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Har ek rishta muhabbat ho, zaroori toh nahi hai.
Jo dekha hai haqeeqat ho, zaroori toh nahi hai.
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Not every relationship can be of love, it's not necessary
Not everything that's seen can be true, either. It's not necessary.
Chapter 37.
Work and more work.
Anaaya.
It was yet another week in London. My second week to be precise. It was a different weather and even my own heart was at doubt.
My pregnancy wasn't getting any better, my nausea and dizziness catching a hold of me every time I wanted to do something.
I couldn't keep any food down for long. Orange juice being the only thing I could actually keep inside of my stomach without puking.
I would unpack my bags and then puke, I would make changes in the house and then puke, I would stand in the kitchen trying to at least learn basic cooking from the chef and then puke.
It wasn't easy.
And the fact that I was all alone, without anyone, every thing affected me.
Shockingly, I missed my mother in law the most. The way she would take care of me, give me everything I needed without even asking. At that time, I wouldn't even think about it, Not even notice whatever she did for me, but now I missed it.
Hassan had been so busy with his work and rightly so. He had a new job, a job that he had to prove his worth in. As a brown man working in an English firm, I knew he had to work twice harder than any normal person would.
I had no doubt in his capabilities and I wanted him to prosper in the eyes of others just as he had prospered in his own eyes.
But at the same time, he was just always so damn busy.
I didn't even expect him to sit at the dinner table but thankfully he did.
"Kaddu? In England?"
Hassan muttered, looking at the dish right in front of him. I hadn't really been the kitchen today, since I was asleep in my room.
"Well, you hired a Pakistani cook." I reminded him and he sighed, standing up from his seat.
He walked towards the fridge and opened the freezer, taking out a pack of frozen nuggets.
He switched on the gas and put a pan on it. I added the oil in it.
As the oil heated, both of us stood there not really saying anything.
He put the first nugget inside the pan and the oil spluttered out at the sudden throw.
He winced pulling his hand back.
I sighed.
"Lagi?" I questioned, asking him if it hurt or if he needed help.
He shook his head.
"No, it's fine. I pulled my hand away before it could really touch it."
He responded. I added the remaining few nuggets, knowing what to do from the few times I had seen my mom fry things.
I was always good at baking but not good at cooking. I wanted to be, but at the same time I didn't really care much about it.
I was about to ask my husband, something when suddenly, yet again his phone started to ring.
