Staccato of steps dispersed in different directions. Clock announced the late hour of night, time to go to bed.

Zoha frowned at the darkness. She blamed the day for lasting for so little. She couldn't even do much. The guests had stolen her precious evening by delightedly relishing the moment of happiness. They didn't leave until sunlight diminished in the sky. Now she wanted to come out of the room. She had read enough of the book that she somewhat liked, borrowed from university. For once she listened to Hoorain, apart from the other times when she insisted her to read fiction. Her (Hoorain) famous line that picked the reputation of a friendly taunt, textbooks will deprive you of the true happiness in life. As if she spoke on the behalf of all the imaginative writers in the world.

With soft sound of her footfall, she came out of the room and closed the door with a twisted knob. Then scurried to the kitchen. She remembered at the dinner Saliha brought up the names of sweets, her favorite badshahi gulab jaman.. The image of more of those was testing her patience. She was vulnerable to take a bite, as saliva already flooded her mouth. The box was in the fridge, cool and fresh. Before she could take one from it, she looked if anybody had eaten some. The impression of three round sweets in the puddle of syrup was the evidence that the box had experienced the touch of other ones before her. Relief amended her earlier suspicion and she picked one with her two fingers. Then put the box in the fridge.

For a while as she tried to finish the badshahi gulab jaman faster. She focused more on the idea of being solitary in the kitchen. No sound of anyone approaching in her direction. But as much as her heart pumped fear of being caught, she was equally enjoying every lasting taste of that sweet piece. In the end she licked the honey-like syrup from the tips of her fingers and washed her hand.

It seemed as if everyone was sleeping in the dearth of noise. The notion relied on the evidence that Saliha and Zafar's room door was closed, as well as Shehryaar and Manal's. She went to the study room and heaved a sigh. Much better to be surrounded by shelves and books residing in them. She pulled out a book, The Details of Modern Architecture by Edward R. Ford. The cover of it always flourished her interest. She turned to the page where the bookmark was sticking out and began reading closely. It was soon that she realized she needed to have her notepad on the side to jot down the crucial information. Important pieces and phrases. Otherwise her tendency to sometimes forget the minor ideas made her come back to it and read again the specific page.

The room felt hot, like some oven was left heating. She rolled her sleeves up the crook of her arm and unlatched the window, which was suppressed by the hanging curtains.

Leaning against the window frame and watching the clouds, she recalled the smile of dadi. Her face immersed in the sky, like she was looking back at her, despite she was gone. But her presence was like crystal clear dew on the sprouted leaves. She could breathe in the air filled with her memories. Only one wish that was left was to touch her, embrace her frail body and rest head on her shoulder. Again. And it was the only one thing she couldn't do. Never. Impossible. Except if dreams had power to make it true. But it would still not contend her heart. It wouldn't give back the same affection and sow the sorrow wound. She would have to live without them.

A noise came from the back. She turned around. The door handle was rattling. Small fear engulfed her solitary moment. Someone was trying to come in. Who could it be? She knew her uncle and aunt were sleeping. Then?

She ambled to the door. The face from the glass made her uneasy. Shehryaar. His eyes were staring at her. His hand was clasping onto the handle, but effortless. Calmness crossed him. He dropped his gaze. Zoha ran her hand on the handle and opened the door. As he stepped in, she winced back, astonished to see him. At this time. Why?

"I thought there was no one in here. The light was on," he said.

"You were awake?" she said.

"Yes."

"I was doing my work. In the evening the guests were." He interrupted her.

"I know. You were in the room."

Strands of loose hair messed around her face. She looked at the window with a frown. Then went to her desk and continued with her work. She did not look at him and thought he might leave, since he knew she was here. Her fingers trembled around the body of the pen she was holding.

"What's so important that you are up so late?" he said.

"It's only ten forty five."

"Still it's night. Bedtime."

"I don't feel like sleeping. And I have to finish my work for tomorrow. It's due." Zoha lied about the due part to spend more time in the study room.

Shehryaar allowed the door to close behind him. The sound of it evoked Zoha's attention up at him. She thought, is he going to stay here? I hope not. I don't think it's a good idea.

"I was at the laptop too." He walked away from the door. "Then got snack hungry. So I came down."

