Disclaimer: Nothing but Aarif is mine.


'The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine.'

Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

Chapter 4: Aarif's Story

Rory was lazily walking in the sunny May afternoon, enjoying the promise for cherry blossom in the air.

She caught herself feeling a glimpse of nostalgia, walking her hometown streets, feeling a little overage. There was Taylor's shop, and there was Taylor himself, she waved cheerfully. Gypsy's gas station, the little square where the snowman contest was held every year... she had missed this place, she hadn't realized how lucky she was to be born in this fairytale small town where everyone greeted you by your first name and people were good-natured and caring. One year of hitting the roads of the whole country made her aware of a different concept of home. You come home and it seems that nothing's changed. Yet, everything's changed. And then, you realize. What changed is you...

She had just come back from the campaign and all she wanted to do was never again move from the sofa in her small Hartford apartment.

When her boss called her in his heavily furnished office, she thought maybe this was it, her last working day. Nobody was summoned into Mr. Bushmill's office to talk sports or get a promotion... She didn't want to switch jobs; she liked writing the small column about the health reform and the development of the educational reform concept. It wasn't a big deal, not as big as following a presidential campaign, but it gave her the opportunity to have some time for herself. She had even started attending salsa lessons, a hobby of which Paris strongly disapproved, because 'these places are nothing but a perverted way for desperate men and women to get laid'. It had been two months after she came back from the campaign and for now her everyday routine was just fine.

'Miss Gilmore, how do you feel about working in television?'

Come on, Gilmore, subject plus verb plus object. That's what they taught you in the first grade. Just say something, for God's sake!

'I...' she started confusedly. 'What?'

Later that day, when she came home from work, she was still rewinding Mr. Bushmill's words in her head.

'Mom, hi, have you thought of buying a TiVo?'


Rory realized she had stopped walking and found herself looking over at Luke's where a particular man was dragging a bulky black sack to the street-tidy. He was wearing a backward baseball hat and a checked shirt, sleeves rolled up, a small book peering from the his backpocket.

She crossed the street and approached him.

'Hey Luke. Funny thing, I thought you were on a honey week with your gorgeous wife, but I see work never lets a decent man take the world off his shoulders, does it?'

Jess' lips curled up in a smirk as he recognized her voice and he turned back to greet her, his eyebrow up, a slight nod of the head. Never surprised to see her. Another deja vu, she thought to herself.

'Don't tell me Luke asked you to open the Diner for him while he's away,' she suggested rather reluctantly.

'Okay, I won't.' He shrugged a shoulder and continued to drag the black sack with god-knows-what contents to the street-tidy.

'He asked you to do this? Really?' she inquired suspiciously.

'No. But I know he wouldn't want the competitor diner proprietors to take the market over, guy's just got into enough trouble by marrying the love of his life.'

Rory's brow curled upwards.

'There are no competitor diner proprietors. Al's 'Pancake World' doesn't even offer pancakes,' she reminded.

'Think of it as my wedding present.' Jess panted as he made an effort and picked the sack up to throw in the tidy.

'See, see, Jess Mariano, well known for his outstanding social skills and a fine touch in the emotional world, real people-pleaser,' Rory noted in mock appreciation.

Jess started towards the Diner, smirking.

'Huh, I may have a touch for a few things but the emotional world has never been one of them. I can bring up witnesses, they'll confirm,' he said matter-of-factly while locking the Diner, and gave her a smile. Not a smirk, but a smile. For some reason, it made Rory cringe. It wasn't only Stars Hollow she had missed. Damn.

'Yeah, I should know, shouldn't I?' she spilled without thinking.

The words were pronounced sharply, so it couldn't pass as a witty comment. She regretted them the moment they were out and bit her lip.

Okay, Rory, you're being evil. Where did that come from, she nudged herself mentally. Even if you do want to vent, your timing couldn't be worse.

Of course, she of all people would know how he repeatedly mishandled his relationships with those who cared about him the most. But he had learned a few things on the way – he had accepted the fact that even those who didn't want to need anyone at all, eventually needed someone to hold on to.

