"Umm, Shareef bhai, you can go now. Pick me up at six." She hopped out of the car and leaned towards the passenger side's rear window, as she ordered her chauffeur to leave.

"But bibiji, saheb told me to wait for you out here at your friend's home," the chauffeur insisted to his young employer weakly.

"But I am telling you to leave and pick me up at six. And anyway, baba has already left for Dilli with his battalion. So no one will come to know. Besides you can enjoy your life in these two hours; go and meet your fiancée." This time she commanded authoritatively.

"Bibiji, look at the weather, the clouds can open up anytime," he concluded meekly. He did not want to displease his master and risk his job. But his feisty madam had some other plans.

"That is the reason I am giving you two hours leave, so that you can enjoy the beautiful weather with your dream girl," she again told him mischievously and smiled sheepishly.

The poor man blushed on her blunt suggestion and shook his head in surrender. He had no other option but to follow his young mistress's order.

"Okay bibiji, I will come at 6 to pick you up." She nodded her head in agreement and proceeded to the single story small concrete house in front of her.

As she was about to knock on the wooden door of the house, the door swung open suddenly and her hand made contact with someone's flesh.

"Ahh...," he pressed his palm on his nose, which was hit by her knuckles.

"Ohh," her lips formed an 'O' as she realized her mistake. "Ummmh sorry, I was knocking on the door, I didn't know you were about to open it at the same time," she apologized her inanity but a goofy grin graced her beautiful lips which she was unable to hide.

"Who the hell knocks at a door like this?" his grumpy voice hit her eardrums.

"Like what?" she asked innocently, although she knew she had knocked it quite forcefully.

"Like a wrestler who can break doors just by simply tapping on them," he stated annoyingly.

She looked at him with wide eyes and folded her hands on her chest. "Are you trying to compare me with a wrestler?" she asked him in a voice laced with shock and heart break.

He gazed at her sinfully immaculate contour which was sparkling in the dull sun of the late winter afternoon. Her dupatta was carelessly hanging on her shoulder, showing the neckline of her phulkari embroidered top. She was the epitome of a perfectly sculptured youthful figure, unaware of her own excessively appealing beauty.

He had to collect his uninhibited gaze which had been roaming over her charming form. He shrugged his shoulder from the reprehensible desires tantalizing in his mind.

It was the first time that he had done something vile. And he was shocked for the moment. But he accumulated his thoughts quickly and looked into her beautiful black eyes.

"Move," she whispered sternly. She spread her dupatta on her shoulders and chest evenly. She was feeling nervous under his heated scrutiny.

He immediately stepped aside. Cursing himself under his breath, he exited from the house.

She walked past him and entered the small living room.

"Salaam chachiji (aunty)," she greeted the elder lady who was sitting on the wooden sofa, peeling peas. The lady looked up and eyed her from head to toe. She was not very fond of her because of her rebellious nature.

"Chachi, where is Asma?" she asked the lady about her friend.

"She is sleeping in her room. Wake her up, it's almost Asr time," the lady ordered her.

She turned and walked over to the simple wooden door and pushed it open. The room was dark and furnished with a small single bed at the corner along with a small study table and a chair. She walked to the bed and shook her friends' shoulder, who was in a deep slumber.

"Hey, wake up." Her friend didn't bulge. She tried again by snatching her cover and this time the sleeping beauty woke up.

"Hey, when did you come?" Asma rubbed her eyes and yawned widely. "When you opened your beautiful eyes," she answered and sat at the edge of the bed. Asma laughed lightly at her friends' playful coquettish remark.

She had always been like this; full of life, easy going, energetic and an exceptionally kind soul.

"You are hopeless," Asma stated in a matter of fact way.

"Yes I know, and I am switching on the light. This room is looking like an open grave. How do you live in such a dull and dark place?" She stood up to switch the lights on, and the yellow light spread in the whole room.

"Everyone sleeps in darkness," her friend said in a huff tone.

"No, I can't sleep in the darkness. I turn on the light in the night also, you know that." She was weird but in a beautiful way. Her beauty and purity could be seen in her tiny little actions.

She pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat on it. Meanwhile, Asma folded the comforter and placed it onto the foot end.

"Yeah, yeah, how can I forget that we have a jhalli in our town. And wait, oh my god!" Asma squealed in surprise. Her eyes widened in realization.

"What?" she asked Asma, who was looking at her as if she had grown two heads.

"You cropped your hair." Asma pointed her index finger at her forehead where the silky strands of her brown hair were playing against the porcelain creamy skin of her forehead, making her ten times more beautiful and lively.

"Yes," she smiled wholeheartedly at her friends' surprised look.

"What do you think about my new hairstyle? Isn't it looking pretty on me?" she asked Asma innocently, while grazing her finger on her short silky locks extending on her forehead. This was the only reason she wanted to come to Asma's home.

Asma was her only friend; more than a sister to her. She was always eager to tell Asma about her reckless actions which were a source of pride to her. Asma was her biggest admirer after her amma and baba. She never judged her by her foolish childlike behavior.

"Haan ji jaaniye (darling). It is looking amazing on you, giving you the look of the most rebellious spoilt girl of our town," Asma told her and stood up from the bed. They were both laughing when the voice of Asma's mother came to their ears.

"Asma, Asr time is almost running out. Go and pray first," the lady shouted from the living room. Asma hurriedly took her cotton dupatta and made her way out of the bedroom to the backyard where a small washing area was built.

"You also come with me," Asma called her. She stood up from the chair and walked towards Asma where she was doing her ablutions.

"Do you have nail paint remover?" she asked her friend, although she knew that her friend was never allowed to paint her nails as she prayed five times daily.

Her friend shook her head in a negative.

"Then I can't pray, I have painted my nails," she said in a low voice. She knew that Asma's mother, while working in the kitchen, was listening to their conversation.

"You pray, I will wait in your room. Anyway, I need your history notes of the last class," she nodded at Asma, who had moved to the corner of the living room to start her prayer. She went back in Asma's room and grabbed her history notebook from the study table. She went through the pages and noted the important points in her mind.

It was already 5:30 in the evening and she had ordered her chauffeur to pick her up at 6. Just half an hour was left and her chauffeur would be there anytime.

Asma entered her room after finishing her prayer with two cups of tea in a small tray. She placed the tray on her study table.

Asma had never had her own room before. This room belonged to her elder brother and she had always slept with her parents in their room as there were only two bedrooms in the house. But after her brother shifted to a hostel in Delhi for his engineering studies, this room was given to her and now it had been almost three years since she had been the occupant of this room. Whenever her brother came over during his vacations, he had never made her leave this room. He used to sleep in the living room on a mattress.

They had their tea while talking about random stuff and their upcoming final matric exams. This year was important for them.

"Hey, listen Asmy. I am planning to go to our fields tomorrow morning as Rajjo (her servant) told me that the guavas of our cropland have ripened and are very sweet and mouthwatering," she told her friend in an excited tone. "And you are coming with me. We will go with Shareef bhai," she ordained.

"Okay, it's almost 6 pm now. I should get going." She stood up from the chair and glanced at the wall clock.

She was just about to leave when her driver came to pick her up at the given time. Once again she didn't forget to remind Asma of their trip to the fields that she had planned for them.

"Asmy, be ready at nine. Okay," she told her friend.

"No, I can't come, lala will never permit me," Asma told her firmly as she knew that her brother and mother would never allow her to go to the fields alone. "We are not going alone. Shareef bhai will accompany us. And he is like a brother," she reasoned with her friend. But Asma was reluctant to follow her adventurous mate.

"Okay, just ask your lala to come with us. I have no problem with him." She shrugged her shoulders, and walked towards the main door.

She was determined to go to the fields tomorrow. Ripe pink guavas in the cool mornings of late winters were her weakness. She was a true small town girl who loved her fields and its heavenly crops, although she had never experienced the hard work the villagers put in to mold their barren lands into beautiful farms. She was one of those who are born to order others around and be the apple of every eye.

As she reached the main door and extended her hand to open it, the door opened by itself; making her jump on the spot in fear of getting hit by its force.

