As dawn broke the next day, he drove to the orphanage, his mind made up. He would neither listen to his mother nor accept this rejection lying down. If nothing else, he would at least find out the reason.
"Good morning, nawab sahib. What brings you here so early?" asked Irfan as he picked up the newspaper.
"Morning, Irfan sahib," Shair greeted him. "I want to see Asiya. Is she awake?"
"I suggest you come back another day, son," Irfan said, sitting on a garden chair and gesturing for Shair to join him. "The poor child was shivering with fever last night. We had to call a doctor, he gave her something to help her sleep." He frowned.
"I must see her now," Shair insisted, rising.
Irfan was in no position to object to this improper request, so he quietly led him to Asiya's room.
Surprised to see Shair enter the room, Tabassum stood up from Asiya's bedside.
He nodded to her and took her place, looking at Asiya. Her eyes were swollen. "Had she been crying?" He wondered. He touched her forehead, then pulled his hand back as she sobbed. She was warm. "Why was she so distressed? Had he upset her that much?" A thousand anxieties plagued him throughout the afternoon. "Was she suffering from an illness he didn't know about? Or was her distress because of him?" He refused to eat, drink, or leave her side.
His resolve strengthened when he noticed the jasmine flowers he'd given her, lying near her pillow. He would ask her why she'd refused him and try to change her mind. He had to. Her acceptance meant everything to him.
When she woke, he knelt and gently brushed her hair from her face. Seeing him, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes again, without saying a word.
"Why are you crying, Asiya?" he pleaded, his voice soft and concerned. "Please tell me what's bothering you." She tried to pull away, but her fever had worsened.
Tabassum entered quietly and stood behind Shair. "Nawab sahib, it's time for her to eat. She must be weak. I need to give her her medicine, too," she whispered.
Shair made his way outside, smoking and pacing. As soon as Tabassum left, he returned to Asiya's side.
The longer he looked at her, the more urgent his need to confess his feelings became. He'd known her for little more than two weeks, hardly enough time for such intense attachment, yet he'd never been more certain.
Hours later, Asiya opened her eyes. They still ached from the previous night's tears. Unaware that Shair was there, she sat up with difficulty, leaning against the headboard.
"Asiya, thank God you're awake. How do you feel?" Shair asked.
She looked at him, realising it hadn't been a dream. He had proposed. Why else would he be here? Her eyes welled up again.
"Stop, Asiya, stop," he urged, his voice gentle. "Please tell me what's bothering you."
She was quiet, gathering her strength. "Nawab sahib, I'm an orphan, not an idiot! My family was well-known in Kashmir, but we weren't nawabs." She paused, clasping her hands.
"And if that mattered, do you think I would have proposed?!" he challenged, outraged by her seemingly inadequate answer.
"I know… but I can't say yes… I'm sorry," she whimpered, her brow damp with feverish perspiration.
"What do you know, Asiya, and why can't you accept?" Shair demanded as he struggled to remain calm.
"I know you can propose to anyone, and she'd be ecstatic. But I also know your family and social circle will never accept me." Her gaze dropped, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "Ultimately…" She trailed off, unable to voice her deepest fear, yet certain of its truth. In her heart, she wished she were wrong, but she couldn't deceive herself with false hope.
Ironically, Shair, raised in his privileged bubble, was oblivious to these factors, unaware of the magnitude of the societal pressures he was so determined to face for her.
Asiya took a breath and, in a rush, spoke her worst fears: "It's only a matter of time before you have to marry someone of your own kind. Where would I go then? What would become of me? Do you realise I'm alone in the world outside this orphanage? Once I leave, I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to!"
Shair felt as though he'd been slapped. He finally understood the anxieties Asiya had hidden behind her composed exterior. In a world full of people, he could almost feel the loneliness she described. Yet, that wasn't a valid reason for her rejection of him. She was missing the point entirely. He laughed, a nervous sound. "Is that why you rejected me last night? Because my father was a nawab, and yours wasn't?" He felt his anxiety lessen. His eyes, alight with a newfound excitement, held a sincere intensity. However, wanting to dispel a lingering doubt, he asked, "Or is there someone else?"
"Nawab Sahib, my only memory of my parents is of them serving the community. To honour that memory, I've dedicated myself to my studies. I don't have time for attachments."
"Asiya?" Shair interrupted. "Is my status the only reason you refused me?"
His question bewildered her. Wasn't that enough justification? she wondered.
"Asiya, is it the only reason?" he pressed.
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"What if I promise to hold you above everything else? What if I willingly give up everything to have you by my side?" He said with wholehearted conviction, kneeling beside her bed again.
Asiya stared, bewildered. "Why would you? Why would anyone do that, Nawab Sahib?"
He leaned closer, stroking her tangled hair. "Because I love you, you fool," he whispered.
***
Having shared his heart with Asiya, Shair felt a renewed sense of purpose; a quiet conviction that his mother would eventually come to understand that his love for Asiya was genuine and deeply important to him.
"Never!" Begum Zubaida declared, her voice sharp as she drew a cutting breath. "You are the great-grandson of Nawab Khan Bahadur Khan. You have a legacy to uphold. I will not allow you to tarnish our family name and your future with such an unsuitable match." She snatched her Hermès purse from a nearby table and swept out of the room with steel in her eyes, leaving Shair standing in the sudden, echoing silence.
He couldn't fathom his mother's stubbornness. He understood that society had unspoken rules about marrying within one's social class, but he recognised that these rules were man-made. Surely, man wasn't made for the rules; the rules were made for the convenience of man and could be broken when necessary. The Nawabs were hardly wanting for social acceptance, nor did they need any advantage that a high-profile marriage might bring. For months, he had tried to make his mother understand his feelings for Asiya, but their opposing views remained entrenched. A casual comment from her, delivered weeks ago, now echoed in his mind, chilling him to the bone: Was he willing to ruin his family's reputation for the love of a woman he could so easily acquire otherwise?
That casual comment, now remembered, filled Shair with revulsion. "Does your status and reputation mean more to you than your only child's happiness?" he had asked her then, in his naivety.
He struggled to keep pace with his mother as she strode toward her blue 1957 Classic Chevy. Begum Zubaida was on her way to Karachi for a close family friend's wedding, and Shair was driving her to the airport. Ditto sat fidgeting in the back seat, the palpable tension between them making him uneasy. He could tell from their rigid postures that neither was willing to yield. This disagreement was as unusual for everyone else as it was for Shair himself; begum sahiba, though generally indulgent, had clearly drawn a line in the sand.