After a long and exhausting day at work, Sharjeena finally made her way home, only to be greeted by an unusual flurry of activity. The house was bustling with preparations, the aroma of spices wafting through the air, and the clinking of dishes echoing from the kitchen. She couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity mixed with a bit of apprehension. As she entered the living room, she saw Shagufta, who was busy directing the house staff, her face set in its usual stern expression.
"As Salamu Alaikum,Ammi."Sharjeena greeted, her voice laced with both fatigue and curiosity. "Is there a dawat happening here or any guests coming? I'm just curious about all the preparations.I have no idea what's going on."
With her usual cold demeanor, Shagufta replied, "Yes, Rubab has invited some friends over, and all this is for them." Her tone was dismissive, as if Sharjeena's presence was more of an inconvenience than anything else. Sharjeena nodded, feeling a bit out of place in her own home. "Did I help you in the kitchen?" she asked, hoping to find a way to contribute and perhaps bridge the gap between them.
Shagufta's tone remained icy. "The people who come to our house are not middle class like us. They won't even notice what you made for them. That's why Rubab has already ordered food from a luxury hotel. She's very concerned about our reputation. May Allah bless her.You just decorate the table,that would be a big favour for us."
Sharjeena stood there, silent, feeling a mix of emotions—hurt, frustration, and a longing for acceptance. Mustafa, who had been watching the exchange from the corner of the room, gestured to her not to feel bad. His eyes were kind, and his small smile offered a bit of comfort. He then turned to his mother, trying to lighten the mood. "What's the menu for tonight, Ammi?"
"I have no idea about the food elite class people take. Rubab will order according to their taste," Shagufta responded, clearly irritated and preoccupied with the preparations.
Mustafa chuckled, trying to diffuse the tension. "I know, Ammi, about their food. When you open the food box, you'll see Aloo ka Bharta, which the elite class calls mashed potatoes." Sharjeena couldn't help but hide her laughter behind her hand, while Shagufta shot Mustafa a furious look, her lips pressed into a thin line. The moment was fleeting, but it brought a brief sense of normalcy and connection in the otherwise strained atmosphere.
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Rubab's friends were already in the house, their lively chatter creating a symphony of voices that echoed through the room. The aroma of freshly cooked food wafted through the air, adding to the warm, welcoming atmosphere. Sharjeena, with meticulous care, decorated the dinner table, ensuring every detail was perfect. She adjusted the flowers, straightened the napkins, and placed the cutlery with precision. As she was engrossed in her task, Rubab entered the room, her face lighting up with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Thank you, honey, for all your help," Rubab said, her voice dripping with a false sweetness that made Sharjeena's skin crawl.
Sharjeena nodded her head, focusing on arranging the table settings. She felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought of mingling with strangers, preferring the comfort of her tasks.
"Why don't you meet my friends yet?" Rubab asked, her tone inviting but with an edge that hinted at her true intentions.
"I feel awkward there, that's why. You go and entertain your guests," Sharjeena replied, her voice tinged with discomfort. She glanced at the group, feeling like an outsider in her own home.
Rubab's smile turned into a smirk. "Oh, come on, honey. Come and meet them, you will feel good," she said, her words more of a command than a suggestion.
Sharjeena sighed, "As I said before, I don't want to meet them. They are your guests, and there's nothing for me. I hope you understand." She looked down, avoiding Rubab's gaze, hoping to be left alone.
