30. Zinneerah
30
Zinneerah
T his is the most over-the-top toddler party I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been to a few growing up.
The theme: Bluey . Completely Bluey . Bluey banners, Bluey balloons, Bluey cupcakes. I half expect the cake to start barking in an Australian accent.
I know Bluey because Dua adores the show. She’s obsessed with the show. Actually, obsessed might be too tame a word—she cried so hard during one episode of Bluey and Jean-Luc reuniting that I started Googling if this thing was secretly a therapy program for emotionally repressed adults. Thankfully, Zayan is always on standby with hugs and tissues. Dua basically considers him her emotional support human.
“Ramishah sure knows how to throw a party,” Raees mutters beside me as we stand at the entrance of the venue . Yes, that’s right. This party isn’t in an arcade or even their house. No, this is a large rented event space, and the sheer scale of the Bluey-ness makes it feel like Disney threw a tantrum and an animated Blue Heeler won. Suddenly, our gifts feel woefully inadequate. “Though, to be fair, her parties were always pretty legendary growing up.”
“Raees! Zinneerah!” My mother-in-law appears, gliding toward us with her arms outstretched. I don’t have time to react before she encapsulates me in a hug. “Oh, you must forgive me for being so absent since your wedding.” She pulls back just enough to study my face, then kisses my cheeks. “I’ve been abroad in Asia, you know. Business meetings, expansion plans, the works. I’m hoping to open a firm in Singapore soon. Isn’t that thrilling?”
I nod, giving her hand a squeeze.
“Good to know you’re doing well,” Raees chimes in, leaning down to hug her next. “You should’ve called when you landed. I could’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Rosy Aunty dismisses with a wave of her hand, but not before grabbing mine and holding on. “I didn’t want to disturb the lovebirds. Newlyweds need their space.” Her smile softens as she turns back to me. “You and I have so much to catch up on, Zinneerah. But for now, you’ll have to excuse me. My granddaughter is waiting for her special tiara, and I must go crown her as Princess Bluey.”
“Ammi-ji, I need to talk to you about visiting Abbu,” Raees says. I glance up at him, and the look in his eyes makes me feel like I’m eavesdropping on a conversation they’re having in silence. The Shaan family doesn’t talk about him. Ever. It’s one of those subjects with invisible warning signs around it, the kind I’ve learned not to touch.
“Later,” Rosy Aunty replies offhandedly. She kisses the back of my hand, winks, and flounces off toward the heart of the party.
Raees exhales, shoving one hand into his pocket as he looks down at the tiled floor.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite couple—after fifty others here.”
Ramishah parts through the crowd like royalty arriving at her coronation, her shimmering sapphire gown trailing in her wake. Her glossy ombré bun is twisted high and tight, not a single strand out of place, and her twenty-four-karat gold earrings are screaming “I can pay off your student loans!” at the top of their gilded lungs.
Meanwhile, I’m standing here in the only blue sweater I own—it’s “ Bluey colors,” okay?—and a black skirt that’s seen better days. My side braid is barely holding together, because I forgot a hair elastic at home and had to take one Raees handed me from his pocket. “I found it in the living room last week,” he said with that charming wink of his that had me seeing stars.
Ramishah grabs my shoulders, air-kisses both my cheeks with flair. “Mwah, mwah! Gorgeous as always.” Then, she immediately swivels her laser-like focus to Raees, eyes narrowing. She plucks the presents out of his hands and says in a sickly-sweet voice, “You really shouldn’t have, Chotu.”
Raees raises a brow. “Did you tell that to everyone?”
“Only the penniless,” she fires back.
Okay, I’ll admit it. That was funny.
Raees, predictably unbothered by her teasing, folds his arms. “You know pennies went out of circulation years—”
“Oh, spare me the Wikipedia entry, Professor. Seriously, how do you live with this nerd?” Ramishah loops an arm around my shoulder, steering me into the crowd.
The room is packed—young parents bouncing babies on their hips, pregnant women looking like they might pop, and not a single single person in sight. Thirty people, maybe more, plus what feels like a million children.
“Just so you know,” she says, “these are all Amina’s cousins from Harry’s side. Ammi-ji doesn’t have a big family, and let’s be real, we’ve never cared about Abbu’s. Most of them, at least.” She tosses her head like even mentioning him is beneath her. “The rest are just her daycare friends. My baby girl’s already more popular than I was at her age. Charisma like this never skips a generation.”
I offer polite smiles to the couples around us, throwing small waves at the kids darting through the tables like caffeinated chipmunks. Some of them are relentlessly hounding the poor guy at the cotton candy machine, who looks like he’s rethinking all his life choices.
