AU- An old school infatuation is what occurs when Meerab and Murtasim coincidentally share the same night train from Islamabad to Karachi. Just a couple sentences and caring guestures are enough to change their route forever.
Any mature scene will...
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Blotting her lips in the compact mirror, Meerab was satisfied that it successfully camouflaged the irritated pink of her lips into something that looked deliberate. It was placed down onto the dressing table before slipping into her kameez, the colour of blooming cherry blossom. Makeup was applied to perfectly accent her siren eyes, to lengthen her curled eyelashes till they almost touched her brow bone. A couple hair clips where slid into her hair, trying to fashion a hairstyle that rivaled what Mayi had previously helped with, allowing a few wispy tendrils to frame her face, in a border that was delicate and billowing with every step out of the property.
Days had been spent basking in each other's company, navigating their landmarks of pleasure and conversing over the mundane and exciting; every page of her law school application had been filled out. Murtasim had quizzed her ambitions, her motivating fuel and history, jotting everything that put her in a good light. Not that there was any hesitancy over her ability to secure her admission, but Murtasim relished the learning opportunity realising that she used to hide out in her father's office and skim books, not absorbing a word, only gaining reverence for the grandeur of such humble words etched into paper.
After that, she watched her father engage with other judges, catching glimpses of the cases he would come across that were conversed with wife, Anila. She watched to chisel herself into the same position of power, of thoughtfulness in mediation and insightful decision making.
When she grew up, reality struck on realising that true justice was unattainable as money was insufficient compensation for life, for destruction of resources and time wasted. It was an arbitrary measure of things that could not truly be weighed up into money. Some how, it urged her on to find justice in feasible means, to be kinder and earn her space; like what she did in Khan household.
Of course Murtasim had never taken a dime from her wage of teaching. Each cheque from teaching had been saved, only sparingly cashed out for necessities such as fresh shoes and book, and even that was frivolous with the late Shahnawaz's library that already housed her favorites. In fact, with the wedding passing, it felt like the climax of her struggle has also been passed, along with the crescendo of music.
Now they were breezing, the same way her flowy gharara jostled on every step. She stood at the front door now, huffing with out her husband in sight.
She ventured out past the driveway, hand caressing the array of spring foliage in waiting for his late entry. It was as though her tutting is what incited the guards to open the door; rolling open for his car to enter and Meerab immediately spun as a show of her displeasure.
It took mental effort to console herself, chiding that he had disregarded timekeeping and kept her waiting, strolling amongst the helium balloons and petals that had begun to wither.
''Meerab, aajao,'' he called from the driver seat with the window rolled down, not even getting out to greet her. He has become unchivalrous in such a short period of time. (Come.)