And he's not the only one who mishandled things, she thought bitterly. Then who was she to bring up old mistakes when hers were nonetheless unforgivable?

Jess looked embarrassed. He slowly put the keys in his pocket, trying to figure out something to say. He knew some things would emerge in conversation, now that he and Rory finally let themselves talk about everything. Some conversations should've happened years earlier, they should've had the decency to bring them up. However, courage was scarce when it came to amending for your own mistakes, especially if you hadn't forgiven yourself yet. He took the baseball hat off and started playing with it in his hands, thinking feverishly how the hell he should start.

'Look, Rory...'

'I don't know where this came from, I swear,' she interrupted him swiftly, nervously. 'I'm sorry. Terribly, stupendously sorry,' she added, attempting a guilty smile. 'Come on, let's just walk,' she waved her hand and started walking slowly, waiting for him to catch up.

So, this conversation would wait some more. It had been in line for five years, after all. Maybe six.

Jess wondered for a few seconds, then nodded and put the hat back on, though forward this time. He joined her, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

They were still walking in silence as they reached the bridge. They had unconsciously headed towards this place, led by an old everlasting habit.

Before walking over the old planks, they stopped, driven by some unvoiced signal. There was a feeling similar to entering somebody's room and this room here was full of memories.

Jess shook his head.

'Can't believe it still has some hold over me. Some things don't change, I guess.'

'They don't,' she confirmed quietly as she stood hypnotized, looking at the wooden bridge, as if her life hung on the intensity of that stare. She could almost sense the cherry blossom.

He stuck his hands even deeper in his pockets and looked sideways as he said,

'I have something for you. From Pakistan.'

Rory woke up from the disarray and grinned, a spring of joy taking over her at the thought of a Pakistani present.

'Really? Is it a rosary?'

'What? No, at least I hope not. It's from Aarif, so I don't really know what it is.'

And hope it's not what I think it is... he thought as he made a few steps over the bridge.

'Okaaay...' Rory nodded slowly and followed, 'and how come Aarif whom I haven't even been introduced to has something for me?' she reasoned.

She paused, revelation dawning on her.

'Except if I have been introduced.'

The slight twitch of Jess' face confirmed so. She stopped walking and turned back, standing in his way, making him stop in his track.

'Jess, did you let him read my letters?' she required sharply.

Jess raised an eyebrow, amused. Did she really think he would share his personal correspondence? Ever? With anyone at all? Seriously? That was hilarious, absolutely hilarious.

'No I didn't,' he stated simply.

But she wouldn't listen, misreading his amusement.

'I can't believe it. You of all people, did you... Jeez, I can't believe it!' she rambled, shaking her head.

'Relax, Maggie, no one's read anything.'

Somehow the change of tune and the movie reference made her stop winding up.

'You sure?' she asked, still a little suspicious.

'Hmm, let me think again...'

He feigned hard thinking.

'Yup,' he confirmed then, pronouncing the 'p' with a pop.

She smiled with relief and swallowed dryly. For some unknown reason she had been afraid of the answer. Not that there were any coded messages or classified information about the hygiene of the White House closets in these letters. But inwardly she knew they did say some things, things meant for him only, things she had difficulty admitting even to herself.

'So, Brick, darling, care to tell me how come this guy of yours has been so kind to send me a present then?' she asked in a voice that could sweeten kilos of lemons.

Jess sat down on the bridge, letting his feet hang loose over the water. 'Come on,' he motioned for her to sit next to him. 'I'll tell you about Aarif.'


Aarif lit his cigarette and pointed at the glittering lights below them. There was Kashmir, with its widespread carpet of flickering electrical fireflies in their feet. The city in all its evening glory from their watching spot on the hill.

'There,' Aarif tilted his head towards the city below.

There was no emotion in his voice and later on Jess would ask himself what it should've cost him.

