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relaxed. Michael Bolton's voice continued to fill the room with the lyrics of 'When a man loves a woman'—the knocking on the door became persistent and louder, but he lay motionless on the bed.
    'Don't tell me! Imama, are you really engaged?' Zainab appeared jolted by Javeria's disclosure. Imama cast an accusing glance at Javeria who looked at her shamefacedly.
    'Don't look at her—look at me and tell me if it's true that you're engaged,' Zainab addressed Imama sharply.
    'Yes, but it is not something extraordinary or amazing that you should react like this,' Imama replied with composure. They were all sitting in the library and trying their best to talk in low tones. 'But at least you should have told us. What was the big secret?' This was Rabia.
    'There's no secret and neither is it so important. Besides, we have become friendly only recently and the engagement took place years ago,' explained Imama.
    'What do you mean by "years ago"?'
    'I mean two or three years ago.'
    'But still you should have told us...' Zainab persisted.
    Imama smiled at her. 'When I get engaged again, I'll definitely tell you—whether or not I tell anyone else.'
    'Very funny.' Zainab glared at her.
    'At least show us a photograph of him... Who is he? What's his name? What does he do?' As usual, Rabia's questions came pouring out in one breath.
    'He's my first cousin...his name's Asjad,' The words came slowly and Imama paused thoughtfully. 'He has completed his MBA and runs his own business.'
    'What does he look like?' asked Zainab. Imama looked at her closely.
    'He's all right.'
    'All right? I'm asking you is he tall, dark, and handsome?'
    Imama smiled at Zainab without a word. Javeria replied on her behalf.
    'This is Imama's choice...he's quite good-looking.'
    'Yes, we should have known—after all he's Imama's first cousin. Now Imama, your next task is to show us his photograph,' ordered Zainab.
    'No, her first duty is to take us out for a treat,' interjected Rabia.
    'But now let's leave; I have to go to the hostel.' Imama got up and they all left together.
    'By the way, Javeria, why didn't you tell us about this earlier?' Zainab asked her.
    'Listen, Imama did not want it—that's why I never brought it up,' said Javeria. Imama turned around and gave Javeria a warning look.
    'Why wouldn't Imama want it? If I had been engaged and that too to a boy of my choice, then I would have screamed it out from the rooftops,' Zainab declared loudly.
    Imama chose to ignore her.

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    'Your son is amongst those 2.5 percent of the world's population who have an IQ of more than 150. With this level of intelligence, whatever he does may be extraordinary, but not unexpected. Salar had been at the International School for only a week when Sikandar Usman and his wife had been called over by the school administration. The school psychologist had informed them about Salar's various IQ tests in which his performance and score had amazed his teachers and also the psychologist. He was the only child in the school with such a high IQ and very soon he became the focus of everyone's attention.
    During his meeting with Mr and Mrs Usman, the psychologist got another opportunity to dig out more information about Salar's childhood. He had been studying Salar's case with much interest which was personal rather than professional—it was the first time he had come across such an IQ level.
    Sikandar Usman remembered well that when Salar was just two years old, he was remarkably fluent in his speech, unlike other boys of his age, and very often he came up with things that left him and his wife wondering.
    One day he was speaking to his brother on the phone while watching TV, and Salar was playing nearby. After the call ended, Sikandar saw Salar pick up the phone and say, 'Hello, Uncle, this is Salar.'
    Sikandar watched him as he happily chatted away. 'I am well. How are you?' Sikandar thought he was play-acting. The next sentence made him sit up. 'Baba is right