Relationships Nurtured Over Years Crumble in Seconds
Chapter 33 of “Hold On”: F10 Islamabad 2016
(N.B. I’m writing a novel, a chapter a week, here on Medium. Find out why I write here, start from Chapter 1 here, and always feel free to give me feedback in the comments. I write here for the community.)
Ahmad awoke at ten in the morning in his room at the guesthouse, his sleep disrupted by the intensifying sunlight streaking through the thin blinds. He was gripped by a deep sense of uneasiness as he instinctively reached for his phone, hoping to find a message from Hira. Upon seeing no notification, his heart sank. Hira’s morning texts had been a constant in his life for years now, they were the first thing Ahmed saw when he woke up. Over the years she had sent him messages according to the different trials he had been facing. “Good luck for your meeting with sponsors!”, or “The weather in NYC is supposed to be beautiful today, hope you get to spend some time outside”. She was involved in every aspect of Ahmed’s life, going out of her way to make it seem as though she were present beside him, not thousands of miles apart. To Ahmed, every morning text represented Hira’s commitment to their relationship, hence the absence of her text felt like a punch in the gut.
Consumed by the thought of losing Hira, Ahmed felt he needed to stand, to distract himself. But he was feeling paralyzed. The memory of their sudden, unplanned kiss the previous night plagued him, the kiss that may have cost him his relationship. He winced, recalling how she had hastily left his car without even mumbling a goodbye. It seemed clear to Ahmad that Hira had been upset, or worse, maybe even disgusted. He shuddered at the thought, as he looked around his guestroom for anything that might divert his attention.
The idea of sending her an apology had been on his mind almost constantly, but he kept putting it off, hoping she would reach out first. Ahmad fumbled around in this state of misery and confusion for what seemed like an eternity, before he eventually pulled himself together, freshened up and ordered a late breakfast to his room.
His thoughts were scattered, constantly going back to Hira and their relationship. He pondered over his next move — should he text her, or should he do the cowardly thing and return to Peshawar, accepting that things might be over between them? In the end, he arrived at a compromise and decided to stay one more night, praying internally and clinging to the faint hope that Hira might reach out.
To try and pass the time, Ahmad put on a movie in the guesthouse, but couldn’t get himself to focus; his mind was elsewhere throughout, drifting back to the previous night, to the exact moment when Hira hastily disembarked from his car, appearing as if she never wanted to see him again. He couldn’t help but go back to older memories, their early interactions; he recalled the days and weeks when their relationship was in its early days, recalling in particular, the incident when he had yanked her towards himself, saving her from a speeding car on the University Road Peshawar without proper pedestrian access.
He considered how he had recently brought up Hira in front of his parents, signalling to them that he had found the person he intended to marry. His parents had been taken by surprise, but were supportive. He thought how ironic it was for him to indicate the seriousness of the relationship, only for it to crumble so soon afterwards. He was stung by the prospect of how relationships, carefully nurtured over years, could shatter in a single instant.
The melancholy was eating away at him, overshadowing every thought, until he could physically bear it no longer; he finally succumbed to his impulses, drafting a message to Hira in defiance of his initial stance to let her contact him first, should she want to.
“Hi Hira,” he wrote, his heart throbbing against his chest. “I wanted to apologize for what happened between us yesterday. I’m deeply sorry, I realize that I might have made you uncomfortable. Believe me, it was never my intention. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you, I hope you know that. If I crossed a boundary, it was out of spontaneity and because I wasn’t thinking straight. I promise to be more considerate in the future, this will never happen again. Can you please forgive me?”
Ahmed’s heart was beating wildly as he pressed “send”. It was around five in the afternoon, when Hira would soon be leaving her office and would therefore have time to respond.
As the minutes crawled past, Ahmad found himself continually glancing at his phone. He saw that Hira had read the message but had not responded. He kept making excuses to pacify himself. Maybe she was on her way, maybe she had gotten busy back at the apartment. Anxiety surged through his body as he kept going back to their chat, hoping she would come online and start typing. Her silence was more unnerving than Ahmed could have imagined. Could she have meant it as a sign that she didn’t want to talk to him at all? That their relationship was over? These thoughts kept floating in his mind, and though he wanted to believe otherwise, he had to entertain the possibility that it was over between them.
At around 6:20 pm, Ahmad was sitting out on the guesthouse terrace with a book in his hands, staring out at the Margallah hills completely unfocused, when his phone vibrated. He lurched out of his seat to grab the phone placed right in front of him on the low table. It was a message from Hira.
“Hi Ahmad” the message read. “It took me some time to process things, that’s why I didn’t reach out to you sooner”. It went on to say, “The blame is not entirely on you. You don’t need to beat yourself up over it. Of course, you didn’t mean to make me uncomfortable, I know you better than that. But I did feel uneasy, as the whole thing was really unexpected. Going forward, I would like to maintain some boundaries, but I suspect you already understood that. Just make sure we avoid such incidents in the future. I appreciate your thoughtful message and I’m sorry for the late reply, I know you must have been under a lot of stress since last night”.
Relief swept over Ahmed. He took a moment to breathe, then responded, his fingers shaking slightly with adrenaline, “Hira, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to read your message. Thank you for your understanding, and having faith in me and my intentions. I’m so glad that we’ve established these boundaries, I will make sure never to cross them in the future.” After sending the message in a hurry, Ahmed leaned back in his chair and breathed a deep sigh of relief. His anxiety had evaporated now that he knew his relationship was out of jeopardy. Smiling to himself, he could finally appreciate the beautiful view in front of him.
