bag and slammed it shut.
"Hey," I smile, glancing at my passenger while fastening my seatbelt.
"Hi," Maryam muttered. Her head lowered into the phone, her thumbs working as she typed away.
I put the car into drive and follow the other two in front of me on the highway. My gaze falls on her again, once we fell into a silence that didn't sit quite well with me. Or maybe it was the fact that she was busy texting someone, again, while I sat there like a bloody chauffeur.
"It's not very polite when two people are sitting together and one of them is on their phone while the other one is not."
