A Garden Of Hydrangeas

بادشاہ | Kings

Chapter 2.

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White was his favorite color. It was a blank canvas, his to paint and taint as he pleased. White was the symbol of fidelity, of power and strength that his ancestors had possessed and wielded with mighty strength. Porcelain, delicate like fine china dolls it was. Held between fingers with the lightest of grips lest they break the threads. It was pure in it's possession and any finger, marked or sweaty could leave it's essence on it. Clarity and the power to withhold secrets larger than universe, white was it all. Hope was threaded like delicate beads on the silken thread and laced into the dots and lines of the word.

As the sun of June descended into angles larger than ninety, rays of blazing orange crashed against the one way windows of his bedroom, the ac on blast. It's cool wind brushed against his hair and kept his otherwise hotheaded head calm. Humming the tunes of one too many ghazals his grandfather sung to him as a kid, he grappled with the lapels of his starchy white kurta. It was his favorite color on himself, the way it sat against his tan skin was one of the many reasons why his wardrobe was majorly white washed, not to mention it kept the heat of the summers at bay.

Arham tousled the waves of his hair until the gently curled above his brow-bone. Patting the musky cologne with hints of eucalyptus and cinnamon on to his neck, his eyes focused on the wind outside. Summers were a dark, lying part of the year. The winds were covered in a double edged sword of burning hot heat, the rain was blistering on the skins and plenty of mirages on the road kept the thirsty alive, yet tormented. His brown oxford style shoes covered the distance to his closet, his fingers taking the sky blue waistcoat off of the hangers and pulling it on.

Gentle hands slid around his shoulders and helped him fix it. Maneuvering him, soft fingers closed the brass buttons on the waistcoat, straightening his collar. A soft kiss was placed on his cheek as he sunk to eye level with his mother. Her own sky blue organza dress matched the color of his waistcoat — tradition that he and his brother, along with their father followed. His mother slid her palm into his, squeezing it in silent reassurance as she offered him his Patek Philippe wristwatch.

"Thank you".

"You are very welcome my love".

They covered the rest of the distance to their main door in silence, his mother leading them. Arham's eyes rested on the large vases that had been recent additions to his parents ever growing collection. They were mismatched with the grandness of the home, the beige walls painted with gold details were far beyond the simple clay vases that were slightly rough. His fingers managed to touch the top of one such vase, vines spilling out of the broken head of a Greek ruler.

"Lilah's work?"

"Um what?" His mother turned around.

"All of this is Lilah's work?"

"Yeah she's been working a lot in her workshop lately".

He nodded, offering his elbow to his mother, opening the heavy double door for them. A silent hiss escaped his lips at the sweltering heat. They hadn't even been out for a second that the atoms of the air fought to strangle them. It was surprising that even as the time neared to dusk, the sun already set, the spell of heat had still not be broken. Still though, Arham silently thanked his grandfather for having planted so many trees that now towered over the walls of their home, keeping some sunlight out of their way.