"Hayo Rabba", she placed her palm on her chest. As her eyes snapped out from their sockets, the person in front of her had the same annoyed expression on his face.

"Salaam veerji," she greeted him again, adding the special term used for big brothers in her mother tongue. A small teasing smile was playing on her lips.

He just glared at her for her childish behavior and the word she had just used for him. He had no idea why he didn't like being called 'brother' by her. He was beyond annoyed.

Her car's honking noise broke the unexpected spell between them. She made her way out of the house and waved her hand to her friend who was coming behind her.

"Be ready at nine Asmy, I will be here to pick you up. Keep 'veerji' ready as well," she winked at Asma, as she laughed at her mischievous use of veerji and hopped in to the big car. The car drove off.

"Where does she want to take you?" he narrowed his eyes on his sister and asked grimly.

"Lala, she wants me to go with her to the mango and guava fields of her baba tomorrow as the trees are full of ripened fruits and the weather is beautiful," she told her brother and waited for his reaction.

She knew that her brother and mother would never acquiesce to her rendezvous with her friend as they were aware of her reckless nature and impetuous deeds.

"With whom is she going?" her brother asked again.

She gazed at her brother's prodigious question. But she wasn't expecting the unexpected.

"Uhmm, I mean, why was she telling you about my .. umm I mean why would she want me to come with you two?" He didn't know why he was blabbering. "Hell," he cursed silently.

"We will go with her chauffeur, Shareef bhai. He will take us to the fields and stay with us," Asma told her brother timidly. She wasn't sure if her brother would allow her to go with her friend to the fields, although he and her mother never stopped her from going to her friend's home, as her friend held a strong family background. She was the only daughter of the richest man of their town; or it would be more accurate if we would say the whole region. She was the only heiress of the rapidly growing business empire of her father.

"You can't go with her to the fields, amma will never permit," he told his sister sternly and walked inside.

"Lala wait, at least listen to me first please." Asma ran behind her brother as he stopped at the middle of the living room.

"What?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

"She wants you to come with us too," his sister said, looking at him, waiting impatiently for his response.

"Me?" He was shocked for a moment at the demand of his sister's friend. It was not as if he didn't expect this from her. It would have been an understatement if he said so. He knew her too well; she was the perfect example of unpredictability.

"But why does she want me to come with the two of you to the fields? What would I do there?" he asked confused.

"Lala, she knows you and amma would never allow me to go to the fields with her alone. So she invited you as well, that you might come with us too," Asma reasoned with him.

He nodded his head in understanding. "You want to go there?" he asked his little sister.

She excitedly nodded her head as a small smile graced her lips. He looked at her for seconds and then gave his consent to her. Her face lit up in elation.

"Thank you so much lala," she thanked her brother and squealed in merriment.

Tomorrow would be a long day filled with enjoyment.

**********

Zoya hurriedly packed her necessary things and changed into the brightest shade of pink with sunset yellow sheer combination colored dress. She put on some gold bangles and a delicate chain of gold encrusted with tiny diamonds on her slender neck.

She took her clutch and phone in one hand and scurried out of the room.

As she reached the porch, Shahzeb was already there, leaning against the passenger door of his Land Rover. He was looking at his phone's screen with his back to the front entrance of their home where Zoya was standing, waiting for Sughra (servant) to bring her duffle bag.

As she approached him, he heard the noise from her pointed heels and turned towards her. He froze on the spot.

It was not like he was seeing her for the first time. He had been seeing her from her childhood, and he knew that she was beautiful. But he never paid attention to her looks before, except for that one particular evening...

It was the success party of his nephew, who had achieved the top position in his college. He had also topped the merit list chart of the university. The party was being held at his sister's Delhi mansion, and Zoya was the one who was organizing everything as she was the best friend of his nephew Bilal, who was 3 years younger than her.

He had landed back in Delhi on the same afternoon and made his appearance at the party in the evening. As he entered the large lounge, crowded with family and friends, he greeted his nephew Bilal and wished him success for his future.

Their conversation drifted towards his worldwide growing leather business and his business strategies. Bilal further asked Shahzeb's advice for his higher studies. Suddenly Bilal chirped with excitement. "Ahh look at the most beautiful lady we have here, mamu," he winked at Shahzeb.

