Tez baarish ne Lahore ki sarkon ko bhigo diya tha. Zoya apne phate hue dupatta ko sambhalti hui ek purani building ke saaye mein khari thi. Uske hath mein ek purana sa register tha, jise wo baarish se bachane ki nakaam koshish kar rahi thi. Ye register uske liye mehaz kagaz ka tukra nahi, uski zindagi ka raaz tha.
Achanak, ek chamchamati hui kaali gaari uske qareeb ruki. Gaari ka darwaza khula aur ek shakhs bahar nikla. Usne mehngi threed-piece suit pehna tha, aur uski shakhsiyat mein ek ajeeb sa garoor aur khamoshi thi. Ye Ariz tha.
Ariz ne Zoya ki taraf dekha. Uske chehre par pareshaani thi, magar aankhon mein ek ajeeb si chamak. Ariz ne bina kuch kahe apna mehanga chhata (umbrella) Zoya ki taraf barha diya.
"Isay rakho," Ariz ki awaaz bhari aur roab wali thi.
Zoya ne ghabra kar dekha. "Nahi, main theek hun..."
"Maine kaha, isay rakho," Ariz ne baat kaati aur chhata uske hath mein pakra diya. Uska hath sarsari sa Zoya ke hath se takraya, aur ek anjaan si thartharahat dono ne mehsoos ki.
Ariz ne dekha ke Zoya ne apne register ko seene se lagaya hua hai, jaise koi qeemti khazana ho. "Tumhara ye register bheeg raha hai. Isme aisa kya hai?"
Zoya ne apne qadam peeche hataye. "Kuch nahi... bas kuch lakeerein hain."
Ariz kuch kehne hi wala tha ke uske phone ki bell baji. Usne Zoya ko ek aakhri gehri nazar se dekha aur wapas gaari mein baith gaya. Gaari dhuwan chorti hui nikal gayi, magar Zoya wahan khari reh gayi—hath mein ek qeemti chhata aur dil mein ek naya sawal liye.
Usi waqt Zoya ne register khola. Baarish ki ek boond uske safay par giri, jahan likha tha: "Kuch mulaqatein ittefaq nahi, taqdeer hoti hain."