Magic — Episode 2
As the plane soared through the skies toward New York, Haroon's mind drifted back to everything he was leaving behind. He wanted to close his eyes and stay lost in his thoughts, undisturbed. But a sudden voice brought him back—an air hostess was politely asking him to straighten his seat as the meal trolley was about to pass.
Startled, Haroon adjusted his seat and realized he had forgotten to unbuckle his seatbelt. He released himself and picked up a cup of coffee from the trolley.
It had gotten a bit chilly now, so instead of eating anything, he only opted for coffee.
He licked his lips and glanced around. There was a deep silence in the Boeing aircraft—perhaps because it was midnight and most passengers were either asleep or dozing off. The flight had been slightly delayed due to some technical issues, which had now been resolved.
To his right, a German couple leaned on each other, sleeping. On the other side, an elderly man was reading a magazine.
After scanning the surroundings, Haroon resumed sipping his coffee. He had already eaten at home, so he didn't feel like having anything more.
When a tall, fair air hostess passed by again with the food trolley, Haroon asked her in English to remove his tray. She smiled at him and obliged before moving on.
Haroon reclined his seat again, placed the soft pillow against his chest, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.
When he woke up, morning had arrived. He ran his hand through his hair and checked his wristwatch—it was 7:00 a.m. He stretched his body, feeling the stiffness ease, and carefully made his way to the washroom.
The lukewarm water refreshed him in the dry atmosphere, and he returned to his seat feeling renewed.
Shortly after, silent trolleys appeared on both sides—it was breakfast time. Even Haroon was beginning to crave a cup of tea.
After finishing breakfast, he ordered an English magazine to kill time and became so engrossed in it that he didn't even notice when the captain announced their landing at New York airport.
He straightened his seat, fastened his belt, and looked out of the thick window. A smile crept onto his face—he was reminded of his childhood, of chasing butterflies without a care in the world.
The plane jolted slightly as it touched the runway, then gradually slowed down and finally stopped.
Like the other passengers, Haroon picked up his hand luggage and began descending the stairs. As soon as he stepped outside, he noticed the chill in the air.
He zipped his jacket all the way up and glanced at the sky—New York was enveloped in clouds. The damp runway revealed it had recently rained. The trees and grass looked lush and revived—everything felt new.
He followed the other passengers outside, where crowds had gathered. Everyone seemed to be waiting for loved ones.
Haroon had brought only a small hand-carry—his brother Asad had advised him to pack light for convenience. And now he understood why, seeing others stuck waiting for their luggage.
He stepped outside and began scanning the crowd for Asad.
Suddenly, he spotted him waving enthusiastically. Haroon ran toward him, and the two brothers hugged tightly.
Asad looked him up and down—Haroon was wearing blue trousers with a gray T-shirt and looked quite handsome.
"You're looking good," Asad said, ruffling his hair.
"I always do," Haroon replied proudly.
Laughing, Asad took his bag and led him to the car.
When Haroon saw the sleek black Mercedes, his eyes widened with surprise.
Seeing his reaction, Asad chuckled and opened the door for him, saying, "Relax—these are standard cars here. Even the janitors have better ones."
"Really?" Haroon asked in disbelief.
As they drove, Asad asked about home and pointed out roads and buildings along the way. Haroon admired the mesmerizing beauty of New York through the car window. He had never seen such captivating views.
After about twenty minutes, they pulled up to a house. Asad parked in the porch and led Haroon inside.
Haroon looked around, taking in the surroundings.
"This house was provided by my company. Come, I'll show you your room. Freshen up while I prepare food," Asad said.
"But where's Bhabhi? And are you going to cook?" Haroon asked, surprised.
"Helen won't be home before noon," Asad replied.
"Why?" Haroon questioned.
"Do you plan to ask all your questions now? Go freshen up, I'll get the food ready."
Over lunch, Asad explained that Helen was a university professor and worked on a research project with her team every Sunday.
After eating, they chatted and laughed, reminiscing about their childhood.
"I was shocked when I heard you got married! I couldn't believe it," Haroon said, grinning.
Asad gave him a look and said, "Why? Did you doubt my masculinity?"
"No," Haroon burst into laughter. "I was just surprised by your romantic side. You were always so serious and studious."
Asad laughed too. "I still don't believe in romance. I'm practical. It was you who ran after butterflies. And I know you had a crush on Uncle Akram's daughter, Bali. But she never paid you any attention!"
Both brothers laughed loudly.
Then Haroon asked, "Don't you love Bhabhi?"
"It's late now, man. My office is far, and I have to wake up early. Let's call it a night," Asad said, dodging the question while checking the clock.
---
Haroon went to his room and lay down. Tired from the journey, he fell asleep quickly. But just two hours later, he woke up feeling uneasy.
It's always hard to sleep in unfamiliar places.
He walked out of the room. Asad's door was locked—Maybe Bhabhi is home, he thought.
He opened the front door and stepped outside.
The full moon bathed everything in a soft, golden glow. A chilly breeze blew, and Haroon tucked his hands into the long pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a cigarette and lighter.
Back home, he had to sneak around his father to smoke. But here—there was no such fear. He sat on the steps and took a few drags.
Suddenly, he noticed lights approaching rapidly.
Two cars zoomed toward him and stopped in front of the house. Alarmed, Haroon stood up.
From the back of a black Mercedes, a woman stepped out. She looked at him with surprise.
"Are you Haroon?" she asked in English.
"Yes, Bhabhi. I'm Haroon," he replied with a smile.
"Did you just call me baby?" Helen asked, startled.
"Oh no, no! I said Bhabhi! That's what we call our brother's wife in Urdu," he explained nervously.
"Ah…" Helen turned to her friends—a guy and two girls—who were stepping out of the other car, staring at Haroon with curiosity.
"This is Asad's younger brother. He just arrived from Pakistan today," she explained to them.
In the front seat of a red BMW, a girl was still sitting. She hadn't bothered to get out. From behind the glass, she was watching Haroon intently.
Haroon, cigarette still nestled between his fingers, was shaking hands with Helen's friends in a charming, Eastern manner. At that moment, he looked like the perfect example of masculine grace.
To be continued…
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