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Miracles dwell in the invisible.

-Mowlana Rumi

Thursday - 6:51pm

The times when Ibrahim Yazdani wanted to kill himself were rare.

Today, however, it happened to be one and as he stared at his cousin, sitting in the study of their house, talking endlessly about a new disease that had broken out, he devised plans to suicide in a way that would hurt less.

"God, Safaa." He finally groaned, "What did I ever do to deserve this torture?" His small, brown eyes were tired as he ran a hand over his face.

"What...you weren't listening?" Safaa widened her eyes as she eyed Ibrahim with anger.

"I tried to listen. But you lost me somewhere between the causes and symptoms." His exaggerated sigh and the running of fingers through the ink-coloured hair fueled Safaa's anger whose confused expression turned into one of sheer annoyance.

"I haven't seen a man more insensitive than you are." She finally exclaimed and Ibrahim was well to go along with it, as long as he didn't hear anymore of her.

"Yeah, yeah. I am. But come on, you should tell that to some doctor, maybe he'll show some interest." Ibrahim suggested with a deep frown.

"You don't have to be a doctor to be interested in these things. You have to have feelings, which you clearly lack." Safaa's remark only made Ibrahim roll his eyes as he stood up from the sofa.

"But you need to be a doctor to understand these medical terms and stuff, which I'm clearly not. Talk to me all you want about accounts, capital investment, but the moment you utter some medical word, you lose me." Ibrahim took none to offence as he walked out of the room, followed by Safaa who had a frown on her face.

"What if you encounter this disease in future? You should at least know what it is." Safaa said as they descended the stairs and walked straight towards the living room.

"The chances of me encountering a disease that has broken out in West are rare." Ibrahim turned to glare at his cousin who creased her brows sheepishly, "But even if I do get it, I'll ask my doctor to enlighten me. You, my sister, should save your breath."

Ibrahim was clearly annoyed by now and he wasn't doing any effort to mask it either, his strides fast but swift, hardly enough for the girl behind him to keep up with his pace.

"Oh, I'm so happy right now that you've ended.." Safaa's words were cut off mid-sentence as they entered the living room, a space that was painted dark brown and housed plush, leather sofas positioned towards a central coffee table; massive television; diagonal book rack and a fireplace.

But it wasn't the anterior of the room that made Safaa halt, it were the two people sitting there, for whom she held great respect-Ibrahim's parents.

"Ammu, where's Mustafa?" Ibrahim asked as he crossed the threshold, coming to stand beside the central table, and looked down at his mother.

"He is in the kitchen." The reply came from his father and Ibrahim turned towards him.

"May Allah bless the kitchen." A breathy chuckle escaped past his thin lips as he seated himself on the sofa beside his mother.

Mustafa, the elder brother, was a terrible cook but that didn't stop him from experimenting every once in a while. Most of the time, however, it ended with burnt dishes, blackened shelves and a kitchen that looked anything but. After all, having interest in cooking and not knowing how to do it are a terrible combination.

"He's just making tea for himself. Let's hope he doesn't burn something this time." Abbu replied and Ibrahim tried to stifle the laughter, but smirked nevertheless.

"At least he tries to cook. I still remember one time when your father stayed hungry for a whole day rather than cook himself something to eat." Ammu quickly came for her son's defense, earning a soft chuckle from her husband who remembered the memory quite vividly.

"Well. then my sons can at least manage themselves if they're alone." Abbu shook his head, amused, as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yes, especially Ibrahim. He's a good cook." Ammu remarked and Ibrahim seemed thoroughly pleased with himself as he grinned.

Ibrahim, in contrast to his brother, knew how to cook - an art that had been learned due to all the years that were spent away from home. Not an expert, but Ibrahim Yazdani knew the basics and was generally better than his brother.

"Why do you need him, though?" Safaa asked after she had taken a seat.

"He has to drop me to the workshop. I have to pick my car from there." Ibrahim answered, the ridges of his spine touching the back of the sofa in a state of sheer relaxation.

"But it's not even been a week, will it be repaired?" Abbu asked, a tall, graceful man from whom Ibrahim had inherited his looks.

"I called to check. It has been repaired." Ibrahim replied and Abbu nodded his head.

"Drive safely from now on. I saw the car, it wasn't in a very good shape." Ammu concerned over her son who only shook his head before sprawling his arm around her shoulders.

"It wasn't my fault at all." Ibrahim said but stopped suddenly.

As the words left his lips, he was quickly reminded of the words uttered ferociously by the woman, of how she repeatedly insisted that the accident was entirely his fault.

And she was on her goddamn phone, he internally scoffed.

