Meri Pehchan

•the falling out•

"Come on, I'm sorry," he uttered.

Although the mischief inside his eye gave away just how serious he was. She pushed him away, the panjangla highlighted her long finger bones, the white beads a contrast so rich against her skin that he almost melted at the sight. Longing eyes ran up her arm, taking in her dress. The off white silk shirt highlighted her curves, the exquisite tilla flowers and dull cantaloupe lace that were stitched on to the ends of the shirt tied it in with the loose pants. The gharara a shade of claret was covered in dense flowers and vines. The three leaved weeds were like a dense forest on the ends of her dress. Top half of it made of a deep maroon muslin, the flowing part of chiffon. She had layered the veil on her shoulders, a dip in the centre of her chest that showed off the expensive, hand crafted necklace. White mother pearls and thin gold bars with jades encrusted on top.

"Humaray baray kehtay hain jhoot bolnay walay keh kaan lambay hotay hain," she said.

[My elders say people that lie have long ears.]

Grasping his soft earlobe in her fingers she pulled at the warm flesh, tugging as hard as she could. Her playful mood was returned as he wrapped a palm around her back, pulling her to his body. Their fronts smashed together and Samra groaned at the force. Punching his chest — the impact of which crushed her knuckles, she sighed with a deep breath.

"Allah ap tou pathar keh banay hain," Samra shook her head.

[God it's like you're made of stone.]

Fadahunsi laughed into her hair, his lips resting on the top of her head for a few minutes. In each other's arms they sat in deep silence. Their sated breaths warmly caressed their skins. A hug tighter than any with her head on his chest, hearing the heart that was now hers. The gentle beats lulled her into a soft sleep — although his tapping on her head kept her from dozing off.

"Later. It's time for the wedding. You'll be accompanied by Alishba until the dinner commences," he spoke.

"B—but what if—" her eyes were full of fear.

"No one will say a word. It's me before you, I promise. I promised you security and I will ensure it," his words dripped with sincerity.

"If they say something vile or—" she gulped.

"Agar kisi mein itni dalari hai tou keh dena meray saamne jang keh maidan mei akar kharay ho jai," he uttered.

[If anyone has so much confidence then tell them to come in front of me in a battlefield.]

The depth of conviction inside his voice jolted her spirit. She rested her hand on his cheek, brushing her fingers through his lightly oiled beard. Her lips pressed against the centre of his throat, a tear dripped from her eyes in thanks. He smiled softly, running his hand over her back. There was a deep sense of gratitude inside him too, for her understanding the story of his life, of the scars on his back. In their deep jaggedness — secrets relished. For thinking of him as a simple human.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Crimson tapestries and virginal white flowers. Deep musks and bright floral notes. Thick carpets straight from the province up north and fine dates from the smoldering deserts in the south. Guards with backs that were straighter than the poles that housed the gas lamps and slender dancing slave girls with bodies more sought after than any meat. Large rows of freshly cooked gravies and plenty of trenches filled to the brim with sweets. A large pavilion in the centre of the royal ground erupted over night, with tall columns and mirror work on the domed roof. Designed specifically for the afternoon sun. It's rays would hit the roof at angle, that would cast a glow so bright — the bride and groom would look like angels.