N O T E

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Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.

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FRIDAY,  OCTOBER 14

The first inkling that something is wrong is sitting in broad daylight to find Zaahid calling me. I sneak a look at my phone. He must have pocket dialled, or day drinking or perhaps came home drunk at ten past one in the afternoon. Regardless, I let it silently ring and keep it away in my purse. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" I say.

Gia, my umpteenth manager, sits across from me. Her MacBook is sprawled open at our favourite table—in the corner with warm sunlight on our backs and a spectacular skyline—in the rooftop cafe between the half-eaten egg salad sandwich and now cold, the garden fresh pizza.

"I saw youuuu, calling me on the phone, but you didn't leavvve, a message at the tone!", Gia foully sings, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

Despite the smart business casuals Gia wears, a classic solid royal blue colour suit with startling white sneakers, she gives off a certain film star look. Not excessively tall and delicate types but more like an action-star. At thirty-two, she radiates the confidence of somebody ten years more seasoned.

"Oh, come on, Gia. Don't start with that again." I grin.

"What? You never know! Maybe your #1 fan has finally gotten around to calling you?" Gia teases and the urgency of business talks evaporates in the face of banter between best friends.

Being around her is an astute delight. I'm not biased, I promise, she simply lacks the guile and complexity of my other friends, what you see is what she is.

"It's probably just a pocket dial..."

"A pocket dial? Really? Okay, if you say so..." Gia chuckles, her mischievous grin staying put. "I mean, it'll only hurt him if he's hotter than Zaahid."

"One can dream, but it's a long shot." I playfully shrug.

"Aww, look at you, all love-struck!" Gia makes a heart with her hands.

I sigh, grateful that Gia doesn't know the full extent of the truth.

Nobody needs to know what happens in our bedroom. Yes, nobody certainly needs to know how many times Zaahid and I have fallen in and out of love over the last three years, how there were times when I hated him so passionately it made me sick in the stomach, how we'd talked, seriously and matter-of-factly, about separating, how I had believed it was definitely going to happen, how his mum brooded over our lives, how a supposed reconciliation made us settle in something deeper, but then, yet again, we'd lost our way and all that love and happiness drained slowly, imperceptibly away as if there was an invisible tiny leak.

Gia hurriedly takes a large sip of her coffee and puts it down. "Anyway, back to business." She gazes at the laptop screen, "I will be meeting with Louis Cooper at four o'clock today." She looks up from the screen and gives me the—I know—look.

Louis Cooper heads a luxury footwear company. During a social media event dedicated to engaging with fans, I was seen wearing one of their pairs. As fans continued to tag us both, Louis participated in the event using his company's account. He proposed a collaboration, which under normal circumstances would have been handled by management and subsequently turned down by Gia. Simply because the idea of a singer partnering with a shoe company made zero sense.

So here we are.

"You don't have to move forward with it, you know?" I shake my head. "I was simply being courteous on social media." I flatten my sundress in my lap.

"I like the sound of it though–shoe magnate collaborates with global superstar singer to launch an exclusive line of shoes that sing–what do you think?"

I burst out laughing. "I can confidently say that's well beyond my capabilities and—and I am NOT interested."

"I know! But it's good for business and the brand Maira Ahluwalia. You gave him your word!" Gia pushes her laptop aside and picks up the sandwich.

"Why can't Louis take his shoes and walk the other way!" I whine, picking up the pizza slice and taking a big bite.

"You should've been smarter!" She scolds between a mouthful. "What were you thinking saying yes in front of a million viewers on that Instagram Live?"

"I was put in a spot. It was a catch-22 situation!" I explain, recalling how I wanted to appease the audience and not look bad or rude or anything that in Gia's words 'would be bad for business.'

"Plus it's not the idea of music I am weary of. It's Louis and his sleazy behaviour that I can't stand." I defend my argument.

"Right." Gia has one ear on me and one on the laptop. "What's done is done. Let's hope the inconvenience is worthwhile."

I nod, picking up my tea.

The conversation continues as Gia briefs me about my upcoming schedule, her words interspersed with bites of her sandwich. "Then at six-thirty, you have an on-air chat with RadioOne about the current tour. Again, please remember, 'We will try to add more dates at the end of the tour.'" She recites.

"If anything, just don't make any more promises," Gia complains.

My phone rings again in the purse on my lap. I steal a glance. It's him again.

"I'll try." I smile. I let it silently ring.

Gia raises an eyebrow while looking at my phone as I place its screen down on the table.

"It's Zaahid! He can't stop thinking about the lush vineyards and the smell of olives against the clear Mediterranean sky ever since he got your brother's invite." I shake my head. Wow, all that time and energy spent strengthening my lying muscles has finally paid off. "He can't decide what to pack."

"Harry, indeed knows how to paint a picture." Gia smiles.

The getaway is Harry's idea, a year in the planning, scrutinising everyone's schedules and finding the perfect time. Harry and Natalia's best friends–marking their daughter's sixth birthday with two weeks together in the south of Spain, spouse and children included.

