The weight slipped on her palm and she struggled to maintain the balance. Underneath her feet, the stool grunted, complaining. She allowed her other hand to accept the support and slowly brought down the box.

With a noise she dropped it on the tiled floor. Dust assailed her nose. She didn't know this box was up there. Today when she was cleaning the second top shelf, her eyes caught the sight of it. Then curiosity left her digging into find what was inside.

She opened the box. A green plastic bag grabbed her attention. She took it out and looked inside. Collection of albums were sitting in there like sad kids locked in a dark room. Thin concern nipped her forehead. She put her hand, uncertain, as if dreading she would regret it later, and pulled out one album. It smelled slight of old ink. She flipped the cover and found a first picture of a newborn. She fixed the album in a horizontal position, then peered at it. She couldn't much recognize herself as a baby. It was the first time in a very long time that she was seeing this. A warm feeling touched her heart. She had a history that was alive, in front of her very eyes.

She flipped to other photos in the album and came to see more of them. There were faces of people who she very little remembered about. After she turned four, they disappeared like some strangers who she saw them for little bit and once they turned away they never came back. Her memory of them was blurry until she saw them in one photograph; Zoha, one year old, in the arms of her mother, who was smiling, happy to have a first baby, standing next to her husband, Rehman. It was a small, sprouting family, starting a new life. No matter how many times she said she didn't know those two people, but somewhere deep inside she recalled a memory with them. Like the transient touch. Love, sweet with endless layers. Words spoken by them. She felt she could catch that invisible feather, which always tickled her skin, raising goosebumps, and trickling the tears of loneliness, but it never came in her hand.

She looked at the photos, then stopped before taking out another one. Her shoulders were slumped, frown hung on her lips. Her fingers trembled, sending chills to her body. Thought was frozen at one place. She sat on the floor, unmoving. Night unrolled calmness in the room. The place felt even more empty to her. She picked the album from the floor and flipped to the photo of her parents. Beautiful, charming soul of her mother attracted her like she could just hug her and feel her brush against herself.

Tears bursted in her eyes. She shivered.

Mum-my. She felt the word unreal in her mouth. It was never spoken. She put her finger between gape-mouthed, surprised how it came out. How did it happen. She never called anyone by that. Not even dadi who raised her. Not even Saliha. She caressed the surface of the photo and tried to feel the feeling of having a mother. I wish you were alive mummy and daddy. I wish you were with me right now. I feel really alone. Scared. There is no one who loves me and can never love me like you could. Like dadi.

She pressed it against her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt like nobody was in her life. Nobody knew her. She was surrounded by strangers. Helpless, she couldn't call anyone who could listen to her, understand her sorrow and console her loss. Life was just going with no meaning, itself aimless. She could see nothing beside a hazy darkness ahead. Her voice was locked in her throat, having no one to share her feelings and emotions.

She took out the photo from the plastic sleeve, and put the album away in the bag. There were several other albums that she never knew were in there. But for now she was really tired to look at them. Water from her eyes dried on her skin. She was beginning to feel sleepy and dreamlike. The light in the room bothered her mood. They appeared bright and shocking.

As she got up, hoisting the carton box, pang of pain struck her left leg. It had fallen asleep. She moaned to move. Then dropped the box and sat on the bed, clutching her knee to slowly drag the dead leg. She couldn't carry the box, because it was heavier. Instead of putting it back, she once more looked into it. This time her eyes caught the leather bound journal beneath the bag of photos. She first thought it was a big album. She ran her hand to get it out.

The surface of the journal was smooth, and thick in size. She opened it and saw the first page scrawled with writing in Urdu. On the top right under corner was the name, Aaliyah, dated back to 1975, August 20. It was her mother's, when she was really young. Zoha could guess it was before she got married to her father, Rehman. Shoving the box in the corner, planning to put it tomorrow. She picked her legs on the bed, left one half awake, and laid the journal on her lap. It was heavy with the weight of copious pages, saturated with tons of writing. She began reading from the very starting.

