“I hope you aren’t planning on causing a scene,” I grumbled.
Kawkab Khala smiled grimly at my words. “Not everything is about you, Hanajaan.”
Hmph. I returned to editingSecret Family History.
I listened on my headphones to the introduction I had recorded. My voice sounded throaty. “India in the 1970s was still reeling from the effects of war with neighbouring Pakistan, still haunted by memories of Partition. In that world lived my aunt, Kawkab Fazeela Muzamilah Khan. She was the twenty-four-year-old daughter of the localnawab, a wealthy landowner. And it was high time she was married.”
THE BUSINESS OWNERS ASSOCIATION MEETINGwas scheduled for nine p.m. Kawkab returned to Three Sisters with Afsana Aunty at her side. I raised an eyebrow but my aunt didn’t offer an explanation for her uninvited guest.
The bigger surprise was Rashid. He had gone home at eight o’clock, ostensibly to fetch something, and when he returned with my aunt, he was completely transformed. Rashid was dressed in a long cream sherwani jacket decorated with seed pearls, a large cream-coloured turban on his head. Pointy-toedkhoosayslippers embroidered with gold thread adorned his feet. He was dressed as a Mughal prince, and I shook my head in amusement.
We crossed the street to Brother Musa’s grocery and made our way to the basement, where the meeting was being held.
The other shop owners mingled by the snacks beside the stairs, Yusuf among them. Catching sight of my cousin, he burst into laughter.
“All right, all right, I get it,” Yusuf said after he had calmed down. “Can I show you to your chair, Your Majesty?”
Rashid nodded regally. “That’s Supreme Rajah to you, peasant.”
My aunt and Afsana found seats at the back while I made small talk with Sulaiman Uncle, who owned the halal butcher shop. Footsteps down the stairs, and then Aydin joined the meeting. A few of theother business owners nodded, but no one moved to speak to him except me. He was still an outsider.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said, teasing. “I thought we had run you off after the last meeting.”
“I heard the BOA is the place to be.” He leaned close to whisper. “Because of the drama.” He straightened, casting a rueful eye across the room. “Actually, the drama has already happened. Machiavelli was right: my dad had his own plans all along. He was financing the restaurant for his own reasons. He wanted to bully the neighbourhood, buy up properties cheap so he could build condos and gentrify.” He shook his head. “Everyone turned him down.”
“They did?” I was surprised. Money was an attractive inducement, especially for Golden Crescent business owners. None of them were wealthy.
“Only one or two businesses were interested in selling. The rest were worried about what he would do to the neighbourhood, because they live here. My plans have upset him even more. He’s used to getting his way in everything.”
I wanted to give Aydin a hug but settled for a sympathetic smile. No need for more gossip to get back to my family before I could speak to them about us first. “That must have been a difficult conversation,” I said.
“He’s furious and has cut me off completely,” Aydin said cheerfully. “But it’s not all bad. I’m cautiously optimistic that Golden Crescent will provide a few perks.” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I blushed. “I meant easy access to your mom’s biryani,” he intoned solemnly, and I laughed again.
Rashid and Yusuf looked up from where they were chatting, and Aydin nodded at them both. Rashid waved enthusiastically, and after a moment Yusuf nodded stiffly. Baby steps.
Brother Musa called the meeting to order as we took our seats at the front of the room. Mr. Lewis had just taken the floor, discussing the property damage caused by the attack, when we heard sharp thuds from above. Conversation ceased as everyone looked towards the stairs, though I had a pretty good idea who was about to crash the party.
And then Junaid Uncle stood before us, a malevolent warlock, upset because he hadn’t been invited. Aydin’s father stalked into the cramped meeting space. People parted as he moved forward until he stood in front of his son.
“Aydin has just informed me that he has thrown in his lot with the rest of you,” Junaid Uncle said loudly. “But I will not stand aside and watch while he is swayed by a pretty smile.” He glared at me.
Aydin stood up. “Dad, we discussed this. I’m buying you out—” he started, but Junaid Uncle ignored him and continued to address the room.
“I have been more than reasonable,” he announced, his voice echoing from the concrete basement walls. “Sell your businesses to me by the end of the week, and you will be compensated fairly. If you do not, none of you will enjoy what comes next. Particularly the wounded birds among you.” Junaid Uncle was looking directly at me.
Aydin and I looked at each other in confusion, unsure what to do with that information. Why was Junaid Uncle behaving like the villain in a Pakistani drama?
Aydin closed his eyes. “Dad...” he said, resigned. I had seen the same interaction play out before, at their first BOA meeting. It had ended with the father stalking out and the son following.
Except this time Kawkab Khala was there. From the back of the room, my aunt approached us. “Assalamu alaikum, Junaid,” she said. I watched Junaid Uncle freeze.
My aunt’s chin was raised high, so that she appeared to be looking down on us all. She contemplated Aydin’s face, Junaid Uncle motionless beside him. “You look so much like your mother,” she said slowly, enunciating every word so the entire room could hear. “I wonder how your father can stand to look at you. Today I brought someone here who might wonder the same,” she added.
The blood drained from Junaid Uncle’s face, and he followed my aunt’s pointed glance, straight towards Afsana Aunty. A dawning realization crawled across my skin, making my blood burn hot. I looked from Aydin to Afsana. How had I not connected the dots before?
Junaid Uncle caught my flash of understanding. His posture stiffened further, as if he was wondering if he should stand his ground and fight or grab his son and run.
Not everything is about you,my aunt had warned me that afternoon, and I hadn’t understood. I had never understood.
