Dear Readers,
You are about to read a book that I had written years ago around 2020 but I got the opportunity to publish it in 2025. Took me multiple attempts to go for publishing it. My cardio-Chambers’s offspring. A lot of people loved my previous three books Irum Coaching Centre, Nobody is of Pratika, and Her Sheytan Is Not Real. My heed-readers on Medium urging me to write another book. I received more requests from my inner circle too who wanted me to continue writing another story. And I didn’t know where to start.
Years of skeptical debate in my inner-mind, finally I got the book out Paras after Her Sheytan Is Not Real. This is once again a short fiction story. I just wanted to make this book as good as my other three books were, or maybe more than that. I had poured my nights into crafting this.
Every character of Paras is close to me and I have special bond with the entire story. I cannot tell you how fun it was to write about protagonist Sasha who just wanted pinch of perfection and love in her crumbling life.
If you are planning to read this book, I hope you will enjoy it. I tried my best to be a perfect author.
Peace and blessings,
Sameer Khan Brohi
Also by Sameer Khan Brohi
Irum Coaching Centre
Nobody is of Pratika
Her Sheytan Is Not Real
Paras
Sameer Khan Brohi
Kindle Direct Publishing
Seattle, Washington, United States of America
First published by Kindle Direct Publishing 2024
Copyright © 2025 by Sameer Khan Brohi
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated to my mom and Mir bhai
People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back
~Elizabeth Gilbert~
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
The date goes back to the scorching summers of Varunabad. Before that town changed my life, I only knew summers as something that burned skin, not hearts.
Baba’s car accelerated towards north on that sunny afternoon, exceeding six hours of tiresome journey.
We were going to Varunabad, a small town that changed the perspective of my life, much like its catchy name. Varun-abad, the abode of Subcontinental Poseidon. And my so-called ancestral town—where Maa and Baba lived and spot which was my traceable village of origin.
The winds whisper freely in this town, sometimes warm and sometimes cold at night. It must forever flow over mud houses and historical sites, which by the way, most of them were turned scathed. Time seemed to pause in this small town with the feeling of belonging in the carbon mist.
My mother’s family lived in the Potter village which was close to the Imambargah at a distance of no more than a sixth of a mile from Varunabad. There were mostly fishers forming the population in these villages near the gigantic river, Patousha Pond.
By the way, I lived in Miami with both of my parents and my elder sister. But who knows about the fate that allotted me to return to Varunabad, across the seven seas, years after and bring this personage of life to me.
It’s about a tiny time frame of life where you meet someone who becomes sentiment of sweet to your utterly bitter life.
※
Baba puts the brake on the rushing streets of Varunabad’s business sector, not skyscraper’s type but apparently circa Agrabah. The rustling of the dusty wind stopped.
The waft of Pakoras and green Sharbat with basil seeds being sold at the carts as mundanes with pajamas strolled down the narrow alley.
I looked at one of the traders of the sandstone-structured town, coming towards us.
Baba rolled the window and they greeted. His name was Sanghi, he handed my father a wrapper filled with raw Pappad.
Unlocking the car, he sat next to him.
“A decade Misha, a decade!” he said.
Baba smiling, replied, “And we are back.”
I was hearing this with my groggy eyes from sleeping on my stomach all way long.
I felt that I was an astronaut that has returned from a long mission in space only to find that decades have passed on Earth and everyone they knew is either much older or has passed away.
I waved my hand to Sanghi and he nodded formally.
Baba jolted the engine and continued the ride to the mansion, invisible by a mist of carbon. Ahead.
※
We reached the yard, which encapsulated a fruit called Pimpi, a cross between apple and jujube.
It instantly clicked me the time when Remaish and I made our own cushion house under Pimpi tree right there in the late Wild West ‘90s of sorts.
Me and him nibbling the sucrose off the fruit and hitting each other with the ball-like seed.
I wished I had some magical portal or something back then to see how my future would be, to just watch forecast of apocalypse.
※
My in-enduring feet landed on the burning soil of the town which my Didi calls as 'dwelling hell'. Better as a myth.
Anyway, I don’t mind, that’s her opinion but my state of uff over the resistance of Baba's nod to it.
“Misha, your mansion,” Sanghi said, pointlessly.
“You remember Shah Jahan travelled to Lahore’s Sheesh Mahal for the design of this gate.”
“Very well. May God bless your father, he really was impressed by Shah Jahan, so was from you.”
“This mansion will always remind me of him, Raja Sahib, my mighty father and one of the finest maharajas of the British Empire,” Baba said.
The mansion overlooking pond and garden encapsulated the haveli designs of the 19th century Lahore, it was ostentatious.
Sandstone was crafted with mosaic windows and a high ceiling guarding its inside.
Dotted all by the Pimpi trees. It gave a shade of ease from the scorching sun above.
Sanghi took way my Crocs. Any kind of footwear was not allowed inside the ancient sandstone structure with its Dettol washed floors. My Crocs would now be put in a row with other cleats by the wooden door, right across the Raja Sahib’s portrait that was oil painted.
I entered the room with a large pond outside of the window. The room was upstairs, facing vibrant garden. Butterflies might be roaming and I could predict fireflies for the night.
A lone cuckoo bird was residing in the nest on the gigantic tree in the garden, unaware of his clan. Just the way I was feeling right now. I could imagine his clan had ran helter-skelter out of their nest.
Unlike my previous visits to the town, where I accompanied chess board to play with my cousins, all I carried this time was a small duffel bag.
I dragged it on the rough surface of the floor and started unfolding my things. For the next few weeks, I would wear faded loose T-shirts that has Poo encrypted on it, giving me a sense of nostalgia and a childish well being. I put on that thing
and went outside.
The haveli had not changed in all the years I had been coming here. I was closing the windows of the hall, yet there was some cool meandering waft across the naked sculptures, paintings and the dusty carpet below.
