Don't Remind Me

Chapter 16: The After-Party

"Everyone knows there are only two evils at IBSA; tasteless cafeteria Biryani, and online course enrollment. For those innocent freshmen who're thinking about waking up late on enrollment day; I suggest you rethink your war strategy.The moment those green dots on your ERP systems go live at 8 AM sharp...it is every man/woman/elf/unicorn for himself. Imagine a student version of The Hunger Games, where the one with the best internet and mouse-clicking skills will ultimately score the sexiest timetable for the next six months. May the odds be ever in your favor!..." -Nitty Gritty (Issue # 765, Jan '15)

Layla:

"ZAIF!" I squeaked out loud, launching myself into his arms. He grunted with surprise as my heels dug into his shins. "YOU CAME!"

He laughed at my enthusiasm, before setting me down and reaching for Maria. I couldn't stop my face-splitting grin. I didn't even realize how much I missed seeing his face. 

A face I could barely recognize now, as he stepped into a pool of reflected stage-lights. 

Maria gasped too, and started telling Zaif exactly what she thought of his hair. It was rather overlong, and almost reached his collar now. I joined her protests, yanking on his silky brown locks. The dark scruff on his face was new too. He seemed to be grooming a beard. 

"Can't you two just say that you missed me, like normal people?" He grumbled, running his hands through his hair to fix my ruffling. "And when exactly do we join Mama up there?" 

I only had to look across the backstage room, to find Jami glaring at me. He held up two fingers, before gesturing at the stage. His curious gaze resting on my brother, turned perplexed, and then downright horrified as he recognized who Zaif was. 

"Oh God. He's legit going to blow a fuse if you walk the ramp tonight." I informed my brother gleefully. "Let's do it!"

"Because my hair is long?" Zaif grinned back at Jami, throwing in a cheeky wave. 

"Because you don't look like Urban contemporary royalty. In fact, your current style falls under Jobless Hobo." I eyed his Khaki jeans and Blue USC Football hoodie combo with morbid fascination. I think even Mama mightn't forgive him for his wardrobe choice. After she cries over seeing him after months, she might just cut him off from her will or something. 

"When did you land?" I probe him while Maria begins fussing over his appearance. She yanked off the hoodie, straightening his wrinkled checked shirt, and unbuttoning the sleeves. Once she had folded the cuffs back neatly, and undone the top two button, Zaif actually looked almost presentable. She hummed with annoyance over his Chuck-Taylors. 

"Err, about an hour ago. The morons at PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) misplaced my hand carrier..."

That stumped me. Mama hasn't let him fly on commercial flights ever since he started college, four years ago. Dad usually charters a plane for Zaif's brief visits, and sends in extra security during his stay. I can just imagine how much my mother will freak out when she finds out that her 'Heir apparent' calmly flew commercial, and grabbed a cab to the hotel. 

"That's our cue!" Maria straightened up as she put on a dazzling smile, before stepping confidently onto the platform. A wave of appreciative applause and hooting erupted around the hall. No wonder Mama was so proud of her. Her design was better than some of the pieces seasoned designers had sent down the runway this week. There was a refreshing quirkiness in her dresses that never let go of aesthetics. Somehow, whatever she wore just ended up looking phenomenal. 

I tamped down the anxiety that attacked me at the prospect of walking out in front of hundreds of elitist, fashion snobs. Not to mention the intimidating sea of cameras. I absolutely refused to dwell on Azaan Malik's presence. His behavior today had puzzled and hurt me.