The feeling of loneliness crept away from her. Words written by her mother gave her confidence and strength. She could imagine her move around, talk, smile, lively, by just reading her thoughts on the paper. The way she described small events made her come alive in Zoha's world, like she was sitting in front of her, speaking to her in her own true voice.

**********************

The day of engagement was here. Both sisters, Rubab and Saliha wanted their children's wedding and every occasion to be grandeur. They invited so many people, close and faraway relatives. Food was ordered from outside. The lawn was embellished where the party took place.

Manal was dressed up, shining in her new elegant clothes, makeup and jewelry. Faiza was there at the beauty parlor with her. She was nearly done with her hairstyle. Rubab picked them in her car and arrived at Saliha's house. Fortunately, guests hadn't reach before them. So they could at least look in the mirror for more perfection, get photoshoot done by Shehryaar, who was also a photographer.

At seven in the night, more and more guests showed in the party. Zafar ordered waiters to organize the food dishes, plates, and cutlery. He sticked with them for a while until the groom's side family arrived. Usman hugged Zafar. They greeted each other. Saliha happily joined them.

"Assalamualaikum," Rukhsana said. "How are you? How's everything going? The lawn looks beautiful." Her head tilted as she asked, shaking hands.

"Alhumdulilah," Saliha said, smiling. "Manal is ready. They came from beauty parlor twenty minutes ago. We were all waiting for you."

"That's really good. Have all the guests come?"

Saliha looked around. "Few seems like they are on the way. As soon as they came, we will begin the engagement ceremony," she said. "Come in."

"Yes, yes." Rukhsana turned around to Aneek, her husband and Usman, who were caught up in a formal talk. "Chalay, undar chaltay hain."

Zafar walked with them in the lawn. String lights had lightened the place. Flowers formed like a canopy on the top. Green carpet was spread over the grass. Rows of tables were established in the middle, draped with lavender silk, for the dishes. People were sitting and chatting. Saliha ran a gaze around to see who was missing. She excused Rukhsana that she will be back. She went in the house to inform Manal and Faiza to be ready. Photoshoot could happen at the ceremony with the family, too. They agreed upon her suggestion and hurried with fixing the beautiful dupatta, rings, bracelet and earrings.

**********************************

Zoha put on her earring and looked at the ring, the one Zafar gave. It sat in the small box, enticing her to put it on. She couldn't decide. It was too expensive. It could get damaged. She recalled when her mother, Aaliyah, was a grown teenager, she didn't wear these types of costly jewelries. Zoha's maternal grandparents weren't rich. Her Nana earned enough to spend on household expenses and saved some for Aaliyah's wedding. She had been reading the journal for two days now every night. She got to know about her mother more than she ever did. Except she knew that her parents did a love marriage. Dadi was happy to accept Aaliyah as her daughter-in-law, despite she belonged to a middle class. She gave Aaliyah the same respect and value. As a religious person, dadi believed that one person shouldn't be treated differently because they were poor and rich. It was against the principles of Islam. One is always superior in terms of how close he is to Allah and shows generosity towards everyone. Everyone is equal to Allah.

Zoha admired dadi for one of this reason. She was a great person, who kept the worldly matters aside and did what was right. Zoha wondered how would she have ever known dadi that well if her own parents raised her. She realized, sometimes worse preserved the best.

She decided not to wear the ring, and saved the expensive thing for even more greater event. She wore a navy colored dress that had simple pretty designing. Made her hair sideways, wore decent bangles in one hand and silver floral bracelet in the other. Her lips shimmered in a purplish gloss, eyelids shaded soft golden that it was barely noticed. Overall she looked prettier than usual, though she avoided to be really fancy. But loneliness lurked in her eyes. On a happy occasion, she was sad.

