All of My Heart Read online

  SARA NAVEED

  All of

  My Heart

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  A Messed-Up Life

  First Encounter

  And It Started

  How My Luck Changed

  Favourite Days

  The Invitation

  The Party

  The Unexpected

  The Goodbyes

  PART TWO

  The New Life

  The New Chapter

  The Delusion

  The Near Encounter

  The Night Out

  The Apology

  The Perfect Conversation

  Truth or Dare

  London City Tour

  The Unexpected

  The Loss

  The Ignorance

  The Inevitable

  The Misery

  Present Day

  PART THREE

  Where It All Began

  Crazy in Love

  The Never-Ending Wait

  For Old Friendship’s Sake

  My World Turned Topsy-Turvy

  The Wedding

  The Honeymoon

  The Night

  Back to Reality

  The Emotional Breakdown

  Momentary Bliss

  Doubting the Doubts

  The Harsh Reality

  The Confession

  PART FOUR

  Rehaan

  Zynah

  Rehaan

  Zynah

  Rehaan

  Zynah

  Rehaan

  Zynah

  Rehaan

  PART FIVE

  Rehaan

  Zynah

  Rehaan

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  ALL OF MY HEART

  Sara Naveed is the bestselling author of Our Story Ends Here and Undying Affinity. She has a master’s degree in banking and finance, and works as a content head at a software firm. She lives with her family in Lahore.

  You can follow Sara on Twitter (@SaraNaveed) and Instagram (@sara_naveed) or get in touch with her through her Facebook page (www.facebook.com/saranaveedwriter).

  Whoever you love, love them with all of your heart

  Prologue

  Present Day

  London, UK

  The roads of the city were wet as it had been drizzling all evening. I had been driving continuously for the past two hours and now the exhaustion was beginning to catch up. Not that I wasn’t accustomed to driving for long hours. I had been driving a taxi for Uber during weekends for the last one year. I thought back to the day I moved here from Pakistan. That was three years ago. How times flies, I reflected. When I wasn’t driving, I was out on trips for my shoots. I was a photographer by profession. After graduating from one of the top business schools in London, I had bagged a job in Standard Chartered Bank, earned decent money and started my own photography studio. Though I should note that I didn’t need the Uber money, I just did it for my own leisure. Driving helped me relax. Plus, it also paid me well. At twenty-five, I had everything I had ever hoped for. However, I did not let that go to my head. I stayed grounded and humble.

  In the last two hours, I’d successfully managed to complete three trips. The longer you drove, the more you earned. As I slowed down the car at a traffic signal, I received a call from Pakistan. It was my mother. I rubbed my eyes as I answered her call.

  ‘Salaam, Amma. How are you?’ I said, my eyes fixed on the road.

  ‘Rehaan, where are you, beta? Still out?’ she asked, her voice filled with love and concern.

  ‘Yes, Amma,’ I replied, my voice heavy with sleep. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Arrey, I don’t understand why you drive. You earn well with the studio. Go home and rest.’

  ‘Amma, I didn’t come here to rest. I’m here to make money, to better our future.’

  ‘I know, meri jaan, but health comes first. You need to look after yourself, only then you will be able to work.’

  ‘Amma, don’t worry. I’m totally fine,’ I told her, slowly pushing the accelerator as the signal turned green.

  ‘I’m always telling everyone here how hard-working you are. Running your own studio and then also working part-time. You’re doing a lot.’

  ‘A part-time job? Amma, why can’t you just tell them that I drive a taxi in the evening?’ I asked.

  ‘How can I tell them my son drives a taxi in London just because he loves to drive? It wouldn’t give a good impression here, na. You know how our society thinks.’

  I almost shook my head in disappointment.

  ‘Plus, I have to find a good girl for you; someone from a reputable family. People might think that’s the only earning source you’ve got.’

  ‘Amma, what’s the harm in that? It’s a common thing here. There is no need to be ashamed of it. C’mon.’

  ‘Arrey, you don’t know anything. I’m handling it, na. You just keep quiet.’

  ‘Fine, Amma. Acha listen, I have to go now. I might miss a ride.’

  ‘No more rides. Go and sleep now,’ Amma said in a stern voice.

  ‘Haan, haan, I’m going.’

  ‘And one more thing, will you transfer money this week? I have to pay the bills.’

  ‘I know, Amma. I will do it by the end of this week.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, beta. I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too. Love you. Khuda Hafiz.’

  ‘Khuda Hafiz.’

  I squinted my sleepy eyes against the light as I ended the call. Amma was right. It was late and I was exhausted. I decided to turn off the app and drive straight to East London where my apartment was. As my finger was about to hit the offline button, a request for a trip popped up on the mobile phone screen. I almost felt like cancelling it. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Zynah Malik, the name on the screen, wouldn’t let me. For a few seconds, I forgot everything else and just stared at it. I forgot how tired I was or how heavy-eyed I looked. Her name was enough to take away my sleep and tiredness. It was enough to send a chill down my spine. I brought the car to a screeching halt and then hurriedly accepted her ride. I prayed it was the same Zynah I was thinking about. I was desperate to feel her presence. I couldn’t wait to see her, to talk to her. It had been so long—three years to be precise. Worried that I would be late or she would cancel the ride and find another driver, I quickly started the engine and drove towards her location. She had requested the ride from north-west London—Belsize Park.

