It was the beautiful morning of an early spring. The sun was perched just above its horizon, shining through a mild layer of smoky fog. The air was fragrant with freshly blossomed flower-buds; with the added aroma of pure butter parathas and freshly made ginger tea, spread on the large dining table in front of her with two high-calorie sweets topped with almond and pistachio.

She was impatiently looking at the grandfather clock hanging on the front wall of the capacious hallway, which was visible to her through a big bowed arch. The clock was slowly ticking at its measured speed, as if reluctant to go further. If she could be able to speed it up, she would have done it hours ago. Her patience was running thin. She had woken up at 6 am and was now freshly clad in a sky blue cotton hand-embroidered salwar kameez with a red dupatta carelessly draped around her slender neck. Her hair, still damp from an early morning bath, was curtaining her back as if with a thick layer of dark brown silk. Her plate was loaded with crusty buttered golden parathas and freshly whipped cream. A large glass of creamed sweetened butter milk was still filled to its edges with bubbly white foam on top.

The maids were engrossed in their daily routine work, busy with cleaning and dusting the intricate showpieces made of fine bone china and heavy copper.

She was continuously shaking her feet under the table while playing with the food in her plate.

"What's the matter, janiye (endearment), why are you looking so zealous?" her father asked her, popping his head up from the newspaper through his reading glasses.

"Baba, you know how I love to go to the fields, and this clock isn't helping," she told her beloved father in annoyance.

The man, who was watching his only daughter lovingly, smiled at her afflicted state. He knew that his daughter loves her land dearly. It was running in her blood. No matter how much liberal they may have become, or how many factories they may have established; love for their croplands was still paramount for them. Their fields were still a matter of pride for them. They belonged to them.

"Ohh my love, who is stopping you then," he asked his beautiful daughter, puzzled.

"Baba, I am taking Asma with me, so I have given her time that I will be at her home by 9," she told her father, gulping small sips from her glass of butter milk.

"That's really nice, I'm sure you will enjoy there. But child, be careful, the mud there is slippery nowadays, so do not run on the wet grounds. And once you reach there, ask one of the workers to help you in plucking the fruits. No climbing on trees and no playing in cold water of tube wells," her father ordered her strictly. He knew his daughter's adventurous etiquette.

"Okay baba, I will be careful. But I can't promise you that I will not climb on the trees," she said mischievously, with a full-blown smile lighting up her beautiful face. Her father shook his head at her overly excited state.

"Baba, I have to ask you something," she said, focusing her eyes on her father's domineering demeanor. "Would you mind if Asma's brother accompanies us to the fields?" she stuttered.

"Well, why would he want to come with you?" the older man questioned her back.

"Umm, no baba, he doesn't want to come with us. But Asma's mother never allows her to go to the fields unescorted. For her it's not safe for girls to go to such secluded places with no family around you. That's why I had to invite him as well." She reasoned her peculiar deed to her father while reading his facial outcome.

"Okay, that's well. Nazi is a good boy. Perhaps he is a better company for both of you, as compared to Shareef. But come back before 4 in the evening, alright," he told authoritatively.

She jumped off from her chair in utter delight and reached her father, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much baba, you are the best." Her voice was laced with adoration and love for her father.

As soon as the clock struck 8:30, she ran out of the haveli to find Shareef bhai, who was already standing near the big 90's model Mercedes Benz.

"Shareef bhai, we will ride in baba's Willys to the fields. In fact, I will drive the beauty from Asma's home," she tweedled cheerfully.

Shareef's mouth fell on the ground after hearing her revolting notion. "Bibiji, we can't take that vehicle. Sahab will never allow it," he said in a hurry. Panic sizzled through his voice.

"Why not? It is my dream to ride that vicious vehicle," she told him while glancing at the nearby parked raw beauty.

"But that’s not possible bibiji. The Willys is reserved for Saheb's personal use and he is about to leave for Dilli with Zafar (another driver). You can ask him if you want," he told her suggestively.

"Ummm, okay then, we should leave now," she told her chauffeur after casting one last glance over the Willys. She couldn't ask her father for driving that jeep. She knew her father would never allow her to take it. The vehicle was used for his personal visits to the factory, or sometimes in the rallies that he attended.

They drove to Asma's home. She knocked at the door, and the door swung open.

"Salaam veerji," she greeted the man in front of her. A wide teasing grin appeared on her beautiful face.

Nazi just nodded his head and tore his gaze from her. He stomped out from the house.