She went out in the lawn, which was brightly lit up with lights and fancy people. She shyly walked through the aisle, noticing the stage decorated for the engaging couples. It was empty. She thought, maybe Manal and Faiza were still in the room. They would come out any second. She lingered around, then decided to go back in the house. In the kitchen, Saliha was adorning the plate with sweets to bring them out in the lawn. She barely noticed Zoha, who was standing by the counter, seeing her. She was busy with Rukhsana and Rubab in doing the setting. Giving advice to do things the certain way. As they saw it was time to begin the ceremony, Saliha gave a glance to Zoha, and with forced love, complimented her dress. Zoha felt ignored. Her clothes looked just fine compare to the other girls.

Manal and Usman stole the limelight as being the first one on the stage, then Shehryaar and Faiza pursued them. They settled on the tuxedo, accompanied by their parents. Photographers clicked pictures, capturing the moment. Zoha stood watching them. She kept looking at her clothes and then around as if to catch someone staring at her.

When Zafar saw her, he invited her to sit by the couple. She balked at the offer. Her heart pounded. A slight uneasiness crept under her skin. Although that, she forced herself against the will and joined Manal. She gasped to breathe in front of lots of people, who she felt were only looking at her. The photographer maintained the protruding lens at them. She was afraid of getting the photo taken. One click and she was in the camera then in the album. She stayed as long as fifteen seconds and got up.

Manal looked up at her, sneering.

"Zoha, why did you stand up?" she said.

Zoha's focus was all on the front. She was surprised that Manal wanted her to stay with her longer.

"Don't you want to take picture together?" she said, sarcastically.

Zoha turned around. She instantly recognized Manal from the tone she spoke. "I don't like to take pictures that much," Zoha said.

"I just offered, otherwise it's not even that important to take it with you." Manal rolled her eyes.

Zoha abandoned the stage, ignoring the mean remark.

Soon the ceremony took place. Usman and Manal put ring in each other's finger, as well as Shehryaar and Faiza. Then everyone clapped. As much as Faiza was happy to be engaged, Shehryaar appeared uneasy. He thought before putting ring in Faiza's finger. His veneer of smile covered his true emotions. He pretended as if everything was fine. At least that was what Saliha promised it would be after marrying Faiza.

Sometime after the food dishes were open to the guests, both the couple sat at nearby table. Zafar made Zoha sit with them. She wished her friend Hoorain was invited so she could have her own company. Manal and Faiza talked to each other, which made Zoha feel alone. She could barely eat in embarrassment. It was even harder when Shehryaar's eyes were locked on hers for couple of seconds. She put the spoon in the plate and tried to look somewhere else, nervous.

Manal showed off her engagement. She was flashing a haughty attitude. Usman was there at the table, delighted. He was more of a reserved personality in public. As they were eating, Umair joined them. He sat beside Zoha in the empty seat. Zoha got little uncomfortable with a boy sitting next to her. She was finished with the rice in her plate, so she got up. Manal and Faiza were the first ones to look at her, as if it was much of a surprise.

"Zoha, you are done already?" Manal asked, with fake sweetness. "I hope you don't mind bringing me some water. The curry is little spicy." She pretended like she chewed on a hot pepper.

Umair was free to do this small favor, but he simply watched the girls and Zoha back and forth. Shehryaar was gripped in a serious mood. He looked at Zoha, who was standing with a plate in her hand.

"Manal, there are waiters," Shehryaar said. "They can bring it for you."

Manal swallowed the bite and said, "They are so busy. They are taking care of other guests. You see?" She brought Shehryaar's attention to one of the waiter, serving cold drinks at one table.

"It's okay. When he comes here you can ask him." He threw glances at Zoha, to see if she minded.

"Bhai, she didn't even say anything." Manal looked at Zoha. "Can you bring a glass of water, please?" She then chuckled with Faiza who was sitting next to her.

Zoha didn't say a word. She felt degraded for being the center of attention for something as bringing a glass of water. What kind of cousin was Manal. She never did anything for Zoha, nor found it kind enough to talk to her. She always looked at Zoha with an eye of an enemy. There was no way that she could get along with her. Her forever wish was to throw Zoha out of her house and have all the space and wear all the comfort. It wasn't a new thing that Zoha lost her parents and only place was her Uncle Zafar's house. If Manal came to her worst mood, she could do anything she wanted because now Zoha barely had anyone to protect her. No mother, no father, and no dadi. All of them were gone.