'Eight fifty two a.m. It was a Saturday in October,' Aarif continued. 'Leena had gone for the week to see her mother in Kashmir, and I stayed in Islamabad. I was waiting for the bus in Islamabad to go pick her up when it happened.'

Aarif concentrated on his smoke for a moment, then pulled a drag.

'When the ground starts shaking, the only thing you can think of is your family. Where they are, what they're doing right now. You think, are they scared?... The worst part is when you realize they are. The ground keeps shaking. It splits you in pieces but you can't do anything. Then survival instincts take over. Even in the hardest moments survival somehow takes the best of you, we're its slaves.'

Aarif paused again and when Jess met his dark eyes, he recognized regret.

'Then, everything stills. There is the sound of car alarms. Ambulance sirens, people calling out their families by name, but all this is a blur into your ears because you realize you're alive and she may be dead. All I could think about was I should've caught the earlier bus. I should've been there. With Leena. For some reason I missed that bus and my life was spent that morning. I don't know why, I guess there's something I have to do before my time's up.'

Jess observed the man beside himself and suddenly Aarif seemed older. He never asked him about his age, but Jess assumed his companion was about thirty. Maybe thirty-five. Sometimes, when he got gloomy, Aarif would appear older, as if another face would emerge from the inside of this extraordinary, extra controlled and extra wise personality he had. He seemed very aware of the world outside, but always managed to keep his self-control.

Maybe Fitzgerald was right, Jess thought that night on the hill, looking down at night Kashmir. Maybe we were born old. But not in appearance, only with old souls. Maybe it took a soul a couple of decades to fully emerge and it faced death in full conscience, with nothing more left to reveal.

'The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.', Norman Cousins' words emerged in Jess' mind.

Aarif nodded, indicating Jess had unconsciously voiced this last thought.

'Aarif?' he said then.

Aarif turned to look at him.

Jess pondered a little before continuing.

'Though you may well regret it every remaining day of your life, I think it's a good thing I met you. One of the best that happened to me lately. I'm happy you didn't catch the early bus that Saturday.'

Aarif observed him for a couple of seconds, then nodded and turned back towards the flickering lights of Kashmir below them.

'Good. But no way I'm doing hugging, okay?'

Jess smirked and lit a cigarette.

'Okay.'


Jess threw a stone in the water as if to mark the end of the story. They stood in silence for a while, Rory processing the information, Jess gathering the courage to continue.

She was faster.

'He sounds like a man of wisdom.'

'True. He's my Yoda.' Jess assured with a smirk.

She made a grimace that said 'Do you always have to be a smartass?'.

Jess threw another stone in the water, watching it skip a couple of times before sinking down.

'He's been through a lot,' he added seriously.

They kept silent for a while.

'Don't you think Aarif would rather you didn't tell me about his wife?'

'I haven't told you about his wife,' Jess shrugged.

That caught her a little unprepared.

'But wasn't Leena his...'

'I told you about him. Not many things can say so much about a person as the way they handle a major loss in their life. Aarif is the last person who would get personal and tell his story to a stranger in a bar.' Rory's eyes narrowed a little. 'But we're not in a bar,' Jess finished wisely.

The look in her eyes said 'Really?'

'Plus you're not a stranger,' he added and rubbed the back of his neck. 'He got you a gift, remember? He doesn't go around getting people gifts,' he added, lifting a pointfinger for emphasis.

'Jess... what exactly have you told him about me?'

'Not much.'

Rory crooked up an eyebrow in disbelief. Well, what is much?

'What?,' he put his hands up in defense.

'I don't believe that. There must be something that you told him,' she insisted.

Jess kept a stubborn face.

For some reason Aarif had decided he liked Rory. And Aarif didn't just go around liking people. Jess wasn't sure Aarif liked him, for instance.

Aarif seemed to believe Jess still got something for her. Jess didn't manage to prove him wrong for the two years they spent as traveling companions. Aarif had said, 'Once a man has won a woman's love, the love is his forever. He can only lose the woman'. Jess had laughed. A lot. It was so damn true, that it was almost entertaining.