“Where the hell is he?” Ramishah mutters. I follow her glare to find Raees wandering off, entirely absorbed in a mission to inspect the buffet table. Or more specifically, the cupcakes. “Oh, for crying out loud.” She rolls her eyes so hard I almost hear them. “Raees! Get over here!”
He looks up mid-grab, now holding two blue cupcakes like a guilty child caught raiding the cookie jar. To his credit, he makes a speedy recovery, hurrying back to us with his spoils. He hands one to me, offering a quick grin. “We’re gonna need this sugar boost if we’re gonna survive tonight.”
Ramishah scoffs, but I can see a sliver of a smile before she flips her social switch. The perfect hostess, all elegance and charm as she beckons us to follow.
“Rami should’ve hired you to bake,” Raees murmurs, biting into his cupcake, and chewing it like it’s sand rather than soft sponge.
I notice a smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose and instinctively reach out, brushing it away with my thumb. The unexpected touch makes him hum softly in surprise.
“Raees, over here!” Ramishah calls.
He snaps out of a trance, then quickly jogs after his sister.
I glance at the frosting smeared on my thumb, pause for a second, then lick it off.
Sweet, but not that sweet.
What follows is an eternity—okay, thirty minutes—of being introduced to Ramishah’s many friends.
They all have one thing in common: an affinity for handing us their babies. Crying ones. I don’t even pretend to play along. The moment one is thrust into my arms, I pass them straight to Raees, who manages to soothe them like some kind of baby-whisperer. He pats their backs, bounces them, and coaxes giggles out of them like a magician pulling out bunnies from his hat.
Then come the inevitable questions: How long have you two been married? Do you have kids? What do you do for work, Zinneerah? When’s the honeymoon? And—oh, my personal favorite— Do you have a cold, Zinneerah?
Raees handles most of the answers like a pro: We were engaged for about a year and got married last month. No kids yet. She’s a musician. He even flashes that off-sided grin when he gets to the honeymoon question, deflecting it with a smooth, “That’s a great question. Something we’ll discuss later.”
For the last question, though, he hesitates and glances at me, his brow lifting just slightly. It’s a silent question of his own: Do you want me to answer this, or do you have something to say?
Alex and Ophelia’s words ring in my mind. You’re going to have to talk to him about this sooner or later.
That conversation isn’t for a room full of Ramishah’s overly curious friends. That’s for my husband to know.
I smile faintly and nod. “Flu season,” I murmur.
“Tell me about it,” one of the women—Meghan, I think—says, bouncing her squirming son on her lap. “One of my toddlers brought a cold home from daycare, and now the whole family’s sick . . .”
I let the chatter fade into background noise.
My focus is entirely on Raees’ thumb, which is lazily tracing small circles along my spine. It’s maddeningly subtle, but I feel it everywhere—warmth spreading through my body until there’s a full-blown wildfire.
I hate how easily he does this to me. I’ve always been hyper aware of his touch, but ever since I admitted to myself how I feel about him, it’s been impossible to ignore. Even the simplest brush of his hand has my heart doing embarrassing cartwheels. I’m going to combust if he doesn’t stop, and I’ll probably combust if he does.
“It’s almost time for my little princess to make her grand entrance!” Ramishah shakes my shoulders out of their sockets before swiping a hand across Raees’ cheek. And then, like a sparkling blue tornado in heels, she flutters out of the venue.
Raees and I collapse into chairs at a nearby table.
He was right—the sugar helped a little. Three cupcakes later, I can feel the fog lifting from my brain, but it’s clear we’re both running on fumes. The party’s barely an hour in, and my social battery is already threatening to flatline. I glance at him, and he’s in a similar state, relaxed but a little detached, fingers laced over his stomach, one ankle resting casually on his knee.
“You’d think by now I’d have outgrown wishing I had Ramishah’s effortless confidence, but nope. Apparently, my thirties still think that kind of magic might come in handy.” He nods toward the crowd. “I don’t recognize half of these faces. And I know most of her friends.” His full-lips, a very faint color of blue from the frosting, press together. “It’s kind of incredible, isn’t it? How she charms absolutely everyone she meets. Almost annoying, if you ask me.”
If we’d met back in university, Ramishah and I would’ve locked antlers in a competition over who could be the most spontaneous. Or maybe, in some alternate timeline, we’d have been inseparable best friends, I’d have had an embarrassing crush on Raees, and our love story would’ve played out in some free-will kind of way. No arranged marriage. No pressure. Just us, deciding that forever together actually sounded like a pretty good idea.
Raees tilts his head slightly, pulling my attention back to him. He pokes my forehead. “What’s going on in there?”
I shake my head and smile to put him at ease. “Nothing. Just thinking how you’re really good with kids.”