She entered the living room and greeted Asma's mother. After assuring the older lady of their arrival before 4, they left the house. They were beyond excited; she and Asma took the backseat while Asma's brother sat on the passenger seat of the car.

During the whole 40 minute drive she was continuously chattering with Asma about her new clothes and sweaters, which her baba had bought for her from London. On the other hand, Nazi was just listening to her absurd talks and wondering why his sister had befriended such a spoilt little brat of a girl. He couldn't blame his mother for not liking her. She was out of their league; wild and crazy; and most importantly, juvenile barbaric adorable heiress of a well known business family. They couldn't even stand in front of her empowered elite-class status. He shrugged his shoulders and fixed his eyes on the bumpy road.

After 40 minutes, they finally arrived at her cropland. Her chauffeur parked the car in the fields under the ample shade of a mango tree.

She rushed out of the car with Asma in tow as they ran towards the lush expanse of the guava and berries’ orchards. The fruits had ripened and sweetened naturally. One of the workers plucked the ripest of them and washed them in the nearby tube well pond filled with fresh water.

They had so much fun at the fields, skipping ropes and playing with fresh water coming with a huge force from the tube well. Their clothes were almost drenched with water; their hair sticking on their faces. Eventually, Asma came out of the water as she was scared of her brother who was gawking at her.

But the young vigorous beauty was still in the pond jumping and squealing like a child. Nazi was watching her from a distance with amazement, drinking in her appearance with his eyes and enclosing this most divine scenario in his heart for a lifetime. He had never witnessed something so ethereal like this before. This was all too enticing for his dull and boring 21 year life. He wanted to capture every single bit of these blissfully memorable moments. He was too occupied in the onslaught of mind numbing sights when his sister snatched his diligence by waving her hand in front his eyes.

"Lala, where are you lost?"

"What?" Nazi managed to collect his thoughts from the forbidden desires, which were growing within him unknowingly. He shook his head and met his sister's confused glare.

"Ummm, I was just looking around. It's really beautiful here, and I think you are enjoying yourself too," he said while sitting down on the huge outer roots of a tree.

"Yes, we enjoyed a lot but it seems you are a little lost. Is everything okay?" his little sister asked in a worried tone. A small smile made its way on his rough handsome features.

"I am good makkhan," he used a pure Punjabi endearment, which caused Asma to frown in annoyance. She hated her brother's Punjabi endearments.

"Arghhh lala, I have told you before, don't use such words for me," Asma told him grumpily. Nazi laughed out loud and pinched her nose, making her sigh loudly with a gruff.

"Okay it's almost 2 pm, so we should leave now. Tell your friend it's almost time," he told his sister, while looking in the direction of the alluring beauty.

"Lala, she will not leave before 3:30. You know her, she is crazy for her farms," Asma replied while gazing at her friend lovingly. Nazi couldn't help but notice his sister's kind facial features. Asma loved her crazy friend more than anything.

He made his back comfortable against the tree trunk and closed his eyes in submission. It was going to be a long day, and it had just started, as the girls were crazy for water play, ripened fruits and blossomed flowers.

**********

Running on an automatic multi-function treadmill, Shahzeb’s body was coated with perspiration, muscles stretched to their extent. His breathing was shallow and short.

His magnifying gaze was fixed on the far corner of the enormous lush green lawn. There, at the corner, a fountain was bursting with fresh water bubbles, produced from the intensity of water falling from above. Around the fountain pond, white marble benches covered the half-spherical arena.

One of the benches was occupied by Zoya, his adorably sexy wife.

Shahzeb cursed under his breath once the word 'sexy' smacked his mind. It had never happened with him before. He had seen way too much female flesh in grand parties and around the world, but not a single figure had affected him to this level of lunacy which his unaware wife was making him experience these days, to the extent that he was suspecting his own sanity.

He pressed the stop button on the treadmill and took a sky blue fine Turkish towel from his exercising bike. Wiping the excessive sweat from his heated body, he filled a glass of apple juice and lit up a cigarette.

Gulping down the juice slowly into his system, Shahzeb was looking at his sinfully attractive wife. Zoya’s body was clad in a light peach plain fish-cut chiffon top with peach brocade narrow pants, enhanced with a dark pink velvet border. Her dress was simple and covered her fully, just showing the ivory skin of her soft feet along with her toe nails, which were painted fuchsia pink. But still, his rousing drunken glare was piercing through the material of Zoya’s dress. He was wondering what more could be hidden beneath those layers of clothing. Hell, he cursed again loudly as a wave of mind boggling, thrilling sensations travelled down his spine.