A grandfather clock judged the time to three from its reflection through Perspex.
My body was too weak to stand erect for longer as a consequence of the journey. So I began walking up to the deserted corridor towards some point to relax my back.
I was yawning hard as I examined my grandfather’s collection of typewriters along the corridor.
The only illumination was a dim chandelier hanging on the ceiling that guided me to the isolated ways.
At the end of the corridor, I caught Saadia, whom I mistook as an exquisite sculpture of goddess Saraswati except with Ray-Ban spectacles and zilch of wisdom.
She caught the sound of my footsteps and turned towards me.
With a smirk and Gucci T-shirt. She slowly walked towards me unlike the instant recognition like that of Sanghi, she stopped at the track as if she encountered my grandfather’s ghost.
I hugged her tightly and she smiled, almost a moan of a laugh.
She looked at me with wonder.
“Oh my gosh, what a coincidence! Last night, Remaish and I were talking about you and here you came today. Oh God, I can’t believe it. Sasha, you are still so beautiful,” she complimented, as we both clapped our hands to each other’s and went back to air-conditioned bedroom, that held the small creaky bed for me on which laid floral printed blanket.
I jumped on it and sighed. I needed my B12. My peepers were closing shut due to the long-ass journey.
“You rest, I will get you a fresh juice,” Saadia said.
“Yes, please,” I phrased.
“Anything else you need?” she asked.
“Yup, Pappad, please. Sanghi Uncle has bought some of it for us on the way.”
“Is Misha uncle here too?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Great,” she said and left.
I threw my duffel bag in the cupboard.
Took a glass of cold mineral water and sipped it slowly as it left me hydrated.
It was hot summer daytime and our guests came over eating Pakoras as the day descended to a fresh twilight.
Then came Shah Jahan Chacha, my uncle and a humongous moody repugnant.
Before diving deep, let me tell you something without sounding narcissistic. My father was well respected and wealthy. And in Varunabad, he was regarded as being endowed with something more than holiness.
All these Pakoras, Pappad and Pimpi to me was because of him.
And about this thing, I was not a very big fan of.
※
“My anxiety has gotten worse dad, but that Chamomile tea really worked. I tried ignoring the inner blabber, but the minute this hot drink hits my gut, gives me a flavorful sense of ease,” I mentioned.
My father loomed over me, I could see in his groggy eyes that he needs a lullaby energized sleep, because it was a pretty long day for him too. “Yes there is some sort of magic in these natural remedies.”
Eyes closed, I said, “It is not a remedy, it is a herbal tea.”
Most of the times he sounded like a celebrity’s opinion on politics.
“Sasha, what have you been ingesting along with Chamomile, some pots or green!”
Walking back towards the chair next to the bed, he continued, “Chamomile is an ingredient that is used as a remedy to treat mild tension. End of the story.”
“Well that is the whole problem, you guys mixed things up, remedy is different and an ingredient is a different thing. When you try to correlate, that is when it feels like a kitchen recipe, granny-feels, when in reality it is an essential, natural soothing drug plant that is supposed to be distinct.”
I can see a yes in dad’s minuscule eyes, that resembled my favorite bua, Manny. Well, everyone called her by that name, including me, it was derived from her original title Manwa, meaning ‘desire’ and I could feel the desire in her eyes to pull out all the pierced circle ring that lined on her ears, acting as bonds of shackles, and her dance on classic song of Tujhe Yaad Na Meri Ayi, much like the Rajasthani looks she possessed of the dancer including the face tattoo and the heavy black mirror gown.
My memory, though, of the decade-old scenario where Manny bua danced in a big fat Punjabi wedding was hazy, but what I did remember clearly were her minuscule eyes reflecting desire much like her name and much of that same almond circumference my dad possessed.
“Please, no mood swings for you this time-off. At least for now”
Thinking of the new activating technique of vagus nerve-that I came across on TikTok- and the soothing chamomile brought a smile on my face. I hesitated at first but then asked my dad, “Baba, how long are we going to stay here.”
“There should absolutely be no question as far as you are getting peace in here.”
“But Baba,” I wailed, “even if for a second I agree that the following days would be my day offs of stress, why did you not chose a place…..maybe like Switzerland, over this old town?”
To which he replied, “even the greatest place cannot give you great sense of calm, so will an old shabby town, if you are willing to smile over its all bad-s and all good-s.”
“That’s hardly an explanation, sir. If it is about Chamomile, then we can find it everywhere in this good damn world”
Baba clicked his tongue, and swiped his boney finger to left and right, indicting a no. “No, no it is not about Chamomile or if you caught yourself seeing firefly out of the window at night, but it’s about the vibe.”
A horrified pause, and then I squealed, “Okay, now this vibe seems spooky the way you said.”
He nervously giggled and pulled out a book from a satchel and handed it to me. In bold letters it said, “Intro to the zen plant: the chamomile.”
I flipped over the pages.
“And before I go, I will tell you to read this book. It tells you about the properties of the chamomile.”
“Interesting.”
Baba patted my back, and wished me a good night.
Then the flipping continued, my eyes darting the big words, as I wondered about the nature of the plant.
“And when I talk about plant, there she comes,” I said to the prettiest girl in the room, Saadia, who was walking towards me, coming from the kitchen, she carried two mugs of Ovaltine. Handed one to me.
On my past visits, sipping Ovaltine in the night time was a meditating ritual for Saadia and I.
“Haha plant, okay,” Saadia commented, looking over the subject of my book and sipped the hot milk.
In Varunabad you could only drink Ovaltine with jaggery. In fact other drinks too. Jaggery was used as a substitute to the artificial sweeteners. A strict household sugar, one that was exclusively adopted by the locals. No wonder my taste buds were triggered to this.