"I'm counting the days myself! Two weeks of pure bliss, Maira. You'd love the location. It's like stepping into a dream." Gia's eyes light up.

"I'm sure, but before I can even have the luxury of daydreaming about it, you have lined up a string of events for me."

"It's what I do best," Gia bows in her dramatically.

"At eight o'clock, the final leg of the music video shoot begins, and you're performing at Wembley Stadium this weekend."

"Geez. Any breathing space for me?" I sip on my tea, disguising the mental math and calculating travel time from Cambridge, not London.

"Perhaps, next week?" Gia says hopefully. She finally closes her laptop and finishes her meal.

"Ver–" I begin but I get distracted when my phone rings again. "Very assuring." I quip.

"Hmm, you're quite in demand, business magnate collabs, concerts, tours, exotic holidays, secret fans...you lead quite the dramatic life, my friend."

"I live for the drama," I reply, laughing.

My phone rings. Again.

"It's that bad?"

"Don't even ask. I can't possibly pray enough for 30th October to arrive swiftly and liberate me from this nightmare."

"You should take that. Tell him I said 'Hi!'" Gia laughs, gets up from the table and begins packing her belongings. "And to pack only his swim shorts." She winks.

I roll my eyes at her. "Why don't you have a chat with him? Tell him yourself." I hold out my phone to her.

"No thanks, I will head out now. I am managing the life of a superstar, I'm always on a tight schedule."

I hurriedly swallow my mouthful and stand up as well. Gia pushes me back into the chair, "No, no you finish your meal first. I'm sorry for leaving amidst lunch but I love you." She hugs me tightly, acknowledging. "These weeks leading up to the holidays are always crazy and good business."

I subtly nod, concealing the twinge of hurt that makes me feel. I feel commodified, reduced to a profit-generating mechanism rather than a person.

"I will make it up to you. I promise," She gives me a final hug.

"You better," I whisper but loud enough for her to hear.

I finish my tea, pick at a cold slice of pizza, and quietly leave through the back door after a good ten minutes, knowing Gia will not return.

☸︎ ☸︎ ☸︎

On the drive back to Cambridge, I feel anxious about today. Would today be okay? I sense a strange nervousness engulfing me ever since the call. This is a deal-breaker. It's out of the rule book. I have, for the last four years, always been called on special occasions—birthdays, anniversaries, festivals, holidays, launches, success parties—anything you name it. Today is none of those days. And it can mean only one thing.

A text message notification makes me take my eye off the road. Well, here we go. I mutter to myself. I am confused. I don't understand what is going on. This is SO completely out of character for him. If he's already angsty I can only imagine how he will react when I'll tell him about Harry's invite for a getaway in Spain.

I take a deep breath in and resolve that I don't want to waste the two hours I have today for myself, talking or thinking about him. I switch off my phone and try to think of happier things instead, at least that's what my self-acclaimed therapist—Harry—says would help me infinitely.

The first thing that comes to mind is the dhaba style Dal Tadka and Bhindi which is a signature dish of Taste of Nawab. Maybe I can binge-watch Emily in Paris? And then dream about Gabriel. Or finish that half-read book on my nightstand whose title is also hard to recollect. Or maybe have a chat with Clara over her Friday Special's masala chai. I can help her clean too. It's been too long since we've done that. I owe at least that much to her for saving my life.

With my mind made, I drive off in the rare sunshine. The clear blue skies leading onward into the horizon, give a sweet sense of my short-lived freedom. The incoming danger looms overhead.

☸︎ ☸︎ ☸︎

The shoot ended at eleven thirty because the assistant director couldn't keep his eyes open. As I walk to my car, I see Zaahid standing next to it. My heart skips a beat. He's dressed in his customary black jeans, white t-shirt and bomber jacket. My regret is immediate. It doesn't wait for a few minutes to realize that the impact of his words—his voice—can bring back memories and feelings because it knows I'm capable of doing the unthinkable: liking him again. On the spot and all-consuming.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he shouts. He snatches the phone in my hands and makes me look at the 27 missed calls I have from him.

"Seriously, Zaahid?" I say as a greeting. "It's come to this? You'll now stop by at work?"

"Don't turn this around on me! It's urgent. You could have at least had the decency to pick up the phone!"

"Well, forgive me for not being glued to my phone every second of the day. I actually have work and responsibilities, you know?"

"Fair enough," Zaahid nods his head in disappointment.

"I didn't mean it like that..." Of course, I did! and I shudder at the person I've become.

It wasn't nice of me to throw his exit from the band like that. Charting out a solo career is difficult, who would know it better than me, and more so when you have a stereotype to break as an ex-boy band member. Especially when the disbanding wasn't cordial. "I know you're trying to get back at work but–"

"But I guess that's just not as important as whatever you're doing."