Shahzeb clenched his jaw and averted his gaze from the temptress witch. He had never thought that someday, he would be mourning over his past idiotic remarks.

He shrugged his shoulders and headed towards his bedroom. After taking a refreshing shower, he put on a grey loose-fitting V-neck T-shirt paired with blue washed off denims, and rushed out from his room. When he entered the dining hall, amma and baba were already present on their respective seats, having their breakfast.

"Come here chanda, have a seat. We have just started," amma gestured Shahzeb to come near her. A soft smile was blooming over her lightly wrinkled beautiful face. Baba just nodded his head and signaled one of the maids to serve breakfast to his beloved son. Shahzeb started his breakfast while reading some official mails on his phone which needed his urgent attention.

"I told you last night that I have something important to discuss with you Shahzeb, but your mother and sister were adamant to let you rest for the night. Ladies treat their sons like little babies." Baba's heavy bossy voice burst in the vast sullen dining hall.

"Yes baba, I remember. But I have to dictate some important notes to my executive project manager regarding our ongoing Japanese venture. Just give me half an hour to finish this baba, then I will be all yours," Shahzeb told his father in apologetic tone.

"Okay Shahzeb, meet me in the diwankhana after finishing your business," baba nodded his head and made his way out of the dining hall.

Shahzeb was speaking with his executive officer on the phone while strolling through the lush green lawn of the haveli and smoking a cigarette. After about 25 minutes, when he was about to end his call, his dark eyes captured the shadow of a petite figure at the far end. He bid goodbye to his executive and ended the call. He proceeded in the direction of the swings in the backyard, where a feminine figure swung carelessly on the antique wooden swing while talking on the phone. When he reached her, he recognized Zoya; speaking in a hushed tone on her phone. A beautiful smile adored her alluring facial features. Shahzeb stood still in his track, just behind the swing.

"Yes, yes, I will speak to him soon dear. You know how badly I want this Zain."

Zoya’s voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, but he could hear each single word clearly, as the name of the person spilled out from her lips. Shahzeb tightened his grip on his phone and clenched his defined jaws. His handsome face turned extremely cold and rough in a split second, as some veins popped out on his athletic forearms. Serious expressions clouded his face as he promptly appeared in front of her, making her jump on the spot. She looked fearfully at his hard, dangerously emotionless face. Her phone slightly trembled in her small hand, her face paled and lips suddenly became dry.

"Iii__ I___wwill ta__ talk to you later Zain, have some work, bye," Zoya stuttered and ended her call. Shahzeb grabbed her upper arm and pulled her up towards him.

"I had warned you never to play with the family honor. I had warned you to never ever talk with that bastard again. Hadn't I?" He asked her with a deadly calmness. An apprehensive chill ran down her spine, making her shiver with fear.

Zoya tried to free her arm from his iron grip, but he pulled her more into him. She placed her palms on his hard chest for maintaining some appropriate distance between them.

"I_I___iiiii haven't done anything Shahzeb," she babbled meekly.

"Then what were you discussing with that swine? Tell me, what was he brainwashing you into to ask me?" Shahzeb forcefully snapped on her face. Zoya winced in pain as his strong fingers dug deeper into her soft arms. His breathing was shallow and heated with rage.

"I want Divorce!" she exclaimed, before another mind numbing, bone chilling sensation, could hit her mind.

"What?" he asked in a lethal whisper. "What did you just say?" Shahzeb’s voice was icy cold. But Zoya wasn't scared, no. She had to stay strong for herself.

"I WANT DIVORCE, MR. SHAHZEB KHAN." She told him with whatever courage she could ever muster. Their eyes were looking at each other, as if they wanted to sneak into each other's souls.

"Ahan," Shahzeb said mockingly, as he left her arm from his grip and took a step back. "So my beautiful wife wants a divorce." He repeated her words and chuckled lightly. But his eyes were still same, resembling a burning fire in the sunlight, raging with explosive anger. He was looking at every single feature on her body, every fine line which was appearing on Zoya’s clearly fearful face. Her lips slightly trembled as she bit on her lower lip.

"But you know what Zoya; you have demanded something impossible here, which is not in my control. If It had been in my control, you would have been free years ago; in-fact, just the next moment after our marriage," Shahzeb told her while looking deep into her eyes which were filled with unshed tears by his cruel, arrogant remark.

"And, my darling wife, even if it were in my control, I would never divorce you now. Do you know why?" he asked her, coming very close to her.