Saadia and I always loved spending time with each other, every time I came to Varunabad. We had even pulled dirty pranks on people here.
“Did uncle gave you this book, I saw the nearby panchayat giving this book to him this morning.”
“Yes, he did. This seems like a great book. This is about chamomile.”
“Oh, you mean that white plant, they have planted last year in their village, after his daughter was diagnosed with gastrointestinal malfunction. Later on they found out it was a mother fucking parasite.”
I took a swig of the hot chocolate and then a deep breathe to control my laugh as she went on, “he got the flower’s seed all the way from Egypt, Sasha, can you imagine? Ramu kaka told him gazillion times ‘go to doctor, go to doctor’ but no, these people didn’t want to listen.”
“Well, she is married now right?”
“His daughter? No, longer, she got divorce. It is three verbal-throws of the word divorce, easier said than done.”
A shocking pause. Then Saadia tried to appease me.
“Anyway when are you thinking about any dating any boy?”
“Better said than done.” I repeated her own words.
She laughed, a tiny, croaky bark, and I added, “what about you, girl?”
“Sasha, I swear I would rather move to the Bermuda Triangle! Than falling in love again.”
I could imagine her moving to the Bermuda Triangle, leaving Varunabad with more of its dryness.
“Nobody wants their favorite person in Varunabad to move out,” I said and winked at her.
“Ohhhh, that sounds so sweet of you Sasha,” Saadia bespoke.
Our conversation was mercilessly cut short because Sasha’s mother was expecting her from the room door, with strict eyes. Her old mother probably did not know how fun was it to meet your old friend in the silent eerie night, gossiping and sipping Ovaltine.
While talking about chamomile and of course all the bullshit.
※
From soul-drenching sleep, I felt a phantom meditating hard on me.
I opened my eyes to encounter a small nose with features like that of a Pimpi fruit. And equally sugary.
He was blinking his eyes and acting creepy. A breeze of realization hit me.
I still can’t believe my cousin Remaish is still an endearing pie as he was when he came to visit us in Miami years ago for learning Photoshop course. And every other last time we met.
I liked his weird brain very much. He was still staring with his button-like eyes.
"Didi," he shrieked, hugging me.
I sat on the bed.
"Chhotu, where have you been?" I asked.
My excitement after seeing him was at another level.
Apart from sharing blood, Remaish and I have been besties, best friends or whatever label they say these days.
“I am good, Sasha Didi. Saadia was right you haven’t changed a bit. Still looking like that Porcelain doll you owned.”
“Oh come on. Stop kidding me,” I said. “I can very vividly remember how cruelly you broke the leg of that doll. Now don’t tell me that I look like her.”
I sulked and he pulled my cheeks as if I was still a kid.
Pimpi-boy and I have had lots of adventures, one of which was finding treasure in the mansion. Well instead of treasure we found a poisonous lizard in the storeroom. Which he badly injured with a broom.
We had infinity of such memories.
“And you still find me like a Porcelain doll?” I asked with surprise. He was one year younger than me thus labelled me Didi, but now Porcelain doll was worth that refer.
He said with a big laugh, “Yes, but with one leg.”
He brought me a glass full of Slice juice, we talked, sipping the sweetness.
"Sissy, I can’t tell you. Finally got the medical girl on hand," he opened up talking about his girlfriend with me every time we met.
These are the usual cousin things we conversed with each other. I listened attentively to his version of how Ranjha searched seven births to find his Heer.
"And then we ate samosas after she gifted me a cellphone," he continued.
I laughed at how that medical girl of his had an unanswerable obsession over skulls and skinny partners.
"Hey, you tell me, comrade? Still single or trying hard to mingle, ha?" he said, winking.
I wanted to say first let me move on from my previous partner, then I will be dating, no? But I remained silent or was silent to be precise by someone who entered the room at the very right moment of the single-mingle tales.
A dark brown, muscular man with a thick body frame bearing rifle on his shoulder. A white shawl wrapped around his throbbing chest.
My eyes met with his big Kohl colored peepers.
"Remaish Baabu? The generator is off. Come lit the lantern while I turn the machine on," his deep croaked voice announced.
The chirping of grasshopper ran through the window to the room, bringing sanctuary to the night of pale moonlight.
Through the mellowness of the moon, he caught me looking at him.
He sent an un-wry smile towards me.
“Let’s go then,” Remaish said to us.
I didn’t want to go actually, I wanted to remain inside the darkness. I hold an extreme level of nyctophilic nature that wanted to grasp this time so brutally.
I asked, “Does electricity comes here in the morning only?”
“Usually yeah,” Remaish answered.
“But don’t worry, we have a generator,” said the big guy.
Remaish, me and that Kohl guy—who made my stomach drop to my knees—left the room to the tall dark corridors that led us to the creaky stairs up.
It was dang silence that I could feel with every thud of the Kohl guy's footsteps and even the frog's moan out in the muddy pond.
I didn’t want to leave my bed overlooking stars through the window but had to because something pinched me inside to go with them.
We reached the empty roof covered by the cloud of twinkling stars.
Kohl guy dragged the dusty machine from the corner end with one hand, he was jammed with watts of power himself.
"I am fetching you the lantern, you guys wait here," Remaish said, leaving me and Kohl guy alone in the dark lemon perfumed atmosphere.
I nodded, as Remaish disappeared in the darkness ahead.
I could smell the perfume of lemon from the big guy standing in front of me, he really did carry an impressive personality.
"Your name Sasha right?"
I nodded.
“You are Sahab’s beloved daughter, right?”
“Yes, daughter but not beloved,” I bluntly put the word out and without his name which is so feminine if you ask me. I have been bullied in high school because of my father’s weird, old name he carried.
"Sahab has ordered me to guard you, I hope he has informed you," he said.
Since when is he hiring a bodyguard for me at home? And why? I thought.
"Are you a bodyguard?"