Shahzeb turned around and gaped at the beauty that Bilal was praising. Zoya was descending from the staircase and coming towards their direction.

She was wrapped in a beautiful designer grey sari with embroidered beaded work with an elbow-length sleeves blouse. Her sari was simple but elegant. The blouse was modest enough for their 'page 3' status; but was still giving Shahzeb all the tiny details of her slightly curvaceous slim figure.

That was the first time in their four years of marriage that Shahzeb perceived her as HIS woman. On that winter evening, when the heaters were on to make the atmosphere warm for their guests, Shahzeb was in desperate need of some icy cool water to damp his parched throat. The woman standing some feet away from him had the ability to give him sleepless nights for months after that day.

And now here she was again, testing his self control, to the extent where he was unable to ignore her exquisitely appealing sculptures. He was looking at her with heated fervency, measuring every curve and every move of his lawfully wedded wife.

Zoya came in front of him and stopped at an arm's length. "Ready?" she asked him in a confused voice.

"Go and put something on it," he stated in his self constructed arrogance, as he put his phone back in his blazer pocket and wore his shades to conceal his disturbing eyes.

"Sorry?" she was beyond confused, perplexed from his sudden order.

"I said go and put something on over it, or change your dress." He emphasized every word.

"But why, what is wrong with this dress?" Zoya asked him again and looked down at her own self. She failed to understand his sudden displeasure with her dress. The dress was just the way she liked, and more importantly, her amma liked.

The older lady had always wanted her to dress in bright colors and beautiful designs as she was her beloved and only daughter-in-law. It was a matter of pride and status for her in their elite society.

"Everything is wrong with this dress. See yourself in the mirror through the eyes of men and you will find out," he told her with a clenched jaw.

"You just can't order me around about my life. I will do what I like to do, I will wear what I like to wear," she told him insolently. That's it, she didn't give a damn to his opinions; or was bothered if others checked her out in corrupt state of minds. It was her life, and she had had enough of others' judgmental point of views.

Her dress was anyway quite modest in comparison with Delhi's explicitly high fashioned lifestyle. Even in their own circle, Zoya was the only one who never wore revealing clothes. And her so-called husband was always surrounded with sick fashionable girls and heiresses of his business associates, who wore their 'night wears' in parties.

Shahzeb was watching her with molten eyes. He did not like the way she answered back to him. He wanted her to surrender to his small demand, but his wife was being stubborn this time.

"At least drape a stole on your shoulders, your dupatta is too thin to hide your enticing assets." He smirked devilishly while putting his gaze on her embellished neckline as he took a step closer to her, leaving just mere inches between them.

Zoya’s eyes bulged out of her sockets, startled by his unexpected drunken remark. She hurriedly collected her amazed self and ran back to her room. She snatched her floral printed stole from the wardrobe, wrapped it around her shoulders and came back to the porch in less than ten minutes.

Shahzeb pulled open the back door of the SUV for her; and closed it back after she had seated herself inside the sedan. His driver Nasir took the driving seat while he sat on the passenger seat next to him and they drove off.

It was almost 6 pm when they left the city's bursting engaged highways. Zoya was thinking about Shahzeb's alien behavior since he had come back from his trip. The trip had lasted a full two months. The last time they had met was in Bilal's success party, and on that occasion too, she had the feeling as if her husband's eyes were stalking her every movement.

She was unable to understand her husband's electrifying behavior. Shahzeb had never been like this. He never paid diligence to her looks before. Then why NOW?

These were the disturbing questions roving around her mind. And she found no satisfactory answers to them. She dozed off into a slumber, thinking about her life's indecisive twists and turns which were happening with her these days.

She felt someone's warm fingers stroking her cold cheek. "Wake up, we have reached the haveli." Shahzeb's husky voice hit her ears, as Zoya opened her brown eyes into narrow slits. He was leaning on to her face, just inches away from her lips. Her eyes widened and a small shriek escaped her mouth. Shahzeb immediately backed off.

"What the F***"...

**********