"Whoever was at fault, you or that girl, you should be careful nevertheless." Ammu slipped her hands across the planes of his aristocratic cheeks and patted it slightly.

"I will be." He smiled at the woman who bore him.

"Abi, let's go." Mustafa appeared in the room, looking thoroughly fresh as he paused at the threshold, holding the car keys, wallet and mobile phone in his hand.

"Okay, everyone. Allah Hafiz." Ibrahim followed his brother out of the house after bidding goodbye to his family.

"You're late?" Ibrahim asked as Mustafa drove them through the roads of Abbottabad.

Mustafa was invited to a dinner by his friends, a gathering where old friends sat together and remembered old times. For someone who had grown in the city, Mustafa had many. Ibrahim, however, who had spend most of the time in hostels and abroad could not say the same.

"I'm never late. Everyone else is just early." Mustafa quoted with a straight face that hardly held back the smirk and Ibrahim only scoffed.

"And that statement, my brother, is as old as time itself." Ibrahim said, and Mustafa only shrugged his shoulders.

"Why you drank tea before leaving for dinner is beyond me, by the way." Ibrahim scoffed but he knew the opposite party didn't care.

"Let it be the way it is." Mustafa laughed and Ibrahim only rolled his eyes.

"Anways, when are you getting me my jacket back?" Mustafa questioned out of nowhere and Ibrahim groaned heavily.

"Can you please let it go? I'll buy you a new one." He exclaimed in annoyance as he looked at his brother.

Ibrahim had been at the receiving end of many questions, statements and jokes ever since Mustafa was informed about the accident and to say that he was annoyed by now would be an enormous understatement.

"What if I want the same one? It was one of my favourite." The humour in Mustafa's voice could be heard from a mile away and Ibrahim did well to ignore him.

"Yeah, that is why you left it back here instead of taking it with you." Ibrahim taunted with a forced smile but Mustafa smiled widely in response.

"You make fair points." Mustafa seemed impressed and a cocky grin touched Ibrahim's lips.

"I'll try to get it back, though. If I ever meet her again." He slowly promised but even as he did, he knew that it was impossible.

He didn't know the girl, and even if, by some miracle, his path crossed with hers again, he obviously wouldn't ask her to return the jacket. Not only would that be embarrassing, but the sense of shame and contempt that would surely hit him would follow him for the rest of his life.

"We're here, Abi. Get out of the car, I really am getting late now." Mustafa's voice pulled Ibrahim out of a reverie and his eyes refocused ahead at the road.

"What about the shit of never being late?" Ibrahim chuckled as he exited the car.

"You really take me seriously?" Mustafa sounded genuinely surprised and Ibrahim bit back the laugh but grinned widely.

"Bastard." He shook his head before stepping back and motioning Mustafa to go ahead with his outstretched arm.

The evening was giving way to night as darkness seemed to spread around him in shades, all black, all magnificent.

As Mustafa drove the car away, Ibrahim exhaled a deep, agonized breath before making his way across the pavement and entered the small, one-story building that stood before him. Making his way through different corridors, Ibrahim finally entered the office that belonged to the manager of the workshop.

"Mr. Yazdani? I was expecting you anytime now." The manager smiled and Ibrahim politely returned it before shaking his hand.

"Can I see my car?" Ibrahim asked after a few words of formal greetings and the man hurriedly nodded his head before leading him out of the small room.

"The dent wasn't that bad but it was a bit hard to fix." The man chatted as they moved towards the main working area.

"I am grateful that you fixed it in less than a week." Ibrahim offered his gratitude and the man smiled, a mix of shy and proud.

"I understand, sir. A man feels limbless without his car." The man phrased Ibrahim's thoughts quite effectively who nodded with a small, a graceful one.

Stopping before a large, metal door, the man pushed it open only to reveal large, deafening noises of metal clattering and men shouting incoherently. With a frown and squinted gaze, Ibrahim entered the room and spotted his own car within a second, separated from the others and standing near the wall, shining.

Even from a distance, he could see that it was repaired and a relieved breath escaped past his lips unintentionally. When it came to his car, Ibrahim Yazdani was a possessive man, having always had a profound interest in them that none was fortunate enough to get.

The woman really was lucky to get away unhurt after damaging his car, Mustafa was right.

"Sir, are you satisfied?" The man wanted a response and he got one by the faint nod of Ibrahim's head.

"I'll get you the keys, then. It'll only take a few minutes." The manager said and Ibrahim nodded again.

After a few minutes of observing his car, Ibrahim's eyes flickered towards the door from which he had entered and familiar shades of brown flashed before his small eyes; the dark brown transitioning into lighter ones and Ibrahim Yazdani couldn't seem to believe his eyes.