"Yes, he has paid me to safeguard you, of course not at home but whenever you and Remaish will go to college for your exams," he explained to me.
We talked a bit, I told him about the reason for me to come here was to give my CIE examinations in the local college of Varunabad instead of American board back in Miami.
Now call me naive or whatever, but these mere six minutes with him had made an impression of him being too nice and gentle in the fit of my lens.
Remaish appeared with a flickering lamp, and under its glow, I saw the man starting the busts of kick to the machine with his arm wrestling over it.
The dark night illuminated with yellow street light outside served as a cue that electricity has revived back. So we all went back inside.
My new bodyguard escorted me to our room.
Remaish carelessly entered the room and laid on the bed on his flat stomach.
I turned back to see the guard on the threshold, and asked, "What’s your name by the way?"
He answered back with a beautiful smile, "Paras."
Chapter Two
Last night another fracas rouse between me and Baba, Baba concluding to throw me to some hostel in chilly hills of Darjeeling.
As I was enraptured to get the ticket to avoid my pop. I couldn’t handle my happiness to escape in listening to music.
Although dad warned me, which he does every time with ends like that. I get hope at least.
I remember how badly I have been bullied because of him. Can’t get that time back to improve anything but now I have learned to be tough. And yeah by saying improve, I meant to escape his house, if only I knew that ‘this time shall pass’ was a tale to tell.
I hope I could revive back my good days, I hope. But I know it’s not possible, we have to learn the hard way to move on with a hard heart and the looming devil who is born out of it.
Since then I have been an asshole. My friends left me, my boyfriend ghosted me, but nobody dared try to discover what war I was waging on the other side.
Bullying, bullying, betraying, ghosting and then again bullying.
I tried to bury myself with my book inside the duvet.
I couldn’t face this embarrassment of lachrymose with Shahjahan Chacha seeing the tussle and its after-effects.
I was not the girl who showed emotions, except to the hours of descending nights.
As time elapsed, I drifted to sleep. And helped myself wake up in the afternoon.
I got off from my bed and gave a swift glance outside, Remaish and Saadia were playing tennis with the bodyguard Paras.
The sound of the tennis ball was accompanied by ringing calls of myna.
I washed my face with cold water and left the comfy A.C room, to encounter the sun pouring streams of itchy rays out of the big window of the mansion.
No sense of spring, no sign of rain, no nothing, all you can only sight-see was big blazing sun extracting energy in this small dusty town of Varunabad.
I hope it rains here. A powerful drizzle that could leave the soil fertile and flowers blooming.
Rain reminded me of the good old days with me and my ex driving around in Marine Drive.
Last night once again he has appeared in my dream to apologize for the ills he has done.
It was so real except for the fact that it was a dream.
※
I waited for the sun to set down, till I read a book ‘Sapiens: A Brief History Of Humankind’ by Yuval Noah Harari, half mind clinging to the perspective of Sanghi, who called me psycho for reading fifty books a year, when I showed him my Goodreads account, expecting to get a pat of wah wah.
A gush of meandering wind hit my face while I was forming an imaginative documentary of Sapiens to the shackles of my mind. The window of my room was ajar, Italian curtain drapes swaying with the thick air coming out of it.
With drastic force, my hair fell on my face, making it difficult for me to read.
For a second, I made my mind to put down the book and go out for some casual stroll.
I got on my feet and stepped outside.
Digital cries came from someone’s room in the maze-like abode, I had temporarily taken refuge in.
I headed towards the room.
The person on the sofa, watching a classic Bollywood movie was Paras.
He was wearing pitch-black shalwar kameez, and table bearing remains of chicken tikka against his knees.
I came closer, he looked at me, and gave an expression of surprise.
“What are you watching?” I asked.
“Raja Hindustani,” he said.
“It’s a nice movie. Watched it with someone special some five years back.”
“Who was that special person?” He asked.
“Leave it. Can I sit with you?”
He said, “Yes” clearing the things from two-seater sofa.
I sat next to him, facing the TV.
“You know the ending is the best part,” he said.
“Yes, my reaction bombs at last parts,” I said, laughing.
“Where did you watch it before?” he asked, putting his feet on the table.
“At my boyfriend’s place.”
“Oh, so he is that special person, ha?”
I hesitated. “Actually he was, now he is my ex. He was my classmate and we dated and fell in love until something on the other side, got out of place to deteriorate this one.”
“Oh, that’s life eventually,” Paras said. “You know God always snatches our best person, you know why?”
My eyes fixed on Aamir Khan on TV and ears burning on the side, I asked unwillingly, “Tell me then why?”
“To make you learn a lesson,” he told.
I butted in, “In return for shooting your mental health?”
He remained silent to it and gazed at the screen.
We remained zipped for five minutes and then he broke it, asking, “Did you take your supper?”
“No.”
He stood up. “Then let’s go out for dinner. I am escorting Remaish to Pizza Hut, you can also come.”
“I am in,” I replied, standing up and as we left, we bumped into Remaish and Saadia, who was busy doing yoga in the open balcony to the left way of Paras’s room.
“Remaish, you are coming for dinner?” I said to Remaish, simultaneously waving at Saadia.
She smiled as Remaish put on his Crocs. “Yes,” he said.
Saadia didn’t join because she was on diet.
We left the mansion on 1967 Ford Mustang, once bought by grandfather now owned by Remaish.
On the unpaved rural thoroughfare, the music of Lata played with me as I was seated next to Remaish and Paras sitting behind.
I was still in the world of mine until I realize I was staring at Paras unstoppable through the rearview mirror.
Thankfully he didn’t catch me looking at him but deep down I knew it well that he noticed the awkward contemplation. His without-any-reason smile reflecting everything.
We entered a small pizza shop. The restaurant was really small but fit for being fast food restaurant exclusive for a rural part because although small it consisted A.C, counter and fine furniture.