'Believe what you want. I had my say.'

Jess shrugged sulkily and for a moment he was eighteen again - pissed off at the world as a whole and then with each of its inhabitants in particular. For some reason she found that amusing and gave him a grin.

'Noted. I will. So, young Jedi, what does your Master have for me?'


More than a thousand miles away, in a motel room somewhere in Colorado, a newly-married couple was having dinner.

'Here,' Luke said, placing a wide plate before his wife.

'I want you to say what you think about that. I'm thinking of including it into the holiday menu.'

Lorelai moved her eyes from the TV to her husband.

'What do you think they're doing?'

Luke raised an eyebrow and sat next to her, narrowing his eyes at the TV.

'I think Daeneris is getting even with her brother by letting Drogo's people drag him behind a horse.'

Lorelai rose a brow.

'I meant Rory and Jess,' she enunciated.

'Oh. You think they are doing something? Like in together?'

Lorelai just gave him a look.

'All right, all right. Look, you don't always have to worry about her. She has her head screwed on properly and, awkward as it may sound, so does he.'

Lorelai crossed her arms stubbornly.

'I'm not worried.'

Luke moved back an inch so he could judge his wife's expression fairly.

'Aah, right, you're dead curious and want to investigate. You'll have to wait. Now eat,' he said in a slightly imperative manner, observing her expression intently as she tasted the food.

Lorelai put a spoonful in her mouth and an expression of disgust appeared on her face. Luke's heart skipped a beat.

'You okay? Should I bring some water?' he asked worriedly, heading for the fridge and ready to save her life if necessary.

Lorelai took in the picture of worried Luke and burst into laughter. Luke watched her blankly for a few seconds and then made a dirty face.

'Very funny. Gilmore humour,' he rolled eyes and grabbed a beer from the fridge. When he came back to the sofa, half of the plate was empty and Lorelai taking care of the rest of the food.

'I assume it turned edible,' he suggested sulkily, though inwardly he felt a spring of satisfaction with the result.

Not that there are many dishes in world cuisine, able to sate the appetite of a Gilmore, he reminded himself.

'Do you think they will get together, so that we'll have little half-blood grandchildren slash grandnephews?,' she inquired with a grimace.

Luke sat back next to her, stretched his legs under the the table and opened his beer.

'You're overthinking it. At least they should search for a closure, the story has drawn out for too long... Lorelai, what are you laughing at? Ours is different – we're grown up people who took it slow,' Luke insisted as she kissed his temple.

'So slow at times it went backwards,' she nodded in mock seriousness. 'Wasn't Jess going to Philly to meet some publisher or something?'

Luke shrugged.

'Last thing I know, he's staying a couple of days, sneaking around Rory pretending to be looking over the Diner for me.'

'Hm. Come on, let's play some Cat Stevens CD's and play scrabble! Let me just pee and change into something more comfortable,' she said and stood up, perking a kiss on his cheek on the way.

Luke drank from his beer and closed his eyes, resting back on the sofa.

'Luke!' he heard from the bathroom. Her voice came out worried and pleading.

'What!' he jumped up immediately. 'Is it a cockroach?' he suggested, remembering last time she had freaked out over something in the bathroom.

'Luke... I think I touched a lump in my breast...' she almost whispered as she appeared at the bathroom door, meeting him closely.

'Oh...' Luke blinked a couple of times, processing the information. There Lorelai stood in front of him, looking panicked and unable to move. He made another step and put his arms around her, kissing the crown of her head. 'You sure?' he asked softly and a second later he could feel her head making a nod against his chest. 'Okay... you'll do something for me?' he continued. Two nods. 'Repeat after me: I won't freak out.'

Head shook. 'Too late,' she mumbled in his sleeve. 'You'll have to unfreak me first.'

Luke landed another kiss on top of her head.

'Then I will,' he said quietly.

She slightly pulled back so she could face him.

'My hero,' she smiled, relieved as she felt the initial panic wash away.