Miracles do happen after all, he thought with surprised amusement.

The tall woman stood by the door, her side pose visible as she conversed with the manager with grace and sophistication that impressed him even from a distance. With a hand holding the mobile phone and clutch, and other occasionally running through the loose strands of brown waterfall, she looked much contented, despite the deafening noises that surrounded her.

Ibrahim saw with great leisure as the woman's eyes moved between someplace in the working area and the manager, her eyes squinted infinitesimally around the edges as she listened to him. He knew he should have averted his gaze long ago, but the sense of refinement and urbanity that the woman radiated rooted him to his spot, his eyes refusing to look anywhere else.

Taking a few steps forward whilst ignoring all the protests of his mind that reminded him his limits and the fact that he was no longer a teenager, he effectively entered the space in which their conversation could be heard without any strain. He knew he'd regret this as soon as he gets out of this place, but for now, he had little care.

"..damage was bad. It would take at least two more days." The same manager who had tended to him before said and Ibrahim saw as a frown curved her lips.

"The car was supposed to be repaired by now. You yourself told me." The woman's composed voice vibrated his ear drums, confirming a thought he had already accepted.

She was the same woman he got into the accident with.

"It is half done, only the plates have to be added and a few other things. Look!" The man pointed at a car that stood a few meters away, a blue-painted Corolla that had a few men working on it at the moment.

"Half done is not good enough, Mr. Mehmood." She added, her eyes narrowed.

"We apologize, ma'am, but there was a strike yesterday. The workers couldn't make it to the shop." The man said, looking apologetic but the frown on the woman's face only deepened.

"Mr. Mehmood, if you want to lie to me, at least make it look real. I live in the same city and I can assure you that there was no strike yesterday." The woman sounded annoyed and Ibrahim tried hard to stifle the smirk that blessed his face on hearing her words.

Mr. Mehmood, the manager, looked thoroughly embarrassed and eyed everywhere but at the dignified woman who glared at him with intensity that Ibrahim would never want to be at the receiving end of.

"If you can't fix my car, I'll take it to some other workshop. There are plenty in the city, and I'm sure it would save us some precious time and breath." The lady said with an aura of composure and seriousness and Ibrahim found himself pitying over the manager.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we had a few other cars to repair on short notice. But you can come back in two days, it'll be repaired." The man promised but he could see in woman's eyes that she didn't believe him.

"Mr. Mehmood, what makes you think..."

Suddenly, with words hanging in mid-air, he saw the woman stiffening in her place, her already straightened posture now vigilant and with smoothness that he didn't expect from her, she turned towards Ibrahim's direction within a blink of an eye.

Had Ibrahim not been on his grounds, he would have been caught red handed staring at her. But fortunately, he was, and before the woman could capture his eyes with hers, he turned sideways, the movement effectively hiding him from the ombré haired epitome of sophistication.

Or so he hoped.

A few seconds dragged by, with him rooted at his spot and his heart thundering in his chest, when a man approached him from the front with the keys of his car in his hands. With still a distance of a few yards separating them, the man shouted.

"Mr. Yazdani, here are your car keys." He said as he neared the tall, black-haired man, loud enough that Ibrahim was positive that the woman behind could have easily heard.

Taking the car keys from his hand in a bit of haste, he walked towards his car briskly. After telling the man to open the shutters of the shop and climbing in the front seat, he pressed the keys in ignition. The car roared to life a moment later and he pulled it out of the shop without a backward glance.

As he did so, he derived comfort from the fact that the woman didn't know his name.

|¤¤¤|

9:31pm

She looked so different, and yet so familiar.

The thought had been disturbing him ever since he drove out of the workshop, his mind reeling back to the woman who wore all the shades of brown on her head like a crown. With utter sophistication and downright elegance, she did nothing, just stood there and talked, and yet Ibrahim Yazdani couldn't think of anyone but her.

But more than anything, it was the change in the woman's demeanor in contrast to the last time that startled him to no end. The woman that he met half a week ago nowhere near resembled the woman he saw today, except for her appearance, of course.

"Come on, Abi, there are so many layers of women that we can't even begin to decipher them all." Mustafa pulled Ibrahim out of the reverie, an act that shook Ibrahim slightly before his eyes gained their focus again.

He had come back home, feeling nothing but confused, and as he bumped into Mustafa in the living room as he was returning from the dinner, he couldn't help but narrate the entire incident to him. Mustafa, who had always been a good listener, sat patiently as Ibrahim told him about the confusion that had followed him all the way over from the workshop.