We ordered cheesy viands and meanwhile chose a silent corner to wait for our order.
There was a tiny wooden table, Birch to be precise and Paras was sitting opposite of me.
He was still wearing a big, old Enfield rifle around himself. To me, he looked like a macho rural cowboy, Rambo-sorts.
And out of all, his exquisite eyes below curios brows held a universe of itself.
On the way back home, I started my queries of curiosity.
"Paras, tell me? What are your hobbies?"
"Sasha, guarding you these days," he answered with a clever yet soft tone he held.
He told me that how he declined the big authoritarian job in the police sector to become a bodyguard, his explanation to it that he did not like to see the cruel side to see while his inner nature is composed of caring for humans.
We completely forgot that Remaish was also with us, I turned my head to see him.
He whispered to my ear, "Didi, I think you are fallen in love."
Chapter Three
I had a dream the following night, me and Paras traveling fast, fast enough to lost the so-called delusional track of time to the speed of light that I almost forgot my past — primarily a past of betray.
I woke up perspiring. It was five of the morning. Next to me, Baba was snoring. I got out of the bed and opened the store in the bedroom and pulled out a thin blanket. I get cave-feeling from the thick one that left my forehead trickling with beads of sweat.
As I pulled out the kaross, that was it, every other stuff also followed the exit and it landed hard on the floor including the mosquito spray.
And what next, Baba’s eyes opened and he swiftly gazed at me like venom.
“Chilly hills of Darjeeling,” he bluntly uttered and went back to sleep.
“Oh, yes, whatever,” I replied, making the sleepy man feel that I didn’t care.
※
I took a gait around the mansion, examining the vintage pieces, the only material my grandfather left before he bid the final bye. Along with this mansion.
His typewriter, walking stick and even his Cuba cigars were daily brushed off from thin layer of Varunabad’s dust.
A big gilded frame was hung behind the transparent glass cupboard, a certificate once handed to my Daadu for regarding him as one of the high members of Freemasonry of that time. He was a local raja during British rule and a trusted government worker.
I turned my back to look at Paras. Who came from the other end of the corridor when he saw me.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
His gaze avoiding me to think further down to the family line where a daughter is being hated for being jolly, my case with Baba, next to bullying one.
And as he was about to initiate the lecture like Robert Langdon, someone gave a big cruel shriek.
We looked at each other’s eyes with confusion. It came straight from upstairs. And without wasting a second, we ran upstairs with tension embedded in our chests.
Another round of shout, and this time we could decipher that it came from Saadia’s room.
We walked towards her door, Remaish and Shah Jahan uncle were standing with a worried expressions on their faces.
Behind Remaish stood Saadia, towel wrapped on her body. Her face felt pale and limps shaking.
“What happened? What happened?” Paras and I fired the question.
“Oh Bhai, there is a freaking cobra inside her room!” Shah Jahan Chacha squeaked.
“Bodyguard, get the thing out please,” Remaish said.
Me, Remaish, Shah Jahan Chacha and Saadia’s eyes were on Paras, who pursed his lips for a moment and then nodded deliberately.
Everyone else was spooked out except for him.
We followed him to the door. As he opened it, I saw Saadia clenching her hands.
We were behind Paras, watching him leading us.
A venomous cobra swaying its tail on Saadia’s bedsheet, giving us a horrified look.
I could feel like being cut in half.
Green cobra—wrinkled, tattooed by dark patches and its tongue longing to inject poison.
In a matter of nanoseconds, Paras grabbed the reptile through its neck with the help of black apparel and threw it out of the window on top of one of the Pimpi trees.
We hurried to look down, the reptile spiraled itself on the twig.
Remaish took a long sigh while Saadia and Chacha sat on the couch.
“You are so brave, Paras,” I said to Paras, who was standing proudly, chest swelled.
※
It was nighttime, I was turning the pages of Sapiens and somebody knocked on the door of my room.
I looked at the threshold, Paras was standing with a cup of cardamom chai in his hand.
I smiled and waved my hand at him, he took it as a cue of invitation and came inside.
“I was crossing by your room, thought to say hello to you,” he said.
“Yes, why not. Come, sit here,” I said, patting the empty armchair next to my bed.
He sat on it and took a long drag of the cardamom chai.
Given that it was late-night, everyone was sleeping in their respective room. Baba was sleeping with Shah Jahan Chacha tonight. So it was me and Paras alone.
I noticed that both of us had a problem starting the conversation. He sipped his tea, while I looked at him.
I didn’t have enough confidence to talk to him, I was generally shy and especially to people who I had crush on.
He broke the deadlock. “Thanks.”
I was confused. “Thanks for what?”
“Thanks for thanking me.” He explained, “Remember, snake scene today. You thanked me, you remember. Well, nobody has ever said thanks to me.”
I said, “Well, yeah, you deserve a round of applause”—round of applause, damn my confused bone— “I mean, than-k thanks.”
He smiled at me. “Everyone is scared of snakes, not me actually. There are gazillion cobras residing in my village. So I am used in tackling them.”
“That poor Saadia and Remaish were scared to hell,” I said, laughing.
“Don’t forget to mention Chacha,” he said, joining my laugh.
“Of course.”
His teeth were like sparkling marbles.
“You know, we used to have certain types of lathis to deal with certain types of reptiles back in the village,” he told me.
“Great to know. Even we used to have such weapons here in this mansion, but Baba threw it away. I don’t know what his problem is. Do you know? It’s so wrong to not follow the vintage legacy your father had, and especially if it’s an exquisite classic,” I said.
He looked at me, in my eyes and sipped the tea. “Did you buy stationery for your exam on Monday?”
I shook my head, wondering where the conversation ended.
“No problem, we will go to town tomorrow.”