  The thought of meeting her after all these years brought a nervous smile to my face. My heart thudded loudly in my chest. Nervousness, excitement and anxiety engulfed me all at once.

  I killed the engine and parked the car in front of the park; my eyes peeled for her. But she was nowhere to be seen. My heartbeat quickened as I waited for her in silence. What did she look like now? Was she as beautiful as she was three years ago? Did she still apply kohl in her eyes? Did she wear the same sparkling nose ring on her pert nose? Did she talk in one breath even now? A lot of thoughts ran through my mind. Then I thought about other things. The more serious things. What was she doing in this area around midnight? Why had she called for a taxi? Where was her own car? Was she all right? The click of the car door broke my reverie. A whiff of her perfume hit my nostrils as she sat in the back seat, reminding me of our time together. How much I had missed her.

  ‘Harrow Support Group, please. It’s in north-west London,’ she said in a low but businesslike tone.

  I didn’t know what to focus on—her strained voice or the location she had requested for. I slightly shifted the rear-view mirror so I could catch a glimpse of her face. It was a futile attempt as it was eerily dark
in the car.

  ‘Sure,’ I replied hurriedly, worried that she would recognize my voice.

  However, nothing of the sort happened. She neither recognized my voice nor did she bother to look in the rear-view mirror. That did not stop me from stealing glances at her. The light from her mobile phone cast a glow on her face. Curly locks fell on her face, making it difficult for me to see her expression.

  ‘Hello?’ her voice broke the silence as she answered her phone. ‘Yes . . . I’m fine. I just need some time alone . . .’ she said in a muffled voice. She sniffed before she spoke again, ‘I’ll be back home soon. Bye.’

  And in the next instant, she burst into tears. My heart exploded when I heard her crying. I didn’t know how to react; I didn’t know what to say. The dynamics of our relationship had changed in the past few years. There was a time when I made her feel better. She found solace in my company and often said that. However, things were different between us now. And I hated myself for that. I cursed myself. I blamed myself for putting her in this situation.

  PART ONE

  Rehaan

  A Messed-Up Life

  Eleven Years Ago

  Lahore, Pakistan

  I don’t know if my life experiences during my early teens were similar to those of others of that age. Life at fourteen was dominated by the dysfunctional environment created by a worrying mother and a careless, alcoholic father. It was not new—I had survived it for as long as I could remember.

  When I returned home from school, I would always hear my mother and father quarrelling with each other. My little brother, Azaan, who was eight years younger than me, used to lock himself up in his room, pretending to study. Only I seemed to know how petrified he was of the vicious fights between our parents. I used to cheer him up by playing his favourite video games with him.

  My father, Akram Sheikh, had lost all his money when his import-export business went down due to a case of fraud. Now, he was down to his last savings. His income was almost insufficient to support the family and the burden seemed to have caused a permanent slump in his shoulders. This made me despise my father sometimes. He was smart but idled away his time, content with the financial support from my mother’s family. My father mostly stayed at home, often drinking into the night. My mother’s family advised her to separate or seek divorce from him but she could never muster the courage to do so. My mother was afraid it would turn her into a social pariah and would rather continue to portray the false image of us being a perfect family. She was from that order which believed a woman’s identity was that of a wife—forever orbiting around a husband and family life. Once a woman was married, she had no home other than that of her husband’s. Even if she did separate from my father, society would continue to question her identity as a mother. Nobody would want to marry off their daughters to her sons who had been raised without a father.

  My maternal relatives ensured that we didn’t die of hunger. The scraps in my father’s bank account were hardly sufficient to pay off our utility bills and household expenses. Shaidi Mamu, my mother’s elder and only brother, bore the most of our expenses. He paid to put Azaan and me through school. He had told my mother that I shouldn’t enrol for the state-certified matriculation if I wanted to study and work abroad. He’d even promised my mother that he’d send me abroad once I graduated with a bachelor’s degree. Since then, my mother was impatiently waiting for me to grow up, study hard and fly abroad for a better future for all of us. I’d sworn to myself that once I had made it in life, I’d pay off the debt to Shaidi Mamu and get rid of the burden.

  The credit goes to Shaidi Mamu for ensuring that I studied at such a good school. I looked forward to school every morning. It gave me an avenue for escape where I could dump the dysfunctionality of home and catch glimpses of Zynah—the only girl on the face of this earth who held a secret power over me. I fell in love with Zynah Malik at the very first sight and forgot all my troubles. She changed me and my life without even knowing it and gave it a new meaning. I have Shaidi Mamu to thank that I got a chance to see Zynah, to know her as a person. I still vividly remember the first time I met her in school.

  First Encounter

  It was mid-November, and the weather had already turned cold. I still remember how cold those days were. Amma had made me wear two sweaters so I could stay warm at school. She was proud that I was studying in a school affiliated to the O-level board while children of my age from my neighbourhood went to schools that were affiliated to the state boards. A week had passed at school but no one had broken the ice and spoken to me. Perhaps the rich spoilt brats did not like to hang out with lower middle-class boys like me. My classmates belonged to rich families and were driven to school in posh automobiles. I used to stare at them and their fancy cars with fascination, wondering if one day I might also own an expensive car. I had arranged an autorickshaw for my commute to school.

