We Were Restless Things

7. Closest are the Furthest

You are a Khan, always was and always will be.

They repeatedly said it to her and she was proud of the fact that they were the ones whom she could call her own. She had no recollection or idea of her blood relations, neither did she ever think of them. Her family were the Khans, the Haveli and Aadhilabad. One would say she lost her existence by being an orphan, however, she gained a much valuable actuality where the relationships formed by heart were much, much thicker than those forgotten kindred.

Sensing her tensed posture, Ifran waved his hands in the air "Koi masla nahi hai, Afra. Baas kuch paper-works mein Rabe ke signs jaroori the to start the renovations"

(Nothing to worry about, Afra. There were some minute paper works which Rabe had to sign immediately to start the renovations.)

Nodding her head as she took in the answer, Afra stood still in her earlier place as she let her mind slow down from previous overdrive. Chuckling to himself, he poured another cup and called out to the human statue to take a seat.

Scoffing off as she saw his teasing smile, Afra took a seat. The light scent of chamomile eased her stormy mind and anatomy. Looking around the vast outstretched pond decorated with hints of waterlilies, put up a smile on her face. Taking a sip, she thought 'Now this is life'.

Both of them were silent, eyes stilled on the calm water body, ears perked up to hear the buzzing grasshoppers, hands wrapped on their cups and harmony on their faces. They took in whatever little time they had to bask in this beauty of nature; for all they knew works and duties kept knocking on their doors.

"You are still at home?" Afra broke the silence first.

"Have a flight in three hours. Heading off to London for the upcoming venture."

"How's work?"

Passing a tired smile to her, "Same old."

"Too tough for Mr. I-won-the best-businessman-of-the-year-award?" She passed a smirk to the man.

An unrestrained throaty laugh escaped through his soft pink lips, "You know that's a mouthful of a nickname" Shrugging her shoulders, she continued to sip on her tea. They did not call each other by nicknames, strangely. They called each other by their first names and that was it.

Everyone in the household had an epithet, courtesy of Rabail, of course. Ifran being called Iffy, Afra as Maham; then Dadi Jaan sometimes teased as Malika-e-Jaan since the infamous tale reached the diligent ears of the mischievous teenage Rabail. Her inflexible Dada Jaan climbed over her Bahar-e-Husn Dadi Jaan's balcony, on a Chaand Raat with a Ghazal book in his hand. 'Ishq par zor nahin!' (Love knows no compulsions!) She used to cry out loud, along her partner, with a hand placed where her heart was, eyes throwing out cupid bows, lips embracing unrestrained glee, causing her Dadi Jaan to turn all shades of red. Ismail Chacha for now had a stationary nickname after his retirement. General Sahib. And there were two others, no longer mentioned, yet never forgotten.

"So how is it at your end?" This time he threw the question.

"Same old." They both quietly took their last sips of the tea. The ambience was relaxing. The warm sun, light breeze, a beautiful scene and a partner for a chat.

"You know if things get hard, you can come to rant." Eyeing the clear sky through his shade he offered Afra. "You don't have to beat yourself; even I hope Rabe stops pushing herself to the edges as well. At times it's too damn frustrating to see her so caught up with things, forgetting to take a step back and breathe."

"I feel you. I also hope Aapi doesn't burn out herself. Her responsibilities and work are taxing as it is, and then it almost feels as if she is being excessively-" she paused to rake her mind for a right word. Her fingers were tapping on the table, in a rhythm. A habit whenever her mind was fixated about something.