This hit me like a mild pinch, he sounded like I was some high school girl, I am twenty years old, enough expired not to be called like a baby by a person who was haunting me that way, and that sort of haunting, a positive and good. Not the teary nights of missing and cursing ex or indulging in an argument with Baba.
"So that’s you and your dad right? Living together in USA?"
I shook my head, saying, "Nope, my Didi and Maa too. I usually don’t like talking to him if you ask him."
"But why Sasha? He is your dad."
"A good dad never fight with his daughter."
"A good daughter neither is granted several chances, like he did, while you failed in CIE three times consecutively, toppling his confidence on you."
"Who told you that?” I said.
“I heard it last night when I was passing by your room,” he said, brutally honest as ever.
I wasn’t irked by his unintentional eavesdropping but instead got a notion to decipher that, what does makes him pass by my corridor these days including at this witch-hour right now? He never used to appear here before, even his room was downstairs at the end of the corridor. Maybe he had fallen in love with me, he had definitely seen me gazing at him in the car, at the dining table, at Pizza Hut, behind Baba’s back and multiple other times I don’t remember.
Well, you will never see someone interfering you to respect your father. If someone will do it then there will obviously be a reason behind it: Friendship or love.
I turned my head from my book to see him smiling at me with an empty cup of chai.
He talked about his village life and what made him chose to skip the conceptualized mindset of ‘false consciousness’ after he studied the additional subject of Sociology with Criminology before applying for the police department.
He was a Marxist and believed in maintaining the social structure of society.
Gym, watching Bollywood movies and hunting deers were his favorite hobbies.
On a note, he seemed well educated.
We talked till the hour struck at three and he left the room, switching off the light and saying goodnight.
I slowly drifted off to sleep and this was for the first time, my doze-off was Melatonin-induced. Sweet and sharp.
Following this, were dreams of Paras and me, a romantic series of monologues.
※
I woke up with a drought blowing on me, coming through the window. I put on my Adidas shoes and went out for a morning stroll.
Walking in a leisurely fashion by Pimpi trees, providing me a shade.
I looked at my wristwatch, it was seven of the morning, still no sign of life except the chirping of birds and across the mulberry bushes, Paras, who was catching frogs from a muddy pond as I leaned forward to get a clear picture of him.
“Morning,” he shouted from a distance.
I stood beside him, resting my back on a tree. “You woke up so early?”
“Bodyguards also need to guard their bodies,” he said.
“That’s so wise,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“I wake up early mornings to run and today I bumped on these swarm of frogs,” he said, picking up one toad from murky water through his bare hands.
Running his finger around its head until it croaked and jumped back to the pond.
He smiled at the impishness of the frog.
He stood up, rubbing the dust off his shalwar and took the steps down to the woods and I followed him by his side.
“You also wake up early morning?” He asked.
“No, no,” I said. “In fact, I am a night owl.”
I plucked honeysuckle hanging on the twig and put it behind my ear.
“Do I look beautiful to you, I have put a flower on my ear,” I said, shyly.
He noticed my shyness, smiled at it and then said, “Yes, you do. You are very beautiful.”
“Then take me on a date,” I put the word out without processing my words and covered my face through my palms.
He laughed at it, did not mind a chunk and said, “I am married.”
I laughed with him, hiding my obnoxious expressions. “Wham, what’s your age, Paras?”
“Twenty-two.”
My brows raised as a sign of surprise. And I liked the way he didn’t mind and how open he was to me.
Even I was surprised by my reaction to it. Maybe he took it as a joke.
We reached back to Mansion and I went to my room, without regret. At least I made a move. I was surprisingly happy and moved.
Every time I spent time with him, I get to know a lot about him that at least leaves me intellectually fulfilled and makes me forget my past.
※
Remaish was busy with buying a good fit of Bata shoes. We had come to buy things for exams including formal shoes to wear.
We were sitting on the sofa of the room filled with the waft of Silica gel.
I swiftly glanced at Paras, who was choosing a perfect shoe he can come across for me.
I really liked his down to earth personality, I haven't seen a person in my life with the ego of zilch.
Since last morning walk, our friendship has taken a turn to a trustful companion. We sneaked at night on his bike to escort Remaish to his girlfriend from the back door of the mansion silently.
And then we spent the whole night at an abandoned school, roaming like ghosts while our laughs echoed the darkness around.
“These shoes will fit you,” he suggested me, handing me a black polished pair of shoes.
I picked it up and wore it, it wasn’t too loose, neither too fit. My size was perfect for it.
I bought the shoes with Remaish buying two, one for his girlfriend.
Paras put the shoebox on the counter for payment and also asked Remaish to put his box on the counter for payment.
Remaish lost in thought was standing there, pointlessly, didn’t hear Paras.
I waved my hand across his eyes and he came back to his senses.
“Yes, yes, I am listening!” he shouted, even the cashier got surprised by his sudden behavior.
I think we were putting a hard hand on him, he is lost in his own world these days.
※
Once Ramaish drove to the mansion with me on his side and Paras behind, we were engaged in our conversations about the classic Bollywood movie we watched today.
We laughed and joked around, I falling hard on Paras and Remaish, well I saw a bit of silence on his side, he laughed and then made a pause, he talked and then again I caught him pondering about something else.
I am so much in pain to see my cousin in such condition, I don’t know what he is facing these days? I thought.
Yesterday he made tea for me and forgot to put sugar and cardamom, his unusual behavior is too vividly visible.
He has an exquisite piece of a beauty-with-brain doll, what would he be upset for? He has got everything good with his life.
And he was also telling me that he was happy to see my life improving and I was moving on from my deadly past.
I wanted to decipher, but I hold myself back when his sudden good mood appeared. And as a matter of fact, I want him to be open with me, I was hundred and ten percent sure that medical girl had shattered my cousin’s delicate heart. I was pretty sure, I don’t know what made me say that, but yeah I was sure.
