Koh-e-Noor

//• p a a n c h h •//

[dil mera maangti hai kyun,]

My days in Pakistan usually consist of hours slogging my ass off in an office chair, complaining how loathsome Pakistan is, rolling my eyes at every annoying relative, and listening to abbu's rebukes and upbraidings.

This time, it's different. This time, there's something— someone, stealing a big chunk of my thoughts.

Zaira.

This ass of a girl. She's a pain but she keeps on doing something so arresting,

Here I am today. Accompanying her on a walk on her father's wish.

She's kinda silly. Stops at every small change, gestures at places and I have to pull her hand down once in a while, but overall, she's still as emotional.

I follow her gaze and spot a white filthy rabbit. "Fuck man—Do not touch it you half-witted chump!" She had taken fast steps towards it and I thanked God when the animal got frightened and ran off.

Her dark as the dusk eyes snap at me, "Huh? Wasn't that my dialogue? Except, much neater, better sounding."

She's still as emotional, as attached to those memories as she was then, attached to—... Can't blame her. Women are made this way. Too sensitive, too empathetic, too soft, too delicate, everything too extra.

As much as I'd like to be in a relationship right now, this is what mostly stops me. Women. They're all fine until they're only attractive, you can't live with one for too long or she'll start trusting you too much. You gotta leave the lass before she sheds a single tear in front of you.

There are two natural qualities in them that entertain me quite a lot. Just as much as I love their ability to satisfy, it's also safe to say that I hate with the same amount of passion, the way they trust one so quick.

And although all women are dewy-eyed, this one, right here, is the queen of tenderness.

I watch her blink her welled up eyes, "Tou? Kab waapis jaa rahe ho?"

"Huh?"

"Teen mahine toh tum rehne se rahe, aik do hafte baad ki return flight book karwaa ke hi aaye ho ge naa? Kab de rahe ho rukhsati ka gift?"

"Just as I get the first chance—"

"—Haan, please, jaldi." I hear her mutter.

"Sach kahoon toh dil nahin kar rahaa iss dafaa yahaan se jaane ka." I smirk,

She shoots her eyes up at me.

"Haan toh, dekho na, aisi slow, cozy shaamein aur woh bhi tumhaare saath, New York mein kahaan?" I continue after watching her horrified face, "yeh doosri walk hai meri tumhaare saath aur lowkey mere khayaal se mujhe aahista aahista aadat parr rahi hai—"

"—Oye, bas. Ghar chalo. Awain aadat par rahi hai? Yeh tumhaare liye nahin, doosri dafaa main apne liye nikli hoon ghar se aur tum mere peechha karte aaye ho."

"Zyaada over naa ho Zaira ki bachi. Tumhaara peechha karne waala Uzair baitha tha, mera shukar karo main bade chaachu ke kehne pe pehli baar mein aa gayaa nahin toh usse bardaasht karna parta."

"Haaye kitne jhootte ho tum? Tobah hai. Mehwish ki baaton se bachne ke liye aaye ho. Jataa aise rahe ho jaise bohot fiqr hai tumhain meri? Jaanti hoon main tumhain, waada-e-faraamosh awain nahin ho tum."

"Nahin kyaa? Yeh bulaane se kyaa inner-peace milti hai tumhain? Bohot hi koyi dil dukhaaya hai maine tumhaara, yeh keh ke tumhain kyaa superiority feel hoti hai?"

"Dukhaaya toh hai. Tum maano yaa naa maano—"

"Bas woh ch—"

"Aaj dil dukhaa hai, tum yaad aaye," everytime she gestures at me with some stupid song on her lips I wish to sew them down with her own hands.