From the corner of my eye, I see a few paparazzi zooming in on our faces from behind the bushes. Instinctively, I smile and put a hand on Zaahid's arm.

"Let's not turn this into a competition of who has it worse. I've just been very busy. You know how Gia and her schedules are." I say, my voice laced with annoyance but my smile is ever wide and bright. I ignore the heat that is rising in my cheeks and get in the car.

"Oh I'm sure you've been," he sarcastically says and follows suit, "but there's a more important thing that needs to be done." Please don't say those words. Please don't.

"Like?" I challenge, fastening the seat belt, switching on the dome light, and looking him right in the eye. Oh, those brown hazel eyes!

Zaahid didn't look away. That's the thing about Zaahid Noori: he is never scared to look me in the eye. To say it like it is. True blue, salt of the earth, honest-to-goodness man. Almost mine.

Almost.

He knew it before I did. Knew that Awful December night was going to change everything. Change us.

We were inseparable, a natural fit. He was my rock through really difficult times post the singing reality show, BritVoice and also my glee when I needed it the most. Yet our relationship ended abruptly and randomly. One day we were laughing till our stomachs hurt, and the next he was dropping me off at the farthest hotel he could find.

But I don't hate him. I don't think I'm capable of doing that. I've simply just drifted away from my best friend. Of course, it hurts that I'm not his 'person' anymore, but I had my chance in that position and I was honoured by his brilliance. I am thankful for the loads of fat and heavy picture albums we have, filled with ludicrous and cheerful moments.

It's nice to hold on to the memories of those fierce, beautiful passages of time when time has moved on.

I'd be lying if I said I never liked Zaahid. I've been enchanted by him since the day I met him. And every day since, that admiration has grown multifold. In the last few years, I've struggled to fit him into a part of my world because he trickled into every aspect of my daily life—even when I knew it was forbidden. I could sense him in the leather jackets I had started wearing, or the sudden love for trainers I had developed, or that yin-yang tattoo I had inked onto my wrist, about which he is completely unaware, even today.

Every aspect of my life—I could see him, sense him, hear his echo.

It's like being a child who would build forts out of bed sheets and cushions, and regardless of alternate spots to play in, peace would always be found in that heedless fortress that could break with an ill-fated move. Unrequited love?

I remember the exact moment I fell for him. It was last year. I could feel it was not a phase anymore, it was real. As I stood there with the knife in my hand and blew out the candles with him on our third anniversary, I was mesmerized by him, much like how the ancients loved the night sky and the young spring leaves loved the warmth. The world had spun on its axis for me. I felt a warmth I hadn't felt for a long time. I wanted it to engulf me and last a lifetime.

My love for him was quiet; slow and a little—a girlfriend—late.

"You need to be home," Zaahid announces coldly and pulls me out of my thoughts.

"That's exactly where I'm headed. Now, would you mind?" I regain my composure and motion for him to get out of the car.

"Home, in London," Zaahid emphasized London as if it were a dirty word. Please don't say those words. Please don't.

There is an unsaid covenant between us which states that we lead separate lives until we cannot. Consequently, Zaahid leads his own in his house in London and I prefer my solace in Cambridge. No one knows of the Cambridge house. Not even Harry and Gia.

For a minute the two of us sit in stiff silence. I know what this entails and I'm biting the insides of my cheek, praying for it to not come true. Off late I haven't been God's favourite child.

"She is visiting again." Zaahid finally says.

There. "When?"

"Soon..." Zaahid looks out from the window, "I have a hunch she's planning to ambush."

Oh dear lord. The idea of Spain and Harry's invite for the getaway is on the tip of my tongue. I thought I had bad news because Zaahid and Harry couldn't stand each other ever since Zaahid left the band, but nobody can beat this.

"I'm in Wembley this weekend, the earliest I can manage is Tuesday night." I lie. Not entirely. I've been told I'm not a good liar and more so in front of Zaahid.

"I need you by Monday morning." He speaks into the glass and it mists by his breath.

"I can't! I have commitments. I can't just drop off everything." I snap irritably now. It's one thing to deal with Zaahid, it's another to deal with her.

Zaahid turns around so swiftly, I lean back a little. "I am only asking for your slight cooperation. It benefits you as well–"

I sigh, understanding that I'm being put in a spot again. "I can try for Tuesday morning," I rectify.

"Risky. Monday afternoon?"

"Monday night, it is," I say with finality.

Zaahid looks at me for a minute, tilts his head a little and gives me his charming smile. "See you soon, love," he says and walks out in the middle of the night.

In the passenger seat, I see a package from the Taste of Nawab with exactly the order I had in mind. My jaw drops open. How did he know? I stupidly ask but the voice in my head already answers because it's Zaahid and he always knows. 

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N O T E

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It took me longer than it should have to pry my fingers from the myth of you and me.

Oh, by the way, Maira means "the moon".

Please drop me a comment or a vote if you think this deserves it and give me a chance to improve. Love and light, M

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