We reached the mansion and went to our rooms.
I was left alone once again until two hours to go with Paras on rice fields but now boredom looming—that usual Varunabad thing has got.
I closed the door and revived the day with the help of my wild meandering ruminations.
I imagined how Paras and my relationship has increased so radically in the span of a week.
We used to eat chikoo flavoured ice cream and noticed the moody behavior of Remaish while waiting in Pizza Hut, Paras retelling his village stories meanwhile me complaining about my ex and stern dad.
Chapter Four
It was nighttime, Baba and I argued again.
Confirmed me to throw at some hostel in hills of Darjeeling, before he left my room.
I didn’t even care about any of his taunts anymore. I have grown out of it now.
This session of tongue wrestling happened when I was sitting in my confined room, flipping Sapiens book.
But now that he was gone, I went back sinking in the letters.
Paras knocked on the door and told me that others have gone to their rooms. I left my room and went to his room with him by my side, not like a bodyguard but like a shade, to watch a Bollywood movie.
When the universe has sent him to me, he has too added a feel of a harp to him, although he doesn’t admit directly but anyway he has become my greatest escape.
I rested on his sofa, facing the TV and he busied himself with making Limo Pani for me on the side table next to him.
He turned his head to see as the noticed audio hit him.
“Ghajini, my all-time favourite psychological thriller,” he said with a smile.
Wham, coincidence, that’s mine too. I, Saadia and Remaish had watched this movie for gazillion times.
He came lumbering towards me and sat, handing me the drink. I gave him a grateful look and he winked at it.
I smiled back and turned up the volume to distract ourselves.
We were watching the movie while discussing every scene. My favorite character was Sunita and he told me that he admired Aamir Khan, emphasizing the 3 Idiots movie.
We feasted on frozen shami kebabs that our neighbor Mia sent us. And he kept two pieces for us inside his fridge for the night.
I gobbled down the last bite of shami kebab and turned my face towards him to see him drifting off to sleep. Eyes tight closed.
I dragged a woolen blanket around him, I had taken one from the cupboard and put the apparel on his bicep-ed body.
Closing my eyes too and blowing off the last candle. I let myself feel so relaxed sleeping next to him.
Feeling my impish arm brushing against his. In the small soft two-seater sofa, I could feel every bit of his body, his hairy arm, lemon fragrance and long inhales.
Under the darkness of the blanket, I felt his body alive, slowly attracting to each other I felt us touching each other.
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. And that was it, I kissed him, his lips were like coated sugar and he kissed me back while holding my chin. I rested myself on his body and he continued kissing me.
He ran his finger on my cheeks and it felt hot. I was deeply lost in his big black eyes.
He unzipped his kameez, his naked chest with biceps too strong melted on my thin-framed body.
He hugged me tightly, me, hiding in his cosy arms. I have never felt so safe ever.
My sorrows were evaporating as he complimented me with his runny fingers guiding to my entire body.
And I remained exploring his body as he made love to me. And at last, we embraced and slept on his bed, with fingers crossed to each other.
And that was the hour, I realized my sorrows have bid a farewell.
Under the moonlight, his skin was glowing with the paleness of beauty. His eyes and kohl peepers — dead drop gorgeous.
Chapter Five
Tomorrow morning, my last day in Varunabad, I took a long cold shower. The coldness of water made me fresh and one with the earth and I came out and laid on the bed naked, looking at glass reflected by the weird atmosphere out of my window.
You never see such weather ever in Varunabad.
On a morning walk, I felt so active and fresh like the atmosphere today.
Even the sky has cooled down like me, there was no harshness. Only Pimpi trees dancing with the poetry of cuckoo and rain smell.
Wait, did I say rain smell? Yes, I felt like mud is being nurtured throwing its acrid perfume.
I was still wondering about last night.
I couldn’t get over the naked perfumed body of Paras in the chains of my mind
Talking of sugar, honey appeared, coincidentally he was standing, back rested on tree bark.
I fast-forwarded my steps towards him.
His face was serious than ever. I stopped at the path when I saw Remaish with him and Paras having him explain something and for the first time I saw Paras with uninviting looks, he looked at my concerned face and didn’t smirk or greeted me. His whole attention flowing towards Remaish, with sir-seriousness.
“Is there any problem there?” I asked, my heart was breaking, without a reason.
Remaish, who didn’t notice my behavior, turned his head towards me and said with a casual tone he could make up. “No.”
Paras saw concern in my face yet chose to remain silent.
“Well, we were talking about you,” Remaish said. Faking, I know it. I know the guy is terrible at lying.
For the first time, I could sense an air of being so foreign to the people who were too close to me.
“Today is your last day, right?” Paras asked.
I nodded.
“Yes, it is her last day!” Remaish shrieked at Paras.
This made me utterly confuse and uncomfortable.
I don’t wanted to stay here a minute now. My face turned red blood. And I turned my back, saying, “I am going, Baba must be waiting for me.”
I started walking faster.
“I am escorting you,” Paras said, and followed me.
I didn’t turn my head though.
Leaving Remaish behind in the woods, we stomped up to the hill to the mansion.
We remained silent all this time because I was not able to lost Paras, this was my last day in Varunabad and his sudden weird behavior was cutting me inside. Or maybe I was overthinking.
We slept last night together and today I didn’t want to face him, I feel so awkward yet want to shout thousand words at him.
I noticed Paras, he wasn’t embarrassed or held any sort of emotion for last night. He was normal as usual, this thing hurts me badly, while he was still following me to the house.
“Sasha,” he finally calmed me.
I was not able to see through his eyes now, so I turned up to my room without looking back.
Packed my bag, stuffed apparel and Sapiens book.
Said goodbye to Saadia, Sanghi and Shah Jahan Chacha as Baba directed me to wait for him down in the garden while he bid goodbyes to Sanghi and Chacha in his own manner.
