Sparks of Love ☑

Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

His fingers tapped the rim of the steering wheel. Tk, tk, tk. The dull thuds ricocheting through the parked car, in tune with his increasing heartbeats. He had been parked across the street from The Aahmed mansion for the past twenty minutes now, but couldn't gather the strength to go inside. It had taken him an enormous amount of courage to call up Anjum's father and arrange a meeting with him at his residence—Aashiq's mansion—and now that he was finally there to formally ask for Anjum's hand in marriage, he couldn't bring himself to go in.

Doubts and whispers of long-held insecurities plagued him. Revisiting him from places he had securely buried them in long ago. Questions of what if? Could he really give Anjum the love and security she deserved? Could he really sustain the lifestyle she was so used to? Could he really shower her with the happiness that was written for her?

So much had changed in recent years, such blows that had taken from the peak he had stood high above on. He had been untouchable. He had been a force. Nothing was too much for him, nothing too far in reach. And now, despite how content he was, how calm everything was, it pained him to think he had lost his glory.

He took deep breaths, calming himself. Light pitter patter of rain stained his windshield, cascading down in small veins that formed beautiful maps on the glass. He stared at them, following each drop as it took its own path despite the crowds, curving and turning and still descending nonchalantly.

His fears tried to cower over him, make him doubt his self worth and the tragedies of his life. Normally, they didn't always come to bite his back, but now, when he was just a step away from going to claim his dream, all of his insecurities that were safely closed in the suitcase of his brain tried to pry open the zip.

The thought of walking away also knocked on his door but his heart stood reluctant to go back. Before his brain cells burst apart, he took his phone and called the one person who has always held his back whenever he needed it. His father, Hisham.

"Yahya, my boy, I am so sorry for not checking up on you, how are you doing?" Hisham cooed, after exchanging salaams, his voice filled with hints of guilt.

"I know you are busy." Yahya sighed, looking at the rearview mirror, he let his slightly shivering hands push his neatly combed hair, "But at the moment, I am not doing well dad."

"Why? What's up?"

"Daydreaming about chasing a dream is easy but getting down on the start line to actually participate in achieving it?" He sighed again, his tone almost at the verge of giving up. "It's.. It's not at all easy."

No matter how much he desired to let his family know what he was about to do, he first wanted to achieve it rightfully to declare about it aloud. He doesn't want to disappoint himself by letting their expectations rise. Pricking it and seeing it burst apart was something he cannot fathom, even in his imagination.

"Hmm..," the line went quiet for some time and it gave Yahya the ample amount of space to breathe in and out, to calm down his nerves and listen to whatever his well-wisher said.

"I cannot believe that my boy, my Yahya, is lacking confidence."

Yahya didn't notice that during the silence of the call, his throat went constricting and just as he heard his father speak, his mouth opened up, a painful cry left through the open space.

Hisham heard it too and he quickly added, "I know you are not afraid of losing. You don't have to give up anything other than winning this over, right?"

"Yes, Dad. I can lose anything but this," his voice was dense, pouring out with all of his emotions.

"I believe you, Yahya. I always have and will forever do, trust me!" Hisham confessed earnestly, "So tell me, how much do you want this thing?"