Zoha pointed at the line in the book and read it again in her heart. She was reading it, but wasn't comprehending any meaning in it because of his lingering presence.

"It feels little hot here. Doesn't it?" he said.

"I just opened the window. It will be better." Zoha spoke in a restricted tone.

"Hope so. So you can work. Is there any AC still?" He started speculating.

"Behind the curtains. But I am fine without it."

"It's your patience." He cocked his head out the window. "I smell nature. Soil. Trees. You can't deny the beautiful view from here." He stood there.

Zoha wasn't as nervous now. She paid attention to the work on the desk. She already finished with one and another half page. Three more to go. They were just hard as they seemed.

"Do you work here very often?" he said, shifting his weight on the left leg. Then turned around to see Zoha.

"Yes."

"Looks like isolation works better for you. Surrounded by books and-" He trailed off gazing around, lost at words.

Zoha nodded. Pen was bound in between her fingers, arm positioned to write. She experienced more distraction than the thoughts resulted in loneliness. She watched him look around, relentlessly touring the small study room. The expression formed on his face, giving away the story of his mind: fascinated with the color scheme of furniture, adorned by dim illuminating light of the fixture. He appeared peaceful as he was drawn more into it. The slight spark of energy in his eyes settled like the turbulent ocean after the storm.

He skirted around Zoha's desk and sank in the slouchy couch. He patted the soft arms of it, like a person who was checking the new furniture for its quality before purchasing.

"I hope you don't mind me sitting on this," he said.

"Not at all."

"What are you working on?"

"I am making notes."

"What are you studying? I forgot." He grimaced, thinking.

"Architecture."

"Sounds like something creative that I would be interested in." He got quiet then.

Zoha proceeded with the reading once again. She darted her eyes in split second when the silence began to overwhelm, despite the fact Shehryaar was in the room with her. He was sitting, squinting at the books to make their names in small font. She looked in the direction of where he was looking.

"You can take them out if you want," she said politely.

Shehryaar flinched. Smile buttered over his innocence. "No I am fine. I don't think I will prefer reading heavy text." He chuckled. "Never been much of a reader."

"I read a lot because I get assignments."

"I remember I used to get pages and pages to read in twelfth grade. I read plays of Shakespeare. That language is still hard to understand. Have you ever read them? At least one?" Part of his face was drowned in obscurity.

"No. But my friend is a bookworm. She reads in Urdu and English too. She read this play once of Shakespeare. Um-" Zoha tried to recollect the name. "I don't remember. Macy. No. Something with Mac."

"Macbeth. Yeah that's one of them."

Zoha agreed with a nod. "I am good at math. And kind of art. Actually getting better as I take the course."

Shehryaar lit with curiosity, expecting more to hear. "I can help you if there ever anything about art." He got up.

Zoha retrieved her gaze back on the paper. She expected her half of the page to be filled with notes because she had been sitting for a while now to work on this. But came to realize that talking to Shehryaar had left her stuck on the same last note that she looked at couple of minutes ago. She leaned away from the distraction and chanted in her heart, I have to do this. I have to do this. No matter what.

Shehryaar's sound of footfall woke the sleeping carpet. He moved around, checking the furniture, as if wondering what this room housed. Books drained out of this interest. He folded his arm across the chest and sauntered back to the window.

"I always wanted to ask mummy, but either she is busy or I forget. I have never seen a gardner." He was peering out.

Zoha stayed quiet. He didn't pose this as a question so there was no worry of answering. She scrawled the note on the paper. Then flipped the page. The crisp turn of paper pulled the strings of his attention.

"Am I bothering you?" he asked.

Zoha raised her eyes. "I just want to complete my work before it's even late." Her response let the ribbons floating in the air. Neither she was rude, nor too kind.

"Oh. Sorry. I just realized that." He went to the door. "I am gonna go now." He pondered, fixedly looking at the floor.

"I didn't mean for you to leave." She then realized what came out of her mouth. What would he do if he stayed here? She didn't want to be disturbed; she was helpless in front of the open textbook.

"No, it's alright. It's already past eleven. I just came to turn off the light. If I knew you were here then I wouldn't have come."

"I have two more pages to go."

"Good night." He politely closed the door.

Zoha exhaled.

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