"Because I haven't savored your beauty yet."

As soon as the heated whisper hit her eardrums, a sensational shiver ran through the length of her spine. Shahzeb was close, too close. Zoya could even feel his hot breath on her cool cheek. Her legs turned into jelly and she fell on the swing with a soft thud. Tears were freely flowing on her cheeks.

She looked up at him with a tearful questioning gaze. "Why are you doing this Shahzeb?" she asked helplessly.

"Ahh, that really is a good question babes, but I don't want to answer it just yet. I believe in actions honey," Shahzeb told her rather coherently, while bending just to the level of her face. "And I will answer you soon by my actions; just wait till I come back from Japan. But no nonsense acts will be tolerated now. Just act like a wise, judiciously respectable wife that you are supposed to be," he again instructed her sternly.

"Sahab, bade sahab is calling you in the diwankhana," a maid informed him from afar. He straightened himself and glanced at her one last time before walking away.

**********

"Yes babajan, what is the matter that you couldn't discuss on the phone?" Shahzeb asked his father who was sitting on the couch, resting his one arm on the side lounge pillow while a lighted cigar graced his other hand. He exhaled a puff of smoke in the air.

"The matter is important Shahzeb and I want you to consider it beforehand," the older man's heavy voice boomed in the eerie silence of the spacious diwankhana.

"I knew it must be important baba, or else you would have waited for my ongoing project to be completed. And you know your every single word stands like an order for me," Shahzeb told his father in a determined tone.

"Yes my son, which is one of the reasons why I am proud of you. Actually Shahzeb, as you know, our party has been successfully ruling in the region for almost 20 years now. And being the President of the party, it is my responsibility to finalize the name of the candidate for the Chief Minister's chair." Baba paused for a brief minute and indicated a male servant to serve the tea.

"The opposition has selected a young candidate for the CMs chair this time around. The young man has a strong political background. He is also the Member of Parliament from Siyal constituency. You know him, Abhay Kumar. He is the son of Anil Kumar, the former CM of the state. They have been sitting in the opposition from the last 10 years, but have still worked exceptionally well in their areas. As for our party, you know Abbas Malik has been the Chief Minister since the last 10 years. But he has no son, and his younger brother is nothing but a useless moron, who can't even stand without his wife's order," baba said in a coarse voice filled with disgrace.

"We want an energetic young man to take the helm of our party now, Shahzeb. And you know pretty well what I want from you. Rumors have been spreading in the air of the region; the name for the next CM candidate might be YOURS."

Baba blasted a bomb over him which made him dumbfounded. Shahzeb had never expected that his baba would ask him something like that. He knew that his baba and Abbas Malik were conspiring something about the next CM candidate, but he believed that the focus of their deliberations was Nawaaz veerji, who was the best option in his opinion.

After making a lot of effort to come out of the temporary shock, he made himself able to speak again. "Baba, I don't think I could be ever able to handle the political pressure. I have never thought about joining politics. It's just out of my league baba. Sorry, but I think you should ask Nawaaz vee..."

"I didn't ask for your advice Shahzeb," the older man suddenly cut him off. "All I want is your consent for the CM position," baba told him in an authoritative voice.

"But baba, I am not even connected to politics. How can you nominate my name for such a powerful post?" Shahzeb objected. He had never thought about being CM of his state, not even in his scariest nightmare.

"You are pretty much connected to politics Shahzeb, being the only son of the party president. As for the CM nominee, you are the best option available to us. Abbas has no one to claim his position, he only has one daughter. And we need a powerful young man, who can run the party after me and him." Shahzeb was listening to him carefully; his baba's voice was full of hope and pride for him. He could do anything to guard his baba's pride and honor.

"Okay baba, I will join the party officially. But please give me some time to wrap up my ongoing ventures. It will not take more than two months, and then I will officially join the party. But yes, I don't think I am competent for the CM chair, at least not in the upcoming elections. May be next time In-sha-Allah," Shahzeb told his baba in an obligatory tone. The older man smiled at his response and gestured him to come near. Shahzeb walked to his couch and took his baba’s wrinkled yet strong hand in his powerful one as he sat beside him.

"I have one more thing to discuss with you Shahzeb. I hope you would consider my wish again," baba told him insolently.

"What is it baba?" Shahzeb asked him. His eyebrows furrowed, his voice was a bit confused.

"I want you to marry Suhana Malik!"

This was the actual explosion which made Shahzeb freeze on his spot. Frozen actually would be an understatement. This was definitely beyond his comprehension.

**********