He looks away, his focus drifting to the colorful balloons swaying gently above us. “Well, I practically raised Amina,” he says. “Ramishah was deep in postpartum depression, and Harry was spread thin, trying to be there for both of them. We all knew she needed the support more.”
Raees pulls out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. He angles the screen toward me, showing a picture of himself with newborn Amina fast asleep on his chest. His hair is an adorable disaster, sticking out in every possible direction, but he’s grinning ear-to-ear, holding a thumbs-up.
“This was after our first all-nighter together,” he says with a chuckle. The next photo is Amina on his lap at a bookstore, both of them peering at a brightly colored board book. “I took her on her first bookstore trip. She tried to eat the pages. Oh, and this one’s from the aquarium. She couldn’t stop staring at the jellyfish.”
He presses play on a video, and there he is, wearing a baby carrier like a pro. Amina bounces on his chest, giggling and pointing as jellyfish glide across a blue-lit tank. “We’re basically best friends,” he says, looking smug but trying to downplay it. “Not to brag or anything.”
I arch an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “See? You do have friends.”
He shrugs. “Yeah . . .”
I catch myself studying his side profile as his gaze flits around, tracking squealing kids and anyone else passing by in his line of sight. “Raees?”
Honey-brown eyes meet my darker ones. “Zinneerah?”
I open my mouth to say . . . what was I going to say exactly? “Nothing,” I blurt out the lamest escape route ever.
Out of nowhere, Air on the G String starts playing in the background.
I know this piece. Back in university, I used to sneak into the auditorium just to listen to the classical music students rehearse. Something about it always felt like I was transported back to the 18th century.
Raees stands beside me as the venue doors swing open.
And there stands Amina.
My cheeks hurt from smiling when I see her toddle in, wearing her fluffy, baby-blue gown and glittering tiara. She’s a little vision of joy, looking like a tiny queen who knows the entire room is here for her.
She pauses in the doorway, soaking up the attention of everyone watching her.
I look at Ramishah and Harry. They’re grinning so wide, proud of their little star. Meanwhile, a couple of her cousins try to shuffle into her spotlight, but one look from Ramishah, and they stay glued to their spots.
Amina, unfazed, holds tightly to her parents’ hands as they walk her down the aisle. Well, “walk” might be generous. She’s sort of half-skipping, half-dragging them toward the three-tier cake, blue and yellow frosting sparkling under the lights.
Except she doesn’t make it to the cake.
She breaks free, and those little legs move as fast as they can until she practically crashes into Raees.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says, scooping her up. She throws her tiny arms around his neck and buries her face into him, giggling as he plants a kiss on her cheek.
My heart swells.
Uncle Raees beats out Bluey. That’s love.
“ Raees !” Ramishah hisses, already marching over with her arms out. “My child. Now. Please.”
“Right, sorry.” He hands her back to Ramishah, but not before sneaking in one last kiss on Amina’s cheek.
And he doesn’t stop there.
Like the good uncle he is, Raees pulls out his phone and starts filming. He doesn’t miss a thing. The singing, the candles, the cake cutting. Amina’s tiny hands smashing frosting into her dad’s face while everyone laughs. He’s locked in. Nothing and no one else exists.
And I don’t know how to explain it, but it does something to me.
I tap him on the back.
“Hm?” he says without looking away from his phone.
I wait until he glances at me, and then quietly but clearly, I say, “You’re going to be a great dad.”
His phone slips out of his hands and clatters to the floor.
At the exact same moment, Baby Shark comes blasting from the speakers like a party grenade. Kids are screaming and jumping in excitement, and Raees looks at me like I’ve just flipped his world upside down.
“Everyone on the dance floooooor !” Ramishah shouts into the microphone, and like magic, every kid in the room sprints to the middle. They’re jumping and flailing, half of them inventing their own choreography, while the little ones cling to their parents’ hands or get twirled around in their arms.
Raees leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “Would you do me the honor of dancing to Baby Shark with me?”
I grin like a dork and let my hand fall into his. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Suddenly, we’re not at Amina’s birthday party anymore. No, we’re at some rowdy eighteenth-century pub, dancing on top of tables to fiddle music. He spins me out, then reels me back in, my back landing against his chest. His laugh rumbles in my ear, and I swear it makes me giddier than ever before.
We stay on the floor through all the Kidz Bop songs, not even pretending to care about how ridiculous we look. At some point, we hijack the DJ booth and take control of the playlist. Now it’s our turn to call the shots: Dancing Queen, Take On Me, Radio Ga Ga, Karma Chameleon, Footloose (it would’ve been a crime not to), Uptown Girl . It’s like an instant time machine to every feel-good anthem we’ve ever loved when we were children.