"Yeah, but such differences in personality? I felt like they were two entirely different persons." Ibrahim said, for the hundredth time, and saw Mustafa chuckling slightly.

"Well, one thing is clear: you have no idea how women function." Mustafa said, amused, and Ibrahim glared at his elder brother with a no-nonsense look.

"I know the basics." Ibrahim said, defensively, but even as he did, he knew how stupid that sounded.

"Basics won't save you from drowning, brother mine." The mischievous glint in Mustafa's eyes spoke volumes but Ibrahim effectively ignored it.

"Can we get back on the topic, please?" Ibrahim's flat voice made Mustafa stifle a chuckle as he nodded his head.

"Look, Abi." Mustafa sighed as he began, "Talking to someone and observing them from a far are two different things. And besides, the way someone talks to you is not necessarily the same way they talk to someone else."

"I know that, but when you look at it, we both were kind of strangers for her. However, towards me, she was angry, judgmental, vulnerable and what not. But when she talked to that man, she had this composure that even I envy." Ibrahim mused, letting out a troubled breath as his eyes again lost focus somewhere on the fireplace.

"Abi, you know it, I know it, even Vladimir Putin knows it that women have days. That day might be difficult for her, she might be troubled or something." Mustafa talked sense and Ibrahim had to agree.

"I think so too. This stark difference in her personality had to do with something bad. Maybe a troubled day or a fight with someone." Ibrahim added thoughtfully, oblivious of the fact that he was talking about a complete stranger for the past thirty minutes.

"She was attractive?" Mustafa questioned, out of nowhere, but Ibrahim had an answer ready.

"Very." He replied, without a shame.

"I'm intrigued." Mustafa laughed, a smile that curved one end of his lips.

"It wasn't her appearance though but the way she carried herself - with grace and elegance. It rendered me completely speechless for a moment." Ibrahim's eyes gazed at the fireplace without looking, a brown-haired woman flashing before the open lids.

"The first time I saw her, she looked vulnerable; feisty and brave but vulnerable nevertheless. The way she cowered back when I looked at her said a lot of things. But this woman, she stood in a place full of men, having no care in the world as she talked with their manager while thoroughly embarrassing him." Ibrahim grinned at the memory, the brown irises a shade of golden as the lamp sprawled its light in the room.

"Do you know her name?" Mustafa asked.

"Humna, I think." Ibrahim said with a shrug, "I heard a man point towards her car and said Ms. Humna's car, so I think Humna."

Mustafa only nodded his head while Ibrahim pressed his lips tightly, a gesture that indicated that thoughts were swirling through his head.

"Someone's impressed." Mustafa laughed as he remarked, closely observing his younger brother.

"I am, really." Ibrahim accepted within a beat.

"What happened to my brother who thought discussing women was disgusting?" Mustafa asked, humour lacing his tone and Ibrahim moved his eyes towards him before a soft, breathy chuckle left him.

"I still think that. I'm not disrespecting her, am I? I'm just telling you how confused I was earlier today." Ibrahim cleared and Mustafa only nodded his head, more energetically than he should have and Ibrahim only rolled his eyes.

"You and all the rubbish that goes through your head." Ibrahim remarked with a shake of his head.

"Well, who was the one who found her sophisticated and graceful and all that?" Mustafa tilted his head to a side as he asked.

"That was true. And I was appreciating that, I didn't mean it in a bad way or...whatever, who am I explaining it to?" Ibrahim scoffed at the end and Mustafa's gaze turned into a glare.

"You are an ungrateful man, brother mine. You come to me and rant and when you're done, you say this?" Mustafa sounded angry, anger which Ibrahim knew was fake.

"I might not know how women function but I do know how the world goes around and honestly, this is how it works." Ibrahim replied, hinting at the words Mustafa said earlier, who only cocked an eyebrow in response, bemused.

"Mustafa?" Ibrahim broke the silence after a while and Mustafa only hummed in response.

"She looked familiar, that woman." Ibrahim with his small, brown eyes squinted and brows creased looked thoughtful and confused, a combination that promises chaos.

"She's gotten into your head, Abi. Nothing else. Go and get some sleep." Mustafa paid little attention now that his phone was in his hands.

Ibrahim thought for a second that Mustafa was right, probably a good sleep was all that he needed to recover his senses. His mind was playing games on him and he was sure he wasn't remotely familiar with the woman, if he were, he would have recognised her instantly.

After all, women with mesmerizing personalities are not someone you can forget easily.

|¤¤¤|

An early update, as promised.

Do enjoy and leave behind votes and comments!

Till next time,
Salam!