  One day, after I hopped out of the auto and ambled to the school entrance, I glanced upon a group of fellow students, friends seated casually at the benches placed outside the school boundary wall, puffs of smoke blowing out of their mouths. Four boys and a girl. I wondered what made her hang out with these boys and smoke with them. Why didn’t she hang out with the girls of her class? As I walked towards the gate, one of the boys from the group called out to me and asked me to stop. The blood rushed to my cheeks when I turned and saw them staring at me. The girl exhaled smoke and looked at me nonchalantly. She was beautiful. My cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

  ‘Hey you! Yes, you! Come here,’ one of the boys said.

  I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders, heaved a sigh and then walked towards them.

  ‘Uh, yes?’ I said in a low, hesitating voice.

  ‘New at school, right?’ the same guy asked.

  I nodded, stealing a quick glance at the girl. I wished I could observe her a bit more because her appearance seemed peculiar, quite different from the rest of the teenage girls.

  ‘Whoever joins midterm has to do whatever we say,’ the guy declared.

  ‘What . . . do you mean?’ I stammered, looking at their faces.

  ‘Here. Take this,’ he said, giving me a cigarette.

  I hesitantly took it from him.

  ‘What do I do with this?’ I asked him, furrowing my brows.

  ‘Well, you smoke it,’ he said with a smirk.

  ‘What?’ I asked, flabbergasted.

  ‘Yes. This is what you have to do. Smoke and then you pass.’

  ‘But . . . why? I . . . I don’t smoke. I never have.’

  ‘But now you have to.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then admit you’re a low-class loser and nothing else,’ he said, gritting his teeth.

  ‘I’m not!’ I snapped.

  ‘Then prove it.’

  I asked him for the lighter and lit the cigarette. The girl looked at me with astonishment, her eyes wide open. In order to prove myself a ‘decent guy’ as per their standards, I was ready to do what I’d never done or tried before in my life.

  I placed the cigarette between my lips and then looked at her. This gave me an opportunity to take a good look at her. She had almond-brown eyes set in a round face; her lips were full and pink; and black, loose curls hung past her shoulders. She looked at me with an amazed expression and for a moment I imagined that she wanted me to stop. I ignored the message I thought she was sending me and took a drag. But I burst into a fit of coughs. It felt as if my lungs would explode. I felt dizzy, light-headed. My condition made the boys laugh. However, she was not amused. She caught hold of my hand, snatched the cigarette from my fingers and threw it away.

  ‘Stop it, guys! Just stop it!’ she yelled.

  The boys stopped laughing.

  ‘Can’t you see he is coughing? Just look at him!’

  I managed to get my breathing under control and looked up.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked and then put a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Yes, yes, I am okay. Thanks
,’ I whispered, shivering slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry about my friends. They love bullying newcomers. I apologize on their behalf.’

  ‘Hey, Zee, what are you saying?’ one of them complained.

  She raised her hand, indicating that he should stop.

  I looked at her and then back at the boy.

  ‘You may go to your class now. And please don’t tell anyone about this little incident,’ she said, looking at me with pleading eyes.

  ‘Sure. Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning to,’ I told her.

  ‘Great. Thanks.’ She smiled.

  I nodded once again and then headed towards the school building. I walked away, leaving a piece of myself behind. My heart pulsated wildly, and my breath seemed to stop. What had her smile done to me?

  And It Started

  I did not believe in love at first sight. However, she made me rethink my own beliefs. I had never thought that one encounter could make me fall head over heels for someone. I had seen much prettier girls before but none of them had made me go weak in my knees like she had. Apart from her beauty and intellect, there was something else about her that made me want her. I was smitten by her personality, and every day waited to catch a glimpse of her in school. After that first chance meeting, I found out that she was my classmate. I had been so engrossed in my studies that I had not noticed her and her friends earlier. I repeated her name under my breath, the name that would change my life forever—Zynah Malik.

  She would enter the class surrounded by her so-called friends, chewing gum. Before taking her seat, she would glance sidelong at the class. Sometimes I would catch her attention and our eyes would meet. She would acknowledge me with a nod of her head and one of her rare, winning smiles. My heart would sink and my stomach turn somersaults. Not knowing how to react, I would hastily smile back and turn my attention towards my books. She would put her small, delicate hand over her mouth and giggle at my awkwardness.

  She was one of the brightest students of our class and often I, along with other school teachers, got impressed with her witty answers. She was a genius when it came to art and craft. And the fact that she was a talented doodler and caricaturist was known across the school. Her dressing sense was also unique. Even with the school uniform on, she looked different. She wore heavy metal bracelets on one of her wrists and covered her forehead with big headbands. She always wore sneakers instead of the standard school shoes. Her casual, relaxed demeanour is what made her so attractive. Perhaps, that was one of the reasons why I liked her—why I was so fascinated by her.