When Zoha went and brought water, Manal said, "Thank you," without addressing her name.

Shehryaar fell in unease. His expression grew fiercely concerned. He did not like what happened. It was his failure that he tried to do something, but his efforts drowned. As much as he was unhappy about this, Faiza sneered at Zoha then rolled her eyes.

Zoha's heartbeat quickened. Eyes were still on her. She wanted to escape them. Her arms slightly quivered as she somehow managed to look at Shehryaar across the table. She could read his apologizing face. But it wasn't his fault. She knew it. He drifted his attention to Umair, who was eagerly staring at him.

"Where are you lost, dude?" Umair said. He broke into a smile like he found something funny.

"What do you mean?" Shehryaar picked the spoon and collected the rice and shred of chicken to make his bite. "I am right here."

"I know you are here, but your eyes are attracted somewhere else."

"Really?" Shehryaar feigned the surprise.

"On the stage you were looking elsewhere when I told you to look into the camera. I didn't know photographers also needed to be called to look in the camera."

"I didn't mean it. There were many people around. They were calling me from here and there. It was hard to give everyone attention." Shehryaar skillfully stated his unbeatable response.

"Can you send me the pictures of Faiza from your other camera?"

"Sure."

"It's impressive to know that you're a photographer," Usman said.

"Yeah," Shehryaar said. "Did minor in photography and filming."

"That's good."

"The poses were amazing," Manal said, with a huge smile.

"I love taking pictures of sceneries." Shehryaar took a bite from his spoon, then waited until his bite reduced to smaller bits for him to be able to speak properly. "Then I often paint those scenes."

Faiza substituted her normal expression with the look of admiration for Shehryaar. She seemed proud to his fiancée.

"I always found painting to be tough. Mixing colors and producing a concrete image. It's very complicated." Usman chuckled, exhibiting his lack of creativity.

"I remember when I first began painting on canvas in ninth grade. I was nervous. I thought what if I messed up, then would I be able to erase it. I was just a small child used to doing sketches." Shehryaar scampered his gaze around the table. Zoha was sitting away from the table, twiddling with her fingers. "I painted my favorite scene. Autumn. Leaves shedding from the tree and tire swing hanging from the branch. It was babyish, but it has lots of memories to it. Reminds me of the park I used to go. The picture of the painting is also in my laptop." He stopped telling his small story when Zafar came at the table.

"Is everyone eating properly?" Zafar said, perching his hand on Shehryaar's shoulder.

"Khalo, was chicken chili your choice?" Faiza said. "I love it." She dipped her words in syrup. Zafar was going to be her future father-in-law after getting married. She had to have a good impression on her.

"That's very kind of you. I hope you enjoy the dessert." Zafar looked at Usman then. "Beta, don't hesitate to take more."

"Yes, Uncle. Food is delicious," Usman said. "Can't resist to take some more."

"And, Zoha, you are not eating?" Zafar's smile washed ashore with a tide of worry. He wandered to her.

Zoha battled to keep her loneliness pressed inside her. "Baray abu, I already ate," she said.

"Oh okay. Did you like the food?" His worry peeled away as it clung onto him before.

Zoha nodded. "I really liked Biryani."

He laughed. "I know. That was my favorite too."

Manal's spoon stopped amid, and she sharply stared at Zoha. She noticed how her dad was sweetly talking to her.

"Biryani was truly tasty," Manal intercepted, to grab Zafar's attention. "It was so good that before I would finish it, I tried something else." She laughed, checking around to see if her joke was humorous. Only Usman slightly smiled at her. Faiza's gaze was transfixed at Zoha, as if she had done something wrong to her.

"So you guys enjoy. I will be with some guests."

Zafar left.

Zoha didn't want Zafar to leave. His warm heartedness made her feel like he was her father. He always treated her like one of his own children.