I dragged my bag outside to the garden and caught Paras waiting for me. He was standing there for this whole half hour, only just for me.
First I tried my hard to remain quiet but was interested to listen to what he and Remaish were up to. At least I should know what concerned them so badly that Remaish didn’t even come down to bid a final bye to me.
“So you are going?”
“Yes,” I answered, putting my duffle bag on the car seat.
Paras stood by me. Paras had come to see me, apparently a golden opportunity for my unanswered queries. So I waited for him to tell me about the thing I was longing to listen to but he didn’t talk about that thing that he and Remaish were busy talking about until I came and disturbed their mediocre conference.
“Before you go, I wanted to talk to you, Sasha,” he said with a low voice he adopted, finally sensing my concern.
I could see an emotion looming on his face.
My heart was crumbling, I held my palms tight. Wanting to give him a last tight hug, but didn’t.
He started, “All this time, you have been in love with me. You know it?”
I didn’t answer.
“Sasha, you know what love means?”
“No!”
“Loving someone without expecting anything in return,” he said in a low tone.
I wasn’t here to listen to any petty lesson but something inside triggered me to hear what he was saying.
“Expectations makes us a person seeking nodes. You miss your ex because you wanted him to talk to you all the time without understanding that he has a life beyond you, look that’s what expectation does. It deteriorates father-daughter relationship because you want things under your ease, anything not up to your interest tends to keep you up all night.”
“That’s true Paras...but...”
He butted in, “Listen. All I want is for you to be happy before you go. Even if you don’t get your ex back or get your father’s permission to something, Sasha or.... or...getting love from someone you like. Or for the matter of fact, even desired score in this CIE examinations of yours.”
My head turned down. I was silent, not able to utter any word.
“I want you to love yourself, to respect yourself first. You don’t need a second person to love you, our love.... well...even if it’s true, it’s nothing but you expecting things again from someone and me too.”
My eyes became watery and I dumped myself inside the car seat.
He didn’t say goodbye, no I Love You, no telling me about what he and Remaish talked about, he didn’t even talk about last night and instead lectured me about self-love formulas without a point and care.
I closed the car door and saw him blabbering the same thing to love myself and don’t expect anything in return. What am I? A robot? This was so so indirect way to that he didn’t love me the way I do.
I wanted to listen to something else and he talked something else.
“Goodbye,” he said and turned away to walk after being failed at convincing.
I rolled the window down.
“Paras?” I called him.
“Yes?”
“Last question! I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes, Sasha, at least say something.”
“Who told you that I am in love with you?”
“Remaish,” he said.
My limps got hardened. I never told Remaish that I loved Paras, he simply made a naughty assumption.
Although Paras knew about my love for him, why has Remaish put a leg of hurdle on the road? Just to make a bad image of me. My trust that held firmly for Remaish seemed deteriorated. No wonder, what else he must be talking about me on my back.
“Remember! No more expectations,” Paras said, smiling.
And that was for the first time, I didn’t shed a tear about losing a loved one.
He walked and when he reached the Pimpi tree, he turned back again and said, “I love you, Sasha.”
A thunder bolted in the sky above and a heavy drizzle started falling. The rain in Varunabad has poured after three years of intense heat. It was so heavy and cold, its intensity increasing romantically.
I smiled back at him without expectations. Everything started smelling so strong; mud and Freesia. A rain mist rouse as I saw him disappearing into the woods.
※
I have returned to Miami now. I never missed my ex anymore I have moved on, and my relationship with my father has improved drastically.
I have learnt to love myself, I spent my leisure time at the beach, looking at the ocean tides coming forth and returning.
This thing reminds me of Paras so badly, he came into my life as a wave carrying air for life and returned back blooming my life.
I learnt so much from him and he taught me the most basic thing to live a life: No Expectations.
Sure you may think that Paras and I shared amazing chemistry, and were meant to be together, but some relationships don’t always develop into sizzling romance. Sometimes, they are comforting, life-long friendship we need to sail through the turbulent tides of life.
Me and Paras are like apple and jujube that make up the fruit of Pimpi.
Paras being my unexpected love.
Acknowledgements
For their assistance and inspiration, the author wishes to thank:
Kindle Direct Publishing, for helping this book get into the hands of my readers.
I greatly appreciate mom, Mir bhai, baba, Fozi baji, my boss mom, for being my family and motivating me to be creative.
Humzee, Sheekha, Kaya, John, Talia and Lala— Dr Pepper is on me! By that I meant you can find it in the fridge in the lab’s break-room, because I am too Sindhi.
I am also very grateful to Bunny and anyone else who I missed mentioning.
A Note on the Author
Sameer Khan Brohi is a Pakistani author and medical student based in New York City. He is author of Irum Coaching Centre, Nobody is of Pratika, Her Sheytan Is Not Real. He has graduated from Mandl School, The College of Allied Health and is also a blogger for Medium. He is also featured in Canada’s Pakistani community magazine Nawai Pakistan. Currently working as a lab MA in New York Cancer and Blood Specialist.
Irum Coaching Centre
By Sameer Khan Brohi
Richly varied in setting and content, a story about a struggling teacher living in the silent city of Hyderabad. The tough ambitious girl dares to run away to New York City. Diving deep into the world of education system and patriarchal society, the story takes place between dusty small town of Shahdadkot and New York City.
Nobody is of Pratika
By Sameer Khan Brohi
Saleel is fallen in love with Pratika. But nobody loves Pratika. As his love grows, he founds out that Pratika has ran away. Years later, she emerges again and Saleel still finds himself madly in love with her.
Her Sheytan Is Not Real
By Sameer Khan Brohi
A story about love, friendship, conspiracies, family and heartbreak. A battle of Sona until she proves that her sheytan is not real.
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