Back in Stars Hollow, the younger Lorelai Gilmore was reading a book that was meant for her. The Panchatantra. The letters were faded and due to the many times the book had been opened and closed some of the pages were folded at the corners.

The Two-Headed Weaver

In a certain place there lived a weaver by the name of Mantharaka, which means "the simpleton." One day, while weaving cloth, the wooden pieces on his loom broke. He took an ax, and set forth to find some wood. He found a large sissoo tree at the ocean's shore, and said aloud, "Now this is a large tree. If I fell it, I will have wood enough for all my weaving tools."

Having thus thought it through, he raised his ax to begin cutting. However, a spirit lived in this tree, and he said, "Listen! This tree is my home, and it must be spared in any event, because I like it here where my body can be stroked by the cool breezes that blow in from the ocean's waves."

The weaver said, "Then what am I to do? If I don't find a good tree, then my family will starve. You will have to go somewhere else. I am going to cut it down."

The spirit answered, "Listen, I am at your service. Ask whatever you would like, but spare this tree!"

The weaver said, "If that is what you want then I will go home and ask my friend and my wife, and when I return, you must give me what I ask for."

The spirit promised, and the weaver, beside himself with joy, returned home. Upon his arrival in his city he saw his friend, the barber, and said, "Friend, I have gained control over a spirit. Tell me what I should demand from him!"

The barber said, "My dear friend, if that is so then you should demand a kingdom. You could be king, and I would be your prime minister, and we two would first enjoy the pleasures of this world and then those of the next one. For they say: A prince who piously gives to others, achieves fame in this world, and through these good deeds, he will arrive in heaven, equal to the gods themselves."

The weaver spoke, "Friend, so be it! But let us also ask my wife."

The barber said, "One should never ask women for advice. They also say: A wise man gives women food, clothing, jewelry, and above all the duties of marriage, but he never asks for their advice. And further: That house must perish where a woman, a gambler, or a child is listened to. And: A man will advance and be loved by worthy people as long as he does not secretly listen to women. Women think only of their own advantage, of their own desires. Even if they love only their own son, still, he will serve their wishes."

The weaver spoke, "Even though this is true, she nonetheless must be asked, because she is subservient to her husband."

Having said this, he went quickly to his wife and said to her, "Dear one, today I have gained control over a spirit who will grant me one wish. Hence I have come to ask for your advice. Tell me, what should I ask for? My friend the barber thinks that I should request a kingdom."

She answered, "Oh, son of your excellence, what do barbers understand? You should never do what they say. After all, it is stated: A reasonable person will no sooner take advice from dancers, singers, the low born, barbers, or children, than from beggars. Furthermore, a king's life is an unending procession of annoyances. He must constantly worry about friendships, animosities, wars, servants, defense alliances, and duplicity. He never gets a moment's rest, because: Anyone who wants to rule must prepare his spirit for misfortune. The same container that is used for salve can also be used to pour out bad luck. Never envy the life of a king."

The weaver said, "You are right. But what should I ask for?"

She answered, "You can now work on only one piece of cloth at a time. That is barely enough to pay for the necessities. You should ask for another pair of arms and a second head so that you can work on two pieces of cloth at once, one in front of you, and one behind you. We can sell the one for household necessities, and you can use the money from the second one for other things. You will thus gain the praise of your relatives, and you will make gains in both worlds."

After hearing this he spoke with joy, "Good, you faithful wife! You have spoken well, and I will do what you say. That is my decision."

With that he went to the spirit and let his will be known, "Listen, if you want to fulfill my wish, then give me another pair of arms and another head."

He had barely spoken before he was two-headed and four-armed. Rejoicing, he returned home, but the people there thought that he was a demon and beat him with sticks and stones, until he fell over dead.

And that is why I say: He who cannot think for himself and will not follow the advice of friends, he will push himself into misfortune, just like the weaver Mantharaka.

The Panchatantra, book 5, story 8.


* Aarif is referring to the great earthquake in Kashmir in 2005


Mood song, 'All I Need' by Matt Kearney