Hira soon texted back, “Hey, I had actually planned to invite you over for dinner yesterday, but I never got around to tell you because of…you know.. Why don’t you come over tonight? I’ll make you pasta! (I just learned how to make it, so you will have to eat whatever I cook).”
Ahmed, giddy with happiness, replied “That sounds great! I’m already hungry thinking about it. If it’s okay with you, I can come early and we can cook together.”
Hira responded ten minutes later, “Sure, drop by at 8 pm.”
A wave of excitement washed over Ahmad. The stress that had gripped him throughout the first half of the day was long gone. He dashed into his room, took a quick shower, and dressed casually, pairing a white polo shirt with blue jeans and blue sneakers. He took great care in fixing his hair, after which he put on his watch and applied perfume. When he was done, he performed the Maghrib prayer before heading out.
On his way to Hira’s apartment, he rang his mother, exchanging pleasantries and updates. His mood had changed completely, as he joked around with his mother, who asked him when he was returning the next day. She planned to make dumpukht, his favorite dish, and wanted to know whether he’d be home by noon or evening. Ahmad told her he planned to leave Islamabad around 11 am after breakfast and would reach Peshawar by noon. He shared his excitement about the home-cooked meal awaiting him, mentioning how much he’d missed dumpukht while in New York City.
Ahmed reached Hira’s place by 7:45 pm, and was greeted with a warm smile as she swung the door open. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait till 8 pm, so I got ready by 7:30,” she said knowingly, and they both laughed.
Hira’s small studio apartment felt warm and inviting. It was modestly furnished with a single table functioning as a workspace and a dinner table, a sofa cum bed, a small rug, and a colorful truck art plank with an Urdu phrase, “Yeh Waqt Bhi Guzar Jaye Ga” (“This time too shall pass”).
In the tiny kitchen, he saw a counter that held a bag of pasta and a few bottles of sauce, already placed near the stove. Hira, casually dressed in her black pajamas and a half-sleeve grey t-shirt, looked completely different from her usual formal self. She seemed much more relaxed. At that moment, Ahmad envisioned the two of them together, in an apartment like this, two years into the future, co-existing in their shared space filled with warmth and laughter.
Hira customarily offered him a glass of water and asked him to make himself at home. After a few minutes, Ahmad proposed that they start cooking. Working side by side in the small kitchen, they chatted and laughed more intimately than ever before.
“I’m leaving for San Francisco in three days,” Ahmed said quietly, not wanting to sour their date. “These two weeks have flown by so quickly. I’m really going to miss you,” Ahmad confessed.
“I know,” Hira replied, “I’ve looked forward to spending a few days with you for years, and it feels like it went by in just a few moments.” She went on to ask him, “Ahmed, I wanted to ask you, how long will it take for you to build your startup and then come back?” a note of anticipation in her voice.
“I’ve planned it out over two years. After that, I’ll come back and operate with Pakistan as my base,” he assured her. I’m aiming to finish my work as soon as possible,” Ahmad reassured her. “I’ve already hired a team of three engineers in San Francisco and will be starting work soon. My co-founder, Lizzy, will be working from Minneapolis and she has already begun planning. She is mainly reaching out to the investors and potential partners for more funding as we move ahead.”
Ahmad had previously mentioned Lizzy to Hira, and although her name stirred some uneasiness within her, Hira let it go. Instead, she chose to focus on the present and let their relationship unfold naturally.
Once the pasta was ready, they both settled in the lounge. Ahmad lounged on the sofa while Hira dragged her work chair over to sit across from him. As they devoured the pasta, they chatted about their professional endeavors.
Hira elaborated on her latest project, which revolved around the application of computer vision to gather cycling behavior data in Philadelphia. Her company had recently secured this contract, which was actually outsourced to them by another firm. Hira’s task was to use computer vision technology to identify behaviors that could pose a risk to cyclists, such as their driving style and how they take turns. The firm that secured the original contract from the Philadelphia City Government was tasked with developing visual training content to help cyclists navigate more safely. Hira also mentioned how she was continually taking online courses from MIT to enhance her skills.
Ahmad expressed his admiration for her dedication to her work. What she had achieved so far was indeed impressive, and he was immensely proud of her. He then went on to share his own plans for his startup, which aimed to improve the efficiency of driverless cars to make better-informed decisions.
Laughing, Hira pointed out the irony of their situation. “It’s funny, Ahmad. We’re both from Peshawar, yet here we are solving problems for the US cities while our own cities are becoming less livable by the day!”
Ahmad snorted, “Yes, I often wonder about that too. But I don’t know what we can do.”
Hira then shared an attempt she had made to instigate change. “I actually wanted to do something about it and even discussed it with my boss. But he told me how much effort he had previously put into persuading politicians, development authorities, and Deputy Commissioners to adopt more sustainable mobility options and informed decision-making in cities. Sadly, they weren’t interested in anything beyond spending public money on car-oriented, elite-centric infrastructure, which is making our cities even more divided, polluted and less livable for ordinary people.”
“I worry about the future of Pakistan’s cities,” Ahmad confessed. “I wonder how our cities will accommodate additional 100 million youth in the coming two decades.”
The conversation then moved on to something lighter. They recalled their university days, sometimes divulging gossip they had heard over the years regarding old classmates.
Then, as they finished their dinner, they broached the subject of marriage, and how they would go about it, though admittedly, they both approached the topic like giddy teenagers, still in their honeymoon phase. Both were lost in the vision of their future life together, until Ahmed glanced at his watch and realized he ought to call it a night, as Hira had work the next day.