By the time we hit Be My Baby , we’re all in, arms locked around each other, swaying like nobody’s watching.
His eyes are on mine. My eyes are on his. And just like that, everything and everyone else disappears.
There’s no DJ, no kids, no party. There’s only him.
When Raees Shaan is next to me, in front of me, behind me, he’s all I see. He’s all I want. All I need.
All mine.
Mine, mine, mine.
By eight o’clock, the venue’s cleared out because, well, kids and bedtimes. It’s just us now—me, Raees, Ramishah, Harry, and the cleanup crew.
Amina’s passed out cold from a day full of running, squealing, and inhaling sugar. She’s draped over Raees’ shoulder, her tiny body limp and completely dead to the world, drooling a damp patch into his dress shirt. Of course, the man is also balancing ten plates in his other hand like some kind of circus act. I have no idea how he does it. I have no idea how— he . You know?
Ramishah slides up next to me, wringing a wet cloth in her hands. “Be honest, gorgeous, how are things going with you two?”
“Good,” I say, but my voice comes out hoarse from talking all evening.
She tilts her head, her lips pulling into a smirk. “The rasp is kinda sexy, not gonna lie. Makes sense why Raees was freaking out on the phone with me the other night.”
I laugh under my breath. “He’s adorable.”
“Yeah, he really is something.” She watches with pure longing, then adds, “I love that little shit to death. I’d do anything for him. I just suck at showing it.”
I glance over at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, wiping her hands dry, then tossing the cloth into the trash. “Our dad. That’s what I mean. I don’t know, I think I just tried too hard to impress the guy. You know, follow his ‘disciplines,’ or whatever he called them. I thought maybe if I did everything perfectly, he’d stop targeting Raees and focus on me instead.”
I blink, unsure of what to say.
“Wasn’t the right kind of attention, though,” Ramishah mutters.
“No?” I ask quietly.
“Nope,” she says with a dry laugh. “It was a mess. We went through a lot of shit growing up. Emotional, physical. Especially Ammi-ji. She was doing great in real estate—better than him, actually—and it made him jealous. So, he’d take it out on her. And then Raees would step in to protect her. Every damn time.”
Glass shards gather in my throat, and I glance over at Raees, now carefully positioning a stack of chairs against the wall while still holding Amina.
“It got a little better after the asshole’s life exploded. He got involved with the wrong people, blew up his career, and eventually checked himself into rehab. So, you know, progress.” She sounds like she’s told this story before, but doesn’t want to let it hurt anymore. But I feel it. Every syllable of it. I feel it like I’m absorbing it straight into my bloodstream.
Knowing the truth about Raees—the way he flinches sometimes when Alex claps his shoulder, how hard it is for him to make friends with people he’s known for a good while, how hard he’s trying to be a good role model for his students—it just makes me love him even more.
I mean, how does someone like him even exist? After everything he’s been through, he’s still out here stealing the sun’s job and acting like it’s no big deal.
And somehow, I don’t know how, he accepts me . Flaws, baggage, all of it. Dua told me he didn’t think twice when she showed him my picture. The man just rolled up to my doorstep the next day with a smile, a chirpy proposal, and zero doubts.
And the wildest part? I wasn’t even trying. I was ready to close the door on the world, live out my days as a hermit in sweats. But then there he was, smiling like I was the only person on earth.
And then he just sat there with me. In my silence. Day after day. He didn’t push, didn’t pressure, didn’t walk away. He just kept showing up. And somehow, somewhere in the middle of all that showing up, I’m sure I fell for him. Hard. Not because he did anything grand or dramatic, but because he talked. He talked like no one had ever told him to stop, and I was hooked from the first word. I think it happened somewhere between him confessing his fear of balloons, and the time he admitted he ate toothpaste for a month straight as a kid because it smelled like candy-cane.
The day I realized I wanted to marry Raees was also the day I yelled at Shahzad for judging him. I cried—not because I didn’t want to marry him, but because I did. I wanted it so much it scared the hell out of me. What if he found out all the stuff I was hiding? What if he walked away? I thought about that a lot, so I stayed quiet until I was sure—sure that I loved him, sure that I wanted to give him a hundred babies if he’d let me.
And I do. God, I do. I love him so much. Not the kind that consumes you, but the kind that builds you, brick by brick, until you’re a person you didn’t think you could ever be.
“Are you going to help or not, Mrs. Shaan?”
I blink, and here he is. Right in front of me. Just swooped in and stole my heart all over again.
I take a deep breath and look at him like he’s my North Star.
My hand reaches for his free one, and I squeeze it three times.
He squeezes back, just like he always does, and he doesn’t even know what it means to me.